Summary: It's time for John to take a bath. The last thing on John's agenda is to get into a bath. Sherlock doesn't care in the slightest and will do everything he can to get the stubborn puppy in the tub.
"John Watson! Come out from that couch right now!"
John whined and moved further under the couch. He was not going to come out for Sherlock-master. His human was being perfectly unreasonable. It had taken him a while to navigate the flat and under the couch was a place he had cataloged where Sherlock-master couldn't reach him. Even if he was a taller human like Mycroft-friend, it would be a stretch for him. He shifted and knew he would have to find a new hiding place soon. The crouch was putting strain on his wound and limp, pain shooting up his hind and foreleg.
They were both annoying hindrances. Though he had to admit, Sherlock-master was pretty smart. He even did some more strange things with the funny smelling liquids again. It reminded him of his old master training him to find the bad things. Sherlock-master wouldn't try to get him if he didn't want to. The human was nice most of the time, picking him up and letting him rest in his lap when doing his 'experyments'. Whatever those were. Even him explaining that his limp not being real wasn't as annoying as the week past.
He knew it was fake too. John just didn't know how to get rid of it. Yet, out of all of those things so far, it was easy to deal with. What John would not tolerate was water. No baths. Ever. The line was drawn right there.
It was up there with being squeezed too tight and nightmares. He was a puppy. Puppies didn't take baths. All those funny smells coming from the sudsy liquids were disgusting. The water didn't even taste good! It was wasteful. The fake smells covered his natural scent.
He noticed human females wore things like that. Even Mrs. Hudson-new mum smelled that way. She always smelled like flowers.
"John!"
At hearing his name, John whined and barked at Sherlock. He was not coming out. So what if his fur was getting a little browner? He could lick himself clean. Sherlock-master was being silly and kept saying that sleeping on the floor wasn't keeping him clean. Still, that wouldn't make him leave his hiding place. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't notice Sherlock going to the side of the couch.
The detective laid out on the floor and reached an arm under the couch to get John. He snatched the puppy by his good hind leg and tugged him carefully from out his hiding spot. John yelped in surprise and squirmed his hardest the whole way. He tried digging his claws into the floor, biting onto dangling fabrics under the couch but nothing worked. Sherlock managed to catch John and wrapped his hand around his middle for better stability.
"Don't bother squirming, John. I thought you were better than this. You be cleaned." Sherlock said as he pulled himself off the floor.
John whimpered and whined the whole way at losing the battle. Sherlock-master was just being cruel. He let out a huff as they entered the bathroom and he was set in the empty sink. His hopes of escape were dashed when the door was closed. John could see the small basin in the tub full of sudsy water and pouted. He hoped it was at least warm. Sherlock came to stand in front of the sink and rubbed his fingers across John's head to comfort him.
"Don't you look at me like that, John. You knew this was coming. The only good thing about all this I get to see your wound. Now hold still."he said, reaching into the medicine cabinet to get a small pair scissors.
John growled in annoyance and allowed for Sherlock to cut off the gauze. He didn't really like anyone touching his scar. The wound still hurt and he couldn't move his leg as perfectly as he used to. His old-master said it had hit the bone and it was gonna get better eventually. He jumped when he felt fingers tracing around the wound. It was still a dark pink, inflamed with healing and starting to get the first tracing of white skin that would leave a scar.
It was like spiderwebs stretching over the top of his left leg, slightly going over his chest. The exit park of the wound was luckily less gruesome A small star burst was the only evidence that a bullet had went through him. Sherlock stared at the wound carefully and was careful not to touch any part. He didn't want to infect John after all.
"Magnificent. Your wound suggest that the shooter was standing above you, probably from a second landing. A pistol would be easiest from the distance. You would have been trying to protect your master no doubt. Backing up at the last second, the shot went through your shoulder instead of that head of yours."Sherlock explained, having procured his magnifying glass from his dressing gown and examining the wound.
John's eyes widened at the words that came from Sherlock. That was amazing! How could Sherlock-master know all of that? He wasn't even there! He was proud of him. No other human that he met (other than Mycroft-friend) had been able to do such a thing. Without any warning, John licked Sherlock's face enthusiastically.
His tail was wagging so hard that he shook his whole lower body. Sherlock sputtered in surprise and stood. Even pushing John's eager tongue away didn't stop the puppy. John found that it was just more ways to lavish his praise to his master. He licked his hand and wrist, only stopping when the sleeve of the dressing gown got in his way. He looked up at Sherlock who was giving him a perturb look at being covered with his kisses. The detective only stared at him with a curious look as he wiped his face.
Didn't he like the praise? John didn't understand why he looked unhappy where his scent smelled of happiness and intrigue.
"John. You know how much I abhor your spit. Its disgusting. Are you trying to tell me your're amazed by my deductions?", Sherlock stopped when John nodded, "...Though I guess that could be an exception to the matter."
John barked a few times to see a quirk of a smile on his master's face and allowed himself to be picked up. He was more than happy to note that the bath water was warm like he hoped. A few happy huffs came from John as Sherlock kneeled and proceeded to give him a good scrub down. A warm bath, a small casualty with John wetting the whole bathroom shaking his body dry, and redressing the wound took a good chunk of the rest of the afternoon. John scrambled out the loo feeling like a new puppy. He was aware of Sherlock going to change his clothes after he gotten him wet in the loo.
John wasn't sorry about it even if Sherlock scolded him. His scent smelled of fun and he heard the man chuckle a few times at him. He busied himself with his favorite camouflage rope and waited for his Sherlock-master to return. Sherlock came back dressed in a fresh shirt and pajama bottoms with his blue dressing gown draped across his shoulders. As he walked to the kitchen, he scooped John up with one hand. Nestling the puppy to his chest, Sherlock headed into the kitchen to get John some food. John squirmed to get comfortable in Sherlock's arms, resting his head on his shoulder and snuffling his ear with his nose. He already knew that he was about to get a tasty meal and hoped that it was some of that yummy chicken Sherlock-master shared with him.
He kept his ears perked up as cabinets were opened and as a last resort, the fridge. He lifted his head when Sherlock grumbled about the uselessness of eating and stood still in the middle of the kitchen.
"It seems we've run out of food for you, John. Mycroft obviously sent me a little food for you to make me go outside and go shopping. If you only ran on little amounts of food like myself. I only see one solution to our problem." Sherlock grumbled as he turned his head to look at John.
John whined at the news, wondering what Sherlock was going to do. He stomach was starting to rumble and there was no food in the flat. Was he going to let him go hungry? Or feed him something yucky like the dead flesh in the big cold box?
"Oh don't look so pitiful, John."he said with a smirk twisting onto his lips.
"Mrs. Hudson! Did I ever tell you that John and I love your cooking?"