A stranger group was never seen at Blakes Restaurant. Moffat had used his connections to book every table in the bar for free, to avoid awkward questions from other patrons (about the talking animals) that would normally get them kicked out.
"Hi, everybody," said Amanda Abbington sweetly as she walked towards the table.
"Mary!" cried John, his beady eyes bulging out of his spiky head. He hopped over to Amanda and accidentally stabbed her with one of his quills.
"Ow!" she yelled. Then she had second thoughts. "Sorry," she whispered.
"No, I'm sorry," John squeaked politely.
"That's okay," Amanda replied. Then she blinked, taking a closer look at John, and turned to Martin. "Is that—hedgehog—talking to me?" Her eyes were wide with fear.
"Unfortunately…yes. There's quite a lot we need to tell you…" Martin informed her.
"Wait a minute. That hedgehog called me Mary. This sounds crazy, but…is he John? Like, an animal version of John Watson?"
Amanda glanced around the table, unsure of the reception her comment would yield.
"I'm afraid so," said Sherlock. "It's very inconvenient; now he can't fetch my things!"
"So that makes you…Sherlock Holmes. Oh, no…" Amanda said, deflated.
"My sentiments exactly," interjected Moffat.
Sherlock put his paws on his hips and tried to order dinner from a passing waiter. When the man's eyes bulged out, Sherlock started yelling savagely.
"I said I want oysters. Do you want to be fired? Because I can get you fired!"
The server trembled visibly.
"No he can't," said John, reassuring the waiter, who was obviously touchy about his job. This second talking animal, unfortunately, just scared the server more, and John watched as he rushed away from the table, muttering something about a previous engagement. Sherlock scowled at John. Suddenly an oyster craving had struck him; was that such a crime? He sighed. But otters like oysters, don't they? Oh dear…