Falling For You

Redbeard

Life couldn't have been better. Honestly, there was no way that Sherlock Holmes or John Watson could have been happier. They were sitting on the sofa in 221B Baker Street three days after their return home from hospital. Sherlock was fine and John was fine, and they were curled up next to each other like nothing else mattered. Sherlock had his head resting on John's chest and John was holding his love like he was the one thing keeping him afloat in the drowning society. But John was thinking about the things Sherlock had said in the hospital. Redbeard.

"What's Redbeard?" John asked.

Sherlock's heart dropped. His mouth went dry and he looked at John Watson, wondering where on earth he could have heard that name. "Wh-"

"You kept saying 'Redbeard'," John explained. "When you had that drug in you."

Sherlock tried to suppress the memories that followed the word, but he could remember it all then. The softness of Redbeard's fur, the smile he got when Sherlock scratched behind his floppy ears. Sherlock's heart was slow and he was on the brink of tears.

"I've only loved twice," Sherlock said, his eyes suddenly looking into John's.

"It's okay if you don't want to talk about it," John said, realizing that he had hit some kind of nerve. But Sherlock decided that he needed to talk about it. Mycroft was always pressuring him to remember the painful subject of the dog that had been so loved, but Sherlock had been choosing to ignore him whenever he did. But with John, Sherlock felt like he could finally open up.

"I want to," Sherlock said. "Redbeard was my dog. He was my first mate when I wanted to be a pirate and he was... loved."

Sherlock stopped talking and John ruffled through his mess of curls to let him know that he was okay and that he didn't have to keep explaining it if he didn't want to, but Sherlock took a deep breath and went on.

"One day when I came home from school, Mycroft was standing over him and he..."

John's eyes opened wide. "Jesus, Mycroft killed your dog?" he wondered in astonishment.

Sherlock nodded, tears filtering through his eyes. "He tries to deny it, but he was there. He was... it was the only logical conclusion."

John held the crying Sherlock in his arms. He whispered in his ear telling him that everything would be okay and that he didn't have to hide his feelings, but John was pissed. There was finally an explanation for why Sherlock was so distant and cold all of the time, and it was because when he had allowed himself to love, his love was taken from him. John couldn't believe that Mycroft had killed the one thing in Sherlock's life that had mattered. John couldn't help but wondering if Mycroft, the majority of the British government, would kill John next. If he had taken Sherlock's love once, who was to say he wouldn't do it again?

Sherlock fell asleep in John's arms shortly after, and John kissed his forehead. He had to go out and there was no better time to go then when Sherlock was asleep and didn't need him. On his way out of 221B Baker Street, John sent Mycroft a quick text.

Need a picture of Redbeard. -JW

Redbeard? -MH

The dog you murdered. Do you not remember? -JW

Sherlock does say such funny things. -MH

A file was sent along with the final text from Mycroft Holmes, and John clicked on it. He saw a picture of a sweet Irish setter puppy in a small boy's arms. John took a closer look at the picture and saw that it was a young Sherlock, his curls a mess on top of his small head, holding the pup. He was so sweet and innocent, and John couldn't even begin to imagine the pain the small and kind-hearted Sherlock had gone through when the dog's life had been taken by no one other than his older brother.

John began to walk off in the direction of the closest shop he needed. It wasn't too far, and he walked quickly because he was excited to get the gift for his love, the gift that John hoped would bring him much redemption in his fragile heart.