Chapter Two: Four Feet
Despite his stomach's loud protests, John set the scone down again. Sherlock threw his onto the floor, where it smashed, and sprayed cherries all over the carpet. Before John could say anything, Sherlock was clattering down the stairs loudly. John heard the door closing, and heard three sets of feet coming up the stairs.
The first set was the fastest. And there were four of them. John stood up just as a golden retriever bounded into the room. Its slobbery tongue lolled wildly to one side, its tail wagging so enthusiastically it could demolish the building. It spotted John and ran at him, banging sideways into his legs before he could stop it. The dog's attention was caught by Sherlock's smashed scone on the floor. It trotted over and started to enthusiastically eat the crumbs and cherries.
The second set of feet belonged to who must have been the dog's owner. She was a woman of about seventy, John thought rather vaguely, with a thinning head of grey curly hair. She was out of breath from the climb up the stairs. "Sam!" she said to the dog. The dog looked up and obediently trotted over to sit at her feet. She noticed John then, and adopted an embarrassed expression. "I'm so sorry about that, he just gets so excited in new places." She chuckled slightly, looking down at Sam.
The third set of feet was hovering behind the old woman, clearly frustrated at being held back on his journey up the stairs. The woman took a few steps forward, and Sherlock slipped past her and into the room. "This is Mrs. Morton," he said as he threw himself into his chair.
"Take a seat," John said to Mrs. Morton, and he gestured at his chair that faced Sherlock's. She sat down. John was about to apologise for the mess on the floor, but then noticed it was almost all gone. He sat down at his desk next to his laptop.
All of this sitting down was far too exciting for Sam, who promptly ran over to jump up onto Sherlock's lap. Sherlock tensed, but the dog changed course and instead crawled underneath Sherlock's chair to reach for another cherry.
"Oh, Sam, come 'ere," Mrs. Morton said again, but this time the dog was not to be moved. She sighed, went to stand up.
"Forget about the dog," Sherlock said, and John could hear the frustration in his voice. "Please tell me you know someone who's died recently and you don't know why and you want answers—"
"Sherlock..." John started in warning, only to be blatantly ignored, as usual.
"—to all of your impossible questions." He leaned back in his chair and Sam reached up to lick his hand, which he snatched away. Sam entertained himself by licking the leather of Sherlock's chair. John could already see a damp patch forming. "Am I right?"
Mrs. Morton though for a moment. "Well, I suppose there was that Mr. Thomas..." she began.
"Yes?" prompted Sherlock, leaning forwards again. There was a light behind his eyes that only existed when there was an interesting case on the way. Either that or he was allergic to dogs. John wasn't sure which.
Mrs. Morton took her time with every word. "He died a little while back but I can't for the life of me remember why."
"And you want me to find out. How long ago were these events?" Sherlock asked eagerly.
"It must have been, oh, the 1980s at least." This she seemed more certain of.
"A cold case? Interesting. Tell me more."
It was then that Mrs. Hudson entered the room, carrying a tray of tea and biscuits. "I've made everyone some tea. Oh. I see you've got a client," she said, but then Mrs. Morton turned around. "Annie!"
"Ah, Maggie," said Mrs. Morton, smiling when she saw Mrs. Hudson.
"You two know each other?" John asked.
Mrs. Hudson crossed the room and set the tray down on the table beside John's laptop, just out reach of Sam who was still sniffing around Sherlock's chair. Sherlock was giving the dog glances of disgust every few moments. Mrs. Morton stood up with some effort. The two women shared a brief but warm hug.
"I met Annie years ago at a car boot. She had these great vases. I've still got those, you know! Come on downstairs and I'll show you them," Mrs. Hudson said, taking Mrs. Morton by the arm and heading for the door.
"But she's my client, don't take her away to look at your vases yet, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock said, standing now. Sam took the opportunity to jump up to sit on Sherlock's chair. Sherlock didn't notice.
Mrs. Hudson paused and looked at Mrs. Morton. "Who's died?" she asked, worried.
"Someone called Mr. Thomas," said John. He was trying to hold back a smile as Sam stretched out on Sherlock's chair.
"Cold case, very important that it is solved," added Sherlock helpfully.
"Mr. Thomas? But he died of a heart attack years ago," Mrs. Hudson said, relaxing then.
"Oh, yes, that's what it was. I couldn't remember earlier on. Where are these vases then?" said Mrs. Morton.
"Just downstairs. Come on, I'll make us some nice tea and we can catch up." Mrs. Morton glanced back at Sam. Mrs. Hudson noticed. "Don't worry, the boys will look after him, won't you?" They left and closed the door behind them before either could answer. John could hear them talking as they made their way to 221A.
There was silence for a few moments before John spoke. "What exactly did she say to you when she arrived?"
Sherlock didn't look at him. "'Oh dear, my dog's lead's broken'. And she started going upstairs." He sighed.
John couldn't stop himself, he burst out laughing. "That is going on the blog! That is priceless!" Tears were forming in his eyes, but he didn't care. Sherlock glared at him and he laughed all the harder.
