AN: Onward! Thanks for reading, and bring on those addictive reviews!

For disclaimer, please see Chapter 1. It's kind of redundant to put it in front of every chapter, don't you think?

Chapter 2 - Impounded and Redistributed

Mrs. Amelia Turner's Shelter for Stray and Neglected Dogs was a rather noisy little brick building full of yapping, wiggling dogs eager to find new homes. With the holidays just peeking over the horizon, there were people bustling purposefully in and out of the old, beige halls nearly non-stop from open to close. Dear Mrs. Turner was almost positive she'd have an empty house by Christmas. It had been nearly 4 years since that had last happened, and she couldn't have been more delighted with the thought.

Or at least she was delighted until she remembered the sad little lump curled up in cage 21. For the third time that day, she peeked in on the unmoving round of fur occupying the far left corner of the kennel. Nothing could tempt the poor old dear from its tight ball; not the sweetest treat or the chewiest bone. Amelia despaired of ever finding someone to adopt the scraggly thing, which in her opinion was just not right. Here was a perfectly good dog, from what she had seen, but people just couldn't seem to get over its odd looks.

To be fair, it was a strange amalgam of different breed characteristics. It had the compact body of an Australian Shepherd or a Border collie, though it was a little longer in the legs. The end of its fluffy, sickle-shaped tail was a little crooked, as if it had been damaged at some point, which made the tip wag one more time than the base. Floppy ears, like those of a Pointer, gave its face a puppy-like character. Shaped like that of a Foxhound, its muzzle was full of razor sharp teeth and a jaw muscle powerful enough to crack through the supposedly indestructible toys she stocked in the pantry.

With a proper bath, it would probably have a splendid golden hue to its long-haired coat, though right now its color was closer to brindle. The back legs were a splotchy mix of gold, fawn, and topaz, compared to the uniform color of its body. Its nose was liver colored, as were the pads of its big, webbed paws and claws. Then there was the unfortunate patch of mottled white and liver fur over its left shoulder. Mrs. Turner knew that underneath it was the hard tissue of a traumatic scar, and she felt bad that the silken coat had grown out in such a color, as it drew unwanted attention and questions she couldn't answer. An American Eskimo dog in its genetic history had given it the heavily furred ruff around its neck, which, when bristled up, looked like a lion's mane.

What made the quiet beast unique were the highly intelligent, wide eyes set in its face. When people questioned her about their color, she simply answered 'blue', but they were so much more complicated then that. Tiny chromatic mirrors to its soul, Amelia swore those eyes changed color whenever it felt emotion. Watching the little children chatting over this or that adorable pup, they turned a sad sort of midnight blue. If a parent spoke too harshly, a hint of silvery steel glittered inside a hard, slate blue as its lips lifted. Sometimes, Mrs. Turner just wished someone would look a little closer into its somber little face and meet those curious eyes.

At least it had a name, unlike many of the dogs dropped off at her doorstep. A pair of silver tags was attached to the dark metal collar it wore. A strange thing, that collar; short of cutting it off with a pair of bolt cutters, there didn't seem to be any way to remove it. The only thing written on the first tag, which was soldered to the collar, was the words 'Cptn John H. Watson, MD'. There was no address or phone number anywhere on it, and according to the police it had no microchip. On the other tag was a list of vaccinations and dates, courtesy of Mrs. Turner. She called him 'Watson', which he answered to readily enough, although he also answered just as easily to 'Doc' or 'John' or sometimes 'Captain'. Unlike most other dogs, though, he didn't answer to anything anyone would normally call their pet. 'Boy' was ignored, as was 'dog', 'buddy', 'sweetie' or any variation of endearment one could think of. As if he thought he was far too smart to be considered anything but his name.

Just before closing up shop, Mrs. Turner heard the front bell jingle and made her way back up to the lobby, shaking her head sadly. Standing before the counter, bundled snugly in a wine-red overcoat, and wearing a most becoming faux beaver hat, was Amelia's favorite person in the world (besides her dear married tenants).

