"Two shillings, gov'."
I fished round in my pocket for the fare and tossed it to the cabbie, following Holmes up to our door.
"I do hope Mrs. Hudson thought to feed poor Toby," he remarked, "poor little beggar did a good morning's work for us, you know."
"I would assume she fed him – his howls when we left could be heard on Marylebone Road," I muttered as we entered.
"Hmph."
"I don't think the neighbours appreciated it."
"I don't really care, Watson."
"You never do. I suppose it can't be worse than indoor revolver practice and exploding chemical flasks."
"Then why are you grumbling?"
"I'm not grumbling, I just don't want a howling dog cluttering up the sitting room!" I said, opening the door.
Then I stared into the room in dismay.
"Holmes!"
"What?" he bellowed from his bedroom.
"Get out here! Where is that wretched dog!"
Holmes scrambled out into the sitting room and halted.
"My slippers!"
"And two of my journals. I'm going to shoot that dog!"
"You can't – Toby's a vital part of detection!"
"Then you'd better find him first!"
"Watson –"
"Holmes," I warned, stepping over to the wad of shredded paper.
"Um, all right. Mrs. Hudson!!"
I paused, grimacing.
"Holmes."
"What?"
"You might warn the good woman, dear Toby doesn't appear to be house broken."
Ok, I know I cheated, since housebroken is one word, but it's getting harder to come up with B words...