December 11: "Sherlock Holmes, criminal mastermind" (from goodpenmanship)

December 14: "Old fellow, I'm not sure you've quite thought this through..." (from sirensbane)

December 21: "Someone gets a pet" (from sirensbane)

December 23: "The world's greatest thief" (from Michael JG Meathook)

December 29: "Do we have a plan?" (from Book girl fan)


"What's wrong old fellow?" I asked. Holmes had just entered the sitting room, brow furrowed and expression grim.

"Old Sherman passed away. I found out this morning," he replied, sitting down.

"Oh dear," I said. "Poor fellow. What do you suppose will become of Toby? Goodness, I miss the old boy. It has been a while since we've needed him and his nose for a case."

"It has, "Holmes replied. "Presumably some relative or friend of Sherman's will take him in. I shall be checking in with my network to find out."

A couple weeks passed, and Holmes once again returned home with a grim expression. "It's Toby," he said. "I have reason to believe he's being mistreated by his new owner."

"Have you reported this to Scotland Yard?" I asked, setting down my fork.

Holmes shook his head. "They're in too much of an uproar over the Ripper case to do anything about something about this quickly."

I sighed. "Well, then, what are we to do?"

"I'm going to smoke," Holmes replied.

"I shall finish my dinner, then."

The following evening, I was reading quietly by the fire when Holmes threw open the sitting room door. "Watson, fetch your rubber-soled shoes."

"Good heavens, Holmes, you nearly scared the life out of me. What is going on? Is this for a case?"

"This is for Toby," Holmes replied. We're rescuing him."

"How many laws are we breaking tonight?" I asked, a pale attempt at light-heartedness.

The corners of Holmes' mouth creased downward, but he said nothing.

"I'll fetch my shoes then."

Minutes later found us both in a hansom cab, on the way to Toby's new address.

"Right," I said. "Do we have a plan?"

"Yes," Holmes replied. "We're rescuing Toby." He gently pulled a syringe out of his coat pocket. "Anesthesia," he said in answer to my look. "I paid off the maid to put a sedative in Toby and his owner's evening meals, but to keep him quiet on the way out I rather thought we'd need this."

"And then we're going to sneak out with an unconscious dog, and call a cab? Old fellow, I'm not sure you've quite thought this through."

"We'll have the cab take us to a veterinarian. Goodness knows the poor boy will need it."

I was quiet, not wanting to think about what kind of harm poor Toby had suffered.

The cab dropped us a few blocks from our destination, and we walked the rest of the way.

"Conveniently for us, Toby is kept in a cage near the back door. I should be able to pick the lock on the door, inject Toby to keep him quiet, and pick the lock on the cage, and be out in no time."

"Then why am I along?" I asked.

Holmes smiled. "I would be lost without my Boswell. And in any case, having a doctor nearby when one is rescuing a wounded animal seemed prudent."

"If you say so," I replied. But I was glad to accompany my friend.

Soon we reached the house in question and crept around to the back door, and Holmes had picked the lock in no time. The door creaked loudly as it swung open, and I cringed.

The cringing turned to panic when a dog began barking.

I rushed inside behind Holmes, who was cursing under his breath while frantically picking the lock on Toby's cage.

A man's voice came from upstairs, shouting abuse at Toby, who continued barking. Holmes finished picking the lock on the cage just as the sound of footsteps began coming down the stairs.

My heart leapt into my throat as Holmes threw open the back door, and we rushed into the night.

Toby was off like a shot, Holmes and I sprinting behind him. As the three of us ran down the street, I saw Toby begin to develop a limp, and Holmes and I caught up to him in less than a block. In one smooth movement, Holmes leaned down and scooped the dog in his arms. "Up you come, old boy," he said, and ran onward down the boulevard. I struggled to keep up as we zigged and zagged through the maze of streets and darkened alleys, but eventually, mercifully, Holmes slowed to a stop. I jogged to catch up to him, and dropped to my knees, breaths ragged.

"Let's—stop a moment—catch our breath—before—" I began.

"Yes," Holmes replied, panting, and setting Toby gently down on the pavement.

Toby barked and nipped at my shoes.

"You're going to be all right now," I said, rubbing behind his ears. "Holmes, how long are we keeping him?"

"As long as Mrs. Hudson allows," he replied.

And our landlady, it turned out, was glad to let us keep him.


A/N: Maybe Holmes isn't the world's greatest thief, but Toby thinks he's pretty good :)