"Mrs. Hudson!"

"Hello. Mrs. Turner! Just dropping by to see if you'd like to join me for dinner tomorrow."

"I would be delighted, Martha. I have a feeling I'll be next to empty tomorrow, God willing."

"Only 'next to' empty dear?" Mrs. Hudson sounded very sad, "why not 'completely' empty?"

Giving a wry smile to her friend, Mrs. Turner beckoned for the older woman to follow. "Just one sad little hold out."

Beckoning for her friend to follow, Amelia led the way back to the mostly empty cages. Both women sedately approached kennel 2l and peered in at the unmoving dog. It didn't even raise its head to acknowledge them. Mrs. Hudson peered a little harder, and a small, knowing smile lit her wrinkled face.

"Amelia, dear, I would be delighted to take the dear old thing off your hands."

So surprised was she at this announcement, Mrs. Turner let out a cry of joy, which startled the high-strung Corgi in the kennel behind them. It started to bark loudly, and for the first time in two days the head of poor Watson in kennel 21 rose up. He gave a decidedly reproachful look to the Corgi, which snapped its mouth shut so quick the click of its teeth echoed in the corridor. Duty done, Watson dropped his head back to his paws and let out a huffing sigh through his nose.

"Oh, Martha, come with me and we'll grab up everything you need! I'm so happy you've decided to take the poor little dear. He's been breaking my heart for 3 years!"

"Don't you worry, Amelia, I'll give him a nice new home. I've been feeling oddly lonely since my poor husband went away." Mrs. Hudson gave her friend a soft smile, "It'll be nice to have someone to talk to."

Retiring to the small office behind the counter, Amelia presented all the paperwork her friend would need to sign. Martha was only too happy to scribble her name along the dotted lines. While she finished initialing, Mrs. Turner pulled out a smart, olive leash, part of the stash she kept for the seasonal rush.

"Will you be taking him home today, Mrs. Hudson?"

"If I may."

"Consider it settled! Oh, thank you, dear Martha. You have made this the happiest moment of my whole career."

Mrs. Hudson laughed gaily and followed her friend back to the kennel. "I hope you have many, many more of those, my friend."

Amelia opened the door of kennel 21 and excitedly said, "Come along, John, dear, you've got yourself a new home!"

That strong head with those beautiful eyes rose up slowly, as if he was completely incredulous at such a proclamation. He looked back and forth between Mrs. Turner and Mrs. Hudson for a long moment, blinking confusedly, and then let out another sighing huff before struggling to his feet. Limping slightly from stiffness, he sedately approached Mrs. Turner before sitting down and waiting to be leashed.

"Such a little gentleman you are, Watson." Amelia gave him a fond scratch behind his ears as he stood again. "You're going to go back to Baker Street with Mrs. Hudson here, and live happily ever after."

A little noise that sounded suspiciously like a cynical grunt puffed out of his throat as Watson walked shoulder to knee with Amelia out of the cage. Mrs. Hudson bent down, holding out a hand towards his nose as if waiting for him to sniff. Instead of sniffing, he sat and lifted a paw onto her hand, just to be contrary. Martha laughed, shaking the offered paw before accepting the leash.

"Thank you very much, Mrs. Turner. I shall call upon you tomorrow evening if convenient. I just hope the snow holds out till after dinner!"

"I agree!" Embracing her friend, Amelia waved goodbye and bent to the task of readying to close up the shop.

Out of the corner of her eye, Mrs. Hudson watched the scruffy looking dog beside her. His head was hung low, his ears pressed back against his head, and his tail was flat down, pointing to the ground. Like a resigned prisoner being lead towards the hangman's noose. Poor little soul.

"Pluck up, little duck," Martha said softly as they rounded the corner onto Baker Street, "your luck's about to change for the better." When he didn't even look up at her, she whispered loudly, "Believe it or not, my fuzzy little field medic, you've just met the one person in the world capable of changing your misfortune."

