Title: Of dogs and dead Consulting Detectives
Part: 2/4
Author: Usagi-Atemu-Tom
Rating: PG
Genre: General/Romance
Warnings: Post Reichenbach, a bit of violence
Pairings: Sherlock/John
Feedback: Please, yes, I love feedback! Constructive critic is especially welcome.
Summary: After meeting the English Pointer for the first time, running with the dog through London became a rather exciting routine. But with the first kind of change in motion, further will follow soon.
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, everything belongs to the respective creators and of course the talented actors who gifted the characters with their great personality.
And not to forget, much thanks to Lee-Ann for suffering through my spelling mistakes and grammatical errors once more!
John had to explain the story twice before Mrs. Hudson was ready to even believe the bizarreness of the incident. But after she did, life fell back into routine. It was a new, unusual routine however, because this one included the English Pointer John had met around a week ago. He continued seeing the dog and it became more bizarre from there on.
At first he always went to Regent Park every two or three days when he had no night shift. Every time the dog was there, waiting for him. And after their third meeting where the English Pointer stole his keys to use as a tool for the chase, the former army doctor decided to buy a nice little chew toy for dogs which he offered to his new animal friend as the item of chasing.
The dog accepted his offer easily enough and they continued running through London every time they met, always ending the chase either in Baker Street or at least nearby. The English Pointer stayed with John until they heard the sound of whistling, which called the dog home to its owner. Till now the doctor had not caught a glimpse of the person who called his dog friend.
The mystery got even weirder when John had to work night shifts for over a week, because they had been caught up in a flu epidemic that left them understaffed and overworked. Unable and too tired to visit the park even once within eight days, the former army doctor already feared that by the time he was able to go there again, the English Pointer would no longer be there.
Therefore it came as a great surprise when John woke up after an especially stressing nightshift and, stepping out of the door to go to the supermarket, a very familiar dog was standing in front of him, barking and crashing against his legs in happiness of seeing him.
"What the hell are you doing here?" John exclaimed surprised, eyes wide in disbelief. Of course the dog could not answer, but that did not stop it from grabbing the keys, the doctor still held in his hands and ran some steps forward, looking pointedly at John.
Cursing quietly for not having taken the dog toy with him - obviously since he had not expected to see it today - John resigned to his fate of chasing after his keys for the second time.
When the English Pointer and him returned to Baker Street, John had all but forgotten about his groceries and he was sweaty but satisfied. The dog still seemed to have energy after all the running while they waited for the call that would send the animal towards its owner. However, after standing outside Baker Street for nearly ten minutes and no whistling could be heard, the former army doctor became concerned.
"Where is your owner?" he wondered anxiously. The English Pointer moved its head to the side whining quietly for a second before it stood up and went straight towards the door of 221B. Barking, the dog looked at John expectantly until the doctor finally gave up.
"Okay, okay, let's go inside for a while, but only until your owner gives a sign of his presence, yes?"
The dog continued barking until John finally opened the door. The English Pointer was inside before he could even blink. Sighing he followed the eager animal and he could not deny the fond smile that played around his lips the entire time.
John's unusual guest stayed inside his flat till early evening and he was a surprisingly pleasant flatmate. Of course the dog had to run around first, sniffing at everything in childlike curiosity. But the worst he did was jumping on the couch John rarely sat on anyway, because for him it was Sherlock's place and he still treated most of the things his former flatmate used regularly with a certain distance, like an object of art that was not supposed to be touched.
After the dog lay down, it did not budge much anymore, only the tail moved excitedly every time John spoke to his unusual companion. Of course the doctor couldn't resist, while walking through his flat, making tea, preparing dinner, to stroke over the content dog's head every time he walked by the couch.
The man and the dog spent an easy afternoon until around evening they could both hear the shrill sound of whistling through the open window. Barking like mad, the English Pointer sprinted towards the door, scratching the wood with its front legs, waiting for John to open it.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm getting it", the former army doctor laughed walking at a leisure speed towards the door and opened it. Still barking the English Pointer rushed towards the front door, nearly giving poor Mrs. Hudson a heart attack, as she was just opening the door from the outside.
"John, the dog!" the elder exclaimed, her voice a fine mixture of panic and indignation as she watched the animal run along the street until it vanished behind a corner.
