A/N: I just want to sincerly thank every person who has read this story thus far. Thanks for all of your wonderful reviews, and I'm grateful for all of your follows and favorites. I'm so glad that so many people enjoy this story.
"Oh, no," I sigh, glowering over my violin. Mycroft and Lestrade are exiting his(their?) black limousine and scampering to 221's front door with a cage in their hands. I already know what they've got, and I'm tempted to lock my door and miserably play the violin until they've gone mad and taken the goddamned dog away. I don't need a dog; no one can replace Redbeard.
Before I can act on my desire, my brother and brother-in-law are standing beside the doorway, the canine whimpering in the cage, probably from lack of light.
"Oh, joy! What a pleasant surprise of my dear brother, his husband, and their newly acquired canine companion to visit me," I exclaim, laying the sarcasm on thick. I glance to the dog's muzzle, but I don't see any Redbeard there.
"Do try and act civil at least, brother dear. We wouldn't want Mummy to get involved, now would we?" he simpers, gesturing afterwards to the cage. "All me and Greg would like to do is offer you a present."
I scoff before I can rein in my emotions. "This mutt?" I snort, bringing the bow of my violin sharply over its strings(causing my 'visitors' to flinch). "He'll be more of a nuisance then a companion; he'll trample my papers, knock over my experiments! I am not risking my violin being mutilated!" Redbeard actually did all those things, but I don't want this dog as a reminder.
"Sherlock, calm down," Lestrade chimes, showing the palms of his hands in a sort of submissive honesty. "We just really think you could use some company, is all."
"And why is that?" I growl. "Why do I allegedly need company?" Scrubbing a hand over his face, the DI sighs in a way that oddly reminds me of Mycroft; I guess they're rubbing off on each other.
"Because, brother dear," Mycroft cuts in,"a quarter of the time, you're sulking. Another quarter, you're complaining about boredom. The third quarter is you forgeting to eat or drink. The last quarter is your insults and experiments causing a ruckus."
"Your point being?" I reply petulantly, placing my violin on my chair. Crossing my arms and turning my nose up, I glare down at the DI, using my height to my advantage. Lestrade puffs up his cheeks and huffs before stepping closer, which is decidedly not a good thing.
"You're keeping the 'mutt', as you call him, and that's final," he says calmly, gesticulating at the dog. I narrow my eyes, raking my gaze over the cage before studying Lestrade's face, wrinkled in anger; he doesn't understand.
"What are you, the mother hen?" I scowl, my fists clenching at his resounding resolve not to respond, or even acknowledge, my jab at him. I want to scream; I don't need another Redbeard. I've already experienced this once before.
"If you insist on calling me that, then yes, I am," he confirms, letting his arms fall to his sides. I feel the need to pull at my hair as Mycroft silently smirks at Lestrade's assertiveness, usually nonexistent.
Stubbornly, I just lift my chin and look out the window, wishing I could destroy their choice of transport with my mind. I can practically hear the smirk melting off of my brother's face as it sounds like he roughly places the cage on the floor. No.
"You're taking him," he huffs, and I can hear him opening the latch. "And that's final," he continues as I hear nails click against the hardwood. My lips form a thin frown as the canine nips at my heels as I try idly to kick him away.
"Hey!" I bark, pushing away from his slobbering mouth; he can't do this. Only Redbeard was allowed.
"Aw, have a heart, Sherlock; he just wants to play," the DI guffaws, Mycroft placing a hand over his shoulder. As I ardently try to escape the dog's path, I spot the two of them darting out of the door, and I hear the subsequent clack of their shoes as they descend the staircase.
"Oh, you arseholes!" I call incredulously, the canine still yapping beneath my legs, trying to pull on my trousers. I swiftly lift him up, keeping him away from my body as he continues trying to nip and bite. Redbeard was like this as a puppy.
