"So Touchingly Loyal" - Pet!John (Sherlock Holmes/John Watson MD)

Sherlock had been lost in his work and hadn’t even noticed how long John had been gone, but he was pleased when he returned and came to greet him. It was surprising to see his new pet had taken to him so well, he’d always been unable to find himself a flatmate who could tolerate his habits, and his last pet had ran away after two days.

But John seemed different. John seemed to genuinely like him. “It’s fine,” he smiled and allowed John to snuggle into him, tickling under his chin. Then he stood up and moved through to the living room. “I’ll give you some space to cook,” he mumbled and flopped down into his armchair with a satisfied sigh.

John smiled happily as his master returned the touch. “It will be ready in a few,” he muttered, getting down to work. John was used to this, he was well trained for it and he had even taken care of children in previous households.

In 20 minutes he was bringing him a dish full of pasta with homemade vegetable sauce. “Here,” he said, sitting by him and watching him expectantly.

Sherlock hoisted himself up in the armchair and gratefully took the plate of pasta, his stomach rumbling with hunger. He took the first mouthful cautiously, eating slowly, tasting every morsel. “Mmm,” he said finally. “Mmm yes that’s…that’s very good actually.” He smiled broadly at John and reached up a hand to scratch behind his ear. “Thank you John.”

John blinked surprised at his owner’s words. “No one ever said thank you,” he admitted with a sad smile, blushing furiously at the touch behind his ear. He leaned into it, soon nuzzling the other’s hand, he felt he loved this place already, beside this beautiful man.

Sherlock stroked and tickled John with one hand, whilst the other held the fork and dug into the pasta hungrily. Once he’d finished eating he grinned and handed the plate back to John.

“Thank you,” he muttered then stood up and grabbed the union jack cushion off the armchair, settling it on the sofa with some other cushions before picking up a spare blanket from his room. “Here you are,” he said, and pointed at the makeshift bed on the sofa. “I hope that’s OK for you. You can go to bed anytime you like, I’ll be up for a few more hours doing my experiments.”

John couldn’t even describe how happy he felt as his owner stroked him, he could only groan content while leaning towards him.

“You’re welcome,” he said softly, blushing a bit as his bed was prepared. He didn’t really feel like sleeping yet, but he was tired and didn’t want to disturb Master Holmes.

“Is there anything else you need me for?” he asked, looking away insistently, his tail moving sheepishly to hide between his legs. There were things he had been asked to do before, things he didn’t like, but for some reason he thought he wouldn’t mind too much with his new owner.

Sherlock hovered in the archway of the kitchen about to return to his experiment when he realised John’s hesitation at going to his bed. “It’s alright,” he said gently, approaching the pet and stroking behind his ear. “If you have a nightmare I’ll look after you.”

Just then Sherlock’s phone began to ring. He whipped it out of his pocket and hit the answer button. “Sherlock Holmes?...yes…yes of course. Ten minutes.” He hung up and hurried to grab his coat and scarf, throwing them on over his shoulder as he stalked towards the door. “Got to go out,” he muttered, “work.”

He paused at the top of the stairs, a sudden thought crossing his mind, then re-emerged back into the living room looking at John curiously. “Would…would you…like to come with me? Could be dangerous.”

John couldn’t help the smile that curled his lips when his owner told him that he’d take care of him, he had always wanted to hear that, but no one had ever cared much about him. He had always been alone somehow.

He bent his head, bumping the top of it against Sherlock’s chest affectionately. “Thank you,” he whispered.

He blinked when he heard the phone, his tail tensing up at the nervous air that seemed to fizz when his owner answered it. “Sherlock,” he whispered to himself, finally learning what his first name was. It was peculiar, not ordinary like his. He loved it. He was never going to forget it.

He found himself growing worried when Sherlock seemed to get ready to go out, his ears flattening against his head. He didn’t want to be alone in the house, he didn’t want Sherlock to go away.

But then he was there, asking /him/ if he wanted to come, saying it was dangerous. John’s body tensed in excitement. “Oh God, yes,” he exclaimed, before his tail started wagging desperately, betraying just how happy he was.