"Sorry for the scare, Mrs. Hudson", the doctor apologised sheepishly, taking one of the bags of her groceries that she let go of when she was nearly run over. "The owner just called. I guess it was time to go."
"Did that beauty spent the whole day with you, John?" Mrs. Hudson asked curiously walking towards her entrance opening the door.
"Yeah, I guess so. It's still not my dog, mind you."
"Well, if everything continues like this, I would advise you to reconsider your opinion of ownership, John", the old lady reprimanded amused. "I really have the feeling it won't be the last time you'll see the little beauty inside the flat, mark my words."
John laughed over her promise good naturally, trying to not think too much about it. However, in the end Mrs. Hudson was right. Weeks passed and John's acquaintance with the dog turned regular. It no longer mattered if he went to the park or not, the dog would find him anyway. Every second day the English Pointer would show up and spent some time with the former army doctor. Sometimes they just ran around London for a while before the owner called it back, sometimes the dog stayed in the flat.
Before he knew it John bought some dog food, feeding dishes and toys for his regular guest. He even sacrificed one of Sherlock's blankets he had kept, when the dog found it and ruined the piece of cloth by burying its teeth into it anyway. The whole behaviour of the dog was a mystery. Mrs. Hudson said so, as did Greg, when he was introduced to the English Pointer the first time.
If Sherlock had been here, John was sure he would have been itching to solve the mystery about the appearances, the owner and everything in between. But Sherlock was not here and without his best friend he did not feel the urge for mystery solving at all. Instead he was content for the companionship and the excitement they achieved with running through London.
The appearance of the dog into John's life was a good occurrence. However, after the first excitement about his new friend had calmed down, John noticed something else had changed in his life. Often he felt watched. John never got prove to his suspicion; it was a gut instinct, a tingling in his spine that he knew quite well from his army days and saved his life more than once.
Past experience was the main reason why he did not simply ignore the uncomfortable feeling. Instead he started analysing, trying to discern when the watching might have started. Soon he realised that it was around the same time the dog first showed up. Of course that caused his first thought about the identity of the watcher to be the mysterious owner, however he sometimes also felt watched on the days the dog did not show up. And sometimes he was even sure the stares came from more than one direction. He did not think the dog had more than one owner, therefore he dismissed the idea of it being that person.
And then he saw one CCTV cameras moving one day and he was sure he knew who the culprit might be. Mycroft Holmes had been trying to reach him for weeks now. There were three unanswered calls and around 50 phone messages. John had deleted them all without reading. Truth to be told he had been surprised the elder Holmes had not yet sent the usual black car or been waiting in front of his house.
It was one of the reasons he also deemed the messages not important. If Mycroft really needed to tell him something, he would find a way. The fact that he respected John's wish to not be approached was enough for him to guess Mycroft might just have been enquiring on his health.
None the less, the realisation that he was still being watched by the elder Holmes sent bad vibes down his spine and made John surprisingly angry. This should not have been anything new. He was aware that Sherlock's brother had been watching him since the day he shot the cabbie. And knowing what kind of stupid stunts Sherlock more often than not performed, putting them both into rather tight situations, John could understand the elder Holmes' need to an extent. He could understand even more than he liked the more he found out about his best friend's past abuses with drugs.
However, Sherlock Holmes was dead now and he really did not wish to be under surveillance twenty-four hours a day just for the rather unusual feeling of sentiment Mycroft seemed to be experiencing. Still, John was too proud to contact the man on his behalf. He made it a habit, however to take some time and glare into each camera he noticed following his moves.
It was not until two months later, when John was returning from one of his nightshifts, tired and in a rare bad mood, that found Mycroft Holmes waiting patiently in front of 221B. For a second he considered ignoring the elder Holmes, but then he realised that this was the best chance he would get to take care of his surveillance problem.
Giving Mycroft a disgruntled look, he granted the elder Holmes just enough time to open his mouth before cutting him off rather harshly.
"I honestly don't care what you have to say, Mycroft. To be frank I still don't feel like talking to you at all, but since you are here anyway I guess this is a good chance as any to tell you that I want the surveillance gone. I. Don't. Bloody. Care. For what reasons you decided to still keep an eye on me, but I. Don't. Want it. Therefore, get it off. Leave me alone!"
