CHAPTER TEN

Sherlock was pacing back and forth in the front room of the animal shelter. Despite all of John's scolding and pleading that he sit down, he had refused, so John just gave up and watched.

They had rushed Maggie out of Vincent's flat straight to the nearest animal shelter. Lestrade had almost stopped them, but one glance at the wounded dog in John's arms had silenced any protests. John assumed he would come see them the next day for their statements.

Alec had been taken to the hospital to have his shoulder treated, though not to Bart's, where Vincent was. John didn't know what was going to happen to him, but it couldn't be good. It was clear to him that the man had been mentally unstable during the confrontation, though he wondered if he had always been like that, and if his allegations of Vincent's abuse would be taken seriously at all.

"He might get off," Sherlock murmured suddenly. John looked up, frowning.

"Who might?"

"Vincent. Considering the circumstances. Considering he was beaten by the real murderer." His countenance was fierce-looking as he contemplated this.

"But are we even sure if Alec really did kill Katrina? All we have is his word, and I'm not sure how trustworthy it is."

"He clearly had a mental break, approximately around the time of the murder. He had fallen in love with the woman he went into hiding to protect, and her rejection of him was too much for him to bear. It seems he thought her death would be easier to bear than her living with his brother. I have no doubt that Alec is the murderer."

"But why would Katrina want to stay with Vincent? If he really did abuse her?"

"Often victims will protect their abusers," Sherlock scowled. "They feel they are the ones in the wrong and so are defensive of whoever is hurting them. And I am inclined to think that Alec was right; Vincent was abusing her. The physical evidence is there on Katrina's body, and the fact that he mistreated Maggie as well is a strong indicator he was capable of spousal abuse as well."

"So did Alec have a history of mental instability?"

Sherlock pressed his lips together. "I didn't exactly read his profile in that case file closely."

"Neither did I. We saw what we expected to see, I guess."

"Yes," Sherlock nodded ruefully.

"Not our best case."

"We did find a killer, solve a seven year old disappearance, and rescue a small dog from an abusive home. It was not our worst case either."

John had to concede that. "True." He paused, thinking for a moment. "So why did Alec beat Vincent like that? Sure, he had a mental break and killed Katrina in a betrayed rage, but why would he go to the trouble of sneaking into Scotland Yard to beat his brother a week later? Surely he would know we would question Vincent and he would tell us who beat him afterward?"

"I think it is safe to say that Alec was beyond rational thought at that point. And you won't know this because you slept, but Katrina's murder was on the news last night. Few details, but they did announce her identity. If Alec saw that story, it could have set him off. Vincent had not been brought to justice yet, and he would have been impatient to get revenge fully. To him, I am sure risking getting arrested for trespassing was a small price to pay to face his brother once again."

"Why was he even still in London though? He dumped the body here to frame Vincent, but why stick around after that? I'd be getting out of the country if I was him."

"Ah, but you aren't insane, John," Sherlock almost smiled. "Alec was fixated on getting Vincent convicted for the murder, and in his maddened state he stayed to see it through directly."

John considered that, nodding. "Alright, I'll buy that explanation. Though I still think Vincent ought to get some sort of punishment."

"He will once I'm finished with him," Sherlock said in a rather dangerous tone. John raised his eyebrows at him, causing an eye roll. "He obviously mistreated Maggie, an action for which there will be consequences. And there is now solid evidence that he also abused Katrina, due to Alec's allegations. While Vincent may not have been guilty of her murder like we thought, but he still is not a good do-er."

John smirked. "Don't you mean do-gooder?"

"What?" Sherlock asked blankly.

"Never mind," John chuckled. "Will you please sit down now? You got a minor concussion less than an hour ago."

"And it is, as you just said, minor. You already examined me at Vincent's flat for symptoms of a worse one. I am fine."

"It would give me some peace of mind."

Sherlock paused in his pacing to look at him. Apparently something in John's face got to him, because he huffed dramatically and dropped into the chair next to him. "Fine."

"That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Sherlock looked at him askance. "Don't push it."

There was a pause, then John turned to him. "I'm sorry, by the way."

"For what?" Sherlock looked blank.

"For doubting you. I shouldn't have said those things."

Sherlock scoffed. "You're sorry? Even though I wasn't exactly right? Even though Vincent didn't kill Katrina? Seems an unnecessary apology under the circumstances."

