The flat of 221B was silent. Downstairs, Mrs. Hudson could be heard humming tunelessly as she shuffled about. Back upstairs, dust drifted lazily in the air as weak sunlight streamed through the open windows and cast a white golden gleam onto everything that came into contact with the light. An eerie quiet had fallen upon everything, like a thick blanket, but the peace was soon shattered when a loud thumping noise could be heard from down the hall.
Sherlock Holmes burst from his bedroom, looking rumpled and enlightened. He was wearing a crinkly, dark purple shirt that looked slightly small on him and the buttons looked painfully strained. It highlighted his pale, alabaster skin, sharpened his razor-sharp cheekbones, and made him look more thin than ever, to the point of almost suggesting that eating was hardly an essential need of his, something that was at the bottom of his list of things to do. His dark hair was askew in a mass of tangled curls and his eyes looked wild, as though on a high. His genius brain could be seen whirring away behind his glassy eyes. "Brilliant," he whispered excitedly, reverently, and sprinted to the kitchen.
He slipped in his sock feet and crashed to the floor the moment he rounded the corner to the kitchen. He shot back up almost immediately and scrambled towards his microscope. His fingers fumbled on the controls as he stared into the microscope, like it held all the secrets of the universe.
The door to the front door suddenly slammed shut, but Sherlock hardly moved a muscle, only his hands adjusting the zoom. Scuffling was heard on the hardwood floors, like dull claws on wood and small, canine whines sounded from down the stairs.
"Shush, now," whispered a familiar voice and the scuffling noise ceased. "I want it to be a surprise, alright?"
Sherlock looked up suddenly, his eyes unseeing and his eyebrows furrowed. "Sodium fluoroacetate? Sodium fluoroacetate, sodium fluoroacetate," he muttered and lifted his fingertips to massage his temples.
"Sherlock?"
"Oh, God!" Sherlock bellowed angrily and pounded his fist down on the table. Glass beakers shook precariously and their resonance rang high and soprano.
"Sherlock, what is it?" John asked as he dashed up the stairs and walked through the door leading to the kitchen.
"What else could it be? But who would have access to sodium fluoroacetate? The brother?" Sherlock mused aloud. He lifted his hands to his lips in a praying motion as he mentally ventured out into his mind palace.
"Erm, Sherlock," John prodded. When Sherlock ignored him, John cleared his throat loudly and looked annoyed.
"What is it?" Sherlock's tone was brisk and impatient.
"I've got a surprise for you."
Sherlock looked up, confused. "A surprise?"
"Yes, Sherlock, a surprise." John was smiling widely and looked like he could not contain his excitement any longer. "I've been thinking about this for some time now, and I've just now decided that it would be a good idea for you."
Sherlock looked at John impatiently. He gestured to the microscope in front of him briskly. "John. Sodium fluoroacetate."
"Right, right."
John nodded and then turned around, went back into the hall and Sherlock heard more scuffling. Something yapped and Sherlock stiffened, his eyes widening. John returned with a blue leash in hand, which strained as something burst forward and tried to bolt towards Sherlock but the table obscured a proper view of what was at the end of the leash. Then, a small, golden puppy shot around a leg of the table and was bursting with uncontrollable energy to jump on Sherlock. Impossibly big, warm brown eyes gazed at Sherlock longingly and a small, pink tongue lolled out of the corner of his mouth as he panted in delight.
"Oh, my God, what is that?" Sherlock hissed and made a motion to climb up onto the counter behind him. Horror dawned on his face as he glared at the adorable puppy bouncing up and down to meet him.
John looked insulted. "It's a dog, Sherlock. Don't you know what a dog is?" he asked incredulously with his arms open beside him, as though surrendering.
"No," spat Sherlock and he sneered unattractively. "And if I ever did, I deleted it."
"You deleted it? What? God, Sherlock, I'm trying to do something nice and teach you responsibility because obviously no one has ever showed you what responsibility means. Or maybe you've 'deleted' it. You won't even go get the damn milk," John said exasperatedly. He stalked over to Sherlock, who still was staring at the dog, and John forced his hand open to throw the leash into it. Looking exceptionally cross, he turned around and started to march down the hall to his bedroom.
Sherlock's head whipped up and all the anger and irritation was gone from his face; he now only looked hopelessly confused, like he could not understand why John was so upset.
"John?" he called feebly but John only waved sharply over his shoulder; he was finished talking to Sherlock.
Sherlock looked down at the dog with the same expression of confusion and guilt. "Well, what the hell am I supposed to do with you?" he demanded of the dog snappily. The puppy cocked his head to the side, his ears flattening in curiosity, and it merely looked at him blankly while his tail wagged viciously and excitedly behind him.
Sherlock drew a hand over his eyes. "Oh, God."
---------------------------------------
John was sulking in his bedroom. The moment he had slammed the bedroom door forcefully behind him, he had kicked off his shoes, shrugged off his jacket, and collapsed onto his bed. Now, his sore muscles ached on his weary bones and his head was beginning to throb. He did not dare go back out into the hall to fetch himself some pills for the pain because he didn't want to see Sherlock. After a moment of restless thoughts flying rampant through his mind, he mercifully fell asleep, fully clothed.
