Work Text:
John had found Gladstone in the kitchen gnawing a severed thumb from one of Sherlock's experiments.
‘Sherlock!’ John shrieked, prising Gladstone’s jaw open and pulling out the offending thumb. Gladstone wagged his tail happily having enjoyed his treat. The flesh that had been on the thumb last time John saw it was now gone, and it looked like Gladstone had a good chew of the metacarpal. John rolled his eyes and sighed, his puppy had a taste for human flesh.
When Sherlock finally made an appearance an hour later the ensuing argument didn’t quite go the way John would have liked.
‘He’s reacting to you John, he knows you’re concerned and he’s enjoying the attention.’ Sherlock snapped, John said nothing and returned to gently rubbing Gladstone’s tummy. Sherlock put his coat on. ‘I’m going out.’ He said annoyed, and disappeared leaving John with the fall out. Gladstone’s tummy grumbled loudly and he shifted slightly on Johns lap to find a more comfortable position. Gladstone was not a happy doggie.
It had gone dark, Gladstone couldn’t sleep, his tummy really hurt and he didn’t know why. He’d fallen asleep on the funny smelling ‘sofa’ thing with his dad watching the telly. Uncle Sherlock had come back, but didn’t say hello. Gladstone had looked at him and wagged his tail, but Uncle Sherlock went straight into his bedroom and ignored him. Gladstone worried that he had been bad again. Maybe Uncle Sherlock didn’t like him anymore. He climbed of the sofa, careful not to wake his dad up and wandered over to Uncle Sherlock’s bedroom door. He lay down, the floor was really lovely and cold on his aching tummy.
Sherlock woke up at 6am, hoping that John wasn’t still asleep on the sofa, it wouldn't do his shoulder any good. He ran his fingers through his tangled hair and yawned. Today he would have to work out where Gladstone had got the thumb. Oddly he had been very careful with his experiments since John had brought the English bulldog puppy home. The exceptionally intelligent puppy seemed to bring out the best in John, and he found himself liking him. Sherlock padded out into the hall in his bare feet. There was a squelch as his foot met with something warm, squidgy, and foul smelling.
‘John!’ Sherlock shouted.
Sherlock stroked Gladstone as he looked down though his microscope.
‘This really is amazing John.’ Sherlock said balancing Gladstone on his lap as he violently wagged his tail. ‘I can identify that the thumb was infected with Campylobacter. If I had continued with my experiment it would certainly have adversely affected the results.’ Sherlock ran his fingers under Gladstone’s collar. ‘You really are an extraordinary canine.’ Gladstone licked Sherlock’s other hand. He really did love his Uncle Sherlock. John sighed in his chair and looked at the wall.
‘Unbelievable. I can’t believe you’re looking at dog poo through that thing.’ John groaned amazed by the things Sherlock found interesting.