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101 Deductions, inspired by a post that I can’t find anymore. ಥ-ಥ
John is invalided home and brings along an Army K9 named Lucky, who dragged him back behind friendly lines after he was shot, despite also having been injured in the fight. Lucky has a genuine limp, but still manages to haul John out of a deep dark hole by harassing him out of bed at dawn every day, constantly demanding food and walks and belly rubs, and generally not giving John a goddamn minute to himself until he began to look around and notice that life isn’t all that shite after all.
Lucky introduces John to Sherlock and Redbeard one fine day. Redbeard looks on disdainfully as the three others fall into the duck pond. Sherlock has John pay restitution for his ruined clothes by acting as his live-in assistant. There’s a lot of life-saving, mostly by John and Lucky, who are terrifyingly efficient as a fire-and-movement team of two. Redbeard prefers to lounge around on John’s lap instead of taking part in experiments with Sherlock. Sherlock retaliates by training Lucky to respond to commands in French and starts using the German Shepherd to fetch things for him around the house. And at crime scenes.
Three months later Redbeard has puppies - like, a lot of puppies, you guys - and John and Sherlock get sort of accidentally engaged during a panic-fueled shouting match. (That hound of yours has despoiled my purebred setter! What do you want me to say; that Lucky’ll make an honest woman of her?! Well we have to get married now, John; we have a hundred babies! Ten, Sherlock! Just ten! And they’re puppies, not– JOHN HAMISH WATSON HOW DARE– Okay, okay, fine! I get it; we’re a family now! Just calm down!)
Thanks, @almosttomorocco, for bringing this delightful pic/fic idea to my attention. It’s not a project I can take on, since I currently have 2 WIPs updating every week, but I really hope someone writes it, and tags me.
Meanwhile, if you’d like my own super-short Johnlock/101 Dalmatians crossover, check out Toto’s Song. And for the Mystrade version, there’s Nature Calls. They’re both sequels-in-song to Sherlock in Oz.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 5/5
Fandom: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson
Characters: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, Greg Lestrade, Sally Donovan, Original Characters
Additional Tags: Case Fic, original casefic, Veterans, War Veteran John Watson, Moral injury, POV Sherlock Holmes, POV John Watson, POV Alternating, Shippy Gen, Season 1 vibes, Suspense
Series: Part 9 of author’s favorites
Summary:
Somebody is systematically killing veterans in London. Sherlock is on the case, but he’s definitely not worried. John will be fine. Even if he doesn’t seem fine.
Set in 2010, sometime between TGG and aSiB but firmly in the vibe of Season 1.
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I write this in my private journal to keep it to myself. Not every word I write about the world’s only consulting detective is meant to be disclosed to the general public. If I am in luck, I will be able to conceal this from the man himself. He will be sure to tell me if I fail this, make no mistake, Watson.
I have lived in 221B Baker Street for the length of two months, three weeks, and one day, and I am pleased to say that I have never felt more alive in my life. However, I have never been more aggravated with a person either.
Sherlock Holmes is extraordinary, brilliant, extremely intelligent, which my stories in Strand Magazine bear witness to. What people do not know about the masterful detective, is his peculiar habit of strewing papers and books all around our rooms. Mrs Hudson describes it as ‘a spectrum of chaos’. Quite the apt account in my humble opinion.
In some instances, it can best be described as mayhem, because Holmes can be excessively vocal when he is unable to find what he is searching for.
He looks like a deranged scientist when he is in one of his frenzies. His eyes are protruding from their sockets, his hands make his normally slicked back hair into a bird’s nest, and his clothes are dishevelled.
The first time it happened, I was worried sick. Before that, I perceived Holmes as the most fastidious of gentlemen when it came to personal hygiene and appearance. No wonder it shocked me so. Had not Mrs Hudson divulged to me that this happens on a regular basis, I would have administered a sedative for him, I think.
***
“Watson, I need your assistance at once!”
Holmes is in one of his moods again, and time is of the essence.
