WATSON: (panting) Yes, Holmes?
HOLMES: I draw your attention to exhibit F by the pantry.
WATSON: It's a canine deposit what what what.
HOLMES: I know what it is, you quirky quack. I want to know what you're going to do about it and exhibits A-E.
WATSON: It's Jemima, Holmes. She's away from home, in our safe keeping I might add, whilst her master embarks on a most important errand for Our Majesty. She's experiencing deep stress at being in strange surroundings.
HOLMES: Watson, the perpetrator of exhibit F is not Jemima the Alsatian, but that filthy bloodhound Toby, who really has no excuse.
WATSON: He's excited, Holmes. I think he's taken quite a shine to our Jemima.
HOLMES: And he displays his amorous interest in her by fouling up the place? Pull the other one, it's got church bells on it.
WATSON: It's only for a few more days, old boy. Perhaps if you were more playful with them, they'd relax more.
(loud parp in distance)
HOLMES: Watson, there goes another. It's got to stop, I tell you, or I shall drag both of those sorry mutts down Baker Street into Regent's Park and deposit the finest buckshot right up their derrieres.
WATSON: I say, there's no need for that language, old chum. They're only a pair of defenceless, vulnerable pups in need of a hug and a stroke.
(another loud parp, this time in parlour)
HOLMES: Toby! If that's you, I shall blow your little furry brains out and sell you for soap! Do you hear?! And then I shall shoot that namby pamby fawning Jemima to buggery!
WATSON: Confound it, man, you've got to calm down. You'll have a cardiac.
HOLMES: And then I shall turn the shotgun on myself and leave you to clear up all the mess, you Hippocratic buffoon!
(a further parp resounds on the landing)
HOLMES: That's it! I warned you! (grabs shotgun and loads barrels)
WATSON: Holmes! Have you taken leave of your senses?! Put that gun down.
HOLMES: Get out of my way, Watson.
WATSON: I'm not moving. You'll have to shoot me first before you get to the pups.
HOLMES: I'm warning you, old chum.
WATSON: Holmes, no!
WATSON: Holmes, you're hit!
(Holmes slumps to the ground, Toby and Jemima come scampering into parlour, hurl themselves at Holmes and lick either cheek profusely)
WATSON: Ahhh, that's nice. A more touching scene of canine outpouring have I not seen since the Baskervilles.
HOLMES: An ambulance, Watson. Get me an ambulance! I'm dying!
WATSON: Just so, old boy. An ambulance, you say? Right you are. An ambulance...
HOLMES: (rolls eyes) What a terrible way to go. I hope mummy doesn't see me like this. Ohhhh...