I don’t recall how I ended up in front of the fireplace warming my whiskers. There’s a good chance that after I heard the dog’s shocking news—I fainted. I know. Not very Master Detective behavior. But ex-cuuuuuse me! I’d just learned my hero had been murdered.
“You’ve done more than just missed Sherlock Holmes,” the dog had told me. “Sherlock Holmes is dead. Doyle killed him!”
The dog introduced himself as Fergus. Or maybe Farkus. Or … Fairrr-gus. He had a thick accent that was hard for my Ameowican ears to understand. Plus, I was in shock.
Sherlock Holmes was dead! As tears burned my eyes, I turned my back on the dog. I didn’t want him to see me sob my little heart out.
What would Watson do when he heard this tragic news? Would he track down the scoundrel Doyle to seek revenge? Would he give up detecting, go back to doctoring? Or… would he be in the market for a new Master Detective partner… like me?
I felt the dog’s paw on my back, petting me softly. “Yur takin’ the news a bit hard, laddie.”
“I c-can’t believe he’s… gone!” I wiped my eyes with my floofy tail, resisting the urge to blow my nose cuz… gross. “How did it happen? During his last case?”
The dog shocked me by laughing. “Well, it would be his last case since he died, wouldn’t it?” Read More