Prompt: Chapter 6 of SIGN is notable for the introduction of dear Toby...who surprisingly we never hear from again, despite his popularity in fanon. You may choose one of two today: Either describe when and how Holmes first met the interesting character Sherman and so met Toby, or tell us why we never hear of Toby again (without having the dear fellow run over by a cab or something, if you want me to read it).

A/N: My first thought upon reading the prompt was "Oh no he must have gotten run over by a cab or something!" and THEN I read the parenthetical comment, and burst out laughing. I had a tremendously difficult time figuring this out--I wanted to do the first one but at first wasn't getting anything; then I tried the second one but the only un-cab-related answer I could think of involved aliens.
(You would really be amazed at how many problems aliens can solve, though. Watson's wound moves from his shoulder to his leg? Aliens. Ballarat references? Aliens. Watson's indecipherable dating system? Aliens. Mary calles Watson "James?" Aliens. Trust me on this. #readers shake heads# No, I'm serious. I've actually given this a lot of scientific thought. #readers point at Doctor Who desktop background# No no no--It's not just that I've been watching Doctor Who all day--I mean ACTUAL actual scientific thought. #readers shake heads again# Oh, never mind...)
Anyway, as you can see, I finally got something down. (Ta-daa).

There was nothing, absolutely nothing more infuriating than knowing who your man was and being unable to find him. He had been at the scene of the crime just five minutes ago, and I had gotten there just five minutes too late. Blast it all.

Sherman was paying me very little for this case. This was not surprising; the fact was that he had very little funds had been one of the interesting points of the case. He lived alone with a variety of animals, and had absolutely nothing worth stealing, and indeed nothing was stolen. So why, why had someone broken into his house at night, causing every animal in the place to wake and raise a din loud enough to shake the foundations of the earth? It could not have been to steal something of value, for there was nothing. It could not have been to do harm to the man himself, for the miscreant had walked straight past Sherman's bedroom. So what was the cause?

I had tracked the man for several days now, and had come within five minutes of apprehending him. The man was Sherman's father, who was searching for certain incriminating documents kept unknowingly by his son. They were worthless to anyone but a member of the family, which is what lead me to suspect the father. But as I was busy locating him he had returned to Sherman's residence. When I realised where he was I had rushed back to the house only to find him gone again. Thankfully he had not managed to obtain the documents, but he had gone again, and I now hadn't the slightest idea where he could be.

Sherman emerged from behind a pile of cages, where he had been checking on the ferret. "He's right gone then, Mr. Sherlock?" he said.

That was the infuriating thing about Sherman--or "Mr. Sherman" as I was obliged to call him--he insisted on using first names on all occasions. Never mind that we had never met before he approached me about this case--he was calling me "Mr. Sherlock" from the moment we shook hands, and he did not tell me his last name--I assumed it wasn't "Sherman." He had, at least, had the decency to retain the prefix. Other than this little quirk, however annoying I found it, I had to admit he was an excellent client--a bit slow, perhaps, but he gave an excellent summary of the important points of the case, and had intuition which many of my clients lacked.

"I'm afraid he has, Mr. Sherman," I answered, poking moodily at a lizard's cage. "It's a pity there's no way to trace him from here. We know the fellow only just barely escaped from that housefire--the witnesses say he went running out moments before the whole house went up. As it happens it was an accident, but he'll be paranoid now--perhaps he'll come back. But not today."

"And there's really know way to trace him from here?"

"I suppose we could ask around; see if a slightly charred man has run past recently," I said sarcastically. "No, if anything we've got to find out where his hiding place is--he'll have gone straight back there."

"Well, what if we set a dog on him?"

I was about to give him an example of my best sneer when something registered in my mind. "You mean... give a dog his scent, and use it to track him?"

"Well, a man's just been in a fire, a man's gonna smell pretty burnt," said Sherman. "Supposing we were to track him with a dog?"

"And how would we come by such a dog?" I asked.

"Ah, well, there you're in luck, Mr. Sherlock," said Sherman with a grin. "I happen to have just such an animal here. His name's Toby. Let me fetch him for you..."

The dog that Sherman lead back was among the ugliest I've ever seen. I confess I placed very little faith in him at the beginning--The dog did not look particularly intelligent. But Sherman sacrificed one of his handkerchiefs, singing it with a match and giving it to Toby to sniff. We then allowed him to sniff around the room for a bit and somehow, amongst all the animal smells in the room (which were quite overhwelming) he managed to pick up the same scent.

"What'd I tell ya?" said Sherman gleefully, as I stood and stared. "Got the best nose in the business, Toby has."

We wrapped the matter up extraordinarily neatly, thanks to Toby's help. I hadn't thought it possible, but we found his hiding place in no time at all.

Mr. Sherman was quite appreciative of my help, and expressed that appreciation in no uncertain terms. "I've never seen anything like it, Mr. Sherlock," he said, wringing my hand. "I didn't even know the old man was still alive. But you, you were on his tail just as quick as a wink, and we've got the whole thing sorted out now."

"Think nothing of it, Mr. Sherman," I said. "It really was rather commonplace.

"Now, about your fee..." Sherman coloured slightly and looked at the floor.

I was ready for this one. "Do not worry yourself, sir. I would be perfectly happy to take no reward in this case." Well, not perfectly happy, but I would be willing.

"No, sir, I cannot ask that of you. I've never accepted any sort of charity before, and I'm not going to start now."

"Well then," I said, casting my eye on the ugly but quite useful dog sitting between us. "Perhaps I can suggest a different sort of payment."

Since then I have had the loan of Toby whenever I needed him, and he has seen me through several cases without fail.

A/N: FF was making me CRAZY the entire time I was writing this! Something about the horizontal lines makes the cursor jump to the top of the page--and then suddenly I was unable to start a new line from the end of the horizontal line! AARGH!

Anyway... that's my tale of woe...