BACK ON BAKER STREET, OUR ILLUSTRATIVE DETECTIVE AND WATTERS HAVE BEEN OVERINDULGING THEMSELVES WITH SOME PRIME PERUVIAN COCOA POWDER. CLUMSY OAF THAT HE IS, WATSON HAS SPILLED A COUPLE OF GOOD LINES ON MRS. HUDSON'S PRECIOUS AFGHAN. THEN COMES AN OMINOUS SNIFFING SOUND FROM THE ENTRANCE DOOR, FOLLOWED BY FURTIVE SCRATCHINGS.
HOLMES: I say, Watters, be a good fellow and get the door, will you?
WATSON: Eh? Oh, I see. Precisely. My pleasure, old fellow.
WATSON ATTEMPTS TO RAISE HIMSELF FROM HIS CHAIR, BUT ONLY SUCCEEDS IN FALLING ASS OVER TEAKETTLE, GRABBING THE TABLECLOTH AND PULLING EVERYTHING ONTO THE FLOOR WITH HIM, INCLUDING HALF A TIN OF BOLIVIAN MARCHING POWDER.
HOLMES: (groaning) Watson, you fool! There's twenty pounds worth of the finest Colombian blow splattered all over the flogging carpet!
WATSON IS ON HIS KNEES NOW, CRAWLING TOWARD THE PARLOUR DOOR, TRAILING WHITE POWDER, MUCH TO HOLMES' CONSTERNATION. JUST AS WATSON REACHES THE DOOR, THERE IS A BLOOD-CURDLING HOWL FROM THE OTHER SIDE, AND THE SOUND OF FURIOUS SCRATCHING. WATSON HUNKERS DOWN, NOSE TO THE CARPET, AND SEES A BLOOD-CHILLING SIGHT THROUGH THE GAP AT THE BOTTOM OF THE DOOR.
WATSON: Good lord, Holmes, I've nearly soiled myself! There's an enormous deranged ant-eater trying to rip its way through the door with his gigantic talons!
HOLMES: Balderdash, Watson, don't you recognize Toby's plaintive baying? Get up, man, for God's sake, and let him in before Mrs. Hudson arrives brandishing a gelding knife!
WATSON: For Toby?
HOLMES: No, for US!
WATSON: Oh, right, I see... very well, then.
WATSON PULLS HIMSELF TO HIS KNEES AND USES THE ELEPHANT LEG UMBRELLA STAND TO GET TO HIS FEET. WITH SOME TREPIDATION, HE OPENS THE DOOR A FRACTION OF AN INCH AND IS IMMEDIATELY TRAMPLED BY TOBY THE LOVESICK BLOODHOUND, WHO BOUNDS INTO THE ROOM, DROOLING, KNOCKING HOLMES OUT OF HIS CHAIR. FROM DOWNSTAIRS, COMES THE FRANTIC GONAD-SHRIVELLING SCREECHING OF MRS. HUDSON, WHO HAS JUST DISCOVERED TOBY'S MUDDY PAWPRINTS IN THE VESTIBULE AND ON THE STAIRWAY LEADING TO HOLMES' APARTMENTS.
HUDDERS: Mr. Holmes, this is the absolutely the final straw! I forbid that filthy creature to invade the sanctity of my home one more time! Remove that wretched beast from the premises immediately or I'll call the constable!
HOLMES: Cripes, now we're for it... Watson, get this deranged canine off me, at once!
BUT WATSON IS FLAT ON HIS BACK, SUDDENLY ABSORBED IN THE INTRICATE STAMPINGS OF THE TIN CEILING, LISTENING TO THE MUSIC OF THE SPHERES. HE DOES NOT HEAR HOLMES' ANGRY ENTREATY. MEANWHILE, TOBY HAS STARTING SNIFFING THE AFGHAN FOR FLEAS AND DISCOVERS INSTEAD, TO HIS INFINITE DELIGHT, THE TRAIL OF NEARLY PURE COCAINE THAT LITTERS THE FLOOR. BEFORE HOLMES CAN RESTRAIN THE BEAST, TOBY SNIFFS UP SEVERAL TABLESPOONSFUL OF THE COSTLY COCA, AND LOOKS AN ABSOLUTE FRIGHT, HIS MOIST NOSE RESEMBLING A SUGAR PLUM. TOBY WAVERS FOR A MOMENT, AS IF ABOUT TO KEEL OVER BUT THEN THE COCA COURSING THROUGH HIS VEINS CAUSES HIS HEART NEARLY TO BURST AT THE SEAMS. WITH A LEAP AND A BOUND WORTHY OF AN OLYMPIAN, HE POUNCES UPON WATSON'S PRONE FORM AND BEGINS ENERGETICALLY HUMPING HIS LEG.
