Sta.sh
Watson scratched at Gladstone's scruff, causing the dog to give a heavy groan and roll onto his back. Watson knew immediately why his partner had been acting so skittish around him.
"HOLMES!"
The detective winced and poked his head into Watson's study. "Yes, my dear Watson?"
Watson crossed his arms and tapped his foot, gesturing with his chin at the lazy bulldog at his feet. "Did you have my dog FIXED? Did you have MY dog bloody fixed?!?"
"Well, er… Not exactly," the eccentric scientist scrubbed at his stubble with one hand, "I didn't have him fixed so much as I er… Took the liberty myself. I knew you wouldn't appreciate the veterinarian bill." He threw his hands up in defense as the livid doctor started coming at him. "I assure you, he was very good about it, hardly felt a thing! And it was entirely necessary- the neighbors have just moved in with an Irish Setter bitch, you see, and I would hate for poor Gladstone to have to constantly fight temptation."
Watson stopped with his face inches from Holmes'. "I'll remember that the next time Miss Adler comes to town," he snarled.
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Poor Sherlock, that must've stung.
She left a note.