Title: The Case of Mr Snuggles
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Rating: PG
Length: 560
Content Notes: Crack, Action, BAMF Mrs Hudson, no dogs harmed in the making of this story
Author's Note: This is a standalone vignette intended to fit within my story Five (Additional) Times Mrs Hudson was a BAMF
Summary: John and Sherlock are on the run from angry dognappers.  Luckily Mrs Hudson has them covered.

“What do we do now?” demanded John, panting, as they skidded together around the corner onto an empty street.

They’d managed to get a headstart on the gang of fifteen very angry dognappers who were pursuing them, but they were losing ground. The road was too open—endless ornate fences blocking them off from hiding in any of the luxuriant gardens or houses—and zig-zagging along the side streets between was too likely to lead them into a trap now the gang split up to cut them off.

The case was the kidnapping of a toy Shih Tzu puppy for God’s sake. How had John been supposed to guess they’d have guns?

“It’s all right,” said Sherlock, glancing at John with a breathless grin, before putting his head back down to focus on his feet. “I called for backup.  Just run.”

“Ruff!” barked Mr Snuggles, from the pocket of Sherlock’s coat where he was jolting along.

John heard the bass thrum of the engine from three blocks away, and closed his eyes in despair. Then quickly opened them again, because the pavement was quaintly rough and he couldn’t afford to fall.

“Sherlock!” The scream of the engine and the squeal of tyres was getting closer. Very quickly. “Mrs Hudson is not backup!”

“You want to bet?” asked Sherlock, and winked as the car screeched to a halt beside them just as cries began to ring out from the corner behind them—and the one ahead.

“There they are!”

“You won’t get away!”

“Aim high, don’t hit Mr Snuggles!”

The window rolled down letting the blaring sound of Beethoven spill out onto the street, along with a high-pitched voice yelling, “Get in!”

She needn’t have bothered; Sherlock had already torn open the rear door and dived across the back seat, rolling through to the far side, and John wasn’t far behind him.

Another squeal of tyres pressed John flat back into the seat, and the door slammed itself shut.

“What have you boys got into this time?” asked Mrs Hudson crossly. “My knitting club was just—”

John ducked below the line of the seat as a shot rang out from behind, shifting the focus of Mrs Hudson's glare in the rearview mirror.

Without looking, Johnreached out one hand onto the top of Sherlock’s stupid floofy head—obviously he was peering out the back, trying to see the shooter—and pushed it down again.

They swerved, making John reeled for balance, falling and landing heavily on top of Sherlock as Mrs Hudson spun the wheel, fishtailing wildly around the corner.

“Ruff RUFF!” protested Mr Snuggles, squashed between them, and sank sharp little teeth into John's arm. “Rrrrrrrr!”

"Aaargh!" cried John at the unexpected assault, rearing back and falling across the seat, clutching the tiny double-horseshoe of bleeding pinpricks on his arm.

Sherlock extricated himself for another look out the back, absently petting the now angelic-looking Mr Snuggles as he said, “I think they’re—”

“Stay down, you idiot!” snarled John, diving at Sherlock again to push his head back below the window line, barely dodging another bite—just as a second shot rang out, then a third, punctuated by the sound of shattering glass and a shower of crystal fragments pattering around them on the back seat. “Jesus Christ! Mrs Hudson! Are you okay?”

“I’ll be putting that on your rent bill, Sherlock Holmes!” she called, glaring at them fiercely in the rear view mirror, shifting gears smoothly and accelerating them down the main road and out of sight.

“Yes, Mrs Hudson,” sighed Sherlock, rolling his eyes.

“Ruff-RUFF!” agreed Mr Snuggles, giving John a look of pure white, fluffy maelevolance.