Sherlock smirked at how keen John was to tag along. He wasn’t used to having friends or colleagues but he did enjoy having someone to talk aloud to when he was thinking, better than the skull at least. “Come along then,” he smiled and jogged down the stairs and out through the front door where he hailed a taxi for them both to jump into.

John followed excitedly, crowding happily against Sherlock once they were in the taxi, almost sitting in his lap, just wanting to show how grateful he was. “Where are we going?” he asked then, realising he had no idea what his master’s job was.

Sherlock smiled fondly at John and lifted up his arm to wrap around the pet’s shoulder and bring him closer into his body, rubbing underneath John’s chin with his other hand. He felt he was bonding well with the new pet, and was surprised that he didn’t even find it that hard to show him affection. He was rather cute and adorable after all.

“Crime scene,” Sherlock answered bluntly to John’s inquiry, then turned to look at him and quickly added some more information, studying his pet’s fascinated expression. “I’m a detective,” he explained, his tone softening slightly. “Consulting detective. Only one in the world, I invented the job.”

John’s eyes were half lidded as he leaned towards Sherlock’s touch, it felt wonderful, and he wished it would never stop. He looked into his eyes as his owner talked though, surprised by the words. “Detective?” he repeated. “But you said crime scene, does it mean you work with the police?” he asked.

“No, I don’t work for the police,” Sherlock smirked, “I just help them when they’re out of their depth. Which is always.” He patted John’s knee affectionately as the cab arrived at the crime scene. He threw a twenty pound note through the gap at the driver and jumped out, not bothering to check the fare or whether there was any change. “Come along John.”

As they approached the house Lestrade stepped forward and offered out his hand. “Sherlock, glad you could make it. There’s a girl inside, no marks on her, no signs of a break in, nothing taken from the house. It’s all a bit of a mystery.” Sherlock smiled, this was just what he was looking for, and he purposely strode inside.

“Woah wait a second,” Lestrade grabbed Sherlock’s arm and nodded his head towards John. “Who’s this?” “He’s with me,” Sherlock replied curtly.

Just then, Anderson came over and with a sneer remarked, “What’s this…bring your pet to work day?” Sherlock glared at him. “Hilarious as always Anderson,” then he turned to John and muttered under his breath. “Just ignore them, you’re with me. Now come on.” And he headed into the house, ducking under the police tape.

John was rather amazed by Sherlock’s words, he would have thought the police didn’t go to detective, but again, his owner seemed to be particularly clever, John could tell just by the way he looked at things.

“Amazing,” he exclaimed, as he leaned against him, quite content. Getting to know his owner better was bound to be an exciting thing.

John looked around curiously as they stepped out of the cab, his tail tense in anticipation, he was trying to take in whatever was around them, the scents and sounds, who knows, maybe he could help his owner.

He looked at Lestrade curiously, his ears flattening against his head when he asked Sherlock who he was, and when Anderson came in, he found himself growling.

“They are not very friendly,” he said and automatically sniffed the air. “Dead person,” he mumbled. “Two,” he added, even though Lestrade had only talked about one corpse.

“Don’t worry about them, they’re ididots,” Sherlock muttered and grabbed hold of John’s hand, leading him into the living room where a woman was lying dead on the sofa. He got out his magnifier and was just inspecting her when he stood up and turned to John frowning, his words only just registering. “Sorry, did you just say there were two dead people in here?”

John looked at Sherlock as he moved towards the woman, he did the same, looking curiously at her and leaning down a bit. He heard Sherlock’s question and looked up, nodding. He sniffed the air again, and then moved around the room. He stopped in the corner. “Here,” he muttered. He was sure, but he knew no one would believe him. He was just a pet after all, and there wasn’t any blood on the floor. “Old man maybe…”

Sherlock followed John to the corner of the room, looking at him curiously, then glanced down at the floor. He felt around with his foot and then began to smile. “John…John you are wonderful,” he exclaimed and crouched down. “One of these floorboards is loose…look. LESTRADE!” he shouted and the Inspector came dashing in. Sherlock stood up again. “Get your least annoying officers in here, there’s another body under the floorboards.”