Breathing sharply after his little rant, he emphasised his words by looking at Mycroft with a face that would have certainly made Sherlock proud. Of course, the elder brother was rather unfazed at John's speech. In fact he did not even twitch a face muscle.
"I apologise for the inconvenience, John, but unfortunately, this is necessary", was the rather uninformative reply.
"I don't fucking care, get them away from me, Mycroft!"
"You don't understand...", but John interrupted long before he could end the sentence.
"And I said I don't care! Being watched is getting on my last nerves. I'm a big boy, Mycroft, I can take care of myself I don't need a babysitter. So, stop watching my every step or else!"
"Or what, John Watson?" the elder Holmes asked coolly. "What could you do?"
"I'm not sure yet, but I'll find something and if I have to look through Sherlock's things and see if he had a diary or something like that where he wrote down your dirty secrets."
John had shouted the last part and both men fell silent when the words sank in. It had gotten them by surprise, the fact that John mentioned Sherlock's name, especially in front of Mycroft. The elder Holmes was finally showing some signs of reaction, his shoulders sagged slightly.
"John", he started in a surprising tired voice, "there are suspicious people who are watching you. They are everywhere, all around you. Admittedly they already lessened from 20 men and women to around 15 for whatever reason there is, but fact is, they are still around and most of them are on a wanted list be it here in Europe or other continents. Something is going on, and it obviously seems to be about you. And then there is this strange dog you've been chasing around all London."
At these last words, John perked up a bit.
"Oh, you noticed my little buddy?" he asked, already realising that it was stupid to be surprised by the revelation. This was Mycroft bloody Holmes he was talking about. Of course he knew if he befriended a foreign dog. That man would know if he took a worm as his new pet.
"Yes, that dog of yours seems rather - extraordinary", Mycroft replied, tone bored. "And what a nice surprise that you meet a dog that continues to show up wherever you are up to and including your very own doorstep."
"Oh please, spare me the sarcasm, Mycroft, it doesn't suit you", John sighed, rolling his eyes, before curiosity got the better of him. "But tell me, if you already have me on surveillance, did you catch a glimpse of the owner?"
"No", Mycroft answered immediately and his voice was dead serious once more, "which is exactly what worries me. Whoever this dog belongs to knows exactly how to stay out of my sight, something even your stalkers have not accomplished."
"And you really think now, just because someone doesn't like being seen by you, that this person is out to get me?" the doctor asked and it was his turn to sound sarcastic. "I mean, please Mycroft, if that dog's owner wanted me dead, all he or she had to do was tell the dog to attack me. That English Pointer is well trained, I have no doubt it could be taught to attack on command. Yet, here I am, very much alive and with a new friend by my side."
"Yes, true, John, but this doesn't change the fact that something is going on, something big."
"And consequently you need to continue to watch me, to keep an eye on things."
"Precisely."
"I don't think so; stop watching my every step Mycroft!" John all of the sudden shouted, fed up. "As I've said, I can take care of myself. So, leave. Me. The hell. Alone!"
"John, you can't be serious", Mycroft protested, though he sounded the slightest bit unsure. It seemed even he had not expected for the doctor to explode like this.
"Oh for heaven's sake", John rolled his eyes exasperated. "Two weeks, Mycroft. Give me two weeks of peace and quiet. I'll be careful and I keep my eyes open. But I don't want to find a single CCTV following my every step. If you stay away for two weeks you may continue as you please afterwards. Do we have a deal?"
Mycroft looked at John, who was holding out his hand with a disgruntled face. However the fiery eyes and the strained jaw seemed to tell the elder Holmes what he needed. John was obviously striving to follow through with his threats and in the end the older sibling decided it was not worth the fight.
"So be it", he decided with a sigh. "Two weeks, John, and not a day more."
"Yes", the former army doctor nodded, eyes narrowed. "And you'll be sorry if I find a single CCTV or person of yours trailing me. The whole deal will be off that very second and you can stop bothering me for the rest of my bloody life."
"Noted", Mycroft answered dryly while John opened the main door to 221B.
