A/N: Hi everyone! I'm really excited to see how many people are following this story! Thanks to you all, I'm so glad you like it! Special thanks the Garnet Dark, whose reviews make me so happy :D I'm glad you liked the note on my profile; thanks for bringing the question to me. I'm happy that you like my story!

Chapter Ten

Janet being covered, Sherlock set off for home. He'd tested his theory on the snoring dog by innocently inquiring about the infernal noise emanating from "Janet's room" to someone who keyed in to the room a bit down the hall. "That would be Toby," the person had snapped. "Janet's had that dog for two years, or didn't you notice?"

Ah, people were so easy to figure out.

John was wrong about the other Janet. If Molly was right—and Sherlock had no reason to doubt her—there weren't two Janets Hutchison with dogs named Toby, so obviously the other Janet had not abandoned a dog she didn't have. Sherlock felt relieved himself, if only because he knew John would be extremely happy to hear that.

Sherlock was very pleased with himself. This was turning into a fun little puzzle, a bit of exercise for an inactive brain. Besides, the complete and utter lack of Kellies Taylor that owned dogs named Toby intrigued him. He trusted Molly's information, and he trusted his own even more. It was unlikely they were wrong, and he had a delicious feeling that it was this Kelly person that they were looking for. A person who appeared not to exist—excellent! And if they did manage to find Toby's owner in the process, well, that was good too, he supposed. At least the beast would be out of his flat once and for all.

John would be so surprised when Sherlock told him Kelly Taylor was the one!

John woke for the second time that morning, but this time it was seven-ish and not closer to midnight. And this time he did not awaken with a jolt, knocked up by his own thoughts, but gradually, as he became aware of the warm, furry dog lying on his stomach.

Toby's chest rose comically high as he breathed, and John lay still and watched it for a while. It was a comfortable feeling to wake up to—the mild pressure caused by Toby's weight, the feeling of his chest moving against the movements of John's own. It was a bit more difficult to breathe with a dog on top of him, but John didn't really mind.

Eventually Toby stretched out all his limbs, his body shaking with the effort, and gave a tremendous, loud yawn. John could not hold back his laughter at that. Toby jumped up in excitement and tried to lick his face. John guffawed and tried to push the little dog away, but Toby seemed to think it was a game and tried all the harder to reach his face. He managed to slap his tongue against John's cheek. John fell out of the bed.

He couldn't stop laughing as he got to his feet and turned to face Toby, who stood grinning up at him on the bed, tail whipping back and forth so fast it was a blur. John tried to put on a stern face. "Think you got the best of John Watson, do ya?" he grumbled. "Well, let's see who gets the better of who."

He tickled Toby behind the ears and the dog flopped onto his back, wriggling with ecstasy. John flopped onto the bed next to him and used both hands to scratch until he found Toby's favorite place, just below the ribs. Toby's eyes rolled back, he let out a huff of pleasure, and his back legs kicked. John laughed at the sight. Toby was a mongrel and he looked hilarious.

"Ahem."

John bolted up from the bed to see Sherlock standing in the doorway, fully dressed with his great coat and all.

"Having fun?" he said, lips twitching slightly.

John was faced with a number of things to say. "What's it to you?" was the obvious reply—so what if he was having fun with a dog? Another option was "Give a bloke a warning, for Heaven's sake"—it was not fair for Sherlock to barge in fully dressed with John still in his nightclothes. There were other things, too, less polite sentences that were right at the tip of his tongue. But instead of any of those, he found himself asking, "What are you so pleased about?"

It was true—Sherlock was smirking slightly, and his eyes glittered in that way they always did when he was at the top of his game again.

"Janet is out of the question," he said. "It's Kelly Taylor."

It took John a moment to realize what he meant.

"How do you know that?" he asked cautiously.

Sherlock's smirk grew. "I have my ways. Janet Hutchison has a Toby currently in her possession. The other Janet is therefore out of the equation a well, leaving only one name on our list, and that name is Kelly Taylor."

Again John was left unsure what to think. He wanted to know how Sherlock knew Janet Hutchison's Toby was not the one currently lolling on John's bed. At the same time he was thrilled at the notion—for if Sherlock had pursued it, he was definitely not wrong. But there was one other thought that trumped all the others: If it truly was Kelly Taylor, how on earth were they going to find her?

