mun saw sherlock, only has eye for gladstone

[bakedstreet]

[I have lived with Master Holmes and Master Watson for some time now, studying their behaviors and the society that human beings live in. I cannot be pulled away, not until my research is complete. My ancestors sent me down to Earth to learn the ways of its people, and I must return to my home planet before I go anywhere else. Please, woman, I implore you to let me continue on as usual, allowing Master Holmes to believe I do not mind his tests when, in reality, I am plotting his death just before my departure.

Not that Gladstone can talk or anything, but. He's saying it. With his eyes, like all good actors.]

Comments

[theburd]

[ Horatio feels your pain, Gladstone. He's used to putting up with idiots too. ]

OMG LMAO

[keepcalmandcrackon]

.... Gladstone?

[he doesn't like that look in your eyes...]

You feeling alright, old chap?

[bakedstreet]

[At least his idiot can play music in between forcing substances down his throat or up his nose. That's about the extent of his goodness.

What's your idiot like, Burd?]

[theburd]

[ Regrettably, his life has been full of idiots. But now he's alone. Unwanted. Uncared for in a world full of unfriendly SHIELD agents.

But he's waiting. Biding his time until the right moment to strike. ]

sorry to spoil sherlock holmes 3

[bakedstreet]

[It's the same look as always, dazed and confused and glassy. There's nothing abnormal about it, if only because you never take him away from the mad genius.

He's a dog, so he can't talk, because dogs don't talk, but he grunts and tries to sit up—no, not quite. Not quite out of recovery there.

Come closer, John. Pet him, for God's sake; you owe him that much.]

[bakedstreet]

[Horatio.

Come closer.

If you can get him out of this half-dead state, he will help you. Just give him a few more months to complete his research.]

you ruiner you, I don't know how I'll cope

[keepcalmandcrackon]

... Oh, what's he done to you now...

[scowling, he tosses his hat into the chair and kneels down next to his poor dog, putting a hand to the side of his head.

he'd take you away but well, Mary has this thing about drool on the furniture, and, er. he's working on it, alright. soon. hopefully.]

[theburd]

[ Horatio has been in the Red Room, Gladstone. He has time.

He has all the time in the world. ]

opium and gambling, most likely.

[bakedstreet]

[Look what you've done, John. Dogs end up high out of their minds when good people stand around and do nothing, same as any other great evil in the world.

The hand is nice and wonderful and earns another grunt. Only this grunt has more planning involved, meaning it gets slobber and snot all over the place.

This is what you deserve.]

[bakedstreet]

[The only Red Room Gladstone knows of would have to do with ladies in little clothing. Not that Master Holmes or Watson deal with that sort of thing, but...newspapers, man.

That's great, Horatio. Avian and Canine Cooperation is key!]

heavy on the gambling.

[keepcalmandcrackon]

Ugghhh. [the sound is equal parts disgust and sympathy, though, because really. a man buys himself a dog like Gladstone, he knows he's setting himself up for a little snot now and then]

Poor fellow. [he pulls out a handkerchief, wipes his hands, pats him on the head a few times, and starts rummaging] Let's see if we can find what he's actually shot you full of this time, maybe I can at least try to put you right...

[theburd]

[ He knows of this thing too. Some of his former caregivers - human slaves - frequented these establishments.

As long as the cooperation leads to killing large numbers of these idiots, Horatio is down with it. ]

should gladstone be used as a temporary bank as well?

[bakedstreet]

[John wouldn't have this issue if he was a responsible pet owner in the first place. Tossing him into the den of a man like Sherlock Holmes, and not taking him out after the first or second or third instance? Hmm?

He's okay with playing faithful either way. It earns him more data, and when he returns to Planet Dog, John will have lost both Sherlock and Gladstone, and that's enough vengeance to last him his lifetime of a thousand years.

Gladstone doesn't know what he put in him, as per usual. His eyes get too foggy to read labels when he's crammed something in him, and even though he's a dog of science, Earth is just so far behind the times, man...

He can try to get up, however, and look damnably cute in his struggles as his ears flop about.]

[bakedstreet]

[Clearly, they know more about humanity than humanity itself could ever hope to know.

As long as he gets his research done, nothing else really matters. Go crazy, Planet Bird, and kill the bastards. It doesn't matter. Dogs won't put up a fuss!]

perhaps? the notes could be tucked in his collar

[keepcalmandcrackon]

Nonono, just -- [he winces] Stay? You'll hurt yourself.

