A dark and cold and lonely night... would not wake a drunken Wallace up! Not even his very own burps and farts! But his burp and farts did keep Gromit awake in his own room. Gromit tried to sleep but –

"Wallace's burps and farts are as loud as when Jack Bauer tries to scare the terrorists!" he shouted. So he got up and started to knit. Then the room started to rumble like the 1989 Loma Prieta Earthquake.

Outside, the "earthquake" was coming out of a rumbling green lorry. It stopped at a traffic light. A small sheep was hanging out of the lorry, bleating. Then he coughed.

"I can't go on like this!" he complained. "I can't do the begging much longer. Those sheep rustlers can find another replacement. Goodbye!"

And he broke through the lorry and stormed off in 62 West Wallaby Street, before they lorry drove away and anyone noticed.

But Gromit did notice that he couldn't complete his knitting because his tread had been eaten off. "What the hell?" Gromit thought to himself. "I'll do some work on my novel." And he reached down to pick up his laptop but found that it had little battery left. He reached for the charger, but that electrocuted him like a Victorian generator. He left go and saw that his charger had been chewed. "This is more mysterious than Sherlock Holmes will ever find out."

Gromit read that Sherlock Holmes was investigating a murder in London. Dr. Watson bumped into him, literally.

"Watch where you're bloody going, Doc!" shouted Holmes, in a Bugs Bunny accent.

"Sorry, Holmes!" yelled Watson. "But I have to save myself from the murderer of Jake Jones!"

And Watson ran and was not far off from a thug, that Holmes caught.

"Not so obvious, huh?" chuckled Holmes.

Later, that night, still tiredless as a wild kid, Gromit sat back and watched the news.

"Good morning, I'm Tom Tucker," greeted Tom Tucker.

"And I'm Diana Simmons," joined in Diana Simmons.

"First of all, we go to Ollie Williams at the Wensleydale Creamy. How's the cheese, Ollie?"

"DELICIOUS!" yelled Ollie at the factory.

"Thanks, Ollie!" said Tom. "Now, in other news, we hear that the sheep rustlers are still out there. Pretty that Gil Grissom left the CSI show and retired. We could use a man like that here, right, Diana?"

Diana said nothing. Then the breakfast menu rang from Wallace from his bedroom.

"Hey, Gromit!" called Wallace. "How's that porridge coming on?"

"Come and see for yourself, fatso!" chuckled Gromit, as he pulled down the lever.

"Hey, you mind those awful man – Ahh!" Wallace screamed his head off as he came down and landed on the chair – through ripped trousers. His white arm sleeves and his green tank top were completely ripped.

"Hey, robot, what the hell is going on?" yelled Wallace.

The dresser robot mark two came in. "Mr. Wallace, your clothes are ripped."

"Oh, so you know?" demanded Wallace. "Well, why don't you fix them?"

"No, no," protested robot two. "Old one's doing it."

And in came the dresser robot mark one. "I checked everywhere. Nothing there. It's a poor rated house for a mouse to rent in," it chuckled.

"Anyway," subject-changed Wallace. "Where's my porridge?"

"You want something done, you got to do it yourself!" muttered Gromit, as he pressed the button. The porridge flew up and landed on his porridge bowl. Wallace was about to tuck in, when –

More porridge flew? Right in his fat face! Gromit was so confused himself and he tried to pulled the button up.

"No! What the hell are you doing?" yelled Wallace. "Turn the bloody machine off!"

Gromit got up and studied the porridge gun. He pulled the plug out and saw the wires have been chewed.

The robots were laughing at Wallace being stuck on a wall of porridge. This pissed Wallace right off. "Don't just stand there, you waste of bots! Get me down from here."

"Do you think we'd do that now you've insulted us?" giggled robot mark one.

"Besides, I have animal poop to clear up," moaned robot mark two.

And both robots went off. Wallace freed himself and dried himself with the towel.

"There's something fishy going on, even though I don't think it would be a fish," Wallace thought to himself.

"Oh, so, now a fish is so boring, he shouldn't get a damn!" That voice came from Klaus the goldfish from the lounge.

"Hey, you were down here," exclaimed Wallace. "Did you see anyone down here last night?"

"Well, I know that someone's been at your cellar, looking for wine," answered Klaus.

Wallace ran to the cellar and was in for a shock. All the wines have disappeared and the beer bottles flooded the floor. "GROMIT!" he yelled.

"I didn't do it, Wallace," protested Gromit.

"No, it's not that," said Wallace. "And it's not Wallace anymore." And "Wallace" took his Wallace outfit off and Peter Griffin turned into "Sherlock Holmes". Holmes threw the "Dr. Watson" outfit to Brian Griffin, now out of his "Gromit" uniform.

"Now, Watson," began Holmes. "Let's get to the bottom of this."

"No, Sherlock," said "Jack Bauer", chucking the Watson uniform back to Holmes. "I'm going in and find the terrorists behind this!" And Jack left.

The phone rang and Klaus answered it. "Hello, Wallace and Gromit's… No! I mean, Sherlock Homles' and Jack Bauer's Wash 'n' Go Window Cleaning Service. No, they're not Wallace and Gromit anymore, so they can't help you."

Holmes, getting out of his "Holmes" outfit, grabbed the phone. "No, this is Sherlock… reprising as Wallace. Yes, ma'am, we'll on our way!"

Wallace sat in his armchair. Klaus pressed a red button on the kitchen wall and Wallace shot up into the air.