That got his attention; his ears perked up and quizzical eyes, like a sea in a storm, stared up at her in astonishment. She laughed warmly as she dug in her pocket for her key, and he continued to stare up at her with his head cocked slightly to one side. He was adorable, in her opinion, but she could see how his looks might have put people off, especially those wonderful eyes. With a hum of triumph, Martha slotted her key into the lock and felt him follow her into the warmth of her house.

Unwilling to keep him captive, she immediately stripped off his leash and hung it on the coat rack. "Well now, John! Home sweet home, eh? Come along and I'll give you the tour."

Keeping his nose just beside her knee, Watson followed Martha through every inch of the house, from her flat on the main floor to the secondary flat all the way upstairs. His polite interest amused her, but not as much as his obvious interest in the bedroom at the top of the stairs in the upper flat. For an injured soul such as this, Martha Hudson would give him free run of the house, and if he so desired the attic room, it would be his as soon as she could find some suitable furnishings.

"Now, dear, if you'll accompany me back downstairs, I wonder if you'd be kind enough to tell me how you ended up in this predicament?"

Nodding in answer, Watson crossed back over from the corner he'd been inspecting, his tail curved high with its kinked tip lolling to one side. Smiling, Mrs. Hudson lead her new tenant back to the warm fire already merrily burning in her hearth, and poured him a cup of tea. Laying down a towel, mindful of how the canine tongue is built to work, she placed the teacup on the floor beside John as he lay down on the floor with a soft grunt.

"There now, isn't that better? Before you start, I suppose I should tell you my little secret." Martha settled herself in her old wingback armchair with a sigh, patting her hip as she relaxed. "Old joints are starting to get to me. My name, as you've probably worked out, is Martha Hudson. In my heyday I was quite a powerful white witch, but there isn't much call for people the likes us any more." A smile spread across her face as Watson neatly lapped up a few tongues-full of tea. "I haven't encountered a curse quite like yours in recent years. Can you tell me how it happened?"

Unable to formulate speech without human vocal chords, John just huffed and grumbled for a few moments. Frustrated, he leapt up and began to pace back and forth in front of the fireplace, his ruff fluffing out as he worked himself up. Martha patted her lips with a finger for a short moment, trying to think of a way around using magic to help understand him. She wasn't exactly sure how it might affect his curse, and she didn't want to risk making things worse if she could help it.

"Oh! If you run into the kitchen, there's a pen and paper on the counter! Perhaps you can write me an account?"

An odd look at her face, followed by an equally odd look at both his front paws, was the only answer he gave her. Of course, she thought ruefully, he wouldn't be able to write without opposable thumbs. He sat down on the floor, apparently studying the woodwork, and then jerked his head up as if inspired. Dashing into the kitchen, his claws scrabbling for purchase on the sleek parquet floor, John made a few soft noises of frustration again then returned with a paper and the pen.

Holding the pen carefully in his mouth, he somehow managed to write down an entire account of his story. The writing was surprisingly neat, considering how he'd managed it, and Martha praised him absently as she began to read. Each of her brows drew closer and closer together, until they were pressed so tightly together, it was a wonder the skin of her temples didn't rip.

Letting a long sigh escape her lips, Martha crumpled up the letter and tossed it into the fire. "Goodness me, that is one powerful hex she forced on you. The good news is that I can reverse it." Another smile escaped when Watson thumped his tail hopefully against the floor. "The bad news is I don't have the strength that I used to. It's going to take more than just sheer magical power to free you, John. I'm going to need you to perform a task for me."

Sitting up a little straighter, like a cadet reporting for duty, John gave her his most attentive stare. He raised one paw up, offering to shake as if the deal was made. There was no way he was going to pass up an opportunity to be free of his curse, regardless of what she wanted him to do. Martha shook the offered limb and then gave him a friendly pat on the head.