"I'm sorry because I know I hurt your feelings." John shifted uncomfortably. "I wish I could take back what I said."

Sherlock looked at him squarely now, a tacit understanding passing between them. One corner of his lips pulled up. "Don't worry John, I'm too easily bored to hold a grudge."

John smiled faintly, grateful they were alright again. They fell into silence, both watching the door behind which the veterinarian had taken Maggie upon John and Sherlock's arrival at the shelter. There was the muffled sound of dogs yapping, cats mewing, and claws skittering across floors behind it, but not the distinctive yipping of their Maggie. She had made no sound or motion the entire cab ride, had barely acknowledged their presence. It worried John immeasurably; she had only been away from them for a couple days, and the change that had been wrought in her in such a short time was astounding.

"Do you think she'll be alright?" John asked, voice coming out rather small.

Sherlock glanced at him, then sighed. "I don't know," he admitted. "She is so small and young…"

He looked away, but not before John saw that vulnerable face again, the face he had shown John when he'd told him about Redbeard. He looked more like a child suddenly, somehow smaller than usual, eyes fixed on the door with an odd kind of broken hope. John had an abrupt, striking vision of a much younger Sherlock, just as curly-haired and stubborn as he was now, in a similar animal shelter waiting for news about Redbeard. This was the second time he had had to do this for a wounded dog, and the gravity of that fell heavily onto John's shoulders. Sherlock cared for few things, so losing one – perhaps two, depending on how Maggie was – had to be agonizing.

John felt the urge to say something to him, to comfort him, but what did you say to someone when their puppy was dying?

"Hey," he tried anyway, laying a hand tentatively on Sherlock's shoulder. "We did a good thing, you know. We got her out of there, like you said earlier."

"But for what?" Sherlock asked. "So she can go to live in a happy valley somewhere, in the sky?"

John winced. Sherlock glanced over at him, pain almost palpable in his expression. "We won't give up on her," John said. "We won't let her give up."

Sherlock made a sound a bit like dissent and turned his gaze back to the door. "I believed that, you know."

"Believed what?" John moved his hand back to the arm of the chair as Sherlock shifted.

"That Redbeard was in some happy, bright, better place," he explained bitterly. "You know, after I utterly failed to save him."

John stared at him for a moment, wishing there was some way he could go back in time, just to save Redbeard and bring him here to Sherlock. "You did save him," he murmured. "You gave him somewhere safe to get away from his master at nights, then ultimately you got him away from there altogether."

"No, ultimately he died."

"But he died in a place he felt safe, and he died with you there to comfort him. You didn't fail him Sherlock, you gave him what every dog deserves."

"What's that?"

"Someone to love them."

And when Sherlock looked back at him, some of the turmoil had faded from his eyes.

At the end of a long line of cages against the wall, Maggie waited. She was curled up on a large squashy cushion, still unmoving. John and Sherlock knelt next to her, both simultaneously trying to reach her through the thin bars.

Her ribs were visible, but then, they had been like that when she had stayed with them in 221B. Still, there was now a sickly feeling clinging to her. The blood that had been matted on her fur when John had picked her up out of that basement was gone, washed away. A cut had apparently caused that, for there was now a clean white bandage in place of the blood. She had a cast on her back leg, its bulk making her look even smaller.

"Malnourished," Sherlock said almost absentmindedly; it was as if he was unaware of speaking aloud. "Weak. Dehydrated." His long slender fingers reached out and managed to reach her tail, petting it gently.

"Maggie," John called softly. "You're okay now, sweetheart. We're going to take care of you."

Her eyes moved at the sound of their voices, looking at them with weakly pleading brown eyes. John felt his heart break at the sight.

He looked up at the veterinarian. "Can we take her home?"

She gave him a rueful look. "I can't allow you to take her, actually. The abuse she sustained needs to be reported, and then there will be an investigation. It is likely she'll be kept here until a suitable home is found for her."

Sherlock looked up. "Why can't we take her? We saved her."

"I'm sorry, you would still have to go through the process of adoption."

"But she knows us," Sherlock protested.

She looked sympathetic, but still firm. "I am aware of that, but it is out of my control. You can visit her tonight, however. For now she needs rest."

John nodded, cutting off Sherlock with a look. "Thank you."

