Author's Note: This story is based on the movie "Young Sherlock Holmes" from the point of view of the dog, Uncas. It presumes that Sherlock transfers to a school near enough Brampton (Watson's school that Holmes attended for a while) that Uncas can find his way fairly easily back and forth between his two masters.
Uncas was throughly convinced that his pets were mad. Oh, sure, they were usually personable enough, and sometimes kind, but they had no sense of priorities- in fact, they plainly had no sense.
The small, round male Ratson was the closest to normal. His name was distressing but he displayed a proper attraction to food and could often be counted on to have some crumbs in his pocket, if not something more substantial. He did, however, show a distressing tendency to "stand up for his ideals" to obviously superior and therefore dominant members of his species, instead of rightly agreeing with them. And since Uncas was responsible, he usually ended up pulling Ratson and his comrades out of the fire caused by their defiance. Sometimes he was tempted to leave them to their own devices, usually of a cold winter morning with the snow deep outside the window, but of course he couldn't. What honorable dog could let his pets bumble around blindly?
The female, Erizbret, had ranked next in the queue of oddness; she had usually been sensible enough but physically weak (who wouldn't be, muffling themselves in huge volumes of cloth as she had and never properly running about?) and had acted truly strange at times. He had spent the most time with her, as he had a bit of a soft spot for her. She was more or less the daughter he had never had, and he had felt an especial need to keep her safe. Of course she would be the one he failed- the thought was bitter, but there was nothing he could do to change it now. She had gone to the great Walking-Ground in the sky, sent there violently. He had taken his revenge, however, away from the oversight of his two remaining pets. That bloody man would always have a limp, and if he hadn't been carrying a stout stick he would have followed Erizbret in death.
The boy, now, the boy Home was a puzzle. He spent so much time following the tracks of his fellows, like the worst of the bloodhounds, but he entirely ignored their scents and instead tried to follow them by sight! It was as absurd as cats caring. Uncas would have to try to teach him to scent properly; he was embarrassing as he was. Any puppy could follow trails that Home missed completely. It was hardly his fault, of course, since his face was so far above the ground and his nose was hardly big enough, but still... He would have to visit his other pet again soon. Too bad that he lived so far away, but Uncas could find him with reasonable certainty. And it was much easier to trust him out of sight, as strange as he was, because he was usually content enough with thinking and not throwing himself in harm's way. Ratson, on the other hand-
Uncas's musings were interrupted by Ratson's sudden call. It was distressing that he hadn't managed to teach the poor things more than a few intelligible words, but those things took time. He hurried away to answer the bellow, "Here, boy! Here, Uncas!"
After all, where would his pets be without him?