Disclaimer: I still don't own. A. N. Feel free to hate me, but I couldn't resist...
Sherlock wasn't surprised when the following morning brought Hopkins to his door once again. "Things escalated," she announced, tense.
"How?" The sleuth wasn't going to act differently than usual. At least not in any way the inspector could notice, if he was lucky.
"We found a dead body. Once we identified him and searched his place, well, it's obvious he was the thief we were looking for."
"Any clue about who your murderer is?"
She shook her head. "It wasn't a who, it was a what. Possibly plural. The man has been killed by a huge dog, perhaps more - the tracks aren't clear."
"Why are you here, then? Unless you found it at his home, it makes sense that his attack dog, or dogs if that was the case, might have turned on him. "
She glared at him. "I realise that. And no, we didn't find his pet - not any sign of a dog, at that. No food or water bowl, dog bed... he must have kept it somewhere else. I asked your help before to find a thief, Mr. Holmes. Now I need it to track down a ferocious, murderous beast, before it attacks someone else."
"No."
"What does that mean?" her voice raised.
"It means that you are asking the wrong person for help. I can follow tracks as well as anyone else, but if they were that clear, you'd have your quarry by now. I can observe a situation and deduce what a person would do. A dog? You should be calling a veterinarian."
"Normally I'd insist he help, but he has a point, you know," John chimed in. "Tea?"
"You can't really think that a canine would stump him!" the inspector retorted.
"Obviously. I can see what a man would do, or be influenced by. How am I supposed to know if your feral pet might be swayed by a reckless squirrel to chase, or a bitch in heat...how far away? I don't know how far he could smell her."
"You're assuming it's a he." Hopkins smirked.
Sherlock waved her quip away. "Balance of probability. People who want a dangerous pet pick males. At that, if you insist on wanting my input - do find one exemplar in oestrus, and parade it around town. You won't be the one having to do the seeking."
Hopkins rolled her eyes. "Sure. Let's get all the strays in London to gather round Scotland Yard. That could in no way backfire. You know what, I am starting to think you have a point. I should definitely consult someone else."
"No tea, then?" For some reason, John's innocent question was the one that broke the camel's back - or the inspector's patience, and she turned on her sensible heels and left.
"In my defense, she didn't reply. Not even with a nod. Who does that?" John remarked, when the door closed after her.
"Rude people, that's who." Sherlock grinned at him. "It's quite the accomplishment to have less manners than I do."
They both burst into giggles. When John recovered his breath, he said, "Really though, a bitch in heat? That would be your suggestion to trap me?"
"You are trying to work your way through the Greater London female population, to my knowledge. I could hardly suggest to the detective inspector a lady of the two-legged variety, though, without coming out with more information than she's probably ready for."
"True, and I don't fancy sharing that with the whole of Scotland Yard either. Not even if your brother could make last night be considered legit defence or something."
Sherlock couldn't help grimacing at John's "True." Not that he expected his flatmate to deny something so obvious, or that he was in any way invested in his – well, his packmate now, wasn't he? – sexual exploits. Still, he thought they denoted... poor taste, that was all. John wasn't selective enough about his partners; he could have much better, if he went for quality rather than quantity. That was all.
"Is it the mention of Mycroft that makes you look like you're biting a lemon?" his blogger asked. "And mind, I know when you lie."
"No you don't."
"I do. And you will soon, too. Well, you will better than you already do. At least if the person is in smelling range. You'll see, there's a whole new slew of data for you to categorise."
That was fascinating. And concerning, How many of my secrets had John guessed? ... He wouldn't just go on ignoring them if he knew, would he? Even if he'd been hiding enough of his own...might he have decided that both were allowed some things they didn't care to share? He owed John a reply, though. And apparently, a real one, if he didn't want to be insulting.
"This isn't about my brother. I just find distasteful how much of a literal horndog you can be."
"Well, we can't all be married to our job... Pretty sure that normally implies a collar, anyway. Think you can put one on me?"
Sherlock choked on his tongue, and John grinned.
"Aand... There it is."
"What?" the sleuth croaked.
"You'll learn about it. Eventually." John seemed immune to the glare he received, much to the other's annoyance.
"All I'm saying is, you smell more like a fox than a wolf right now."
"You know I hate riddles, John!" Sherlock protested.
"Don't tell me you deleted your Aesop. At least the one with the grapes. Or maybe I'm wrong. I mean, I get wanting to keep a fantasy as such. But if it helps you make a decision about it, you don't know the half of my dalliances."
Sherlock huffed. "Stop being confusing. If you want to say something, say it!"
"I'm bi, and you're more obvious than ever. So what is it gonna be? Just a very entertaining fantasy? Or do you want a taste, and your work can get over itself?"
Much later, Sherlock would ask if his iridiscent eyes turned bluer than usual. Because he had certainly blue-screened then.