"Listen here, you mutt," I hiss, glaring directly at him. He seems to shy away from my eyes, ears flattening against his head, but he doesn't back down completely. "If you're to stay in my care, there are to be a few rules, understand?"
Number 1: Don't replace Redbeard.
The puppy cocks his head, almost awaiting the subsequent list of rules. "Firstly, no chewing any of my things, and I promise I'll get something suitable for you to chew on in return." His ears seem to perk up at the prospect of a chew toy; I grimace. Stop, you mutt.
"Second," I state, plopping onto the couch after placing him on the floor. "No bodily functions inside the house; those are reserved for when I must walk you." Abruptly, he tries leaping into my lap, just like Red-stop, brain.
"Thirdly, no barking unless it is absolutely necessary, such as if you are alerting me of oncoming defecation or the need for sustenance." He yips again, his stubby tail wagging back and forth.
"Overall, just don't mess with anything unless told otherwise." His brown eyes peer up at me, and it almost looks like he's understood everything I've said. His front paws leave my lap and he sits obediently on the floor, continuing to merely look at me.
I'm grateful for his silence, but I'm not so grateful for my lack of supplies. "I'll need to go out; ah, dull!" I quickly ascend and go to grab my coat, the dog trailing behind. "I need bowls, food, a collar, a leash, possibly a bed..."
Suddenly, I remember the canine is behind me; I can't just leave and expect him not to ruin anything. And somehow, I've gotten so caught up in items that I've forgotten to even give him a name.
It can't be Redbeard; that name is reserved, my mind chimes in.
"Alright," I sigh, clapping my hands together. "Mrs. Hudson will have to watch you, and...I'll have to figure out a name later," I assert, wrapping my scarf around my neck.
Hastily grabbing my mobile from the coffee table, I stuff it into my pocket before wrenching open the door and calling back,"I'll be back soon...mutt," and taking the stairs two at a time.
"Mrs. Hudson!?" I shout, her appearing outside her door as I come to the final step. She looks slightly perplexed and concerned as I stride to the front door.
"Would you please look after my...pet?" I ask, opening the door and quickly trotting out with an exclamation of,"Much obliged," without her even responding. I tread the sidewalk, exasperated as I pull out my mobile with a quiet mutter.
Location of the least expensive pet store within a mile of 221B?-SH
"Ah, Gladstone!" I exclaim, pushing off of my chair, laptop cradled in my arms. The canine shifts in his position at my feet, tilting his head to look curiously up at my grinning face. "That's going to be your name!" I've taken 'Blackbeard' into consideration, but it reminds me too much of Redbeard, and I don't want that.
"Lestrade is always making fun of my lack of political knowledge and how I don't know the current prime minister," I explain, squinting slightly at the computer screen. "But now, with your name, I can rub in his face that I know at least one well known one..."
"William Ewart Gladstone," I confirm, glancing at the bulldog's cocked head. I smile at him genuinely, despite my previous exclamations of annoyance and dislike; I only yelled because of-well, the-dog-who-shall-not-be-named.
Gladstone barks in what sounds like happiness, pawing at my legs and wiggling his stub of a tail. His slobbery mouth nips at my fresh trousers, and I lightly scold him before settling into my chair and tentatively calling him into my lap. He leaps up, nuzzling his head into the crook of my arm, and then he lays, curled in my lap.
I feel the soft tremor of his heart, listening to his heavy breaths as my fingertips rub circles into his splotched fur. He licks my limp hand, and I smile.
This isn't as painful as I thought it would be.
"Dear, there's a woman at the door for you!"
I startle from my chair, squinting at the light cascading through the window and shedding on my lap. Gladstone is still there, cuddled up against my chest, and I suddenly realize I fell asleep. I glance at my watch: 5:26 PM. I actually stayed asleep for almost 2 hours; that's a first.
Surprisingly, Gladstone remains asleep despite Mrs. Hudson's shout. Trying not to startle him, I place him by my feet and step over him softly as I get up; it's probably better for both of us that he doesn't wake up just yet.
