It was another fine day in the meadows where John was contentedly munching on some sweet grass while Sherlock was on one of his recconaissance mode - scoping the signs of past traffic by investigating patterns on the soil, the bend of the grass by the trampling of animals and in one instance sniffing at the dried up poo from a passing bird which the wolf deduced is contracted by an illness prone to affect birds from the south near to their end of year life term. When Sherlock told John about the bird, the sheep wrinkled his nose (whether because of the disgust from the poo-smelling or pity on the bird) before saying an honest-sounding exclamation of "That's impressive!" which made the wolf puff up in pride. Sherlock then sauntered away to look for more things to inform John while the sheep turned back to his lunch. Suddenly there was a sharp bark from behind them.
"John! Watch out!"
Sherlock was only able to whip his head in surprise as a blur of grey passed by his vision to tumble John to the ground. The wolf was about to lunge forward to save his friend but what he saw made him stop.
On top of a fallen sheep, crouched a dog, its body as big as John's with grey fur streaked with silver that it made a shining affect in the mid-day sun. What hinted Sherlock that the sheep was not in any danger was the fact that instead of panicking, John looked more annoyed and instead of instantly trying to gouge out the dogs eyes with his horns, John was trying to get the dog off of him with a hard butt with his head.
"What are you doing!? Gerrof!" John cried.
"You idiot!" The dog snapped. "Didn't you see the wolf there!?"
"I know that!" the sheep yelled but the dog was too busy growling at Sherlock to listen. The sheep gave an exasperated grunt before he landed a hard kick on one of the dogs's leg with his hoof. The dog gave a surprised yelp and there was a scuffle before the two scrambled away from each other.
"What the hell-!" the dog barked before he started nosing at his bruised leg.
"He's my friend, all right!" the sheep said angrily, "We were just... hanging out."
The dog's tongue was left sticking out of his mouth in the middle of licking his leg to stare at the sheep incredulously. "What?"
"He's my friend," the sheep said with a gusty sigh, "Sherlock, Greg. Greg, Sherlock."
"Charmed," Sherlock said sounding the opposite of it.
"Yeeaaah..." the dog drawled before walking over to John to hiss at him, "Are you out of your mind?"
John rolled his eyes. "Haven't been in any head-butting competition lately, so nope, I'm still lucid, thanks."
"Haha, funny, John. In case you're not - Wolves eat sheep."
"This one doesn't. He only eats rats and anything as small as that," John assured him.
Greg looked at him in disbelief. "Oh, you've seen him eat have you?"
"Of course," John replied, "It's like seeing Molly eat. All dainty-like. 'Said he wishes that he's a vegetarian because the digestive process of eating meat as disruptive to his thought process."
Greg blinked before turning his eyes at the wolf who was looking at them boredly.
"Wolves eat dogs, too, if you must know," Sherlock said.
Greg narrowed his eyes while John walked towards the wolf to give him a gentle bump with the side of his head. "Behave. He's my friend, too"
The wolf merely huffed but looked satisfied when John settled down beside him. The dog blinked again before he shook his head in amazement.
"Why are you here, anyway?" John asked the dog, "It's not the time for your boss' herd to graze is it? I thought they'd be back in the farm for shearing by now."
The dog suddenly acquired a serious demeanor, making John perk to attention. Beside him, Sherlock eyes gleamed in interest that would've raised Greg's hackles if he was looking at the wolf but as it were, Greg was more focused on telling John his story.
"Yeah, that's why I slipped out so they won't realise I'm gone from the farm, Greg said, "Racheal's kittens are dying. First it was Ally, then Jimmy and now Jenny. The boss reckoned that they were malnourished somehow and promised to bring the vet over when he takes a look at the Helen who's due to calve sometime next week. The vet hasn't been able to come by yet and Rache is worried."
"Are you asking me if I can come over and take a look at the rest of her kittens for you?" John asked.
"If you wouldn't mind, yeah," Greg replied.
"Right, I'll just - what?" John said, when he saw Sherlock staring at him.
"You know how to diagnose animal ailments?" said Sherlock in surprise, "John! You are a wonder!"
John smiled bashfully. "I spent some time in the vet's office when I was a lamb being taken care of because of my leg. A lot of sick or injured animals come and go and I get to listen to the doc when he works so I know a bit on how to treat animals."
Greg stared at John's shy smile before flicking his attention towards Sherlock who was looking at John with unabashed delight.
The dog cleared his throat loudly before saying, "Shall we, John?"
"I will come with you," Sherlock announced.
Greg gave him a bark of disbelief. "No, you're not. My job is to keep predators away from the boss' place. Even if John vouches for you, you'll be shot on sight by the farm-hands!"
"I won't eat any animals there," Sherlock assured the dog with a voice designed to soothe skittish colts. Which, considering what Sherlock is, it was pretty damn impressive. "I'll keep low."
"He can help," John said, "He's really smart. Smarter than me, even. If I can't find out what's happening to the kittens, he can."
Greg looked at the John's earnest expression and huffed. "Oh, fine! Hope he does get shot," the dog mumbled at the end.
It turned out, Sherlock managed to evade notice except at the last minute when one of the farmhands saw Sherlock sniffing at a patch of grass where the kittens like to play. Sherlock would've been wounded or worse yet, killed by the bullet fired by the man if it wasn't for John suddenly butting the human hard against the legs that the man stumbled.
Sherlock and John then scappered out of there and Greg ran after them as a pretense of giving chase. As soon as the three managed to get far from sight, the wolf and the sheep looked at each other and started giggling while Greg rolled his eyes in annoyance.
"So, what did you find out?" Greg demanded, ignoring the way the wolf and the sheep were nosing at each other for any injuries.
"The kittens were healthy," John said, "I can't find any signs that any of them are malnourished. It's difficult to imagine the rest from the same litter to be different. It must've been something that the dead kittens have eaten or drank away from their usual sustenance that caused them to die."
"Poison," Sherlock said abruptly. "Simple."
"That's what I thought at first," said Greg gruffly, "but I couldn't find any-"
"The lawn where the kittens like to play," Sherlock told him, "Cats are known to nibble on grass."
Greg and John stared at him. "The grass is poisoned? How? From the soil somehow?" Greg asked.
"Don't be ridiculous," Sherlock berated the dog, "the poison acted too fast. No, the poison is administered straight onto the surface of the grass itself and only a small portion which is the place where the kittens like to go to when they go out. The poison is weak but enough to kill small creatures and has been applied continuously, based on the multiple indentation of the soil made by one size of shoe-print. The poison was still strong when I had a lick so the last application was made recently in the past three hours. It was not an accident. They were targeted."
John gaped. "You licked-"
Greg swore. "Oh Christ! The poison! Racheal's kittens! Why didn't you tell me earlier, you damn wolf!"
John and Sherlock watched as Greg bounded back towards the farm.
"I don't know why he's in a hurry," Sherlock said with a sigh, "the kittens are being given a wash and it'll be an hour before they'll be ready to be let loose outside."
"I wonder how Greg's going to handle the poisoning problem," John said.
Sherlock turned around to find a creek to wash the foul taste on his mouth from licking the grass. John followed.
"He already knows it's the little boy Jeffry from the farm over who's known for terrorising animals," the wolf said, "He must've sneaked in to brush poison onto the tip of the grass. At least now Greg knows who to look out for and what."
"You are amazing do you know that?" John said, bumping gently against Sherlock with his body. Sherlock bumped him back.
After a moment of silence, John spoke up, "Now, about you licking poisonous grass-"