A/N: Continuation of last. Warnings for the death of a well-loved, if technically fictional, pet. Please go and look at my own pet, (username: buddy_horne), on Instagram if you need cheering up after reading (or would rather skip the reading and look at cute pictures of a dog instead!). He is a hound, much like Toby would have been.

From V Tsuion: Pets

After my three years of travelling the continent, meetings with my brother became more regular. We never overtly discussed this, but I took it as a sign that that brief period where he thought I really was dead had shaken him more than he would say.

Thus it was that, the day after the successful conclusion of one of my cases, I joined Mycroft for lunch and told him the details. He had it solved within an instant, of course, but nodded along as I told him how everything had played out.

"Doctor Watson wasn't with you?" he enquired toward the end of my story.

I shrugged a touch unhappily. It was true that Watson hadn't joined me for this particular case, having sent a note begging off at the last minute. When I told Mycroft this he became pensive.

"A lot has changed whilst you were away." He gestured to the waiter for the bill. "But it isn't like him to cancel last minute. Usually he is reliable to a tee."

I frowned at him. I was well aware of that already.

The last time I had visited the Watson household was when I came and asked for his help during the Moriarty business. It looked much the same, although the gardens and front doorstep were less maintained than they had been then. I could hardly blame him for that, following the death of his wife.

I rang the bell. I was unsurprised when Watson answered it himself - I knew he kept a minimal staff these days - but was shocked to see his eyes red and expression heavy with grief.

"Holmes?" He seemed almost guilty to see me there. "What are you doing here? If you need something for your case,.."

"No, no not the case," I said brusquely, and stepped inside before he could turn me away. His wife had died a year and a half ago, so it wasn't an unpleasant anniversary that had upset him. What could it be? "Simply a social call. Watson..." I frowned and glanced around his hallway. "When did you get a dog?"

He gaped at me, then shook his head with a rueful smile. "Time has not withered your abilities Holmes. We bought Toby just after Mary's condition was diagnosed."

"Toby?"

"Yes, Holmes, the very same." His smile faded. "The truth is he became rather ill a few days ago."

Ah. This explained much. "He must be rather old by now, I suppose?"

"Oh yes, yes." He cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "Ancient, really, for a dog. It was only a matter of time, but he was something of a comfort to me after Mary..." He cleared his throat again and forced another unconvincing smile. "Anyway. I will not be much company today, Holmes."

"That is no bother." I hung my coat on the rack in his hallway, hoping I was not being too presumptuous. "May I see him?"

"Of- of course," he stammered, in some shock. "He's in the kitchen by the fire."

"A favourite spot of his?"

Watson cast me a curious look. "I'm surprised to find you interested, Holmes. I thought you might think me silly, or sentimental."

"Sentimental! This hound has helped me solve many a case, Watson, a true and trusted colleague in my work." We came to the kitchen and I knelt down beside poor Toby, whose tail wagged feebly when he spotted me from where he lay prone on the floor. "Will it be long now?"

"I shouldn't think so." Watson knelt beside me and placed a hand on Toby's side, which rose and fell with every wheezing breath. "I gave him a mild sedative, just before you arrived. Hopefully he shall just slip away...Stupid, isn't it, how attached we get to our pets?"

I patted Toby's head fondly. "Not a pet so loyal and true as this one. I'm glad to think he spent his last few years with those who loved him."

"It was Mary's suggestion." Watson smiled, genuinely this time, as he remembered. "We couldn't have children, and I think-" His breath hitched again. "I think she wanted me to have some company, after she was gone. She remembered Toby from when we first met."

"A wise woman." I had never been overly fond of animals, but Watson had always had a soft spot for them. I was sure Toby had been just the comfort to him that his wife had intended. "Although I'm sure there were more selfish motives for bringing a dog into the house."

Watson laughed, a pleasant and relieving sound. "Oh yes, she doted on him. I don't think you have ever seen a dog so well-fed Holmes. We had to put him on a diet!"

Toby whined, almost as if in protest, and Watson shushed him gently. "That's it... Good dog..." Watson looked up at me. "You really don't have to stay, Holmes. I'm sure you have more important things to do."

"None so important as this," I replied without hesitation, although I did get to my feet. "It won't be so good as Mrs Hudson's, but shall I make us some tea?"

"It may be a long night," Watson conceded. "If you're certain?"

"Absolutely."

I bustled around the kitchen and prepared the tea as Watson continued to murmur a soft litany of reassurances to Toby. And if, when the poor creature finally passed on later that night, we each shed a tear in his memory, then it was only what the faithful hound deserved.