A/N: This is my first venture into the fandom. It may be my last, but you never know. Charlotte Watson and Casper are the property of Edhla. Please check out her stories to find out more. She's a fantastic writer, and you won't be disappointed. These characters have been used with her permission, and I kindly thank her.

Also, many thanks to MadameGiry25 and Edhla for their beta help.

Disclaimer: Sherlock and its characters are not my creation. I am just borrowing the characters for a bit and promise to return them unharmed and in their original condition, maybe just a bit happier.

Detective Toby Watson

"What was that?" Sherlock looked up at the book he was reading and eyed John warily.

"I said Charlie needs to have her tonsils out tomorrow. It'll be an overnight affair, so we were wondering if you'd look in on Toby and Casper. Since you did so well when she was born, I thought it would be a relatively easy task for you. Would that be all right?"

Sherlock stared at him as if what John had said didn't register.

"Sherlock?"

"Harry's too busy for it?"

"She's coming with us, and Mrs. Hudson is out of town visiting her sister, remember? It's only for one night." John gave him a pleading look. "I do suppose we could take them to the kennel for the night, but Toby despises it."

"Oh, all right," Sherlock relented.

"Just make sure they've got plenty of food and water. That's all you need to do. And make sure you don't leave any windows open."

"Got it," Sherlock said, turning his attention back to the book in his hand.

John crossed his arms, giving Sherlock an expectant look. It took Sherlock several minutes to notice before looking at him.

"What was that?"

John rolled his eyes. "I didn't say anything this time, Sherlock. I was just trying to decide if you'd even heard a word I said."

"Of course I did." Sherlock placed a piece of scrap paper to mark his page before closing the book to appease his friend. "You asked me to please look in on Casper and Toby, make sure they have plenty of fresh food and water, and to make sure I don't leave the windows open." He gave John a smug look. "I can multitask, you know. It's just I've been trying to figure out this case, and-"

"Yes, yes, I know about the case. The woman in Greenwich mysteriously poisoned, husband arrested on suspicion of murder, but her husband claims he's innocent."

"Yes," Sherlock said with a nod. "Delilah Garrison. Her husband, Michael, claims they ate dinner and went to bed. He woke up, she didn't. Nothing out of the ordinary, except she'd tried a new recipe."

John scoffed. "With a secret ingredient that he added, no doubt."

But Sherlock shook his head. "Not this time."

"What?"

"I think he's telling the truth," Sherlock said. "While you've been off lollygagging, I've been working on this case. All week, in fact."

"I haven't been lollygagging. As I've told you, poor Charlie's been sick, and Molly and I have been in the doctor's office three times this week alone."

Sherlock ignored his comment as he continued on about the case. "Yes, well, when I spoke with Michael the other day, my first thought was this new recipe. The only problem is, he doesn't know what it was called."

"What was in it?"

"It was some sort of casserole," Sherlock said with a shrug. "With chicken, vegetables, and dumplings in a gravy."

"Hmm," John said thoughtfully. "Doesn't sound like anything toxic."

"Yes, I am quite aware of that, and Michael himself didn't get sick either. Unfortunately, we're still waiting on the toxicology reports. But what I can't figure out is that if it was some sort of ingredient in the casserole, why didn't Michael get sick?"

John raised an eyebrow. "Well, certainly, you're aware that under-cooked beans or other legumes can cause such a reaction as well." He shrugged. "Perhaps Delilah's system was just a bit more sensitive than his?"

"Perhaps," Sherlock replied, picking up his book again.

"Well, I'm really sorry I can't stay to help you, but-"

"Yes, I know." Sherlock had his nose buried in the book again. "Charlotte's sick. Go. I'll be fine."

"Just don't forget about the cats," John called as he showed himself out.

-SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH-

Sherlock Holmes was far too impatient to wait for a toxicology report, however. He wanted this case solved yesterday. One thing he prided himself on more than evidence was his intuition. And his intuition told him that Michael Garrison was indeed innocent. But how was he going to prove it?

He stayed up late into the early hours of the morning, looking through every book he owned on the poisonous effects of certain vegetables. But even if John's thought about beans were correct, it still didn't make sense. Michael Garrison would still have had some sort of a reaction, according to his books. But Michael didn't even complain of an upset tummy.

Then a worrying thought occurred to him. What if his intuition had been wrong? What if Michael did in fact poison his beloved wife of fifteen years? Was it possible he were getting too old for this? Was he slipping?

