"John?" Sherlock called, waiting at the door impatiently with Gladstone. "John, we don't have all day."
John appeared at the top of the stairs, jumping down them wearily.
"Yes, I am aware," he informed Sherlock. "Where are we going again?"
Sherlock sighed. "We're going to visit a suspect, then I figured we could take Gladstone to the dog park. She's been looking mournful since seeing that handsome male dalmatian last week."
John snorted. "Yeah, sure."
The visit to the suspect turned out to be a bust, Sherlock noting without the first five minutes two traits that were incompatible with the person who'd committed the crime.
Sherlock excused them, not badly, even managed to apologize and smile, which left his face as soon as he swept out the door, John and Gladstone trailing on his heels.
"That was a complete waste of time," he muttered. "At least we're close to the dog park," he noted, glancing down at Gladstone, who was trotting alongside him looking quite pleased.
Sure enough, within only a few minutes of walking, John could see the leash less dog park. Gladstone perked up. Sherlock actually had to scold her gently to slow down, getting a bit ahead of them in her excitement.
After all, she still had a job to do, even if she could smell that handsome dalmatian on the breeze.
"Is the one in the vest yours?" a man holding a leash asked.
John glanced up at him. "Oh, well, not mine, but she belongs to my friend, so... sort of."
The man nodded. "The dalmatian is mine. Winston. I'm Carl." H extended his hand and John shook it.
"John. And the dog is Gladstone. She's been quite interested in your dog."
The man laughed. "Oh, he's a big flirt. Don't want Gladstone to have her heart broken."
"No, no we don't," John agreed, looking around for Sherlock, who seemed nowhere to be found.
They stood in silence for a moment, watching their dogs sniff each other and play fight over a particularly good stick.
John felt Carl looking at him. He glanced over.
Carl took this opportunity to speak.
"Why's she wearing a vest?"
"She's a service dog," John muttered, very much not wanting to have this conversation, glancing around for Sherlock to rescue him. He knows he shouldn't be too far from Gladstone, so he probably hasn't gone far, maybe up a tree or something, but it still worried John.
"Oh! Like a seeing eye dog?"
"Sort of, yeah," John confirmed.
He looked over for Gladstone or the dalmatian, but couldn't see either.
"They just went behind that bush," Carl said, seeing where John was looking. "So if she's not a seeing eye dog, then what is she?"
Thankfully, Sherlock chose that moment to show up.
"John," he said urgently, "We need to go."
John raised an eyebrow and began to open his mouth, but Sherlock cut him off.
"No, not like that," he huffed, rolling his eyes. "It's about the case. Now get Gladstone and let's go."
John sighed, wondering why he was the one to be fetching Gladstone when she was Sherlock's dog, but didn't say anything to Sherlock, because he was eyeing Carl suspiciously.
John trudged over towards the bush where Carl said he had last seen them, but they weren't there.
"For goodness sake..." he muttered. "Gladstone!" he called, straightening up. "Come here girl!"
But there was no little woof in reply, no bounding ball in a green vest coming to greet him. John's heart sank. That couldn't mean anything good. Gladstone always came when she was called, unless she was with Sherlock. Except she wasn't.
John jogged back over to Sherlock and Carl, who were still staring each other down.
"She's not there," he said breathlessly.
Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him. "What do you mean? Weren't you watching her?"
"Of course I was Sherlock! But she's not my dog. You try calling her."
Sherlock rolled his eyes, but stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled. John winced and several dogs in the park perked up, but none of them was Gladstone in her little green vest.
"What about Winston?" Carl asked frantically. "Did you see him?"
John shook his head.
Carl strode off in the direction the dogs had last been seen.
"Winston!" he called out. "Winston!"
No spotted dog came running for him.
John could see that Sherlock was not at all okay as he jabbed at his phone with shaking fingers.
"Lestrade," he greeted, holding the phone up to his ear. "Gladstone has been dognapped. Send help."
And with that he hung up, redialling, and holding the phone up to his ear again. He had to wait for it to ring a couple of times, shifting impatiently.
"Mycroft. Gladstone has been dognapped. I need you to declare a state of emergency."
There was a reply from Mycroft, presumably one Sherlock wasn't pleased with, as he rolled his eyes and sighed. "No, I don't care. This is a matter of national importance as well. And even if you don't think so, you will jump to it because I am your brother!"
He hung up and looked at John.
"Mycroft seems to think a crisis in some small African country is more important than this."
John was inclined to agree, but didn't say so. Sherlock looked panicked enough as it was, and that was something John was unused to seeing on the consulting detective.