He pulled John to one side and grinned at him broadly as the police retrieved the body of an old man from under the floor. “That was quite amazing John. Good boy. Now. The woman. How long would you say she’s been dead?” He headed back over to the sofa and continued the inspection.

John’s tail started wagging happily when Sherlock complimented him, his chest filling with warm pride, and to be completely honest, he was touched Sherlock had trusted him enough to check.

He followed him back to the woman, and sniffed the corpse again, his eyes moving over the skin. “I would say 4 and a half hours,” he said, frowning. “I don’t know how she died though, I can’t smell blood…”

“4 and a half hours,” Sherlock repeated, then raced over to have a look at the dead man they had dragged up, and Sherlock could tell he’d been dead for longer than the woman. “Interesting.” There were also clear strangulation marks around his neck.

He headed back to the woman and handed John the magnifier, pointing to her neck. “That’s how she died,” he announced, encouraging John to look with a nod of his head. “There’s a tiny mark on her neck. A needle. She’s been injected with some kind of poison.” He then turned to address Lestrade. “We need a toxicology report and we need to identify this man, find out what their connection is.”

Sherlock grabbed John by the arm and led him out, grinning. “You can help me search the rest of the house if you like…you’re rather good at this.” He stroked John’s tail gently.

John looked at his owner surprised by his observation skills, how had he noticed that? He leaned over the body with the magnifier and indeed there was a hole that could have been caused by a needle. He couldn’t help the half smile crossing his lips for a second, knowing his owner was right, but he tried to school his features, knowing the policemen were already staring at them.

He felt determined and excited as they moved to the other room, Sherlock’s compliment pleasing him beyond belief, but he froze when he felt hands on his tail, is cheeks burning red. “Master Holmes, that is rather sensitive,” he pleaded embarrassed.

Sherlock grinned and released John’s tail. “My apologies,” he mumbled and headed straight over to the desk in the window of the office room. He began to open drawers and search through them. “Check the bookcase,” he ordered, “and let me know if you find anything interesting.”

John nodded, it was exciting and the pet couldn’t remember the last time he had been this useful. It felt good. “Interesting? Like what?” he asked, sniffing the books. He frowned when he felt an unusual scent. He growled instinctively. “Master Holmes, needle,” he exclaimed.

Sherlock was busy looking through the drawers of the desk and had just found a photograph of the dead man and woman together with a second man. He looked up excitedly when John called him and rushed over to the bookcase. He began pulling out the books where John had indicated and a needle fell out from behind them, clattering onto the floor.

Sherlock grinned broadly and tickled behind John’s ear. “Good boy,” he praised. “Very good boy. And look…I found this photo. So we know the two victims knew each other. We just have to find out how…and who this other man is. Should be easy.” He grabbed the laptop off the desk and opened it up.

John’s tail started wagging again, ecstatic that he could be of help and that Sherlock appreciated him. IF things went on like this, maybe Sherlock would keep him forever. He nodded, following his owner to the desk and affectionately pressing himself against him as he turned on the computer.

“Easy?” He repeated, quite unsure it was going to be, but nonetheless willing to try. “It’s password locked,” he exclaimed disappointed.

“Huh, that won’t be a problem,” Sherlock announced arrogantly, striding back towards the bookcase. He glanced through the books thoughtfully but they were quite varied and nothing immediately jumped out at him.

Then he wandered over to the mantelpiece and picked up a small picture in an ornate frame. “Ahh, now this is interesting. “ It was a picture of a pet. Sherlock noted he looked a bit like John except not half as cute.

“So they had a pet. Except there’s no pet here now and I can’t smell any pets. Neither can you otherwise you would have said something. Therefore the pet is dead, and it must have died a long time ago otherwise there’d still be some residual smell. So what do we deduce from that John?” He held up the picture. “This pet is long dead yet they still keep his picture in this rather nice frame, pride of place here on the mantelpiece. So. Sentimental then.”

Sherlock turned the picture around and removed the photograph from the frame, noticing something with a smile. “Ahh, just as I thought.” He showed the back of the photo to John. “Samson. Aged 14.” He hurried back to the laptop, typed in the word ‘samson’ and hit enter, unable to help himself yelping a small “yes!” when it worked.