He shuddered at the thought and shook his head. Only in his worst nightmares, he decided. He set the last book he owned on poisonous substances down on the desk before him and rubbed his tired eyes. He'd need to go speak with Michael again tomorrow. He was determined to get to the bottom of this. He shut off the desk lamp and stumbled to his bed, hoping Michael would reveal some small detail that would crack this case wide open.

-SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH-

The Next Day

"I've already told him everything I know," Michael Garrison insisted. He gave Detective Inspector Lestrade a pleading look. "Why do I need to speak to Mr. Holmes again?"

"Believe you me, Mr. Garrison, it would be in your best interest not to question it. Sherlock Holmes really is just trying to help you," Greg insisted. He gave a nod to Donovan. "You can show Sherlock in now."

Sherlock sat in the chair across from Michael, seated next to Lestrade. "Now, Mr. Garrison, can you please tell me again what you and your wife did last week, Thursday before her death."

Michael let out an exasperated sigh. "I'd worked all day until five at the shop, came home, and took a shower like I always do."

"The shop?" Sherlock questioned.

"Yes…didn't I mention? I'm an auto mechanic. Even though I wear coveralls, I do get a little greasy. You understand."

"We've already spoken with his employer," Lestrade whispered to Sherlock. "He was indeed at work until five that day."

Sherlock nodded and looked towards Michael. "And what about your wife?"

Michael paused. "I can only tell you what she'd told me. Obviously, I wasn't with her, so I can't say for sure this is what she'd done."

"Just tell us what you know."

Michael sighed. "Well, she…she told me she had some shopping to do. Knowing her, she probably went to the Greenwich Market."

"And after that?" Sherlock pressed.

Michael shrugged. "I really don't know. I think she mentioned she met with friends for lunch."

"Which friends and where at?"

Another shrug. "I don't…. Wait a minute. Thursday? Ah, I remember. That's the day of her book club meetings."

"Book club?"

"Yes, well, it's just a little group she and some of her lady friends organized. They meet every Thursday where they discuss some trashy romance novel or something." He shook his head. "Forgive me if I don't know every detail about that. Not really my cup of tea."

"Did they eat or drink anything at this little club?" Sherlock asked after a moment.

"I imagine so," Michael replied. "As I said, we really didn't talk about it much. Or if she did, I didn't listen."

"Do you at least know the other ladies in this club?"

"I knew of them. Delilah keeps…um, kept…an appointment and address book in her handbag. I'm sure their names are in there." He paused and counted off names on his fingers. "There's her best friend, Libby Kellner. They did everything together. Then there's Naomi, Greta, Erin, Elizabeth-"

"Right," Sherlock said, holding up a halting hand. "I got it. We'll check her handbag."

"You…you don't think one of her friends poisoned her…do you?"

"Anything's possible, Mr. Garrison. Let's just say I'm leaving no stone unturned in this investigation." Sherlock looked into his eyes. "And no one has been ruled out as a suspect yet."

Michael simply nodded.

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Garrison."

Lestrade gave Donovan a stiff nod, and she led Mr. Garrison back to his holding cell.

-SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH-

Delilah Garrison's handbag had already been taken into evidence, so her appointment book was easily accessible. Last week Thursday revealed that Michael was telling the truth. Written in a lovely script on the calendar inside was: book club at Libby's with a smiley face next to it. Sherlock flipped through to the addresses and found that of Libby Kellner. It wasn't too far from the Met, so that was a plus. Unfortunately, Lestrade couldn't accompany him, having too much work to do himself.

Sherlock put on a scowl as he walked down the street towards the address. When he arrived at the location, however, he was surprised to find it was a flower shop: Libby's Floral Creations. He gave a slight shrug. Well, the name was correct, so he opened the door and stepped inside.

The moment he did, the intoxicating scent invaded his nostrils, making him sneeze.

A moment later, a smiling woman in her mid-thirties came around the corner, blonde hair piled in a bun atop her head. "I thought I heard someone here. Hello, there."

"Libby, I presume?"

She gave a nod. "That's the name on the door, isn't it?" she said cheerily. "What can I help you with?"

"Actually, I'm not here to buy flowers."

She frowned. "Then I'm afraid you've come to the wrong place, sir."

Sherlock shook his head. "No, you're not quite understanding. My name is Sherlock Holmes, and-"

Libby let out a gasp. "The detective?" She quickly composed herself. "You…you'll have to forgive me. I've read about you in the papers." She cleared her throat. "What can I do for you?"

