The description of Veterans with Dogs is paraphrased from their website. I own none of it and am simply making use of an amazing real life program to add a spark of authenticity to my humble fanfiction. Enjoy!

.:...:.

"She saved those kids, you know?" Lestrade and John were sitting at the kitchen table. John was only half listening, eyes following Shirley while she paced from the kitchen to the door and then back again, her leash gripped loosely in her jaws. "The boy said that the other dog attacked them. Animal control went out looking for the thing, but they found no trace of it."

Shirley huffed.

"How'd it even get in there?"

"We don't know, but preliminary evidence suggests the fire wasn't an accident."

Now that got John's attention. "Arson?"

"Mhmm." Greg nodded thoughtfully.

"Could the fire and the dog be connected?" Lestrade looked at him like he was crazy. Shirley stopped pacing.

"I don't see how... Maybe."

"What if the kidnapper uses him to subdue his victims?"

"We don't even know if this was the kidnapper. Fire isn't his style. Even if it was, an animal that big doesn't go unreported." An unspoken question burned in his eyes. Why hadn't anyone called now that it was loose?

"Do you think Shirley's involved?"

Lestrade looked over at her and she shrank back, resuming her back and forth trek across the room. He shook his head and returned his focus to John, eyes going hard. "I want you to stay out of this."

John shrugged.

"I mean it. This guy is dangerous."

"Never stopped Sherlock."

Lestrade recoiled like he'd been shot. Shirley stopped. John sat up, shoulders cocked with tension. His eyes were hard, icy marbles aimed straight at Lestrade. He knew it was dangerous. He wasn't a child and being coddled like one was only making him want to get more involved. So what if he didn't have Sherlock? His friend would want him to do this. Sherlock would've been ashamed of how stagnant he'd become. He needed to get moving. He needed to do something.

Lestrade exhaled through his nostrils, shoulders sagging. "And look where it got him."

It was a good thing Shirley growled or John might've knocked his friend unconscious. Sensing he was no longer welcome, Greg pushed back his chair and stood up. John watched him go, jaw clenched. Only when the door closed and Lestrade's footsteps thudded down the stairs did John drag in a shaky breath. His hands clenched into fists and he dropped his head onto the table, letting out a frustrated groan.

Shirley padded over, dropping the leash into his lap. She took a step back, tail wagging, eyes hopeful. He lifted his head and smiled tiredly at her.

"No, Shirley."

She barked and John could've sworn he'd heard a high pitched, "Why not?" She did that a lot, talked. Well, not really. Her groans and grumbles sometimes sounded like words and it was usually punctuated with some impeccable timing, but she was dog. She couldn't really talk.

He reached his hand out, holding it halfway between them. She hesitated before pressing her head into his palm. His smile widened. He held onto the contact for a bit before running his fingertips over the top of her head. She stiffened, but he was the one who pulled away.

"I do miss him," he admitted, eyes going glassy. He sniffed. "Don't know why." A nervous laugh. "He was such an ass."

Shirley placed a paw on John's leg and whined. He turned back to her and everything buckled at once. He wrapped his arms around her and rubbed the side of his face into her soft, creamy fur. She tensed at first, pulling backwards, then slowly, cautiously settled into him. He trembled, sobbing openly into her neck.

"I should've gotten there sooner." Shirley leaned against him and settled her head across his shoulders. His voice tipped, breaking before he could finish the next sentence. "Why did he have to leave?"

She strangled out a whine and stood on her back legs. The second paw wrapped around him and squeezed. He shifted his grip and pulled her closer, completely confused, but too comfortable to question it. He felt her tongue wet the back of his neck and a giggle bubbled from his lips.

"That tickles," he said.

She pressed her nose into his skin and breathed deep before pulling away. He let her, wiping tears away with his sleeves and feeling better than he had in months. "How about some dinner?" Her tail wagged.

.:..:.

Shirley rolled onto her back and stretched over the length of the couch. The T.V. was busy chatting about therapy dogs, but she was ignoring it. She needed a plan. John wasn't exactly likely to want to go anywhere near the fire. They probably wouldn't even be allowed. But if she could catch Derek's scent, she could follow it straight back to his master's hiding place. He had to have one. No way a newly turned wolf could recover so quickly, let alone on their own. At least his trail would be easy to follow. Blood and fire were not smells that were easily covered.

Even if she could get John to take her back there, what would they find? The chances of any of the people he'd taken still being human were slim at best. If the vet tech was still alive, then he was most certainly converted. However, that, she admitted with a stab of guilt, was all on her. It was probably best he'd been removed from the general public.

"Veterans with dogs is Britain's first nonprofit service offering dogs to retired servicemen."

Shirley's eyes flicked to the screen and she craned her neck to see.

"We train dogs to offer these heroes a sense of independence. Whether it's PTSD, nightmares, depression, or something different, each dog's training is tailored to their individual person's needs." A clip of a young soldier teasing a dog with a tennis ball flashed across the screen. The Golden leapt for the ball, nearly flipping over in his joy while his master laughed warmly. "The soldiers train with their dogs to strengthen the bond between dog and handler."

The picture switched over to a darkened room, a man was laying in bed, tossing and turning. The video flashed in and out of his nightmare, music dark, guns firing. She flinched, but it was over quickly when the service dog trotted in and licked the guy in the face to wake him up before switching on the light with his nose.

"Soldiers can come home with unseen injuries and the dogs are trained to help them as quickly and safely as possible." Shirley glanced at the darkened doorway of John's bedroom. "Each dog is painstakingly paired with their soldier and we use only modern, no force training with a proven, scientific basis for training."

Whatever the program said next was lost in the fact that apartment door swung open, a tall, lithe figure waltzing right inside like he owned the place.

Shirley was off the couch in an instant, furious with herself for not noticing the danger sooner. A wild snarl burst from her bared teeth as she scrambled across the floor towards the intruder. It wasn't Derek, but his scent was shallow and sharp, his empty spaces filled with darkness. The man stumbled back with a yelp, grabbing for something, anything that could be used as a weapon. His hand closed around polished wood and he raised it up like a club.

John lurched out of the bedroom, eyes groggy, gun in hand. Shirley froze, fur bristled. Her eyes left the intruder to stare at John's gun. She knew he had it. She'd smelt it, but she'd never seen it before and the very presence of it sent a cold wave of fear up her spine.

John switched on the light and froze. His eyes widened, face tightening. The arm holding the gun swung down and Shirley jumped when the weapon clattered uselessly to the floor. Anger and joy exploded from him in an unnerving aroma cocktail. John's eyes watered.

The intruder coughed and Shirley turned back to him. He was taller than John with dark, curly hair and sharp features. His eyes were ice blue, nearly grey, and bright. There was a certain spark in them, an intelligence, but also arrogance. Right now the dominant emotion was fear. He stood stock still with a violin in hand, eyes locked on Shirley.

John cleared his throat.

"Sherlock."