The Brave Little Pup
Title: The Brave Little Pup
Rating: G
Characters: Gladstone, Watson, Mrs. Hudson
Summary: In which our heroes meet
Author's Notes: Because flying_android asked, a bit of Christmas fluff guaranteed to rot your teeth out. I claim no responsibility for any ensuing dental bills
Coldness. That’s all his short life has been. Coldness, and hunger, and loneliness, and fear. Endless days without food, in the darkest, dirtiest part of town.
Until he manages to find himself in the way of a large, running thing. You’d think he’d have learned by now: avoid the bottom paws of the large hairless ones or be kicked to the side.
With a small yelp and a whine, Gladstone limps away and curls into an empty crate as the footsteps recede in the distance. Exhausted and weak, he finds himself drifting off in unfamiliar territory but can’t bring himself to care.
He doesn’t even notice it’s raining until it stops suddenly. Warily, he opens one eye and finds a kind face looking down at him.
“Ah. You’re the little fellow from before, aren’t you? Terribly sorry old boy. I didn’t see you crossing there, and I would be remiss if I didn’t make amends.”
Before he can register what’s happening, he’s been scooped up and placed inside a hat, and he loses consciousness again before he can bring himself to care about his destination.
After what seems like only minutes but must be hours, he awakes again. This time, he’s in a people-den, lying on a soft blanket and near a heat source. Next to his new resting-place, there’s a bowl of water and a plate of torn meat. It’s the most decadent thing his ever had in his whole life, but he can’t work up the energy to move for the life of him.
He feels something wrapped around his middle, tightly enough to restrict his movement but not enough to hurt. All in all, he’s in the best shape of his life, in spite of his injuries.
Gladstone makes an involuntary snuffling sound that’s answered with a low amused chuckle from beside his bed. A large hand descends towards his head until an involuntary flinch gives his apprehension away.
Instead, the hand rests on his blanket, the back turned towards him. Gladstone sniffs it a bit, and deciding it smells decidedly like the meat on the plate before him, gives it a tentative lick. He’s rewarded with an affectionate scratch behind his ears and it’s the most wonderful thing he’s ever felt.
The hand leaves suddenly, though and he finds himself missing it almost immediately. Impatient, he nudges the closest part of the human sitting next to him and is again rewarded with a small laugh.
“Oh, you like that, do you? Well, eat some of this and you’ll get some more.”
Of course, these words mean nothing to Gladstone, but the tone is nice enough and the food is pushed a little closer to his new bed. Tentatively, he takes a small bite and before he knows it, he’s made his way completely through the dinner. Somewhere between the second and third bites, the hand finds it way back behind his ears.
The door opens. “Oh, he’s looking much better, Doctor.”
“Indeed he is, Mrs. Hudson. I do believe we shall keep him. He’s certainly much easier to housetrain than certain other people of our acquaintance.”
Gladstone has only been in the house for a couple of hours, but he understands the tone of affection, even if he doesn’t understand the words. Cautiously, he draws up the last of his remains of energy and toddles the short distance to the person sitting beside his bed. With an exhausted grunt, he heaves himself up in the space between the legs, curls up, and falls fast asleep.
Dr. Watson is a brave, tough man. But this act of faith and courage from such a little pup sparks a fondness in him that lasts until the both of them are old and gray.
Rating: G
Characters: Gladstone, Watson, Mrs. Hudson
Summary: In which our heroes meet
Author's Notes: Because flying_android asked, a bit of Christmas fluff guaranteed to rot your teeth out. I claim no responsibility for any ensuing dental bills
Coldness. That’s all his short life has been. Coldness, and hunger, and loneliness, and fear. Endless days without food, in the darkest, dirtiest part of town.
Until he manages to find himself in the way of a large, running thing. You’d think he’d have learned by now: avoid the bottom paws of the large hairless ones or be kicked to the side.
With a small yelp and a whine, Gladstone limps away and curls into an empty crate as the footsteps recede in the distance. Exhausted and weak, he finds himself drifting off in unfamiliar territory but can’t bring himself to care.
He doesn’t even notice it’s raining until it stops suddenly. Warily, he opens one eye and finds a kind face looking down at him.
“Ah. You’re the little fellow from before, aren’t you? Terribly sorry old boy. I didn’t see you crossing there, and I would be remiss if I didn’t make amends.”
Before he can register what’s happening, he’s been scooped up and placed inside a hat, and he loses consciousness again before he can bring himself to care about his destination.
After what seems like only minutes but must be hours, he awakes again. This time, he’s in a people-den, lying on a soft blanket and near a heat source. Next to his new resting-place, there’s a bowl of water and a plate of torn meat. It’s the most decadent thing his ever had in his whole life, but he can’t work up the energy to move for the life of him.
He feels something wrapped around his middle, tightly enough to restrict his movement but not enough to hurt. All in all, he’s in the best shape of his life, in spite of his injuries.
Gladstone makes an involuntary snuffling sound that’s answered with a low amused chuckle from beside his bed. A large hand descends towards his head until an involuntary flinch gives his apprehension away.
Instead, the hand rests on his blanket, the back turned towards him. Gladstone sniffs it a bit, and deciding it smells decidedly like the meat on the plate before him, gives it a tentative lick. He’s rewarded with an affectionate scratch behind his ears and it’s the most wonderful thing he’s ever felt.
The hand leaves suddenly, though and he finds himself missing it almost immediately. Impatient, he nudges the closest part of the human sitting next to him and is again rewarded with a small laugh.
“Oh, you like that, do you? Well, eat some of this and you’ll get some more.”
Of course, these words mean nothing to Gladstone, but the tone is nice enough and the food is pushed a little closer to his new bed. Tentatively, he takes a small bite and before he knows it, he’s made his way completely through the dinner. Somewhere between the second and third bites, the hand finds it way back behind his ears.
The door opens. “Oh, he’s looking much better, Doctor.”
“Indeed he is, Mrs. Hudson. I do believe we shall keep him. He’s certainly much easier to housetrain than certain other people of our acquaintance.”
Gladstone has only been in the house for a couple of hours, but he understands the tone of affection, even if he doesn’t understand the words. Cautiously, he draws up the last of his remains of energy and toddles the short distance to the person sitting beside his bed. With an exhausted grunt, he heaves himself up in the space between the legs, curls up, and falls fast asleep.
Dr. Watson is a brave, tough man. But this act of faith and courage from such a little pup sparks a fondness in him that lasts until the both of them are old and gray.