I was reading a colourful account of the Jubilee festivities, relaxing after a long day. Sherlock Holmes seemed to be venting his bored irritation on his Stradivarius, judging from the melancholy melody that seeped from its strings.
"Ah, Watson," he remarked through a stiff jaw, keeping the instrument under his chin. "You returned Toby to Sherman, I take it."
I winced at a particularly grating screech and glanced up. "I thought you had returned him, Holmes."
He paused. "I did nothing with the mongrel…where the devil is he, then?"
With a frown, I set my newspaper aside and went to search for the dog upstairs; if the beast had got hold of my slippers again, I swore I should –
"Watson!" Holmes's voice called, and I hastened down to meet him. He was standing in our bay-window, looking down at the street.
"What is it?"
"It appears Toby somehow got loose this afternoon," he replied, gesturing down with his violin-bow. "Apparently he is quite intently staring at our front railings."
Indeed, the mongrel was complacently looking at our flat's foundation, heedless of the splattering rain.
"What do you suppose he's doing?" I sighed, preparing to go collar a wet dog.
Holmes shrugged. "Perhaps he hears mice?"
"That's absurd, Holmes. He is not a cat, and there are no mice in our basement."
Yes, for anyone versed in their Disney, this is a possible missing scene from The Great Mouse Detective. partially inspired by my recent acquisition of the DVD and the making of several icons at my LiveJournal, but mostly from Tristan-the-Dreamer's new GMD fanfiction, which can be found under her profile. Read it, do.