"At ease, please…" He looked at her left hand. No wedding ring. "…Miss Kellner." He paused as she relaxed a bit. "I just want to speak to you about your friend, Delilah."

She lowered her gaze and nodded. "Such a tragedy…" Her voice shook slightly. "I still can't believe what happened."

"Do you believe Michael is responsible?"

"Michael?" She shook her head. "No, Michael could be a little…neglectful, but he'd never do anything like that."

"Neglectful?"

Libby lowered her voice. "He wasn't as attentive…in the bedroom department…as Delly would have liked." She moved to fiddle with some of the arrangements placed around the shop. "But I can tell you that he loved her dearly and would never do anything to harm her. Ever. I know he loved her, and I'll testify to that in court, if necessary."

"I'll keep that in mind, but I was just hoping we could talk about last week Thursday. As I understand it, you had your weekly book club?"

Libby turned to look at him. "Oh, yes. That was Delly's favorite day of the week."

"I suppose the romance novels helped her little problem," Sherlock muttered aloud.

"Romance novels?" Libby let out a laugh and shook her head. "Mr. Holmes, I'm not sure what sort of silly women you think we are, but romance novels were never the topic of conversation."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I didn't mean… It doesn't really matter to me what you were reading; I-" He stopped short. Maybe it did matter what they were reading. "Were you reading a recipe book, by chance?"

She laughed slightly and walked behind the counter to retrieve a book. She handed it to him. "This is what we'd been reading for the past month."

Sherlock looked at the title. "The Metaphysical Properties of Flowers?"

"Delly decided on that one. She heard that there was a love potion recipe in there that would drive Michael wild. She wanted to try it."

"A love potion?"

"It was just a homemade perfume recipe," Libby assured him, "but Delly insisted it was the key to all her problems."

"Did she happen to wear this perfume on Thursday?"

Libby shrugged. "I don't know. As far as I knew, she hadn't made it yet. Why?"

Sherlock flipped through the book. "Where can I find this recipe?"

Libby took the book from him and turned it to the proper page as Sherlock began reading the recipe to himself. Boil four cups of rose hips in eight cups of water. Then add half a teaspoon of catnip, one eight of a teaspoon of rosemary, essence of gardenia, jasmine, stargazer lily, and-"

Sherlock's phone buzzed. He sighed and reached in his pocket. A text from John. "How are the cats?"

"The cats?" he muttered.

"Excuse me?" Libby asked.

"Oh, no, the cats." Sherlock had completely forgotten. He quickly composed a white lie back to John. "Just wonderful. No problems at all. S.H."

"No one signs their texts anymore," John reminded him.

"I do," Sherlock texted. He thought quickly. "How's Charlotte? S.H."

"She's out of surgery and quite groggy. But it went well."

"Room number? S.H."

"Why? Are you coming over?"

"Just tell me the bloody room number! S.H."

"523. See you soon."

Sherlock put his phone back in his pocket and turned back to Libby, who was giving him an odd look.

"Everything all right, Mr. Holmes?"

"Oh, yes, everything's fine. I just… Unfortunately, I must go, but you have been quite a lot of help." He held up the book. "May I borrow this?"

"Keep it," she told him. "I have other copies as well."

Sherlock noticed a lovely pink bouquet located near the counter. "Those are lovely, aren't they?"

She nodded. "Stargazer lilies. They were one of Delly's favorites."

"I'll take them," he told her. He pointed towards a collection of plush animals. "And that stuffed frog as well." He thought Charlotte would like that. Besides, bringing gifts would make it look as though he hadn't forgotten all along.

-SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH-

Sherlock turned the key in the lock of the Watson home and stepped inside the flat. Immediately, he heard an anguished meow. He looked down to see Toby standing there, looking up at him. Just behind him stood Casper, who echoed his companion's complaint.

"Don't give me any lectures. It's been quite a trying day. Besides, anyone can see you're not starving." He set the flowers and the frog down on the coffee table and hurried off to the laundry area, where he remembered the cat food was kept. Sherlock filled the bowl to the brim, considering it had been empty. Although the water dish was half full, he figured he ought to give them fresh water as well.

Once the food and water were filled, Sherlock called, "Dinner is served, your majesties." He looked down to see Casper already wolfing down the chow. "I wonder where the other one is?" he muttered to himself. He shrugged. "Well, I'm sure he'll eat when he's hungry."