[checking bottles and boxes now - oh, there's one that looks nearly empty. hooray. and a tin of meat.]

So that's how he's doing it now. ... Alright, maybe some water...

[pats him a few more times, reassuringly, before going to fetch the poor pooch a drink.]

but he'd want to eat it :(

[bakedstreet]

[He stays, if only because it's too early in the year for sugar plums and fairies to dance in front of his eyes, and yet they are. He lays back down and listens, ears twitching. Oh, he's found the meat. Gladstone misses the meat of his homeland. He's truly roughing it here on Earth.

This is how it should be: man tending to dog with the utmost in efficiency. This is why Sherlock will die, because he refuses to accept his place.

Gladstone could also use a toenail clipping. Get on that, John.]

Eeee Gladstone! <333

[flatmatewatson]

[Who left this bulldog out by himself??]

Here, boy... [John putting out a hand and squatting down to his level.] ...or girl?

he's amazing why aren't there tons of him

[bakedstreet]

[Watson do you really want to ask who let the dogs out?

It's hard to be on Gladstone's level, really, considering he floats in and out of extremely high and somewhere like complacent misery. He accepts that as long as Master Watson is enamored with his woman, he will be at the mercy of Master Holmes, who may start rubbing drugs on his teeth at this point. He's not sure. But he is sure he is a boy dog, and he's capable enough of movement to roll over on his back.

Jowls go aflutter and his ears lay flat down, giving him the look of a grumpy old man who's standing in the way of a fan. Also: boy.]

because all the watsons would claim them forever and ever :D

[flatmatewatson]

[Sorry, it slipped.

He sure looks dazed for a dog. John gives him a tentative pat on the head before carefully inspecting the rest of him with the clinical precision of a doctor.] Beg your pardon, boy.

[He gives the bulldog a rub on the head and checks his eye reactions.] Who has been mistreating you? [Who indeed.]

you gave me a reason to have this icon (that i so wanted), for that i thank you

[bakedstreet]

[Woof woof woof woof!

He is dazed and confused, all thanks to one Sherlock Holmes, his mortal enemy. If he could get his strength long enough, he'd destroy the man from the inside out, but alas—even his kind are weak to chemical injections.

Oh Jesus God (whoever that is, Gladstone just hears it from time to time), but it is bright, and his eyes feel like they've had salt kicked in them. Doctors are really quite awful with animals, he's found. He can't say who's been mistreating him, of course, but what he can do is snort loudly for Watson's trouble, snot and slobber flying everywhere. Hope you brought a hanky!]

.....you're welcome?

[flatmatewatson]

[Pulse is erratic, pupils dilated widely...John is guessing overdose or poisoning, either would fit the bill.]

[John ignores the snot and pulls the dog into his lap. Probably a bad idea with a strange dog, but somehow, he feels a kinship with this bulldog.] Poor boy, you probably feel awful. [He's already trying to remember if there's a vet in the area.]

[bakedstreet]

[Or an underdose of poisoning. Gladstone doesn't know half the things Sherlock puts into him, his eyes too glassy and heavy-lidded by the time he can find the label to read (if there are any to see). For all he knows, the man has rubbed white powder all over his teeth and in his nose for his own bizarre reasoning.

Which just adds another reason for him to kill him, of course.

Oh yes, a lap! This is wonderful. And, for some reason, Gladstone feels a great like for this man, too, so he'll ease up on the snot and slobber for now. Mister Stranger does, however, get a smile that only a bulldog could pull off. (It's kind of hideous, really, but it's cute if he's open-minded!!!!)]

let's go 3 for 3

[absurdlysimple]

Oh, no.

[Watson, ever the good samaritan, bends down to check on the poor dog. Well... he's alive, at least, which is good news, but...]

Whatever has happened to you, old chap?

[flatmatewatson]

[The dog does rather remind him of an old man. John finds himself smiling despite himself, rubbing behind the dog's ears.] Easy there, we'll get you fixed up. [How, do you ask? When John has never owned a dog in his life? He'll think of something.]

all my hopes and dreams are coming true

[bakedstreet]

[Sir, your mustache is a thing of glory, and it reminds him of an old friend who's no longer a friend because he left him to rot in Sherlock Holmes' den of awful.

The dog is most definitely alive! The check gets Watson a snort with a great deal of snot and slobber, but hey. He's a bulldog. These things are expected.

What's happened? He can't say. He can, however, stretch all of his legs and shake, just before sneezing more slobber and snot all over his shoes.]