Dog Fight, Holmes-Watson, 'Sherlock Holmes'
Title: Dog Fight
Summary: Mary wondered if it was really Gladstone they’d been fighting over, after all.
Characters: Mary, Holmes, Watson, Gladstone
Pairing: Holmes-Watson, Mary/Watson
Rating: K+
It started with an argument over Gladstone, as far as Mary was aware. John had removed the dog from Baker Street and, several days later, the Watsons had awoken to find their dog gone. John assured and reassured himself that the dog had been asleep at the foot of the bed when they’d slipped into bed the night before and, barring the dog magically jumping out of the window that was four foot above ground level there was no explanation for his sudden disappearance.
But then, the next day, John had returned - irate - from an afternoon visit at Baker Street with Gladstone trailing behind him. She didn’t ask, deducing that somehow Holmes had taken their dog from their home.
Hours later, Mary was in the kitchen when she heard the sound of raised voices coming from the lounge. She frowned, set the pot of tea on the cooler and followed the sound of her husband’s voice. She was about to enter the room when the door swept open and Sherlock Holmes breezed out, stopping short when he realised she was there.
He turned his head from her without acknowledgement and she caught the edge of the glare he directed back at her husband.
“Gladstone is such a stupid name, anyway.”
She watched, bewildered as he left in a flurry of long coats and trailing scarves, the sound of the front door slamming shut echoing sharply around Cavendish. She turned to her husband, who was leaning heavily on one of the tall armchairs but he held up his hand to wave off her questions.
“Don’t.”
She wanted to ask but she nodded anyway and turned away, pausing for a moment to look back over her shoulder.
“Tea?”
When she awoke the next morning, she found Gladstone tied by his collar to the foot of his bed. She turned to glare at her husband but he already had a ready smirk on his face, nodding his head in accomplishment.
She shook her head; she would never understand Holmes and Watson.
--
The next month passed uneventfully; Gladstone remained in Cavendish Place under John’s watchful eye and Holmes remained steadfastly absent. She had asked John about his friends’ whereabouts but he had waved her off; he has a case, you know how he gets.
She didn’t, not entirely, but she let him believe she did, anyway.
That was until she woke up one morning with a frightful headache and little recollection of the night before and she wondered if perhaps the wine had gone off. She felt the bed beside her was cool and empty but when she looked around the room, she saw that John’s cane was leaning against the wall at the far side, his waistcoats still folded neatly over the back of the chair where she had hung them the day before.
She almost tripped over the sleeping Gladstone who was still tied up, every night, at the foot of the bed but caught herself before she could tread on him. She didn’t know why John still insisted on tethering the dog - surely Holmes had learned his lesson by now?
John wasn’t in the house but she didn’t fret - despite his leaving behind his cane, but she brushed that thought aside -; it was not unusual for him to be out before she was even awake. She set about making a pot of tea, wincing as the high-pitched whistle scorched across her aching brain. She prepared a tonic instead of tea and drank it in one long gulp, shedding any modicum of decorum for a moment.
It was a couple of hours later, when she was dozing on the chaise in the sunroom that John returned; she sat up, ready to welcome him when she saw that he was inordinately dishevelled and more than a little angry. When she stood to receive him, taking a step towards him, she saw that the clothes he wore were not his own, despite being familiar. She stared at them for a long moment, wondering where her husband had been before lifting her eyes to meet his.
He sighed lowly, his shoulders rising and falling with the motion and he closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Holmes,” he murmured by way of explanation but Mary didn’t quite understand, even though she now recognised the tailored velvet coat.
“What...?”
“I woke up tethered to the bottom of his bed.”
She had to forcibly hold back the bubble of laughter that threatened to burst free.
“But you were in bed along with me-“
“I know,” he interrupted, nodding feverishly.
“So how did he...?” He simply shrugged and Mary guessed he truly did not know; Holmes’ devious genius knew no ends. “So why-“
“To prove a point,” he interrupted again, though she could tell his anger had dissolved into a kinder irritation.
“And what po-“
“That he can.” Mary nodded slowly and John finally looked back up to her.
“Perhaps you should just give him the dog, John.”
“What? No! I will not give into him; what next? The spare room? No, if we give into him on this, he will just keep demanding. He is like a child, Mary; we must treat him like one.”
--
Holmes scoffed and Mary had to hide her amused smirk behind her handkerchief.
“Joint custody?” he queried, almost incredulous and Mary could see the corner of her husband’s mouth twitch up in amusement too. “No, out of the question.”
“Holmes-“
“I want all of him or nothing at all!”
“He’s my dog,” John restated, his eyebrows rising in vexation.
“Our dog, my dear Watson. Gladstone is our dog.”
“No, he’s...” John trailed off, taking in a breath and closing his eyes to calm himself and Mary wondered, once again, how it was that these two had become such close friends. “I’m offering you-“
“Oh, so now you want to reinstate the bartering system?” Holmes scoffed but shook his head. “I’m afraid you put a veto to that the day you left, old boy.”
“Holmes...”
Mary watched the silent interaction between them, taking in the way that Holmes’ eyes tightened slightly when John used that gentle tone (one, she noted, he had never used with her) and the way John leaned more heavily on his cane when Holmes’ shoulders slumped.
“Very well,” Holmes conceded, much to Mary’s surprise. “On the condition that he no longer be leashed to your matrimonial bed so I can pick him up whenever I please.”
Mary could see her husband move to protest before he thought better of it, shaking his head slightly with a smile.
“Done.” Holmes nodded, although Mary could tell his mind was already onto the next matter. She looked to her husband, taking in the way he watched Holmes, the expression on his face almost tender. She looked away. “These rooms are too quiet,” her husband continued some minutes of silence later. “You should get a new roommate.”
Holmes turned to John then, an unreadable expression on his studious face that made Mary bite her lip and duck her head from the intimacy of the stare.
“There will be company enough now that I have Gladstone; for half the week at least.”
And as John smiled sadly, resting his hand on his friends shoulder for a moment, Mary couldn’t help but wonder if it wasn’t Gladstone they had been fighting about after all.