"Bargain struck," Mrs. Hudson intoned solemnly. "I will not tell you the task you must perform, for it must be done without your express knowledge. Selfless deeds are some of the most powerful, and those completed out of the goodness of your heart are even more so."

Watson nodded somberly, understanding perfectly. Finishing his tea, he gently lifted the china cup and carried it into the kitchen. The sound of the small stool she kept to reach the higher shelves sliding across the floor was unexpected, and she made her way into the room with her curiosity peaked. Apparently, John was a fastidiously neat sort of being, as he had managed to push the stool against the counter to allow him to place his cup into the sink.

"Now, now my friend, there's no need for you to earn your keep!" She chuckled warmly. Darting back into the living room, he repeated the movement with her empty cup, wagging his tail a bit. "Alright, if you insist on being helpful then I suppose I can oblige. Lord knows with my hip I can use all the help I can get!"

While he pushed the stool out of the way of her feet, his head suddenly lifted and looked towards the door into the foyer. A loud knock on the front door of the house confirmed that John had heard someone outside. Padding quietly beside her, Watson accompanied Martha to the door, his neck ruff bristling as he prepared to defend her if necessary.

Standing outside in the darkening street was a tall man, in a pristine business suit, leaning on an umbrella. "Mrs. Hudson, I presume?"

"Yes that's me, sir. How can I help you?" "If I may?" Indicating he'd like to enter, he nearly poked Watson in the head with the tip of his umbrella.

Put out by such an indignity, John closed his teeth around the offending instrument and wrenched it away with a powerful tug. Both Martha and the man looked taken aback at the display. Fighting the urge to snarl and shred the object in his jaws, John backed up until he could rest the umbrella against the wall. He left it leaning there before looking up expectantly.

Martha was smiling jovially, "You might as well come in it seems, sir. Shall I put the kettle on for you?"

It took the man a few seconds to reply, as he kept staring at the dog, who in turn kept staring at him. "No, Mrs. Hudson that will not be necessary. I merely wished to assess the availability of lodgings. I understand you have a vacant flat upstairs."

Leading the man into the sitting room, Mrs. Hudson offered him the wingback beside the fire before sitting herself on the soft. "Yes, sir, you understand correctly. I have a two bedroom flat available for rent as soon as you're ready. You know how London is these days. It's getting hard for a little old woman like me to find a willing lodger."

He hummed in a commiserating way, "Yes that is true. However, it is not for my own usage that I am inquiring after your vacancy. You see, my younger brother has found himself quite without a comfortable living situation. His last landlord was quite, shall I say, unimpressed with him."

"Might I ask your younger brother's name?"

"Sherlock Holmes, madam."

A coo of excitement burbled out of Mrs. Hudson's smiling mouth, "Oh! Dear Sherlock! Of course he can come and live here! I'd be more than delighted to have him about."

Even though the man's features seemed as immobile as marble, one of his eyebrows leapt to his receding hairline. "You are acquainted with him?"

"Sherlock's the one who insured my husband got what he deserved. I would do anything to pay him back. I'll even cut him a special deal on the rent." She turned to her right, leaning over to look into Watson's bright little eyes. "What a lucky break, old John, eh?"

Clearing his throat, the man rose to his feet once more and bowed crisply at the waist. "You have my gratitude, Mrs. Hudson. If it pleases you, Sherlock shall arrive at quarter-past eleven tomorrow morning with his effects. Please don't bother getting up, I shall show myself out."

With a kiss of her wrinkled hand he was gone, collecting his umbrella at the door and checking the end for teeth marks as he left. Martha chuckled happily, clapping her hands in mirth. John padded softly over to sit in front of her after he made sure the other man was gone. Placing his head in her lap, John let out a long-suffering sigh, and wondered what, exactly, he'd gotten himself into.

"Don't worry, John, dear. I have a good feeling that you and Sherlock are going to get along quite swimmingly."