He hurried back to the living room to retrieve the frog and flowers and be on his way to the hospital when he noticed something: the blooms. Hadn't there been a dozen of them? There only appeared to be ten and a half now. He examined the bouquet carefully. The flowers were clearly bitten off…by a cat.

What had Libby called these again? Well, he remembered they were lilies. He remembered reading many types of lilies were toxic to cats. Was this one of them? "Oh, no, please tell me you didn't." He got down on his hands and knees and started looking for the other cat. "Here, kitty, kitty."

As he was crawling around, he found a trail of petals: a good sign, Sherlock decided. Maybe he didn't actually eat them. Just nibbled on them a bit. That might not be harmful. He followed the trail of petals, which came to a stop just before the sofa. He lifted up the flap and saw two glowing orange eyes staring back at him.

Sherlock held out the petals in his hand. "You didn't eat these, did you?"

Toby gave a deep, sorrowful meow and promptly began retching.

"I see. Well, I'll have to call John. Change of plans."

-SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH-

"You did what?" John's tone of voice got him several dirty looks from the nurses behind the reception counter. "Sorry," he muttered towards them and turned to walk out the double glass doors leading outside. "Say that again. You did what, Sherlock?"

"I accidentally got Toby sick…I think."

"You think? What do you mean?"

Sherlock let out a sigh and told him the whole story about Delilah, Libby, the stuffed frog, and the flowers. He leafed through the book that Libby had given him. "I was just trying to bring Charlotte a gift, and I thought she'd like these lilies. Stargazer lilies, they're called. I'd left them on the coffee table when I went to feed the cats, and when I came back… Well, I think Toby might have eaten some."

"Stargazer lilies? Sherlock, are you sure?"

"Well, he's only vomited four times in the past half hour, and while I tried not to look, it wasn't difficult to miss the petal bits in it." He paused. "Don't worry. It's all cleaned up now. I just-"

"Sherlock, you imbecile! Don't you know that lilies can be fatal to cats? Humans too, actually." He paused. "You need to get him to the vet."

"The vet? John, I think you'd be better suited for-"

"Sherlock, no, I can't leave. My one-year-old daughter just had surgery, and I'm not about to leave. Molly will not find out about this, at least not yet. You'd better make sure Toby doesn't die, or so help me…"

Sherlock let out a sigh. "Which vet?"

"The number's on the refrigerator. Doctor Voyles. There's an emergency line; you'd better call that one."

"Very well."

"And, Sherlock?"

"Yes, John?"

"Do call me as soon as you can."

"I will." Sherlock paused. "You know I didn't mean…"

"I know, Sherlock. I know. Just take care of him, please."

Before Sherlock could say anything more, he heard the line go dead. He sighed and walked to the kitchen to retrieve the phone number of the vet. He was very thankful when someone answered after only two rings. It was the doctor's home phone number, apparently. Sherlock explained the whole situation…again.

Doctor Voyles was apparently a patient man because he did not utter a word until Sherlock had told the whole story. "Do you have the address to my office?"

Sherlock glanced at the refrigerator and read the address off to him.

"I'll meet you there shortly."

Sherlock put his phone away, but then a sudden thought occurred to him. He'd actually have to pick the cat up, wouldn't he? He looked down at the jacket he was wearing. He'd get cat fur all over it. He walked into the hall closet and found a bath towel to wrap Toby in. He thought the cat might like that anyway.

Thankfully, Toby didn't fuss when Sherlock wrapped him up in the towel. He then grabbed the bouquet of flowers and walked outside to hail the first taxi he saw.

-SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH-

"Ah, stargazer lilies," the veterinarian, an older man with grey hair and glasses, said as he began to examine the sickly-looking cat. "The smell is probably what attracted him. Well, the good news is that he's vomited several times already."

"That's good?" Sherlock asked.

"Actually, yes. If he hadn't vomited, that would be more likely to do more damage to him. Now we just need to worry about him getting enough fluids. And we'll need to watch for signs of kidney failure, but since this happened such a short time ago, I'm thinking he'll come out of this just fine."

"You're sure?"

"Almost positive." He rubbed Toby's head. "He's a trooper."

"So he can come home tonight?" Sherlock asked hopefully.

The doctor shook his head. "No, I'm sorry. He'll need to stay here for at least two days. We'll need to monitor him closely."

Sherlock muttered a, "Thank you," and hurried to call John. So much for keeping it from Molly. He had a feeling John was not going to be very happy.

-SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH-

Sherlock was absolutely correct, though John was not quite as angry as he thought he would have been. He did, however, do something he did not expect. He told Sherlock he was to be the one to break the news to Molly. Before Sherlock could utter a protest, John handed her the phone.

"Hello, Sherlock." She sounded tired. "John says there's something you wanted to tell me?"

"Uh, yes…" he began awkwardly. "Well, uh, you see, I had wanted to buy Charlotte a present."

"Oh, that's very sweet of you."

"Yes, well, unfortunately, Toby sort of…ate…part of the present." He paused, waiting for some sort of reaction from Molly, but he heard nothing. He decided to continue on. "And…well, the other part of the present was a bouquet of flowers. Lilies, actually…and…"

"Lilies are toxic to cats, Sherlock."

Her voice was calm and quiet, not something he expected.

"Is…is he…"

Sherlock was sure he heard a tear in her voice then. "He's fine. Doctor Voyles expects him to make a full recovery, but he'll need to stay there for a couple of days." He paused. "Of course, since this was my doing, I'll handle the bill." Because if I didn't, John would kill me.

"That's very kind of you, Sherlock."

"I am sorry about this, Molly."

"I know you are; it's all right. You didn't know. Thank you for being so responsible. You probably saved his life."

Sherlock then heard a shuffling noise: the phone being passed back to John. When he heard his friend's familiar breathing, he asked, "Well?"

"She'll be fine…but you'd better not be lying about Toby's prognosis or-"

"I'm not."

"I know. I-"

Sherlock then heard the familiar fussing of Charlotte in the background.

"Uh, I'm sorry, Sherlock, but I'd better go. Charlie needs me. I…I'll talk to you tomorrow. Goodbye."

"Goodbye," Sherlock said as he hung up the phone. Well, this day went from bad to worse rather quickly, didn't it? He had a case he couldn't quite solve and a sick cat on his hands who'd got into the lovely lilies he'd bought for… Wait a minute. The lilies. Delilah's favorite. The same lilies that the recipe called for. Perhaps there was some good that came of this after all. He immediately called Greg to tell him the news.

-SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH-

Two days later

Sherlock walked into the Watson home, Toby in his arms.

"Well, I think that's a sight we won't see again," John commented as he took Toby from his arms.

"Yes, well, I've a new appreciation for him now," Sherlock admitted. "I used to think that cats were horribly useless creatures, but Toby here has showed me that's not true, though he did cost me an arm and a leg."

"Why? Because he inadvertently helped you solve the Garrison case? And you're just lucky that's all he cost you."

"Yes, yes, I know; you'd have killed me if anything happened to him," Sherlock replied. "But if Toby wouldn't have gotten sick, I wouldn't have solved it so quickly."

"Well, I'm glad that Libby Kellner personally called the author and told her that stargazer lilies are poisonous and can cause death. Even if only used in perfumes," John replied. He scratched Toby behind the ears. "I'm just glad that it didn't cause death for him."

Just then, Molly came bounding down the stairs. "Did I hear-?" She ran towards John and took Toby out of his arms. "I'm glad you're home."

"With a clean bill of health, I might add," Sherlock said.

"I'm glad of that," Molly told him.

"How is Charlotte?"

"Miserable," John answered. "But she'll live."

"She's asleep now," Molly added, "clutching her frog while she sleeps. She adores it, thank you."

"We're naming it Sherlock," John told him, an amused smile on his face.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "You're not."

"She's already calling it 'Shirley'," Molly confirmed.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but made no comment after that. He reached his hand out to pet Toby's head. "Well, it looks like everything turned out just fine after all. So the next time you two need a cat sitter-"

"We'll call Harry," John said.

Sherlock glanced towards him. "Harry? But I thought you said I did so well the last time."

"You did…the last time. This time, however…"

"But I think Toby's earned his detective's license now," Sherlock replied. "He can help me with another case. I'm sure of it. I never saw his potential before, but now… Think of all the possibilities."

"I think facing death once is quite enough, thank you," John replied, taking Toby from Molly's arms.

"Aww, come on, John. You know what they say: cats do have nine lives." He shrugged. "He's got eight left, hasn't he?"

"Sherlock, if you touch one hair on his head again, I swear I'll-"

But Sherlock wasn't listening. He scratched Toby behind the ears and whispered to him, "We'll have lots of adventures together, won't we, mate?"