"That's great, Sherlock," he said finally. "How do you know that?"

"I did a bit of investigating," Sherlock said dismissively.

John sighed internally but decided to let that pass. Sherlock's idea of "a bit of investigation" probably meant breaking in to somebody's place. But unless John heard something about it on the news he decided not to push the point. "That's great," he said out loud: "Now we just have to find Kelly Taylor."

Sherlock pursed his lips before sweeping out of the doorway and leaving John alone again. John quickly closed his door and dressed, tussling with Toby once more as he attempted to make the bed. Scratching Toby's tummy thoughtfully, John wondered what had provoked Sherlock to look into Janet for him. He'd have to thank him somehow—not directly, of course, as Sherlock would never accept that. He'd think of some way, though.

Toby followed him down the stairs and into the kitchen. Sherlock was on the sofa again, minus his coat, stooped over his laptop. John fixed a breakfast for Toby with the food he'd bought yesterday and searched the cabinets for something for himself.

"Checked your email yet?" Sherlock asked.

John cast him a suspicious glance. "Not yet. Why?"

"Perhaps Molly has something else to say," Sherlock said in a voice very close to a mumble, which John did not like at all. John hurried over to his laptop and checked his email, relieved when yesterday's password still worked. At least Sherlock hadn't been meddling. All the same he would change it again today when the time came.

He had another email from Molly. That woman will never stop, he thought. He opened it.

John,

I found the name of the person who dropped Kelly Taylor's Toby at the shelter. The name is Kelly Taylor. That seems like a frightful coincidence to me, but whether it's a different person with the same name, or just the same person, I don't know. Sherlock can probably find out. Does this help? Please let me know how Toby is. MH

This being the third time she asked, John decided to answer, since he wasn't doing anything else. As he described the funny things Toby had done in the past twenty hours he also thanked Molly for her information, marveling at how much she could find, and how she always seemed to know what he was wondering.

"She's amazing, really," he called to Sherlock. "Molly is. She just told me about Kelly's Toby. How on earth could she know that we'd narrowed it down to her?"

He meant it as a joke, but the fact that Sherlock actually laughed made him whip around to glare at the detective. He seemed to be trying to hide behind his lap top.

"You did it again, didn't you?" John snapped.

"As it has amounted to your receiving some much-needed information, I see no reason for you to get upset about it," Sherlock said all too logically.

"It's not that," John protested. "It's the principle of the thing."

"Yes, well, who was it who left Kelly Taylor's Toby at the shelter?"

"Kelly Taylor."

"Yes, John, Kelly Taylor. I do believe we were talking about her. Who dropped off her dog?"

"Kelly Taylor."

It was Sherlock's turn to glare at his flat mate. "John!"

Still miffed at Sherlock's infringement on his privacy, John did not answer out loud but simply turned the laptop around so Sherlock could read Molly's email. Sherlock had to lean over to do so but John was not about to help him.

Sherlock's brow furrowed when he saw what John had meant, but he made no attempt to apologize.

"Intriguing…" was all he said.

John put his laptop back on his desk. Toby waddled out of the kitchen, licking his lips. He looked around and saw Sherlock on the couch. He jumped up beside him.

Sherlock cringed exaggeratedly as the dog, panting and wiggling happily, waddled too close to him. "John," he snapped, "restrain him."

John chuckled and stood leisurely. "What's he doing wrong, that's what I'd like to know," he said.

"He's infringing on my personal space!"

"But we all have to deal with that, don't we?" John said with a wicked grin. Sherlock glowered at him as he tried to push Toby away with his knee.

"Just get it off me," he snarked. "I helped to find its owner, but that does not mean I should have to put up with its insolence!"

John chuckled and walked over to pick Toby up. But before he got there Toby had somehow managed to avoid Sherlock's knee and place one paw on his lap. Sherlock yanked his laptop away with an exaggerated gesture that sent his laptop crashing against the chemistry set on the coffee table.

John swept Toby off the couch and out of harm's way. Sherlock gaped as his experiment fell in shards and globules on the floor, along with his laptop, which was now covered in…the experiment. Whatever it had been.

"No," he whispered.