Sherlock paced impatiently up and down the darkened street, checking his watch every thirty seconds, watching for any approaching cars or people. They were on a back alley in a quiet part of town, late at night, but this was where they were supposed to be.
He glanced at John and couldn't help a smile. The pet had been following him around patiently all day, taking orders, calling him master, the perfect model of a pet. Sherlock couldn't believe how much he cared about him already.
"This is where it was, John," he explained, suddenly realising the pet looked a little lost, and that he hadn't bothered to explain what was actually going on. "There was an e-mail on the laptop we acquired. Sent to the boyfriend's e-mail address from that 'M' person. They were supposed to meet here. Tonight. In about two minutes."
He suddenly became alert when the pet said there was someone following. He stopped pacing and stood still, listening. Footsteps. "You're right, John, someone's coming." He grabbed the pet's arm and dragged him behind a skip, ducking down.