The armchair threw Wallace inside his wall, like a waste disposal. He shot down and fitted into his wellington boots. He flew back for his head to connect with the helmet. He span around like washing machine to fit into his overalls. Finally, his balls hit the seat of the motorbike and it span up to the garage. He was greeted by millions of people.

Not Jack Bauer, but Gromit came into the garage and jumped into the sidecar. He took the picture off in front of his sidecar. He looked at it and he laughed at Wallace puking in a sick back on a slide in the wall.

A boot came out of the wall and stamped on Wallace's nuts. This made him go extra fast when he started off. The cheering helped him too.

Outside, the pond was surrounded by gnomes. Two was in a speedboat, with one water-skiing. There were about ten getting drunk on Caribbean drinks. And there was one on lifeguard duty, watching a thousand gnomes playing in the water.

Unfortunately, the pond flipped over so Wallace and Gromit could drive out. The traffic gnome waves them across with his "Go" sign. A few seconds later, the gnomes that went under came to the top through one of the bricks.

"This is getting crappier!" shouted the life-guard.

"Sorry you weren't quick enough to beat me at this job!" shouted the traffic warden.

And the gnomes got into a big brawl.

In West Wallaby, Wallace and Gromit were driving through the town of West Wallaby. Gromit grabbed the ladder.

"What are you doing, Gromit?" asked Wallace.

"Using the force," replied Gromit.

Of course, Wallace didn't have the faintest idea what Gromit was talking about. But Gromit aimed the ladder to a drain grid and he pole-vaulted up the shop called Wendolene's Wools. He looked into the mirror and nearly fell off due to an evil-looking monkey pointing at him. Gromit hooked his rope to the sign and dropped down to grab the bucket and sponge of Wallace.

Meanwhile, Wallace lost focus on the job and looked at the client. She smiled nervously and waved. Wallace returned the wave and it nearly showed his –

Luckily, Gromit shot down and cleaned the window. "Just hiding that boner you're getting from her," Gromit chuckled.

"In return, you need more wool so I'll… go and get some for you," he stuttered, walking in and leaving Gromit the hard labour.

Inside the shop, Wallace couldn't get his eyes off the woman.

"Can I help you?" asked the woman.

"Just buying more wool for my mate outside," answered Wallace, putting on a brave attitude, but not a strong focus on what he was doing. He took one ball of wool... at the very bottom. BANZAI! The wool shop was now literally a wool shop.

"Does your friend need that much?" joked the woman.

Wallace laughed with her. "That's so funny. Here, let me pick these up. No trouble." But he wasn't looking at what he was picking up; his eyes were worshipping this woman. And nothing can stop that. Well, except if you don't grab a ball of wool and a chicken leg instead.

"This is Preston, my chicken," the woman introduced.

"All right, cluck?" chuckled Wallace as he patted the suspicious chicken on the head.

Then Wallace went back to picking up the balls of wool. There was one left and Wallace about to grab it, but something stopped him from taking it. The woman's hand.

"Do you mind?" she demeaned.

"Sorry," apologized Wallace. "It's just that – "

"Well, what? I don't have all day."

"What the name of my client?" Wallace finally spat out.

"The name is Ramsbottom. Wendolene Ramsbottom," the woman answered.

"That's a lovely name. As lovely as your bottom," chuckled the inventor. "I'm Wallace."

"Wallace what?"

"The windows." The inventor paused for a second. "Is this place yours?"

"Well, my father did leave to me, not giving something that doesn't belong to him," answered Wendolene, looking at the picture of her father and Preston. "He was an inventor."

"Never! So am I," Wallace said proudly.

"Wait a minute. Aren't you the same Wallace that invented the self-sweeping chimneys?"

Years ago, Wallace and Gromit did a commercial ad for their new invention – the self-sweeping chimneys.

"Hi, Wallace and Gromit here," greeted Wallace, "to introduce you a tidier way to getting rid of soot from your chimney."

"But less eco-friendly," added Gromit.

"Gromit, one of these days, I'm going to put you down and it will look like an accident, even to God!" yelled an angry Wallace. "Now," he said in a better mood, "less words, more movement, eh?"

Wallace put the invention in the fireplace and turned it on. The invention was just a metal block. Then metal arms with white gloves sprang out. It grabbed a sweeper and started getting lots of soot of the chimney.

Wallace was very proud of himself. "So, as you can see, the chimneys will be as clean as my glasses."But, behind him, the block was rumbling and soot covered all over Wallace and Gromit and the whole room!

"Your dog's waiting," said Wendolene, seeing Gromit hanging upside down.

Wallace nodded, giving Wendoloene the balls of wool he picked up. "Aye. The bounce has gone from his bungee."

"Oh, they're spanking arse," praised the wool-keeper. "You've done a grand job."

Then Gromit threw up on the clean windows.

"Now you've an awful job."

Wallace ran outside. "What the hell's going on?" he demanded. "You think extra work means extra money? Because that's not how this business works!"

"You were getting a boner inside and let that chicken bastard shooting me up and down!" yelled Gromit.

Back at 62 West Wallaby Street, Wallace and Gromit weren't the first ones there. It was Preston. He went to the back door and found sheep wool on the dog flap. He smelled it. But for what reason does this wool have to do with him? And what is he doing here?

No time for those questions, because he could hear the motorcycle that came to wash his windows had arrived home. He quickly saw a coal bunker and hid himself under there. He was not finished here.