It was an interesting process, dragging Sherlock out of the animal shelter. But John was determined the man get some sleep, considering he hadn't had any for approximately two days. He knew they both would probably have several long nights ahead due to their worry for Maggie, so he knew getting rest now was imperative. Still, just because the decision was logical did not mean Sherlock wanted to go along with it. He insisted that he was going to stay to keep an eye on Maggie, and it took a lot of arguing for Sherlock to finally give up. John thought it might be because he was still slightly dizzy from the mild concussion and secretly needed to sleep. Not that Sherlock would ever admit that, of course.

The cab ride home confirmed John's suspicions, but it also came with a surprise. Sherlock did indeed drift off to sleep within a few minutes of leaving the shelter, to John's relief. However, then his head ended up resting against John's shoulder. John toyed with the idea of pushing him off, but eventually decided against it. It wasn't worth Sherlock snapping at him.

Back at 221B, unfortunately, Sherlock flat-out refused to sleep. Having been woken to get out of the cab, he became grumpy and stubborn. So John sighed and did his best to nap on the sofa while Sherlock resumed his restless pacing around the sitting room. Eventually, though, worry about Maggie and the outcome of the case overruled both his desire and his ability to sleep, and he sat up with a yawn.

"Can we go back yet?" were Sherlock's first words to him.

"No," John sighed, his head in his hands. "We'll go back later, after we've had something to eat."

"I don't see why we can't take her home. You're a doctor. Can't you take care of her?"

"Sherlock, we have to get her healthy, and then we have to do this right. There are protocols we have to follow for this sort of thing. Besides, I treat people, not animals. I don't know how to care for an abused, starved puppy. I must have missed that class in medical school."

"Serves you right for skipping class."

John rolled his eyes. Before he could retort, however, Sherlock's phone rang. "Hello?"

John stood and waited apprehensively. He hoped it wasn't the animal shelter. If something had happened to Maggie…

"He did?" Sherlock asked. John sighed. So it must be about one of the Prescotts. That meant nothing had changed with Maggie yet, which, while not exactly a good thing, was at least not a bad thing.

Sherlock's half of the conversation was difficult to follow since John couldn't hear the other end, so he sat down in his armchair and opened his laptop. He'd been meaning to do some research for a few days, but had for some reason never gotten around to it. He'd just blame Sherlock.

"Right, thank you Inspector," Sherlock sounded slightly exasperated. "Goodbye."

"What did he say?" John asked, looking up.

"Alec has most definitely had a mental breakdown, and Vincent is refusing to talk. He won't admit to the abuse of either Katrina or Maggie."

John sighed, now understanding the exasperation. "You're kidding." Sherlock shook his head. "Well," John mused. "He never said it outright to me when I spoke to him in the hospital either, so I guess I can't be too surprised."

"But Alec's confession should at least have him worried. Then again, if Alec's mental instability throws what he said into doubt…"

"Well, Lestrade can work on convicting Vincent of the abuse and dealing with Alec. That's his job."

"It's ours as well, John," Sherlock said earnestly.

"Sherlock, as much as I want Vincent and Alec to have to answer for what they did, I'm more worried about what is going to happen to Maggie right now. I'm surprised you aren't feeling the same way."

Sherlock glanced away. "I'm distracting myself," he muttered.

"Well, look, I've done some cursory research," John said after a pause. "I think we should be able to keep her. We'll have to fill out paperwork and such, but I don't see why we won't be allowed to bring her home."

"And how long will this insipid process take?"

"As long as it takes," John replied in a long-suffering way. "Also, we can always report Vincent for dog abuse. He could be fined, or even go to prison."

Sherlock's eyes lit up with their familiar fire. "Let me see that," he said, unceremoniously snatching the laptop off of John's legs. He scanned the page John had been reading, then smiled.

"Let's hope those investigating this are not complete imbeciles."

That evening at the animal shelter, the first thing John noticed when they got back to Maggie's cage was that she had moved from where they had last seen her. She was laying down still, her paws just touching the bars of the cage. But this time, her head lifted when she saw them. John also noticed a bowl of water, and more importantly, another bowl with only a few bits of food left in the bottom; good, she had eaten then.

"Maggie," Sherlock greeted, a grin lighting up his features. John couldn't help but smile as well, at Sherlock and Maggie equally.

She still looked weak and tired and a bit pitiful, John thought, but the sound of her tail lightly thumping against the floor changed things. It sounded like I'm going to be okay.

It sounded like hope.

Happy 4th Anniversary of the premiere of A Study in Pink, guys! :)