I woke up on the couch, Hamish on my stomach. I lifted myself a tad bit up, trying not to wake the nuzzled dog on my torso. But dogs have keen senses. As soon as I lifted myself, Hamish hovered his head up attentively, only to see his master perfectly awake. Hamish walked up to my face and licked it. I didn't exactly expect his reaction to be so excited, after all, I did wake him up.
I kissed the top of Hamish's head. Two months and Hamish has grown so big.
Two months, and gladly, I've gained some more weight, starting a new and healthy life again.
I lifted Hamish to the ground. Sherlock had permitted him to roam around. Somehow, Sherlock had spoilt the dog a bit.
The kitchen now has a dog litter box at the side of the sink. The location was Sherlock's idea, so the crap wouldn't stink the dining area or the living room. My opinion was that the scent might be absorbed by the food, but Sherlock and I never really ate lunch or dinner here. Just breakfast.
Speaking of breakfast, I really need to get cooking.
But then I noticed that I didn't need to.
Sherlock's hand was pressed on the pan handle, frying some bacon by the smell of it. He groaned from the oil popping, dodging the thick liquid. I managed to catch his attention through my slight chuckles. I then sat down the counter table as I watched Hamish do his business on the other end of the room. Sherlock looked silly cooking meals and fencing with the oil, giving me nasty looks whenever I giggle.
I followed Sherlock to the dining room. Sherlock set the bacon after convincing himself that the texture is fine.
"Anything you'd like to do today?" I asked.
"I desire for a case, John, as of what am I going to do today, that subjectively depends on Lestrade if ever he emails or texts me regarding a new case that will interest me or get extremely bored in this hell hole that you call flat."
"Well, you're not in a good mood."
"I was, until I wanted to pulverize the frying pan."
The bacon was great. The crisp and the juice were at balance. I never knew Sherlock could cook like this. Probably beginners luck. Sherlock dug in his cooking like he loved it so much, and I'm pretty sure he did. Hamish begged for a piece but Sherlock was quite certain about the dog food we bought the pup. The consulting detective was worried about Hamish's health.
Hamish barked under the table, biting on Sherlock's pants. Sherlock took Hamish and placed him in his cage right next to the door. Hamish barked even more.
"Shhh!" Sherlock shushed, his finger at his lips.
Hamish disobeyed Sherlock.
Sherlock and Hamish looked adorable as long as their doing things together no matter how disturbing they both might be. Hamish annoys the shit load on Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock does the same to me. I guess this is why they both get together so much.
"Oh, alright," Sherlock gave up, opening the cage door to let Hamish out. "But still no bacon for you."
Hamish whimpered.
Sherlock examined Hamish, squinting his eyes. He sat down beside the four month old puppy and checked for fleas.
"Johnnyboy," Sherlock called. "Let's give Hamish a bath, now shall we?"
"Bored?"
"I'm afraid so, yes."
Although Sherlock loved Hamish so much, I was always the pups nannybot, assigned to give him a bath. The only thing you'd hear in the flat was always, "John do this," or "John get that."
I'm not saying Sherlock had not improved even a little bit. Actually, he's not tasked to manage the doggy litter and wash the dishes but he does it anyway. Sherlock sometimes filled the pitchers with water, if he ever gets bored which is good because Sherlock's always bored these past few days.
Sherlock filled the tub. He's cautious about the water temperature. We scrubbed Hamish with his shampoo, taking out the dirt buried deep inside his paws. Hamish protested, splashing the water all over the place. Once bath time was done, Hamish shook and the bathroom was left like a hurricane just passed by.
Under the bathroom sink was a cupboard only for Hamish, his shampoo, his hairdryer, his towel, his spare leash, et cetera. Et cetera. Sherlock spoilt Hamish.
Of course, the disciplining was left to no other flat mate (because I'm his only flat mate) but me. Lucky Hamish is a smart dog.
Sherlock enjoyed giving Hamish a bath. He did most of the work, even the blow drying. Parenthood looked so natural to Sherlock, even it was a dog. No one could ever see that coming. A good daddy Sherlock.
The bell rang while Sherlock was combing Hamish's short locks. I propped up the toilet seat to where Hamish was sitting above me while Sherlock groomed him. I handed Sherlock the pup carefully as I sprinted to the door.
Lestrade's grin was what I was greeted with, a flashy white smile.
"Bleached teeth?" I suspected. "You didn't have that white teeth before."
His grin faded, "Yeah."
"Seeing someone?"
"Yeah."
"The divorce was quick."
"Um actually..."
"Yeah I know," The divorce process wasn't done yet. "Just get in."
Greg got inside the house. I've completely forgotten the mess we made while giving Hamish a shower; water springing out of the bathroom to the living room tiles, the muddy feet, the bacon on the floor.
Woops.
Greg had a shocked face embedded on his head. I'm not surprise Greg is. Greg knew Sherlock's messy, but not this messy.
"Er," I cut the silence. "Have a seat. I'll just call Sherlock."
"That sound good." Lestrade faked a smile and nodded.
I dusted the sofa with my pillow, fluffing the case. Greg sat down.
I ran to the bathroom and found Hamish all dried up and presentable. Sherlock, on the other hand, looked quite opposite. So do I.
"Greg," I whispered.
"Yes I know," Sherlock snapped. "I can smell him," He added. "Run to the rooms and get us something to wear."
He can smell him?
Welp, Sherlock's as normal as it can get.
I did what he told me, getting some clothes for both of us. We rushed to get changed inside the bathroom. Quite awkward, me changing clothes inside the bathroom with him, but we had to rush.
