Chapter 13: Redbeard
Sherlock was on his way home, heavy and cold rain was coming down from the sky. He didn't take a cab, he never did. Walking felt right. The water was dropping down from his hair but his coat protected him from the cold.
Sherlock had left Scotland Yard far behind. Today he had helped find a little girl, who had been kidnapped by her aunt's husband. It was easy to read the scene and eliminate the unlikely scenarios, when you could combine your knowledge about crime and people with the ability to read them like an open book. Moriarty had taught him well. Criminal thinking was the easiest thing for Sherlock. But Sherlock didn't use it for the purpose that Moriarty had planned to. He now did the exact opposite and it felt great. For all the wrongs he had done and couldn't change anymore, he could now right the wrongs other people did and help the people who had been hurt. The little girl's mother had thanked him today and it was the first time a little girl had hugged him. She was warm and alive, not a cold body. The way it should be.
Lestrade helped him to stay straight, gave him cold cases and called him sometimes to active cases when there was no time or they couldn't find the answer. Not everyone liked the idea of him at crime scenes. A few of Lestrade's colleagues had developed a bit of hate for him. He couldn't change it; he wasn't good with people and even worse in working with idiots. But it could be worse. Sometimes they called him names but they were not really creative, he had been called worse. They also didn't know how Lestrade had gotten to know him or about his past. A fact he was very thankful for. Mycroft also had his hands in it, because no police force would ever let a twenty year old work freely at crime scenes and let him have access to the files. He never asked and Mycroft never said a word about it. It was a silent way for his brother to help him.
Working with the police was good. John thought that too. He had lived with Sherlock since the night they had collected him from Lestrade's. John would stay another week before he had to go back for his last six-months tour of duty. Because he had been worried and come back to find Sherlock, he had left his base and job undone and had to go back. After that he wanted to live with Sherlock here in London. It was only six months and both agreed that they would be able to stay separate for that time. John already had a job offer in a hospital nearby for when he returned and they planned to move and share a flat. Sherlock had found a nice place on Baker Street. The landlady had offered him a special price for the rent and they could move in as soon as John came back. He would miss John the next six months but with the cases, the letters from John and the courses he was going to take once a week at the university he would be pretty busy.
He was only a few blocks away from home when Sherlock heard a soft whiny noise. Looking around he found the source of the noise in the ally to his right; between the rubbish bins and the bags was a carton. The noise was definitely coming from the box. Sherlock hunched down, opened the lid and froze. Inside the box was a small red fury dog, looking up at him with a wiggling tail. He wanted to move back, run and hide from the animal but the dog had other plans. It put his little paws on the edge of the box and jumped right at Sherlock who tumbled over a bottle as he tried to step back.
As Sherlock opened his eyes again he found the dog sitting on his belly and chest, barking happily at him. His hands didn't move from the ground where he had tried to stop his fall. There was a small, innocent and vulnerable creature sitting on him. If he moved he could hurt it.
"Could you get off me, please? I don't want to hurt you." Sherlock tried to reason the dog away. But the dog didn't move.
"You could just walk away; no one would stop you now that you are out of the box." The dog just lay down on Sherlock's chest, getting comfortable.
"I could bring you to an animal shelter or a vet. Maybe they can find a new home for you." No answer at all. Sherlock didn't know what to do. He could feel through his jacked that the dog was cold and was bathing in his body heat. Thinking about warmth, he had to think about John. John would know what to do with the little dog.
"I can take you home to my friend. He always knows what to do." A happy and hopeful bark came from the dog. Sherlock sat up slowly and carefully. He was holding one of his hands under the dogs bum to keep it safe. The wet fur wasn't good for the dog who was clearly freezing. He placed the dog in his inner coat pocket. The dog's head peaked out and when Sherlock slowly continued his walk home, he felt the fast beating heart next to his slower heartbeat flattering. A small paw was lying over his heart while he was walking and Sherlock felt himself relax in the presence of the animal.
John heard the key turn in the lock and smiled. Sherlock was home and he would be greeted with a warm tea. Lestrade had called him to tell him that Sherlock was on his way home and, as always after a solved case, his friend needed a bit time for himself. The result was often long lonely walks. John had once tried to stop him but Sherlock had gone out into the storm anyway.
It was a form of self-punishment and both knew it. Sherlock's guilt, however unreasonable, would not go away; helping other people helped but it would take time. John heard the door open.
