Sherlock Puppy

Part 2

by Cyberwolf (wolf at

Thanks, Mary....

Anyway, here's part II. All disclaimers and stuff in Chapter I.

Chapter II: Occam's Razor

Holmes gained his senses with the same alacrity he always did. He could feel the weight of the bricks, slightly, on the bottom half of his body -- but not heavily enough that it would account for the wall having fallen on him. Clearly some structure had fallen in such a way that it propped the wall. His upper half was entirely free. He wriggled his way out, trotted some distance away, and turned to regard the fallen wall.

Already rubber-neckers were gathering, though thanks be to the Powers Above that they were more interested in the truck and wall than in him. What a bit of good luck that was, getting out of there with so little in the way of injury.

He sat down on his haunches, cocking his head to one side as he regarded the man being helped out of the truck.

Hm...probably had not slept for about two days or so, judging from the pallor of his skin and the bags under his eyes. That, as well as the way the truck was moving before it slammed into the lamp-post, made it clear that he had fallen asleep at the wheel -- poor man. He looked aghast. Oh well, no one had been hurt; that wall was the back of some building knocked down long ago; he’d probably get off pretty lightly.

He wagged his tail, once. Too bad about the groceries, though.

He then froze. His brain, which was in normal circumstances probably the quickest one in the world, was very slow in informing him of what he had just registered, and further slowed by the repetitive litany of ‘this is not possible, this is not possible, this is not possible....’ circling his mind.

He sprang to his feet and examined himself. Four oversized paws -- a tail -- four stubby legs -- a chubby, _furred_ body. ‘Occam’s Razor, my dear Holmes,’ an evilly amused voice in his head reminded him. ‘The least complicated reason is the truth, all things being equal. What do your senses tell you?’

‘You are now a _dog_. A cute little puppy-dog, to be exact.’

For the first time in his life, except perhaps for long-forgotten instances as a baby which he would never admit anyway, Sherlock Holmes howled.

On to Part 3!

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