"Don't worry, Mycroft, I am not helpless, I know how to take care of myself", John assured the man, even though he did not exactly look worried. "I'll keep my eyes open, just in case."
"It's all I can ask for", was the last thing the doctor heard before he closed the door in Mycroft's face.
After Mycroft's unexpected visit and the revelations of people watching him, John became more alert. Not only was he looking out for signs of Mycroft breaking his promise, but he also noticed that contrary to his personal opinion, of course the elder Holmes was right once more. There were indeed some suspicious people watching him.
So far, they had kept their distance. But John could feel their stares leaving him feeling far more unpleasant and alert than he had when Mycroft watched him. For now he continued with his usual routine. Work, home, meeting with Greg to rebut the accusations against Sherlock and of course running through London with the English Pointer he had befriended.
Even though he now was aware of his mysterious followers, they did not interfere. Therefore he tried to ignore them as best as he could. That was until about a week later the actions of his spies changed. John had noticed before that the number of people watching him reduced further within a few days. In fact, four days after his talk with Mycroft, he estimated only six people left. Two days before that he had counted nine.
Six days after the unwelcome visit, John had nightshift, leaving him to sleep in late. Since it was Sunday, he took his time with domestic puttering, catching up on little chores. It was already getting dark outside when he decided to leave the house for a walk. Unsurprised he found his dog friend already waiting in front of his door, tail eagerly waving. Smiling the former army doctor greeted the English Pointer before starting a light jog.
He still felt a bit tired from his latest shift and lazing around the flat. Therefore he decided it would be better to get themselves reacquainted with London's streets first before he felt awake enough to start another chase. The dog ran easily enough beside him, tongue lolling out, tail still in eager movement.
It happened when he turned into one of the smaller streets, which was already abandoned and silent. John would later admit to himself that he had been careless. His mind had been so busy wondering where to go this evening and where to start with the chase, that he did not notice the two shadows following him until he was all alone and perfectly out of sight.
If it had not been for his companions sudden halt, hackles going up and the dog letting out an surprisingly deep and threatening growl towards the entrance of the small street, John might have been taken totally by surprise. As it was, he barely had time to curse and grasp the presence of two men, not to mention the glint of at least one gun pointed at him, before instinct took over his actions.
The former army doctor did not think about the snarl that could be heard, followed by a cry of pain then whimpering and grunts of a starting fight. His instincts simply perceived the man with the knife as the greater threat left to him and he attacked. It was rather obvious by his movements that the man was a professional - if not killer, at least a fighter.
John certainly caught him by surprise with his quick actions and bold attack, but the man still succeeded in evading his fists. On the other hand, he was equally unable to succeed a hit on John, even with his knife. It was after all not the first time the former army doctor had to defend himself against an assassin. His time in Afghanistan taught him well and his time with Sherlock kept him on his toes and made sure he honed his skills.
They exchanged blows, both unsuccessful in hitting their target. It felt like ages as both men circled each other, looking for an opening. In the end, it was the sudden, piercing scream of pain from the men's companion that decided the fight. John had learned and trained himself long ago to not be distracted during a fight, to trust his comrades to watch his back.
It was no different here. While he did not have time to think, he instinctively knew that he had a partner in form of that marvellous, well trained English Pointer. Therefore as the scream came, he kept his eyes on his target. His opponent did not. For a few, precious seconds, his eyes flickered towards where he assumed his comrade to be. John did not need more for the opening and he did not care to fight honourably.
His first kick hit the man viciously between his legs. With a pained grunt, the attacker's knife fell to the floor. The next two punches hit the man in the gut and against the temple, rendering him unconscious almost immediately. Only then did John allow himself to register his surroundings again.
The fight, he estimated by a quick look towards the sky, could not have taken more than minutes, even if it felt like hours. His opponent lay at the ground, but so did his partner. The English Pointer was standing on the other man's chest, hackles raised, teeth barred and a horrible, frightening growl continuously coming out of its mouth.
The dogs nuzzle was red from blood and looking closer he could see the ugly wounds on the man's right arm, his left thigh and shoulder. The man was deathly pale, and his face a mask of pure, unconcealed horror. He was close to fainting, if from blood loss or the sight of the maniac looking dog John could not tell nor did he care. After all, just minutes before this man had been about to kill him with a gun.