When is it not, Watson?
“What do you require, Holmes?” I ask, looking devastated at the disorder he has left our sitting room in.
Finding the needle in the metaphorical haystack, of course.
To my relief, he seems far from the peak of mania yet, as evidenced by his immaculate attire and general behaviour.
“A letter from our previous client. The politician.”
“Do you mean the Prime Minister, Holmes?”
“I don’t know, Watson. Our clients’ titles are irrelevant to me. You have to consult my brother if you want – “
“Steady on, Holmes. Surely, there is no need for insults this early in the day,” I reply calmly.
He harrumphs loudly and continues to rifle through a stack of letters.
His filing system is at present in a state of disarray. Normally, when he is his composed self, he knows where everything is. Today, however, I observe new lines around his mouth, and his eyes are slightly red-rimmed.
A third night without sleep, then.
Shortly after, the letter is found, and Holmes has eaten two bites of fried eggs and toast with his breakfast tea.
“You are a wonder, dear fellow,” he states before he drains his cup.
A blush creeps up my neck at such unprecedented praise, and I have a sudden urge to loosen my tie. I clear my throat before I speak to ensure my voice come across as lucid and not raw with emotions.
“Surely, finding a letter can’t warrant such an exclamation, Holmes.”
“Oh, but it was not any letter, Watson!”
“Nevertheless,” I protest mildly.
As Holmes pointed out, it was not an ordinary letter. To be more precise: he did not look for the letter at all. Not per se. It was the item he accidentally dropped into the envelope he was eager to obtain.
***
“How did you come to miss your folded companion?” I ask that evening.
Holmes took me to dinner at Simpson’s to celebrate that his magnifying glass was secure in his waistcoat pocket once more, and now we are in front of 221B’s lit fireplace with glasses of excellent port at our disposal.
“I… er… I was intrigued by a… pattern, which I wanted to… explore more carefully.”
This abnormal conduct rattles me. Never in our acquaintance has Holmes spoken so hesitantly. His speech is habitually precise in the extreme; he never fumbles with his words like that.
“Pray tell, old boy.”
The warmth from the fire and the alcohol in my veins fill me with contentment, and I relax entirely into my chair.
Holmes sighs dramatically, which is his wont. Still, he seems calmer than usual.
“Your scarf.”
His voice is soft and quiet. I shake myself out of my momentary lethargy when I discern a hint of affection in it.
Does this mean that my devotion is reciprocated?
“John, please do not panic.”
Panic? What on earth does he mean?
Taking stock of myself, I realise that my breathing is too quick. I close my eyes, inhale and exhale deeply and try to control my galloping heart.
When his familiar fingers caress my nape and cheek, hope flares in me like the flames in our hearth.
My mind is in uproar; another spectrum of chaos, but it will all be fine. If I can just manage to open my eyes and look at him; the man I revere above all others. The man who holds my heart in his beautiful hands.
"Where are you taking her?”
“The Landmark.”
A nice restaurant, which explains the jacket and tie. A pricey place for a locum doctor to take his date.
He’s started over again on the tie. I bat his hands away, undo it and retie.
“Thank you.” He smiles up at me. “I’ll have my phone on vibrate if you need me. Don’t wait up.”
Another wink. (Honestly, the only people who actually wink are elderly, flirtatious ladies or dirty old men.) With a final glance at the mirror, he puts on his jacket and heads down the stairs.
...She’s going to ask him to move in with her.
While that might solve my flatmate problem, it creates another. How will I know what John Watson is up to, if he’s not here to deduce?
...I’m… well, not fond of him. Nothing like that. I’m used to him now. And I’m curious. If he moves out, I’ll never suss out exactly what he’s doing for Mycroft.
Almost at once, a plan comes into my mind.
A little snippet I drew from Juxtaposition by Clueda on AO3!!!! TeenLock is definitely not usually my thing, but this fan fiction has had me LOCKED TF IN!!!!!!! Slow burn of my life right now
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
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