Sherlock went out of the bathroom ahead of me, with Hamish running behind him. Lestrade stared as he watched me with a perfectly new outfit.
Hamish barked at Lestrade's foot.
"Now, Hamish," Sherlock called. Hamish ran to the consulting detective.
"Your dog?" Lestrade asked me.
Sherlock cleared his throat, "Our. Our dog."
Greg's eyebrows lifted, his mouth curved to an "Oh." I blushed slightly behind Sherlock.
"Calm down, John," I thought. "He doesn't know what he's doing."
The detective inspector explained he was called by no other than Mrs. Hudson over to lunch. Greg hoped if we could join him, which, to no ones surprise, Sherlock had denied.
"C'mon, Sherly," I pleaded. "We don't have anything to do in this er, hellhole."
"Please," Greg helped. "Sherly."
"Don't call me Sherly."
Eventually, Sherlock gave up from the nagging and allowed us both to eat with Mrs. Hudson.
Bellow the flat was good smelling beef casserole and pudding. Mrs. Hudson had put out his best chinaware for the moment. Sherlock's return had been two months, yet the old lady still seemed happy.
I remember when Sherlock said that if Mrs. Hudson had left Bakerstreet, England would fall. The memories started making me smirk out of the blue but I didn't mind doing so. Though Greg gave me strange looks, I managed to straighten my face.
Mrs. Hudson asked Sherlock to speak with her privately, probably to thank him with something like oh I don't know, being alive? I was left with Greg, who still gave me funny looks.
"You and Sherlock?" He asked. "It's—It's really fine, you know. You both strengthen each other and Sherlock would even die to save you. Lucky lad now, eh?
Badum-tss.
Alright that does it. "I'm not actually gay, Greg."
"Oh," Greg blushed. "I'm sorry, mate. It's just the dog and watching both of you get out of the bathroom and…"
"I—I get it," I stopped him from talking.
Awkward silence.
Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson came back moments later.
"So, both of you—" Mrs. Hudson started.
"No," I replied flatly.
All three eyes beamed across the table to me.
"Yes, John's right," Sherlock confirmed. I could've sworn he sounded solemn. "No. We aren't together."
"I was supposed to ask if you haven't got any cases, boys," Mrs. Hudson cleared. "No need to get excited."
Sherlock and I got a tad bit humiliated. Worse enough Mrs. Hudson clarified herself, now Greg's giggling with her.
The lunch ended quite long. The clock pointed at Three o'clock.
"Shall we go upstairs, Lestrade?" Sherlock offered. "Any cases you'd like to propose?"
Greg nodded, sipping tea from his cup, "Actually, that's another reason why I came here. Thought I discuss the matter with before I get going."
"We'd better get upstairs in that case," I suggested. "Privacy matters, Mrs. Hudson."
"Oh, I know, dear," She smiled.
We went up after saying our good byes to Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock slammed the door shut as Hamish barks to greet us. We sat down and the pup ran to my lap. I scratched it with my fingers and let him play bite. Sherlock stared at us, jealous.
"There's been a murder," Greg noted. "Well, almost, actually."
"Sorry, but what do you mean almost?" I questioned.
The Detective Inspector sighed, "Her name's Chantelle Porscia Constantine. She works for the army a couple of years ago, decided it would be time to end her career. Three weeks ago, she was found after being missing for two days stripped off her clothes inside her vehicle, no scars, no notes of sexual assault, but she claims to have been sexually assaulted by a man she didn't quite see."
"She's alive, then?"
"Yes, she is."
Sherlock stood, "You're wasting our time. I don't do private consultations."
"Sherlock, I'm here, the police is involved. How can it be a private consultation?" Greg pointed.
"Three weeks, why did I just know now? You know why? Because the girl only told you three weeks after the scene itself. She wants me to investigate, therefore the police are ruled out and yes, this is, in fact, a private investigation."
"Sherlock, it's not like that. I told her not to disrupt you in the moment. You know, after going public."
"She's a client, Greg. You don't tell client's you deny her favor unless—"
"Unless you've got a personal relationship with her," I butted in.
Greg kept silent. We waited for his reply.
He sighed.
"Just don't tell my wife, okay? Well, soon ex-wife," He finally said. "We need you here, Sherlock."
"I don't understand. If you care about her then why make her wait for three weeks?"
"Because I thought the team could solve it without your help and the fact that you've just broken the news, Sherlock."
I stood, opening the door for Lestrade.
"Police station, ten in the morning, we'll be there," I smiled.
"Thank you, John," Greg stood. "Will you?" He turned to Sherlock.
"Just go," Sherlock hesitated to answer.
Greg walked out, dismayed at the outcome of his talk with Sherlock.
Sherlock sat down on his couch in an owl position, like always. Hamish reached for him and licked his foot. Sherlock ignored the pup.
"Explain," He demanded.
"What?"
"Tomorrow. Lestrade. Explain."
"Look, Sherlock, I know you're just back in the world but your friend that you also almost died for is asking for your help and you told him what he's asking for is completely meaningless. Besides, you're getting bored and maybe we should take Hamish with us."
"Oh, so I don't get to decide whether to accept the case or not?"
"Sherlock," I calmed. "Sherlock, you're bored. You clean the bloody house when you're bored. This case is better than tidying things up. Besides, you're going to accept it anyways."
"And what if I don't?"
"Trust me, Sherlock, you will. If not tomorrow, then soon."
For once, Sherlock didn't say anything. I was right. I was right!