Remembering the weapon, the doctor looked around until he found the gun lying far out of reach nearly under a dumpster. With the calmness of soldier, he went forward, picked the weapon up before pointing at with a calm hand towards his attacker. He had not needed to bother, though because by the time he paid attention to the wounded man again it was clear he had fallen unconscious.
Walking slowly towards the still growling dog, John put the gun inside his jeans before kneeling down a bit away from them holding out his free hand, while the other grasped his mobile phone already dialling 999.
"Hey, easy, buddy!" he talked to the agitated dog with a calm voice. "You did good there, you really did. But the threat is over, you can calm down now, you know. Come here, my little protector! Come to me!"
It was an obvious sign not only how very well trained the dog obviously was, but also that it seemed to have already imprinted on John very much because following his softly spoken command, the dog did indeed cease its attention towards their attacker and walked towards him, calming down. Whining just slightly, the English Pointer licked over John's outstretched hand before nuzzling against his full body.
The former army doctor did not care one bit that his clothes were now contaminated with blood. He simply stroke over the dogs head, praising him in a quiet, wondrous voice, only now slowly realising that this animal had just saved his life, before finally pressing dial on his mobile to call Greg Lestrade.
Half an hour later found John sitting at the edge of a rather familiar emergency vehicle, an orange shock blanket around his shoulders. His hands were absentmindedly buried inside the soft fur of the English Pointer, stroking the affectionate animal while talking to Greg.
"Shit John, that is a rather dangerous friendship you developed there", the D.I. cursed, voice rough. "If it hadn't been for your first aid, that man would have died from the attack."
John shrugged his shoulders, not exactly worried.
"I hope you're not planning to take the dog in and organise a trial against my new friend, Greg. After all it was simply protecting me. That man had been pointing a gun at me after all. If it weren't for the dog, I would have been the dead one here and I bet no one would have revived me."
Lestrade cursed some more after this, hands going through his grey hair in a gesture of helplessness.
"I know that of course, John. Shit I certainly do. And Anderson did take the required photos of the dog and blood samples. But still protocol would dictate me to keep the dog until everything has been surveyed and your statement confirmed."
"Will be hard to ensure", the former army doctor commented dryly because at that moment they could both hear the loud whistle of a person echoing through the evening. John did not try very hard to hold the dog. Before Greg or anyone else could even think to react the English Pointer had started running and was out of the alley, vanishing quickly within the masses of curious onlookers.
Groaning Greg put a hand in front of his face, before glaring at John half heartedly. The doctor shrugged once more, his face not even apologising.
"This dog saved my life, Greg", he repeated quietly. "I will state that a thousand times again if I have to, so please leave the dog alone."
Sighing the Detective Inspector look his friend over, before closing his eyes in defeat.
"I'll see what I can do, John. What about you, are you all right? Do you want to go to the hospital? Or should I accompany you home?"
He shook his head, sending a strained smile towards Greg.
"I'm fine, Greg", he assured, shrugging the blanket from his shoulders. "In fact, if you don't need me anymore I would like to go home. Though you don't have to bother escorting me. I'd like to walk, to get my mind free."
Looking John over with a suspicious glint, the D.I. finally gave in, knowing how stubborn the doctor could be.
"All right, I leave you for now, but if you think you are in any more danger, or if you just need someone to talk to, feel free to call me anytime, John."
Nodding, he looked at the Detective Inspector with grateful eyes.
"Thanks, Greg", he replied with a sigh. "I promise I will."
Jumping from the backside of the emergency vehicle, John waved a quick goodbye over his shoulder before getting out of the alley that was now resembling a bee hive instead of the lonely, forlorn street it had been an hour ago.
Still running high on adrenaline and the rush of excitement he always felt when he found himself once again alive after a dangerous encounter, John allowed his mind and senses to flow the whole way back to Baker Street.
And when he opened the door to let himself inside his home, he realised with shocked surprise that from the four people who had still been watching him yesterday, now with two of them out of the way, there had been none left to watch him on his way home. The last two of his stalkers seemed to have vanished into thin air. John could not help the shudder running through his body. Maybe he should have been relieved. But instead he simply felt as if the biggest event was still to come.
tbc...
