Chapter Text
For a while, John thought he was in the clear. After the case where the one witness was Cass’s strange duck… whatever-he-was-to-her, not a single stray animal had approached him in any way. And sure, Sherlock was rather perturbed about John allowing a duck into the flat from time to time when he couldn’t bring over a cow, he no longer seemed to suspect anything. No longer stared at John as if he were a puzzle. He was sure that, to Sherlock, he was back to being just… John. And he was okay with that.
Then they were kidnapped.
John should’ve known that taking a case for Sherlock’s brother would lead them to trouble. Would lead them to being ambushed at night and thrown into a van. Would lead them to being tied back to back on some concrete floor and feeling every part of his body ache from the manhandling. Would lead to threats of being killed and the like. Typical movie-style kidnapping, really.
Of course, not every movie-style kidnapping involved a dog.
At first, John was a little fearful of it. It was a bulky, muscular dog with a wrinkly face and a large mouth that seemed to constantly stream drool. It looked like the kind of dog that would instantly tear someone to shreds.
But after seeing its tail wag in excitement upon seeing its masters and it’s heavy flop to lie on the floor after being told to stay, John had a feeling that he could somehow get help from the massive thing.
It would be risky, seeing as Sherlock was tied to his back, but unless Mycroft was going to have men surround the building anytime soon, John really didn’t have much of a choice. That, and he saw Sherlock getting hit rather hard on the head by one of their kidnappers. With that knowledge, and judging by the strain and how his back bowed against his, he was sure his friend was still unconscious. He probably shouldn’t be pleased by that, and he knew he’d have to get a good look later, but he was going to use that to his advantage.
“Psst! Hey!” John whispered, seeing the dog’s ears perk at the sound. “Over here!”
The dog grunted a little as it stood, taking its time walking over to him. “Yes?” It spoke, voice sounding incredibly deep and gruff. “Can you actually understand me?”
John just grinned. “Yeah, believe it or not.” He answered, and the dog seemed quite happy.
“Oh, that’s nice! I haven’t met someone like you before!” The dog exclaimed happily, tail wagging with a gusto. “Of course, even then, hardly anyone speaks to me. Name’s Harry, by the by. Any chance of getting yours?”
“John. John Watson.” John greeted. “Pleasure to meet you, Harry.”
Harry seemed to grin as he sat in front of him. “Pleasure to meet you as well, John John Watson!” He stated, tilting his head. “And it seems you met the wrong end of my pa’s fist. I truly apologize for that. He’s got a rather nasty temper. Same goes for your friend, but… Is he alright?”
“I hope so.” John said, craning his head and feeling a little relief when Sherlock was still slouched, clearly still unconscious. “I can’t really tell. But listen, Harry. You probably won’t believe me, but… Your pa is going to kill us.”
“Oh, I know.” Harry replied. “Shame that. I wish he’d stop it, but he doesn’t listen to me.”
He huffed a surprised laugh before he could stop himself. “Well, I really don’t want to get killed today, and I don’t want my friend to die either.” He explained. “So, if it’s not too much trouble, could it be possible for you to maybe help untie us?”
Harry looked wary, which was understandable. “I don’t want to get in trouble.”
“I promise you, Harry, that I, Captain John Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, will make sure you won’t get in trouble.” He stated firmly. “Dogs only get in trouble if they do things like gnaw on furniture or piddle indoors.”
Harry laughed as he moved around to John’s side. “Ah, you’re right, you are!” He crowed, and John felt the dog’s warm, muggy breath on his hands. “Now, let’s see here… My pa’s always been bad at this part, so… Yes!”
John only tensed a little when he felt Harry’s wrinkly jowls touch his hand, feeling some tugging at the ropes before they eventually relaxed and loosened around him. He could’ve dealt with less slobber, but at least his hands were free.
Immediately, he untied his feet before turning to Sherlock, who had slipped to the side and had fallen like he was simply dead weight. After checking his pulse, however, John was relieved that he wasn’t actually dead and quickly moved on to check his head injury. There was no blood, so that was good, though he had a feeling that Sherlock would be lucky if he managed to get out of this without a concussion.
He heard Sherlock hiss when he dared to graze a finger along the irritated flesh, and John looked at his friend as he began to stir. “John…?”
“Hey, Sherlock.” He replied. “Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be-.”
He was cut off when Harry, upon noticing Sherlock’s stirring, bent over him and began to lick his face.
“Hello there, lad!” He greeted in between licks as Sherlock flailed. “Name’s Harry. Glad to see you back in the world of the living!”
“Wha-? J-John!” Sherlock sputtered, pushing the dog aside and sitting up, clutching his head as he glared at him. All the while, John was doing his best to control his laughter. “John, what is this mongrel doing?”
“His name’s Harry, and he’s no mongrel.” John answered, giving Harry a scratch at the ears that the dog leaned into happily. “He helped us out.”
“Harry?” Sherlock parroted, brow furrowing just a little more. “You mean like your sister?”
John snorted. “I think it’s more like the wizard, but they’re similar.”
He watched as Sherlock frowned at the dog, even as he lowered his hand from his head. It looked like he wanted to say more, but it seemed that Mycroft’s men finally saw it fit to arrive and storm the stronghold, for the door burst open and several men decked in Kevlar and wielding guns stormed in.
Harry growled at them, shackles raising, but John pinched his ear lightly.
“It’s okay, it’s okay…” He soothed. “They’re here to help us.”
Harry snorted, and promptly decided to lie down… Right on top of Sherlock’s lap.
The wheeze and groan Sherlock emitted then had John in near hysterics for hours afterward.
x
It took quite a bit longer than John thought was necessary for them to get to their flat. Partially because Mycroft wanted to chat, and also because John wanted to make sure Harry was taken care of. Of course, he saw the way Mycroft’s eyes lit up upon seeing the large dog, so he had a feeling that, if the elder Holmes had his way (which was bound to happen), Harry was soon to become one of the most pampered pups in all of the UK.
John was the first to use the facilities when they made it back to Baker Street, which he took great pleasure in only after he made sure to double-check Sherlock’s injuries. He figured that, as soon as he left the facilities, Sherlock would either be sitting in his “corpse pose”, as Cass liked to call it, or eating half of the food in the refrigerator.
What he didn’t expect was to find Cass pacing outside the door.
“There you are!” She hissed. “I’ve been calling for you for ages!”
“Pardon me for wanting to wash up.” John replied, still towel-drying his hair.
“See, this is why I keep telling you both to keep the door open!” She continued, pacing. “I can easily get in there and tell you important things-!”
“What are you talking about?” John cut in, for he was starting to worry.
“It’s Sherlock!” Cass told him. “He’s going through your medical records. All your medical records!”
And John thought that he was going to have a good evening.