"Coming," I call back, opening the door and starting down the staircase. I see Mrs. Hudson and wave dismissively for her to return to her flat, and she waves back in greeting before disappearing as I round the stairs. I stride to the entrance, opening it to the sight of Mycroft's...well, PA(?).
"Ah, Anneliese. Or what's your current name?" I ask casually, studying the compressed bag of materials held under her arm. My eyes shift back to her face to see a purely professional smile on her lips.
"Anthea, actually," she answers simply, for once not tapping out a message on her phone. "Your brother requested that I personally drop this off for you," she continues, pushing the package towards my chest. I examine the parcel before taking it in my hands as she says,"You may already know what it is."
"I must be off, though," she concedes, stepping down from the door. Her fingers find the screen of her phone again as she says a last half-hearted goodbye and starts back to Mycroft's posh limousine. I watch her go for a moment before swinging the door shut and rushing up the steps. Practically wrenching my door open, I bolt through the doorway.
Gladstone startles, and I inwardly scold myself for forgetting his presence before striding to the kitchen and placing the package on the table. I carefully move some of my intruding experiments to the counter before pulling out a chair and sitting before the parcel.
Mycroft almost never sends me purely materialistic items; he only usually sends evidence, and rarely at that. Yet this is important enough to be brought directly instead of mailed. He wanted it here quickly, and it must be an important item.
I prod the bundle, hearing the characteristic crinkle of clothing intact.
A gift? He rarely sends gifts, so this has to be materialistic compensation for something.
Gladstone abruptly whimpers beside me, and without glancing at him I know what this present is for.
He wants to compensate for giving me something I didn't want by giving me something I do want; or should want.
My fingers find the folds and tear them open, eagerly wrenching open the parcel to see the exquisitely made black fabric of some article of clothing. I dig my hands into the wrapping, unearthing the article and letting it unfurl as I stand up with it in my hands.
"Hey," I snap, pulling the item away before Gladstone can tear it. He stares innocently up at me, but I'm not fooled as I slowly look at the present, glancing at him from the corner of my eye.
"A coat?" I snort, laying it against my chest; perfect fit. The fine fabric is pleasant against my fingers, rough and solid, yet comforting. I shimmy into it, leaving it unbuttoned as I twirl around in place, feeling the end billow dramatically. Gladstone nearly catches it between his teeth, but I restrain him with one hand and pull the coat up with my other.
Something else is inside the package, so I hull it out, seeing rich gray colored fabric; a scarf. I bend over to spot another discolored patch and reach my hand in to pull out a black pair of gloves; leather, going by the texture. For a minute, I just stare at them, and then I realize that I actually like them.
God damnit, Mycroft's plans never fail to frustrate me.
Chuffed, I snatch my mobile off the table, uncharacteristically still for a moment before returning to my thoughts.
You think some silly coat and accesories are suitable recompense for giving me a dog?-SH
There are many things one could say are wrong with that sentence. Most people would be thankful for a free pet. Getting clothing is just an added bonus.-MH
Well I am not most people.-SH
A fact I am constantly made aware of.-MH
Going by the acquired footage, that 'mutt' is growing on you, quite exponentially, in fact. Gladstone, is it?-MH
That is besides the point.-SH
Actually, it is rather the point. You might have minded then, but you don't mind the dog now, do you, Sherlock?-MH
I glare at the font, suddenly annoyed at it for forming such frustratingly true sentences at my brother's insistence. Next thing I know, my BlackBerry has been flung across the room, and apparently I can't catch a break because the characteristic message indicator still chimes.
I squint at the text from my position at the table, and I wish the phone could've just smashed and it would have been done with.
Don't think I didn't see you throw that, Sherlock.-MH
A/N: Any feedback, criticism, questions, suggestions, or help are welcome. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and can just bear with me a little longer until Sherlock and John meet.