PUPPY LOVE
Chapter 1
John. SH
John. SH
John. SH
John. SH
John. SH
WHAT?! I'm at work for a bit longer. This better be an emergency you're texting me about. Though if that is the case, why you didn't just call Lestrade or 999 escapes me. JW
You aren't allergic to anything, is that correct? SH
No I'm not... Why? Sherlock, what potentially toxic experiment did you blow up this time?! JW
Nothing. SH
Okay, I'm off work now, heading home. And if I find acid spilled on the floor, or you bleeding onto the sofa, or anything on fire, I'm going to smother you in your sleep. JW
Well, it's a good thing none of that has occurred then. SH
Alright, I'm in a cab. So what disaster have you created? JW
I'm wounded that you immediately jump to the worst conclusion, John. SH
Most of the time it IS the worst conclusion that's happened. JW
Anyway, what's going on? JW
...I'm hesitant because I worry you'll be angry with me. SH
Well, you won't find out until you tell me what's going on, will you? JW
I suppose not. SH
Sherlock, just tell me! JW
Never mind, you're five minutes from home. Just come up the stairs and you'll find out. SH
Sherlock, why did I ever agree to live with you? JW
This isn't the worst thing I've done and you know it. Besides, you don't even know what this is! SH
Well knowing you, it could be that you've started the apocalypse and you'd still expect me to forgive you. JW
But wouldn't you? SH
... That's not the point! My point was that you are the only person I could believe started the apocalypse. JW
I'm not sure if I should be flattered or insulted. In any case, you're home now, so shut the landing door before coming into the flat. SH
What? Why? JW
Please. SH
Okay, fine, but why? JW
Just come up and see. And don't text and climb stairs; it's dangerous. SH
I do what I want! JW
... John was never ever ever going to tell Sherlock that he tripped on a step two seconds after hitting send, making him almost fall.
He shook his head in frustration after catching himself on the handrail, then stepped onto the landing, shut the door behind him like Mr. Annoyingly Mysterious had ordered him to do, and strode into the sitting room. Alright, so what had Sherlock done this time?
Sudden barking around his ankles made John jump, and, startled, he looked down...
... To lock eyes with the sweetest-looking beagle puppy he had ever seen in his life.
A wide smile spread across his face, and he dropped to his knees to reach for the dog. "Hey there, where did you come from?"
The puppy yelped in what John thought might be fear as he knelt down, and it darted away under the kitchen table, tail between its legs. John frowned in confusion.
"She's a bit skittish."
John stood and found Sherlock perched on his armchair. "I can tell," he chuckled. "So this is the terrible armageddon then?"
Sherlock nodded, smiling. "I found her in an alleyway nearby. She came up to me, as if asking for scraps. It took me nearly half an hour to coax her upstairs, and that was after bribing her with some leftovers."
"Why'd you bring her up here? I wouldn't have thought you would be a dog person." John stepped over and sank into his chair, glancing over his shoulder toward the puppy, who was still crouched under the kitchen table, backed up against one of the legs.
Sherlock was smirking when John looked back at him. "There are still a few mysteries I have kept from you."
"So... you are a dog person," John smiled. "Interesting."
He looked back at the canine in question. "So, what should we do with her? She looks so little, how old is she?"
"I'd estimate about five months. And I think she was dumped, considering how thin she is," Sherlock said, standing and stepping over toward the dog. He knelt down like John had moments ago and held out his hand to her tentatively, beckoning. "And she was abused for the short time she lived in someone's home. No other reason she'd be so skittish. And there's evidence of her left back leg having been broken at some point, but it seems at least one person who knew her cared about her well-being, because there's evidence she was taken to a veterinarian to fix it. Though that brings up the question of why she ended up being dumped, if her owner does care for her. She could have run away from home, but that's unlikely, since she has no collar and the way her fur is flattened slightly around her neck proves she did have a collar until quite recently. She couldn't have taken it off herself, obviously. So, someone removed it for her. And the mud on her paws..." He paused and bent over to examine a clod of dirt on the floor, apparently tracked in by their new arrival. "I'll have to analyze it, but it could pinpoint where she traveled and show us where she came from."
"Oh great, you're deducing canines now," John muttered.
"It's not exactly difficult," Sherlock shrugged. He looked over at John. "In the meantime, she needs food."
John raised his eyebrows. "Okay, so go buy some."
"You know that I can't go to that shop," Sherlock looked away from John and back toward the puppy. "I got banned from there, remember? The asinine chip and pin machine..."
"Yeah, I remember, believe me. But there are other shops in London, Sherlock," John bit back a laugh. "And I always end up being the one getting the shopping. Go yourself for once. Besides, you're the one who brought her to the flat. I'd say that makes her your responsibility until we find out who she really belongs to."
It was a bit risky, giving Sherlock Holmes the responsibility of overseeing the well-being of another living creature, but John was too curious to see how this played out to care. And clandestinely they both knew John would make sure the puppy got fed no matter what anyway.