----------------------------------------
There was a light, hesitant knock on John's bedroom door. At first, John didn't hear it and only snorted before rolling to his side to continue sleeping. The knocking came again, only more forcefully and John awoke groggily. He groaned quietly and slipped out of bed clumsily. His sock feet padded around the bed and to the door. When he opened the door, a blur of blonde hair surged into the room and hopped up onto the bed with a light jangle.
"What--"
John whipped around to see the puppy he had gotten Sherlock wriggling as if he would explode with happiness just at seeing John. The dog stuck his bum in the air and lowered his body to the bed, wagging his tail in elevating cheerfulness. He gazed lovingly at John with his big brown eyes and gave an encouraging, small bark.
John looked at the dog skeptically, though underlying the skepticism was absolute adoration dancing in his own blue eyes. He hesitated a moment and just stared at the charming creature wiggling around in his sheets. "God, you're cute," he muttered before hopping onto the bed. The puppy immediately attacked John with kisses and playful barks.
Smiling like a fool, Sherlock shifted smoothly out of the dark hall and into John's room. He stared affectionately at his partner and the dog wrestling on the bed friskily. He watched John pause a moment to look at the tags dangling on a new red collar around the dog's throat.
"Samson. Samson, eh?" murmured John and scratched Samson behind the ear, who leaned into John's hand appreciatively.
"I call him Sam," muttered Sherlock and looked down at his feet as John glanced up at Sherlock.
"It says 'Samson. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson: 221B Baker Street.'"
"Me and Sam went to nearest pet shop and I bought him a collar and purchased a tag. I thought you might want your name on the tag," he muttered and now raised his guilty eyes to John's face. "I made an appointment to get him vaccinated and neutered."
"Really," John said slowly. "I thought you didn't like dogs."
Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed over his icy eyes. "I didn't. But now I do."
"Why?"
"Because I simply observed that you seemed to love dogs and had put some thought into getting one. I understood that this was important to you." Sherlock now crossed the room in two long strides and looked John fiercely in the eye. "I'd like to keep him."
John cracked a smile and grinned. He laughed and Sam barked, like he wanted to understand what John was smiling about. "I knew it. It's because he's cute, isn't it?" he smirked.
A faint, pink flush bloomed in Sherlock's pale cheeks. "His physical structure, large eyes set in a small skull, and constantly wagging tail is pleasant and I find myself drawn to him."
John nodded, though did not stop grinning wickedly. "It's 'cause he's cute."
Now Sherlock rolled his eyes to the ceiling and smiled crookedly, endearingly. "Yes, alright." Then Sherlock felt John's hand grab his scarf and pull him down quickly to his eye level. John gazed into Sherlock's eyes like he knew exactly what Sherlock was thinking. "What are you doing?" Sherlock asked him stupidly in a low, husky voice clouded over with desire. John's eyes always looked exceptionally blue whenever he wore his striped jumper and faint silver stubble lined his jaw and disappeared into his hair. His lips looked pink and his cheeks were painted with color of wrestling with the dog.
"You didn't have to do this, you know," John stated matter-of-factly and glanced to Sam and back to Sherlock.
Sherlock shrugged and opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He cleared his throat and blushed. "But I did."
"God, you're cute," John said again and wrapped an arm around Sherlock's neck to wrap him up in a hug. He clung to him tightly until he felt Sherlock's arms wrap around him as well. John turned his head to Sherlock's neck and sighed into his skin, then pressed a soft kiss by his ear, like the soft touch of downy fur or silk. He heard Sherlock sigh also in a happy, content way, and he pressed John down against the bed. Sherlock removed his coat and scarf to crawl into the sheets beside John.
"I'm tired, John." Sherlock did indeed sound tired. Exhaustion clung to his voice and he immediately went limp when he was safely underneath the covers.
"Why?" John asked him and wrapped an arm around the tall man's shoulders, while moving his hair away from his face affectionately.
"Sodium fluoroacetate," sighed Sherlock softly, like a whisper. Nothing more was heard from him, save light snores of slumber. He subconsciously leaned into John's side and breathed deeply, his chest rising and falling slowly.
John was smiling down at Sherlock with a faint twinkle in his own tired eyes. "Goodnight," he whispered and pressed another soft kiss to Sherlock's temple before settling himself in bed. Sam whined softly and bounded over to John's side of the bed. His chocolate brown eyes gazed at John balefully, longingly, until John said "Oh, alright," and Sam weaved his way through twisted limbs to curl up to John's other side.
The last thing John remembered before falling into sleep's grasp was gazing at Sherlock's peaceful, slack face. All emotion was devoid of his expression, even his stoicism that he hid behind every day. It made him look small and human, and it gave John a swelling sensation in his chest. Then, sleep could not stall any longer, for it folded John into its embrace, and he soon drifted off into a peaceful slumber.
Inspiration: The Pride and Prejudice soundtrack, The A Team cover by Birdy