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Barbara is smiling as she opens the front door, even though she isn’t a stupid woman and no doubt knows what’s coming.
“Hallo Sherlock.” Her voice is both warm and tired: the combined effect is a sort of coziness that Sherlock associates with his school classmates’ mothers on the odd occasion when he met them. “Will you be needing Mike again?”
In the glowing rectangle of interior that is visible through the doorway, Sherlock sees Stamford spring up (well, comparatively speaking; he isn’t an especially elastic person) from the dinner table.
“There’s been another stabbing,” Sherlock says, both to Barbara and to Stamford’s approaching form. “On Wandsworth Common. There were witnesses this time.”
“I’ll fetch my coat, then.” Stamford nods solemnly, then frowns. “Barbara, where….”
“The mudroom.”
Stamford’s round face goes bright. “Of course! Because we…”
“That’s right, you remember now.” She turns to Sherlock, and says in that same cozy voice from before: “Won’t you come in?”
Sherlock nods, briefly, and steps into the enfolding glow of the Stamfords’ house, which is noticeably warmer than the air outside.
Sherlock has met Barbara a handful of times in the past two months, always on the Stamfords’ front stoop. Each time, Sherlock has been slightly disconcerted by how much information she seems to have about him. Either she’s far cleverer than she looks, or Stamford has told her a surprising amount about him. Both options seem unlikely, though neither is entirely unpleasant.
She’s smiling at him kindly now, which is less pleasant, so he pulls out his phone. (It’s quite useful to have a reputation for rudeness. Stamford still doesn’t understand this, which is rather irritating. It’s too bad that Barbara is his wife--- a waste of a convenient example.)
The mudroom door squeaks, and Barbara calls “Mike, don’t forget to….” But Mike evidently has forgotten, because half a second later, an enormous spaniel comes tearing into the living room, ears and tongue flapping. The dog checks briefly at the sight of a stranger, then trots up to Sherlock and begins nosing at his coat.
“Snuff, down!” Barbara grabs the dog by the collar and hauls him backward. “He’s not very well-behaved,” she says apologetically.
“It’s all right,” Sherlock replies. “I don’t mind dogs.” He watches Barbara coax the dog into (relative) calmness, then reaches over to rub the silky ears. “I had a dog when I was younger.”
“Oh, did you really?” Barbara smiles at him, unplanned this time.
“Yes,” says Sherlock, and from the look on Barbara’s face, Sherlock knows he has spoken softly, tentatively, the way he does when he is remembering. He shuts his mouth and straightens. But Snuff is having none of it, and shoves his nose into Sherlock’s hand, demanding further petting. Seeing Sherlock’s surrender, Barbara chuckles and releases the dog’s collar.
“You’ve made a friend, I see.” Mike’s coat is still half-buttoned as he grins at Sherlock from the mouth of the hallway.
“Yes, well,” says Sherlock, “he seems quite friendly.”
“Not by half.” Mike shakes his head. “He usually loses interest in new people once he figures out they haven’t got any treats in their pockets.”
The dog whuffles happily as Sherlock massages the floppy ear in his hand.
“Oh dear,” said Barbara, “he’s not going to let you leave, is he? I’ll just…” She retreats to the kitchen and comes back with a twisted brown flap that may once have been a pig’s ear.
“Snuffie!” she calls. The spaniel instantly trots over, accepts the treat, and settles down with crossed paws to gnaw on his prize. Sherlock recollects that they are in a rush, but his hand feels cold.
“Thanks, pet,” Mike says, with a peck on his wife’s cheek. “I’ll call as soon as I know more.”
“Whatever details you can share,” she replies, with a slight edge of admonition. “If you’re ever here on the daytime, Sherlock,” she continues, “you’re welcome to take Snuff to the park with us.”
“Thank you,” says Sherlock, without meaning to.
Mike stares at him in full wonder, likely astonished that Sherlock has passed up so many easy opportunities for rudeness.
“Let’s go,” Sherlock adds brusquely, putting his hands in his pockets as he turns toward the door. He steps out into the darkness without waiting for Mike, and is halfway down the path when he hears the click of the door and feels that bright rectangle close up behind him.