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A routine walk after dinner would naturally not be routine at all. Not while John was already miffed from a shit day at the surgery, a case that had half his body smeared with horse droppings and stinking of horse piss. Chasing an equestrian was horrifically exhausting.
Sherlock had finally encouraged him to stop for food, likely hoping to lighten his mood. What would really have him over the moon was a long shower, a furious wank, and a good night's sleep.
The night ended up unleashing rain. Not horrific rain, as they were used to, but a light drizzle, faint enough that he didn't realise he was soaked to the bone and Sherlock was discreetly covering his nose.
Warning him to look out proved to be fucking pointless, as he was already tripping and falling face first into the cement by the time it registered. “Fuck!”
Panic seized him when several points of pressure touched down on his back, a sudden coldness on his neck. He thrashed, tossing off his attacker and rolling over to get a look at him, fingernails grating against the sidewalk, instincts urging him to tear apart whomever threw him on the ground-
“John John John-” Sherlock stuttered urgently, holding John by his shoulders. “It's just a puppy. Don't-”
John wrenched himself away, glaring at the sodden figure crouching a foot away, trembling like a leaf. “Bastard tried to bite my bloody ankle-”
“It was scared.” Argued Sherlock with a glower, teasing his hand out for the creature. “We have to bring it-”
“-please don't-”
“Back to Baker Street with us.”
Scrubbing his hands over his face, John groaned. “We do not have permission to-”
“It's only for the night, John.” Sherlock scolded, expression softening to a dumb grin when the creature crawled into his lap, burrowing into his Belstaff. “Besides, I'll watch...” he paused, pursing his lips, “her for the rest of the night.”
John grudgingly allowed both of them into the flat, growling as the puppy licked at him with every stride, curious and gentle. Sherlock fed her John’s leftovers, since he was the only one to order. Sherlock tried to sneak her into the tub before John could shower, which was met with a stern absolutely not.
Instead of bathing her, which she was not in need of, Sherlock favoured giving her a vigorous towel dry and placing her in front of the fire, allowing her to gnaw and tear apart a sock. If it was John’s, he would be sleeping in the stairwell.
She was without a collar, which was bloody brilliant. So, she would be staying through the night until Sherlock could bring her to a nearby vet in the morning. Fucking brilliant.
“Her milk belly is still prominent.” Sherlock announced as John strode through the sitting room with no more than a towel around his hips.
“Mine too.”
“She’s very young - she’s either just adopted or still nursing. She took to food easily enough. I suspect the former.” The puppy growled, ducking in a play bow and waggling her hips, lunging at his hand. “Friendly with humans - recognised you as a salvation, as shelter in the storm. Still clumsy, however not hypothermic. Wasn’t outside for too very long.”
“G’night. If she shits clean it up. ” John responded, tromping up the stairs to his own scarcely used room. A regular night, he would sleep as usual in Sherlock’s room, to keep an ear out for Sherlock potentially blowing himself up. However he could tell that it would be a rather noisy night, with Sherlock playing nonstop with his new companion.
John dressed quickly, in a giant shirt that fit him quite loosely, and sweatpants that had to be tied. Nothing felt better than his frumpiest clothes after a long trudge in the elements.
“John?”
“Kill me.” John hissed as he turned, laying eyes on a damp Sherlock and mostly-unconscious mystery dog. “What?”
Sherlock blushed, taking in John’s features. His fingertips were bleeding, his face scratched from where he fell on the cement, worn and on the edge of furious. “She has a circadian rhythm.” He announced.
“Wonderful.”
Averting his eyes, Sherlock mumbled, “Could she stay with you for a few moments while I change? I’ll be quick--”
John sank to the edge of his bed with a sigh, rubbing his eyes with one hand and gesturing for their houseguest with the other. “C’mon.” The mound of puppy landed on his lap, nearly boneless to the part of sliding straight onto the floor. Sherlock’s footsteps retreated in a hurry.
He couldn’t remember falling asleep, but when he woke up, there was a puppy next to his head and a blanket over his body, mindless of how awkwardly he was strewn over his mattress. Showering and grooming for the day, John didn’t speak to Sherlock until he was leaving, giving the detective a kiss to his temple and rushing away with a calm, “See you.”
Regardless of his bravado, he couldn’t deny how his heart sank when Sherlock texted him that Ella was chipped and she would be gone before he made it home in the evening.