smallhobbit

“Finally,” Sherlock said, when John arrived.  “What kept you?”

“Thank you, John, for going to all the trouble,” John Watson said. 

He aimed the holdall he was carrying at Sherlock’s head.  Sherlock caught it, put it on the ground, opened it and retrieved the dry clothing which was inside.

“I got your message when I was walking back from the tube station,” John continued.  “I presume you sent it while I was underground.  I had to get home, find your stuff and pack it, before getting a taxi, which, incidentally, you will be paying for, to deliver it to you, you ungrateful git.”

“And no doubt you had a cup of tea as well.”

“The message didn’t sound too urgent.”

“It was urgent.  I’m soaking wet.”

“So I see.  I’ve even packed you a towel.”

Sherlock dried himself off and got changed.  “The shirt and trousers don’t go together,” he said.

“Well, I’m terribly sorry.  You’d better take them off again.”

“They’ll do for now.”

“Thought they might.  Anyway, where’s Stanley?”

“Fussing about Joe.  Making sure he’s all right.”

“Joe?”

“Yes.  It was Joe’s first trip.  I fell in the river, but all that mattered was Joe was happy.”

“Clearly they pulled you out again.  Some people would have left you to drown,” John said with a grin.

“I was wearing one of those infernal contraptions, so I wasn’t going to drown.”

“You mean a life jacket.  Good thing you followed Stanley’s instructions.”

“He won’t let me on board without one.” 

Sherlock sighed and John looked carefully at him, wondering if there was more going on than Sherlock had told him.  “Have you met Joe before?” he asked.

“No, as I said, he’s new.  And Stanley is besotted with him.”

“Oh!”  This didn’t bode well.

“That is because Joe is gorgeous,” a voice said.  “And frankly, far less trouble than Sherlock.”

“Hi, Stanley,” John said.  “Joe?”

“A beautiful brown springer spaniel.  Keen, intelligent, and does what he’s told,” Stanley Hopkins replied.  “It was his first time out with us, and he took to it like a real pro.  He was let down from one boat to another with a rope attached to his harness and he was as good as gold.”

“I can see the attraction.”

Sherlock harrumphed.

“However,” Stanley continued turning to Sherlock, “You will be glad to know your deductions proved correct and we have another line of enquiry we can pursue, which almost certainly ties into the original case.”

“I presume Joe found the money,” Sherlock said.

“He did, thanks to your directions.  And then returned home without taking an impromptu bath.  I look forward to working with him again.”

Sherlock glared at Stanley, and John couldn’t help laughing.  Then he said, “For one moment I thought Joe had stolen your heart.”

“Oh, no,” Stanley replied with a grin.  “Tilly will always have first place there.” 


A/N: PD Joe of the Met Police really exists