Spoiler-Free Prompt Post
THE MEME NEEDS ARCHIVISTS!
GUIDELINES
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The German Shepherd whined softly, his slowly graying fur coat brushed to perfection. The police man sighed heavily as they approached the door- he hadn’t been back here exactly since the detective had asked about retirement. Certainly they had met at the park, but he didn’t quite include that in his wish to avoid the crazed detective; the detective had hunted him down.
“We’re getting old Lestrade.”
The dog nudged against his hand, a soft whine filling the air.
They came to a halt at the bottom of the flat, Lestrade pausing beside his owner. There was a long, black car waiting at the bottom of the steps. He looked at it, before taking a startled step back as the door popped open.
A posh looking man unfolded from the back, his tall, lean frame distinctly imposing even in the street. In one hand he carried a brolly- it was a perfectly clear day. Oh dear, this must be the man here to pick up Mycroft.
Lestrade took protective stance. “Down Lestrade. Here to see the consultant?”
“Yes. You as well?”
“Nope.” He took some pleasure in the flash of surprise. “Just letting Lestrade here say one last goodbye before Mycroft goes with you.”
“Mycroft is a cat last I checked.”
“They get along well enough.” The DI glanced back towards the flat- up on the second floor he could see Mycroft sitting up against the window, long tail twitching agitatedly. “Shall we go on in together then?”
“Certainly. After you DI.”
“Just Greg is fine.” The man murmured.
“Oh, is that so? Then call me-“
“HAMISH! WHERE’S MYCROFT?”
Lestrade’s ears pinned to the back of his skull; Greg swore reflexively. The posh man only sighed.
“Ah, you both arrived. I expected you to be here with Lestrade. How disappointing, you do have the details to the case I want correct?”
“No. I’m here for Mycroft. Lestrade, go ahead and go.”
The dog took to the stairs, past the blond haired doctor slowly coming down, nursing his hand. “I told you already, Mycroft has taken over my bedroom window. Hello gentlemen-“
“Hello.” Greg murmured back, mentally catalouging the man as Hamish. “Where’s Sherlock?”
“He and John are outside with Hudson. And why didn’t you bring the details of the case?”
Greg sighed heavily, looking heavenward for patience.
---
Mycroft was sulking. Lestrade could tell. He trotted forward, nose forward and ears pricked forward to catch anything he possible could catch.
Mycroft wasn’t one to talk when distressed; stiffly he ignored the dog that placed two forepaws on the window still to look down out at the street. They stayed like this for a long time; Lestrade was a patient dog; he had been trained to be quiet.
I am leaving. Mycroft announced.
He knew that, had gotten it from his alpha in some obscure way. I’ll miss you. Lestrade said solemnly.
I’ll visit you.
Lestrade tried to imagine that; Mycroft, the sleek, fluffy cat that he was, in a den filled with dogs. Anderson would attempt to chase him. Sally would laugh. They had already tried that as a matter of fact, and left with painful scratches across the nose.
Mycroft didn’t like stupidity.
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He wanted to stay with his alpha.
Mycroft didn’t have anything to say at that; he instead smoothly stepped onto Lestrade’s back.
The dog didn’t flinch, far too used to the heavy weight, and turned towards the doorway. His gait wasn’t exactly even, but Mycroft knew how perch himself just so, to keep from falling off. Together they made their way downstairs.
---
Greg stopped in the middle of an argument with his brother, and he paid special attention to how a sudden smile bloomed across the tired man face. Lovely smile. He followed Greg’s line of sight, to a sight he wasn’t likely to forget.
Greg’s dog, Lestrade, came proudly striding in, Mycroft perched on his back, both the picture of contentment. The DI himself laughed, as he motioned to the dog. Lestrade obediently trotted closer, before smoothly settling down onto the ground, eyes fixated on his owner.
Greg leaned down to attempt to scratch Lestrade’s head, a swipe of Mycroft’s paw, suspiciously glittering with claws, put a stop to that. “Oi, you stop that Mycroft.”
“So then Greg, Lestrade is indeed a police dog?”
“Trained for tracking and attacking. He only attacks when I give the command however.”
“A special code word, correct?”
Lestrade’s ears, slowly falling into a relaxation point, abruptly perked up again. His entire body was beginning to tense up. Greg looked at the door with a frown- distantly they could hear John and Sherlock barking, but mixed in them was Hudson’s and-
That was a woman screaming. Greg, Hamish, and the two brothers bolted to their feet.
“Someone grab zipties or rope please, I’ve only got my warrent card.”
----
Lestrade rose to his feet, Mycroft leaping off as his alpha called for him. He bounded to his masters side, easily outpacing the human in the race. Sherlock howeled again, STOP! LOOK OUT HUDSON!
You keep away from my pups!
He threw himself up against the door. His alpha was there half a step slower, kicking open the door, to a scene of horror.
Hudson was standing protectively before the two pups, Sherlock and John both barking aggressively as an alpha from some unknown pack brandished the awful loud thing that he wasn’t supposed to have.
“LESTRADE!” His ears pricked up, waiting for the call to attack.
It came a second later.
In three bounds his teeth clamped around the ‘wrist’ thing, and he bit.
A howl of pain filled the air, as bones cracked and blood filled his mouth. Lestrade tugged downwards, felt the man attempt to shake him off, screaming high enough to hurt his ears. He hung on grimly.
John and Sherlock were rushing forward now, no longer impeded by Hudson. Sherlock was shouting something to John, but Lestrade couldn’t hear it; there was a dull, throbbing pain in his right side.
The man toppled, as John launched himself to hit the human square in the chest. Sherlock moved in that second, teeth delicately wrapping around the humans throat.
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Lestrade couldn’t reply through a mouthful of flesh, and didn’t bother trying. John licked again, cleaning the wound. No wonder Sherlock tolerated him. “Sherlock-“ Sherlock’s alpha, “Off.”
Sherlock stepped off. Lestrade shifted all of his considerable weight to keeping the man pinned down. “Lestrade.” His alpha now, with what sounded like rope, gave him the word to let go.
Carefully he stepped off and away, backing up, eyes fixated on the man. Mycroft appeared from the side, twining between his legs. He sidestepped, trying to keep his feet clear. What he managed instead was a heavy fall to the side, nearly managing to squash Mycroft- Mycroft was much faster.
You stupid, stupid, stupid dog! I can’t believe you got injured!
Mycroft placed his paws up against his neck, forcing him still. John, come clean out his wound. Heaven knows this idiot won’t do it himself.
John trotted forward, Sherlock right beside him. Lestrade, slightly amused, allowed them, eyes still on his owner as he tied up the bad human. He would be taken out of the pack; the pack had no need for him anymore.
Mycroft’s head appeared in his view, as the two briefly touched noses in a gesture close to a human kiss. It was a little more complicated then that, more meaning was wrapped up in the smells, and he felt his tail hit the ground once. Pain shot through him, which he ignored in favor of shifting as John stepped back. Come join me?
Of course. The cat slipped up to his side, warm body pressing up against him. Lestrade sighed in contentment.
His alpha patted him on the head, and all was right in the world.
-End-
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I- I'm crying. So much ~feelings~ I can't even-
WHAT HAVE YOU DONE ANON
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