Chapter Text
Greg was almost beside himself with excitement as he steered into the parking space. Beside him Mycroft was highly amused as he took in his partner’s wide smile.
‘You are positively giddy, darling.’
There was no response from the policeman, but he waited impatiently for Mycroft to undo his seatbelt and get out of the car.
‘Come on,’ he said eventually, holding out his hand, before practically dragging Mycroft towards the entrance.
It had taken several years of almost constant pleading and persuasion but Greg had finally convinced Mycroft to agree to a dog. Mycroft had immediately set about researching suitable breeds and reputable breeders and trainers, but Greg had insisted on a rescue. He’d had to resort to sexual favours to bring Mycroft around to that idea.
And so here they were, entering the shelter to, with a bit of luck, pick the new addition to their household.
Introductions and a conversation about their lifestyle and the sort of dog they were looking for and then an impossibly young and enthusiastic volunteer led them through to the kennels.
Greg and Mycroft moved along the row, the volunteer answering any questions and offering relevant information about each dog.
‘That one!’ Mycroft had stopped dead a few kennels along from Greg who was admiring a coffee coloured spaniel.
As Greg went to join him he was vaguely aware of the worried expression on the volunteers face.
‘Um, perhaps one of our other-’
‘That one!’ Mycroft repeated. He hadn’t moved and was barely breathing, staring at the dog on the other side of the wire door.
Greg reached him and got his first look at dog that had drawn such an extreme reaction from Mycroft, and for a second he was certain that Mycroft was taking the piss.
Looking up as the politician was a small white terrier with one eye and three legs, who was gazing up at Mycroft hopefully, his stubby tail wagging so hard that his entire back end was wobbling from side to side.
‘Myc…’ Greg really didn’t know what to say.
‘That one,’ Mycroft repeated. It seemed to be all he was capable of saying.
The volunteer pulled herself together enough to offer some information.
‘Um…he was a stray. Got hit by a car.’
On the other side of the door the little dog sat down and promptly fell over.
‘He’s still figuring out his balance.’ she looked at Mycroft, ‘Would to like to see him?’
She opened the door before Mycroft had a chance to change his mind. As soon as the door opened the little dog darted forwards towards Mycroft, who, in a move that shocked Greg, bent down and scooped the terrier up into his arms.
He was studying the dog, who in turn was staring straight back at him with his one eye. Greg knew Mycroft well enough to know what that expression meant and he sighed. There was no way Mycroft was going to leave without that dog.
Greg nodded at the volunteer and then followed her to fill out the paperwork. Mycroft trailed behind them, his entire attention focused on the dog.
On the drive back Greg kept glancing at Mycroft who was wearing a slightly dazed expression, and Greg couldn’t help but smile as he negotiated the traffic lights.
#
‘I leave you alone for a couple of hours and you remodel the house?’
Mycroft glared at his partner, ‘I didn’t not remodel , I just made some adaptations.’
‘Myc, there are so many ramps in this room that it looks like a skate park.’
‘It’s accessible!’
On the sofa the newly christened Christopher was curled up, blinking defiantly up at Greg as if daring him to try and move the dog. To the end of the sofa Mycroft had built a ramp to enable the dog to get onto the sofa. So much for Mycroft’s rule about not letting the dog onto the furniture.
There were other similar ramps throughout the house. Mycroft hadn’t managed to work out how to build a ramp the entire length of the stairs yet, but Greg strongly suspected that there would a chairlift in Christopher’s near future. Mycroft had that look in his eyes.
Not that Greg minded. It amused him immensely how besotted Mycroft was with the raggedy little dog. Although he was a little worried about their next credit card statement. Mycroft had gone a bit overboard and only the best was good enough. He’d put plush beds in every room, apparently he was worried about Christopher getting tired. He had so many toys that Greg was scared to walk across any room in the dark in case he broke his ankle. And he had baulked at the fancy organic dog food which cost over sixty quid a bag.
He hadn’t even broached the subject of the rather large package which had arrived the day before and appeared to be full of clothes.
‘Did you seriously buy the dog a tweed jacket?’ Greg had demanded holding it up.
Mycroft gave his partner the most haughty look he could manage while in his arms Christopher wriggled and tried to like Mycroft’s neck.
It had been another of Mycroft’s rules that Christopher was a dog and not a baby and shouldn’t be carried. It was also rare to see Mycroft without the little white dog tucked under his arm or sitting on his lap. Since he couldn’t take conference calls with the dog on his knee in case it looked unprofessional, Mycroft had invested in a swinging basket which he would rock with his foot.
In a not very subtle attempt to steer the conversation away from the ramps, Mycroft signalled for Christopher to follow him, and the terrier leapt off the sofa, stumbled and fell, but bounced up and ran after Mycroft. He was getting steadier on his feet, although he still stumbled and fell over sometimes, although it didn’t seem to bother him in the slightest.
He followed Mycroft around, staring up at him with utter adoration. Greg had to admit that he was slightly jealous, but it was worth it to see how happy the three legged dog made Mycroft. Greg could have done without coming home one day to be greeted by the terrier dressed as a pirate, complete with eye patch. Mycroft hadn’t even looked embarrassed.
There was something about the dog that seemed to soothe Mycroft, and for his part Christopher, the battered little stray, seemed to realise that he’d landed firmly on his feet, all three of them. It was quite the turnaround from the man who had been so resistant to the idea of a dog to begin with.
‘Let’s go to the park,’ Mycroft said, reaching for the smart waterproof jacket that had also come as part of Christopher’s new wardrobe.
Greg shook his head in defeat, ‘Fine. But if he chases the ducks again then it’s your turn to get him out of the lake.’