WATSON: Eh? What is this, then? Toby, you mangy hound! I say, Holmes, this wretched fleabag is dry humping my good leg!
HOLMES: Brilliant deduction, Watson. And well-deserved, if you don't mind me saying so. It's a wonder his heart hasn't exploded. He's just snorkled up five quid worth of prime Brazilian nose whiskey.
WATSON: Good Lord, Holmes! We must evacuate the premises at once. If his liver blows, we're mincemeat! Get off me, you degenerate flea-bag!
MRS. HUDSON NOW STORMS INTO THE ROOM BRANDISHING A COAL SHOVEL AND A BULLWHIP.
HUDDERS: There he is! Your days are numbered, you filthy brute! Hold him, Dr. Watson, while I bash his filthy brains in!
HOLMES: Mrs. Hudson, calm down for God's sake. The situation is well under control, I assure you.
HUDDERS: Under control my bloomin' arse! There's mud and doggy effluent all over my parlour and stairs, that filthy animal is dry-humping poor Dr. Watson, and what in the name of the Queen is all this white muck all over my costly Afghan?!
WATSON: Eh? Oh, that's just a bit of white gold dust, Hudders. Don't worry, we'll sweep it up in a jiffy. Toby! No crotch nibbling!
HUDDERS: White gold dust, is it? Hmph. Looks suspiciously to me like some of that filthy gutter glitter them whoors down in Soho use to powder their noses with. I've told you before, Mr. Holmes, this is a good clean Christian house and I won't tolerate no drug addicted canines in here.
HOLMES: No need to worry about that, Hudders, it belongs to Watson. It's entirely his fault. Toby was just helping him tidy up a bit.
TOBY STOPS DRY-HUMPING WATSON, STARTS SNIFFING THE AIR, AND HONES IN ON HUDDERS.
WATSON: Thank God, I thought I was going to be humped to death. God Lord, Holmes, I'm covered in drool.
TOBY SNIFFS THE EDGE OF HUDDER'S SKIRT, POKES HIS POWDERED NOSE UNDERNEATH, FEELING HIS WAY THROUGH LAYERS OF PETTICOATS. HUDDERS FINALLY TAKES NOTICE.
HUDDERS: Here, what's all this, then?
HOLMES: Mrs. Hudson, I suggest that you stand perfectly still.
HOLMES PULLS HIMSELF TO HIS FEET AND LOADS WATSON'S GREAT WEBLY REVOLVER. WATSON LOOKS ON IN HORROR.
WATSON: Holmes, I say, you're not going to shoot Toby, are you? We'll lose the deposit, you know.
TOBY HAS WORKED HIS WAY THROUGH ALL THE PETTICOATS AND STARTS LICKING HUDDERS' BLOOMERS. SHE STARTS TO SWOON.
HOLMES: Don't move, Hudders. Unless I'm mistaken, Toby is zeroing in on your peach basket. Watson, sneak up on the depraved creature and grab him by the hind legs.
WATSON: Are you mad, Holmes? He'll rip my throat out.
HOLMES: Nonsense, Watson, he's snorted enough Argentinian bouncing powder to render a rhinoceros comatose.
WATSON: True, Holmes. He should be experiencing rigor mortis by now. Most peculiar.
HUDDERS SCREAMS AS TOBY RIPS THE CROTCH OUT OF HER BLOOMERS AND SHOVES HIS COLD, POWDERED NOSE UP HER TREMBLING LOVE MUFFIN.
HUDDERS: Mr. Holmes, help! Toby's slurping at me!
WATSON: Probably thinks he's found an oyster, what what, what!
AT THIS MOMENT A MESSENGER ARRIVES WITH AN URGENT MESSAGE FROM MYCROFT HOLMES.
(TO BE CONTINUED)