There was something strange going on, Sherlock realised, stepping into the hallway. It was too quiet. Quietly, he stepped into the kitchen, looking for his mother.

"Sherly? Is that you, sweetheart?"

"Yes."

His mother, smiling widely, entered the room. "We've got a surprise for you, come on!"

She took him into the living room, where stood a box from which was coming a soft snorty sound. He looked at it blankly and then back at his mother. "You haven't got a baby in there, have you?"

"No, of course I havent! Just go and look." She gently pushed her youngest son towards it and continued beaming as he edged towards it.

Inside the box was a little, fluffy creature, an Irish Setter puppy, with glossy brown fur and a black shiny nose. Its dark, hopeful eyes gazed up at him and its tiny tail started thumping.

"He's for you. Daddy and I thought it might be nice for you to have a friend to play with."

"He's very nice." Sherlock wasn't sure about dogs. This one, however, seemed alright. He wasn't barking or growling, which was a good sign. He gently patted his head. The puppy turned up his head to lick his fingers and Sherlock saw a streak of auburn underneath his chin.

"What will you call him?" Mummy asked.

"Redbeard."


Redbeard was the best dog in the world. He was always happy when Sherlock came home from school, always jumping around madly, large ears boucing around. knocking the brunette over and licking him, his tail wagging. The best part was, Redbeard truly was a friend to him.

If he got sad, Redbeard was there to place a paw on his knee and nuzzle him until he cheered up.

If he got bored, Redbeard was there to play with.

If he got lonely, Redbeard was there to talk to. He didn't even care if Sherlock nattered away for hours.

If he needed protecting from his brother's angry words, Redbeard was there to bark loudly until Mycroft shut up.

If he got cold, Redbeard was there to give him hugs.

If he got angry or upset, Redbeard understood that Sherlock needed someone to vent to.

Sherlock loved Redbeard.


He never thought he'd be without his friend. Until one day, Redbeard started knocking into things, slowing down, not eating. Mycroft sat him down and explained that Redbeard was getting old. Soon, he'd need to be put down. Sherlock didn't want to believe it. He wouldn't let this happen, Redbeard was his best friend! He couldn't die, he mustn't!

He continued in this train of thought- that Redbeard wasn't allowed to die just yet- until Daddy came to see him, put an arm around his shoulders and explained that Redbeard would die in pain, unless he was put down.

There was no choice. He wouldn't let Redbeard die painfully. His best friend deserved more than that. On the morning of Redbeard's pet appointment, Sherlock pulled him into his lap and buried his face into Redbeard's fur.

"You are the best dog in the world. You have made my life so much more bearable than it would have been without you. Thank you so much. I'm sorry about what's going to happen. I love you."

Redbeard simply nuzzled against him, licking his cheek. Sherlock hugged Redbeard one last time and then his father gently took him away. He couldn't come with his father to the vet's. He knew he wouldn't be able to stand for it.

"Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock." Mycroft said, months later when his brother was still in mourning. "You should remember that."

And Sherlock did.