Oh shit, you think wildly as a familiar set of Salvatore Ferragamo’s came strolling down the foyer.
Blindly groping at the dog’s collar you keep an ear out for any changes in Mycroft’s direction and desperately try to steer the dog out toward the backyard
. Donna, of course, seems to think this is all some swell game to avoid letting you grab her collar and is not making any of it easy as the foot falls come closer.
The noise is echoed off the pristine walls and sends Donna into a tizzy of delight that you struggle to keep her at your hand. She hasn’t started barking yet, thank god, but you can’t be sure of how long that will last as your fiancé draws near.
Oddly enough Mycroft pauses merely inches from the corner.
“______,” he calls out seemingly unaware of the mass of fur just barely out of sight, “______, my love where are you?”
Manically, you wonder just how you’ll come out of this unscathed as Donna appears to have no reservations on whimpering up a storm in excitement upon hearing the new intruder.
Oh god what do I do? You wonder ferociously as Donna, the wonderfully large mix that she starts to slip from your fingers anxiously to greet the supposed newcomer.
A series of ideas ranging from the practical to the bizarre flash in your mind’s eye; hiding her in a closet until Mycroft goes upstairs, throwing her in the backyard and pretend she’s a stray, hiding her behind the couch, pretend like she’s the world’s finest life-like dog plush or even blame it on Sherlock but you know you only have yourself to blame.
For the past eight months Mycroft has been on call to play mediator to the countries that the Queen wanted to keep good graces with and for the duration you’ve been so terribly lonely.
Sure, the pair of you Skype and call on a semi-regular basis but there’s still that desolation that comes with living in an empty house regardless of how many impromptu trespassing house calls on Sherlock’s part.
Desperate for companionship and a deep need to keep busy you find new ways to bide your time until Mycroft returns. It’s one of the reasons you’ve taken into volunteering your free time at local shelters and the exact reason you’re in the predicament you’re in.
All it took was one pitiful look from those soulful big brown eyes from that Saint Bernard mix quaking in the cage apparently abandoned with her ratty collar and you knew that you had to have her. Donna was a skittish despite her size; afraid of every touch and slight sound when she was brought in. Hardly anyone could even stand to move near Donna just to keep her placid much less check her out properly but you were determined.
Every day that you didn’t have work or Sherlock-sitting duties (rostered between you, Mary, John, Greg, and Molly) you went to the animal shelter to spend time with Donna. Feeding her, playing with her, comforting her while the doctors checked her out, or simply just brushing her once matted fur into a smooth silky finish-it was all very apparent that you weren’t going to let Donna go home with anyone else but you.
And like any self-fulfilling prophecies it did come true.
In less than a month’s time you were finally able to bring Donna home-oh how it had been a homecoming!
Donna was so happy that she had started crying with joy the second the door was locked behind her, wagging her tail at the speed of light and falling at your feet. A hundred and twenty-tow pounds of fur Donna was sprinting across the premises, spreading airborne hairs onto every surface and joy wherever her meaty paws could take her in the house.
You had planned so many things to do before Mycroft returned from work. Things like getting Donna acclimated to the grounds, do a bit of training and the like to sweeten up your soon-to-be hubby to the idea of having a dog around.
“______?” Mycroft calls again from the corner and this time Donna makes no move to hide her enthusiasm by barking up a storm.
Here goes nothing, you conclude releasing Donna’s collar and letting her rush around the corner. Her nails almost make as much racket as Mycroft’s shoes as you follow behind Donna with a nervous smile.
“Surprise,” you say offer meekly as Donna has taken it upon herself as some sort of mission to try and lick every inch of Mycroft’s face. She puts in a valiant effort considering when she stands on her hind legs Donna is nearly as tall as Mycroft but for his part Mycroft is still more agile.
While his face isn’t showing any signs of disgust you still can’t help but feel uneasy. After all the conversation about pets hadn’t been brought up just yet since the engagement and you really want to keep them both.
Gently ushering Donna from his shoulders and wiping any stray saliva Mycroft asks, “So may I take it that we’ve acquired a dog _____?”
His crystalline eyes boring into yours in such a way that you cannot help how your cheeks and ears grow hot despite how Donna is making such a scene scenting every part of Mycroft’s person.
Taking a deep breath you try and steady your voice and keep your hands still, “I know we haven’t really discussed having pets Mycroft but Donna is great dog. I promise you I can have her trained well within a week and I’ll take care of everything.”
It’s difficult not to sound panicked but when it comes to Mycroft it has never been your strongest suit in explaining things much less feelings.
One word gets stuck on another and you lose momentum trying to finish a sentence-it certainly didn’t make your primary years any easier to take. Panic would start to set in as you would struggle to find your grounding and it took countless hours of therapy to try to hold a conversation without being reduced to tears.
Even when it came to expressing your interest in him romantically you can only thank whichever deity decided to smile upon you that day that Mycroft understood. Sweet, loving Mycroft, who despite your anxiety wanted you by his side not just as a girlfriend but for the rest of his life.
But here with Mycroft standing there as Donna did her last bout of sniffing you were close to tears. What if he wants her gone? What if he makes me choose between him and the dog? What if they don’t get along? What if-
“______, please, settle down.” His voice is so gentle and soothing.
It takes a moment to realize that Mycroft has crossed the small space divided and wrapped his warm solid arms around you. So soft and smelling faintly of the cologne you gifted him for his birthday you settle in on his shoulder. Dimly you feel the press of another warm body, Donna your lizard brain reminds you, at your left leg while Mycroft holds you close.
“Did you really think I would send Donna away if I knew she was important to you,” he asks as his hands gently cascading down your back in a soothing manner.
Relief rushes over your smaller frame as he holds you unable to form any words and silently sob into his shoulder.
“If there is anything important to you,” Mycroft punctuates with a kiss to the cheek, “then it is certainly a high priority for me.”
Really though, you can’t fully express how happy you are to know that without a doubt Mycroft will always be so accommodating that you find it difficult to stop crying.
But Mycroft, the rock that keeps you grounded, stands there all the same until your shakes become small shudders and your cries a shorter.
Careful not to wipe any snot onto his jacket you try to look around for Donna only to find the space bereft of the large canine.
Shrugging gently out of Mycroft’s comforting hold you call to her.
“It would appear that Donna was more interested in fully investigating the contents of my briefcase and decided to drag it into the breakfast nook for further analysis.”
“Oh my god Myc-I’m so sorry-”You start making a run toward the breakfast nook but Mycroft causes you to pause.
“I’m not too worried ______, it was an old briefcase and I was looking for excuse to purchase a new one,” Mycroft states as a matter of fact way.
“Besides if we can train Donna to do that to Sherlock’s things when he watches her on our honeymoon a damaged briefcase is a small price to pay,” Mycroft adds cheekily and dodges out of your range.