Chapter Nine
Keeping Up Appearances

Occasionally (because even Sherlock's homeless network managed to read John's blog and the ones who didn't were told of each update), Sherlock and John had to be seen with their respective pets to keep up appearances. When Sherlock first brought the subject up, John was…less than happy.


John stared at Sherlock incredulously.

"What?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed in despair.

"We will need to be seen taking care of our 'pets', John, it's only logical. People will need to see me walking a dog and they'll need to see you doing…whatever it is people do with cats."

John continued staring, able to process only one thing.

…walking a dog…

"What! Sherlock, you can't be serious! It's one thing running around London with tags on so that we're not taken in as strays, but it's completely another thing for you to walk-" John cut himself off, unable to say the words out loud. Sherlock's lips were twisted up in an amused smirk and he had that face on. The one that told John he could protest all he liked, but he would end up going along with it anyway, so wouldn't it just be better to skip the arguing?

John sighed into his tea. He drained the cup, set it down on the table and turned over in his armchair like a sulky child.

"Black," was all he said, mumbled into the fabric of the chair. Unseen, Sherlock grinned triumphantly.


For several days after their initial conversation, Sherlock didn't mention the topic again (though he did disappear for an hour to return with a bag that John thought looked like the one from the pet store around the corner).

John was sitting in his chair, laptop balanced on his knees and index fingers poking at the keyboard erratically. His view of the screen was interrupted suddenly by a long, black cord, held by Sherlock. Eventually, John's eyes focused and he realised Sherlock was dangling a leash from his fingers. He pouted at it. Sherlock's eyes had a wicked gleam to them and he opened his mouth, but John spoke before he could say anything.

"If you say the word 'walkies' I will kill you with my bare hands. Or maybe it'll be something more creative; maybe I'll put arsenic in your tea. Or, I might just shoot you one day. Probably in the near future."
"Most people would find it disturbing how much detail you went into, or the fact that you just thought of multiple ways to kill your flatmate without me even saying anything."
"You were thinking it though, which, from you, is enough."

Sherlock sniffed disdainfully, not bothering to reply (which is how John knew he'd won) and jangled the leash.

"Alright, alright," John grumbled and closed his laptop. He put it away, stood, and took out the collar from his pocket. Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "I figured it was better to have it on hand in case I needed it!" he defended. Sherlock sniffed again, and took the proffered collar. He waited until John had shifted and was sitting still, then knelt and slipped it around his neck. After ensuring it was secure, but not so tight it would strangle him, Sherlock clipped the leash on and rose fluidly to his feet. Without any prompting John stood as well and led the way out of the flat, pausing on the landing so that Sherlock could lock the door. Once the key was in his pocket, Sherlock flicked the leash like a horse's reins.

"Come on, Lightning," he smirked and John growled softly as they made their down the stairs (John navigating them carefully with three legs) and out of 221.


It was the afternoon, so the sun was out (as much as it could ever be in London during the Autumn). It wasn't cold, but the brisk winds were cool on Sherlock's skin and they ruffled Lightning's fur, so they walked quickly. They had decided not to go too far, so they went once around the block – stopping once so that another dog could sniff Lightning and Sherlock could look on, highly amused, as John tried to get away – before reaching 221 again. Sherlock opened the door, and the minute it closed after them, John changed and stood up tall, stretching. He reached up to his neck and unhooked the leash. He handed it to Sherlock and slipped the collar back into his pocket.

"I hate other dogs."

Sherlock laughed. John continued as they walked up the stairs to their flat.

"I mean it – they come up to me, thinking I'm just an ordinary German Shepherd, and then they get a whiff of me and start freaking out. What's worse, is that it happens when I'm normal as well!"
"I'll remember that if we're ever on a case where there's an annoying dog. Hey – do you think it would work on Anderson?"

John rolled his eyes.

"Obviously not – although if I could scare him away I'd have done it by now."

Sherlock waved a hand airily, and John stopped in the doorway.

"What? You actually want to keep him around?"
"Well, not really, but he's proving to be an excellent source of amusement. Every time he sees you he flinches and then runs off muttering an excuse to get away. It's highly entertaining."
"It's nice to know I'm good for something."
"And tea, John. Always tea," Sherlock called from the living room as John made his way to the kitchen. He stopped, considered it, then shrugged and continued towards the kettle.

At least there was always tea.


A/N:

You guys are in luck (I guess...if being in luck means that there is more of this story to read...). I'm ridiculously bored and everyone else in the house is doing something important, so it's up to the internet to entertain me. ...although this is sort of more me entertaining you. Oh well, doesn't matter! It's something for me to do, at any rate.

Thanks for all of the favourites/follows/reviews etcetera, so on, so forth, you know what I mean. Honestly, it means a lot. I get a bit fuzzy everytime I get an email.

Cheers,
foxboxtango97