"Welcome back, there is a towel on the landing for you." Sherlock didn't respond which wasn't a surprise, because he was still in his head. But it wasn't the case this time John realized as a still dripping Sherlock walked into the kitchen with the towel and something red in it. He was holding his hands out to John to take it or look at it; John wasn't sure so he asked.
"What did you find, Sherlock?" The answer to his question came from the red thing itself. It moved and the head of a puppy looked curiously around.
"It was in a box and it was cold and it didn't want to go away from me. I couldn't leave it out in the rain. What should I do with it?" He was unsecure but not panicking around an animal. Definitely an achievement.
"First of all you did the right by bringing it with you, out of the rain and cold. Second, you are already doing the right thing by drying it up. But you should dry yourself too. Or you will get him wet again. There is a second towel." John took the puppy for the time that Sherlock needed to get the towel and dry his hair.
"We should give him something to eat. Hold him a second, I'm sure I will find something." Startled by the sudden contact with the dog, Sherlock looked at it fearfully again. Like every time they had walked through the city and a dog, cat or other animal had come close to him. But from the corner of his eyes John watched Sherlock relax again as the puppy licked his hand.
"Why don't you two go change into something comfy, I need another second." John said without turning.
"Okay." Sherlock turned to go to his room to change his clothes and took the dog with him.
Sherlock in his pajamas was sitting in the arm chair with the tea John had made for him and was watching the dog greedily eating his food. He must have been outside in the cold for a long time. Alone and frightened without someone warm next to him. He must be really happy that Sherlock had picked him up. 'If the dog knew that I have hurt many of his kind?' Sherlock pondered as he got taken out of his thoughts by John.
"I found it. He is an Irish Setter." John sounded proud. After searching the internet for ten minutes he had finally found the kind of dog they have given shelter to. Sherlock would have been far more effective and faster in his search because John and machines didn't fit well. "What do you want to call him?" John asked without looking up from his laptop.
"What?" Sherlock didn't understand why the dog needed a name? They would give it away as soon as possible. It wasn't safe with him.
"He needs a name. We can't just call him 'dog'. We gave him shelter and food after you saved him. Now he only needs a name to be really a part of our little family." John finally looked up into Sherlock's eyes, smiling.
"You… you want it to stay? With me?" Sherlock looked more than shocked.
"Why not? He is a small, lonely and scared puppy, without a home or family. Why should we send him out in the cold again? And Sherlock it's a 'him' not an 'it'. You can give him a girl's name if you prefer but he is a boy." John smiled a bit by the thought of a grown up male dog with a girlish name. He was trying to lead the conversation away a bit from Sherlock's fear of hurting the animal.
"But John you will be gone in a week for another six months. Who would take care of it... I mean him?" Without consciously noticing, Sherlock moved away a bit from the dog, John sadly noticed.
"You, Sherlock. He likes you already. You will take care of him. Feed him, walk him, cuddle up on the sofa when it's cold and watch telly together, keep each other company." It sounded kind of easy coming out of John's mouth but Sherlock didn't trust himself.
"Sherlock, dogs are very protective and loyal, he will be your friend in no time. Maybe you can train him so he can help you with your work and it would keep you busy until I come back. I have always wanted a dog but in the army you can't have one. Would you mind him that bad?" While John was talking Sherlock watched the dog who was finished with his food and started walking over to them, tapping with his little paws on the floor and sniffing on the things covering his way over to him.
A thing his therapist had told him came to his mind. He had to overcome the fear that he would hurt everyone. His presence wouldn't hurt them anymore than his way of keeping them out and away. Maybe by taking in the dog Sherlock could learn how to be around living creatures outside of Mycroft and John without fear.
Sherlock nodded slowly and John understood that this was his agreement to keep the dog. The afternoon continued like every time Sherlock came home from a solved case. With tea, crap telly and Chinese take away for dinner by the warm fire in the living room enjoying the company of each other.
Sherlock woke up the next morning with a smile on his face. He had had a nice dream or better a flash of a memory of his childhood. He had remembered how Mycroft had read his favorite book to him. A pirate book and how they had played pirates after the rain had stopped outside in the garden. They even had their own little pirate names. He was Blackbeard and Mycroft was…
Sherlock jumped up and ran down to John's room. It was early but the soldier was already awake and had had his shower, half-dressed he looked surprised to the door. "John I know how we will call the dog." As if in answer to the silent call the dog appeared between Sherlock's legs, who lifted him up and looked the dog deep in the eyes. "Your name from now will be Redbeard."