The "221B" challenge is far too contagious. Other than that, I have no excuse for the following bit of silliness.
"What the devil?"
"Good heavens!"
Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson looked each other up and down, scrutinizing this thoroughly unexpected development. Holmes was now a purebred foxhound and Watson was a black, well-groomed terrier.
"We are dogs," Holmes said in a tone implying he was clinging to the last threads of patience.
"So it would appear," Watson mused, staring at what, up until thirty seconds ago, had been his hands.
"I must say, Watson, the author is getting deplorably desperate for ideas. This latest perversion of our world is a new depth, even for her! How can you be so calm about this?"
Watson shrugged. "I confess I am none too pleased by this development but it could have been far worse. We are still friends and still residing in Baker Street. You are not dead. Nor am I."
After a long pause Holmes reluctantly muttered, "This is true."
"We are still wearing clothing and are able to converse intelligently in English."
"Which is ridiculous!" Holmes fumed. "Logically the mouths of canines --"
"Holmes, the rules of logic obviously cannot apply to this matter. I suggest we simply wait until this fit of suspended reality has passed. Besides," Watson continued, somewhat mischievously, "The author hasn't forsaken her goal. This is truly something that has never happened to Sherlock Holmes before."