Sherlock sighed and, with much grumbling and muttering not-so-courteous things under his breath about his flatmate, stood up and left the flat to buy food for the puppy. As soon as the front door shut downstairs, John slid out of his chair onto the floor and tried again to coax their visitor out of hiding.
"Hey, sweetheart," he murmured, trying to approach the small shivering form, still hiding under the kitchen table. "It's alright, I won't hurt you."
She whimpered and scooted farther away from him, tail still tucked firmly between her legs. John sighed and leaned against the back of his chair, still facing her, but deciding not to push it.
She really was an adorable little thing, he thought. Most of her soft-looking body was brown-ish, while her belly was pure white. There was a tuft of white at the tip of her tail, from what he could see of it at least, and her eyes were large and brown and pleading. Yet despite her sweet appearance, everything about her body language and the look in her eyes emanated timidness and fear. She was thin, too thin, for John could see her ribs through her fur. She had either been on her own in the city for days, or she hadn't been fed by her owner. John felt his heart break at the sight. Who could do something like this to such an innocent, sweet animal? Who could hurt her, scare her this badly, and then abandon her?
He sat there, unmoving, for several minutes, watching her watch him. Eventually, she seemed to relax, if only slightly. She lay down and rested her head on her over-sized paws, and her taut tail grew limp. But her large eyes stayed fixed guardedly on him, as if begging him not to come any closer and hurt her.
After about twenty minutes of this vigil, John was starting to get hungry. He didn't want to spook the puppy, though, by moving, especially toward her, so he stayed put. Perhaps she would doze off and then he could make dinner...
It didn't come to that of course. Because in swept the hurricane known as John's flatmate, laden - for once - with shopping bags.
The puppy jumped at the sudden racket and leaped up, barking and growling. She retreated to the corner of the kitchen, her small white teeth bared in what John thought was the most non-threatening look ever to appear on an animal. Oh well, she tried, at least.
Sherlock set down his half-dozen bags and dropped to his knees. John watched in amused surprise as his normally harsh, cold friend smiled at the sight of this small, frightened dog.
"Hello," Sherlock greeted. "It's just me, little one."
She sniffed the air, as if in response, then seemed satisfied. Laying her head back down on her paws, she gave Sherlock an almost approving look, though she still seemed wary of them both. Sherlock sighed in relief and stood back up. He gave John a look that said clearly oh shut up.
John grinned. "So you're the dog deductionist and the dog whisperer now, are you? I should get you business cards."
"Don't be ridiculous," Sherlock waved a faintly annoyed hand. "She just remembered me from before. And communicating telepathically with animals is an imperfect and unproven - not to mention absurd - science-"
"Yeah, okay," John cut him off quickly before he could explain to John just how imperfect and unproven and absurd it was. "What is all this? I thought you were just getting her food."
"Well, she will possibly be here for a while, until we can determine her owner's identity. She may as well be comfortable in the meantime." Sherlock bent down and started to remove the contents of the plastic bags. John peered over his shoulder to see what he'd bought. Dog food, good. A small dog bed, okay... Wait. Chew toys, a collar and a leash, treats...?
John bit back a grin. "Sherlock," he said rather incredulously. "You want to keep her, don't you?"
Sherlock looked at him sharply. "What?" he asked, far too innocently.
"You want to keep her," John repeated, nearly giddy from the revelation.
"Don't be an idiot, John," Sherlock snapped, though with much less of his usual fire. "It's tedious. Of course I do not want to keep her."
"I'm not being an idiot. And you do want to keep her. Go on, admit it."
Sherlock's ears reddened a bit. It was all the answer John needed.
"Sherlock," he said, with a touch more seriousness, though he was still trying to keep from grinning broadly. "We have to find out who she belongs to. We can't just take her."
"Yes thank you, John. May I remind you I'm not six years old?"
"Could have fooled me," John chuckled. "But my point is, you can't get your hopes up that we'll be able to keep her. You said yourself, she already has someone who cares about her, whoever took her to the vet for her leg. So we've got to do our best to discover who that is and return her. It may be she was abused at first but then someone else must have started taking care of her. Whatever the case, we need to find answers, so I wouldn't put too much stock in getting to have her live with us."
Sherlock rolled his eyes, though John could see through the ruse of annoyance and indifference. "As I said previously, I don't want to keep her. Dogs are dirty and troublesome. I just think she should be comfortable while she stays here."
He stormed away, leaving the bags and dog care items scattered at John's feet. The bedroom door slammed a few seconds later, and John sighed in exasperation. Sherlock was such a child sometimes.
"You're picking this mess up," he called.
"You're not my mother!"
"Sometimes I may as well be," John muttered to himself, then raised his voice again. "Well, I'm not your housekeeper either!"
"... Go get Mrs. Hudson, then!"
Hello, everyone! It feels as if it's been ages since I've posted a multi-chapter story, and I really have no excuse... no motivation I guess. So hopefully posting this chapter will kick-start my writing again! Also, I'm not British, and it's late at night here, so any mistakes in this are either because I don't know any better or I'm sleepy and thus didn't notice. Please review my lovelies... It would make my life brighter if you did! :)
Stay tuned for chapter two!