Summary: Sherlock returns to the flat to find that John has allowed a new roommate to join in residence.
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He noticed it immediately.
He wrinkled his nose in distaste and lowered his eyes to the carpeted floor. Grimacing with disgust as he noted the thin yet visible particulate strands scattered along the side of the wall, reaching just above his ankle and continuing up the stairs to the kitchen and sitting area.
Sherlock, with a skill he mastered as a child when he and Mycroft had played hide and seek, crept his way up the stairs.
His suspicious were proven correct when he locked eyes on two very large slit like pupils that stared at him scathingly.
"JOHN!" Sherlock cried loudly as he kept his gazed fixed on small creature before him as it stood lethargically and sauntered away from Sherlock lazily, only to scramble in a pathetically amusing way onto Sherlock's spot on the couch, resting it's lopsided head on its overly large paws.
From above him Sherlock heard the scraping of John dragging his cane across the ground. Clearly he had just woken from a nap and was attempting to readjust to the use of his limbs, Sherlock concluded as the stared at the animal across the room.
John yawned as he entered the room. He looked at Sherlock then at the animal and smiled. "Yes Sherlock?"
"What is that...beast?" Sherlock exclaimed in annoyance. Suddenly he turned toward John, "From the golden and white coloration, prominent under bite and stocky disposition, it is most certainly a British Bulldog." Sherlock did not pose the sentence as a question, but rather as a confident statement. And John only grunted in reply as he shuffled over to the side of the small pup, patting it's head reassuringly.
"This is Gladstone." John said sternly as he took a seat in his armchair.
"You've named the beast already? And after one of our former prime ministers?" Sherlock asked incredulously.
"Yes. Now shut up and sit down. The game's coming on." John commanded as he pointed the remote control at the television, lighting the screen.
Sherlock however, refused to move.
"Oh what is it now?" John groaned, rubbing his brow in frustration.
"The beast is in my spot." Sherlock stated in his most serious voice. John didn't grace Sherlock with a reply as he merely turned the television up.
Sherlock looked at the dog for another moment before very slowly he moved to the couch. Before sitting however, he made a clearly designated area between himself and the dog by placing one of the small sitting pillows between their two bodies. A boundary that was ignored completely by the dog as he raised his heavy head and laid it onto Sherlock's thigh.
He tensed stared at the beast for a moment before letting out a reluctant sigh and allowing himself to gaze out the window.
By the end of the match Gladstone had found his way onto Sherlock's lap, curled into a ball, eyes closed, pink tongue sticking out haphazardly as his legs occasionally twitched in his sleep.
Sherlock however, didn't seem to have noticed this as he hadn't moved at all since the game had started, nor had he said anything, which John found odd. He soon found why this was however as he looked back and saw Sherlock's head tipped to the side, black hair sticking to his forehead as he breathed silently through his nose.
John grinned a bit as he leaned against his cane.
He knew they would get along.