Sherlock Holmes, the One-Toed Beast & the Hound of the Laundry-Basket

Hey. Couldn’t sleep last night, Daddy got up and walked me about a bit while I watched some TV over his shoulder. Something about a chap called Sherlock Holmes, a great defective. He looked way cool. When I woke up things seemed disjointed, a large mysterious parcel was being delivered by shady looking men at the front door and suddenly it seemed as though I were in my own, exclusive, mystery adventure. Yes. It was in the early autumn of the year Twenty-Hundred and Ten that I encountered the case that was to make the name of Sherlock Holmes forever resound in the hearts of lovers of mystery everywhere. The Case of the One-Toed Beast & the Hound of the Laundry-Basket. A case so mysterious and awe-inspiring we shall never see it’s like again and so terrifying I may have to whimper gently and hold someone’s hand for a bit. It all began when I lost my Fur Real Biscuit My Lovin Pup, from my room. I distinctly remembered leaving it on the toy chest after I got up this morning for breakfast, but of the hound there was no sign. In the process of searching for the poor mutt, I encountered, as well as some fluff and an old piece of crumpet, a peculiar footprint on the oak effect laminate floor by my door. It chilled me to the very marrow. Slightly damp and rounded, a bit like me,  but with one; one mark you, large toe print. It had undoubtedly been left by some huge and deadly beast, lurking in the shadows, stalking the very chambers where I made my home. I shivered, partly through fear and partly through the fact that Mummy had forgotten to put on my trousers on due to being distracted by the delivery men and September was not as warm as it should be.  Strange things were afoot. Was it linked to the large and mysterious package, which arrived this morning? What about the strange whooshing, pumping noise which had suddenly filled the building? I took out my trusty service revolver, (or classic pop gun) and girded my loins – whatever that means. It was time to consult my dear friend, confidante and cuddly colleague Mr Sherlock Scooby doo Holmes. I found him, in sombre mood, playing The Teddy Bear’s Picnic on a small plastic violin. “I say Holmes”. I offered ” Good day What?” “What Watson?” he replied, “What do you mean by what Watson?. What’s the question”. “Indeed it is what?” I responed, manfully. “Stop saying ‘What’ Watson” he growled, “and speak properly” “Indeed Holmes.” I sighed, “I have a puzzle for you that will truly test your nerve, your intelligence and exercise those grey cells you hold so dear.” “Ah, Watson” he sighed as his mournful eyes lifted from the still vibrating string of the plastic fiddle”. “Is the game afoot?”. “No, the games a small missing dog” I replied sardonically, but a foot does come into it”. “Ha. Enough. You bring me nothing” he snarled, and, turning to leave, tripped over his laces and fell on his nose. “Ow” he exclaimed, exclaiming being the only thing to do in those circumstances, and followed it up with a grunt, but I quickly retorted, which settled things down a bit, and informed him as to the strange footprint and the missing hound and as I did so, his eyes narrowed as his mighty brain began to work on the knotty problem I had set for him. “Hmm” He said. “This is a one pipe problem” “But you gave up smoking” I said “Exactly” retorted Holmes “That’s the problem” he replied “Just got this bubble pipe now” and he blew several large bubbles which floated up to the ceiling and burst, leaving a sticky mark on the cornice. “Let me see this print Watson and I believe I may have your answer” he exclaimed. I took him to my chamber and showed him the dreaded mark, now fading on the B&Q laminate floor. He gazed at it for a moment, “Aha”. Shouted Holmes in glee, “Now the game is definitely afoot. Come with me Watson and bring your resolve and your trusty revolver. He bounded off, me following as fast as my chubby legs could follow. As we approached the back kitchen I heard the strange pumping, wooshing noise, I had heard earlier. As we stepped in I saw the portable laundry basket, and Mummy in her slippers standing by what I can only describe as a new washing machine. Quick as a flash Sherlock turned to me and said., in a voice as steely as a John Lewis cutlery set “Watson your tangled spaghetti of mystery is unravelled. Behold your missing hound.” He flipped up the lid of the portable laundry basket and there was Biscuit, My Lovin’ Pup. “But. But” “But me no buts. “ said Scooby Sherlock pointed at my Mummy’s foot. ‘”Here is your terrifying beast Watson” “That’s no way to talk about my mother…” I started, but then I saw, I saw my Mummy’s slipper had a hole at the front and her toe was peeping through, also, a small pool of water on the floor from the plumbing-in process had caused her slipper to be a bit damp, hence the terrifying seeming footprint, now rendered as friendly as a well fed tabby. “I see” I gasped “She knocked the hound into the basket while taking away my old trousers, whilst trying out the new washing machine and left the footprint in my room on her way out. Holmes. You have surpassed yourself once more Holmes glanced at me, a twinkle like a new star in his eyes, stuck his bubble pipe in his mouth sardonically and mumbled, “Elementary my dear Tommy. Rooby-Rooby Roo”. Truly, he is the world’s greatest defective!

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