holmes_minor | Fic: December: Gen (Reply)

Title: December by I. Quill
Length: 500
Rating: Gen
Summary: Inky tells a story of an African spurred tortoise and a Scottish Schnauzer.
Author’s Notes: Inspired by this news story. For the December prompt.

“Are you aware, Mister Holmes, that the African spurred tortoise creates extensive burrows year-round? Their burrows are usually three feet below the surface, but can extend to six feet.”

“I was not, Mister Quill,” replied Mister Holmes with an indulgent smile. “At present, Doctor Watson and I are involved in a case of a highly sensitive nature. Opportunities to enhance my knowledge of desert fauna have been limited.”

I nodded. “Then perhaps you are also not aware that such burrows could accommodate a canine of the size of a—” I turned to Ferret.

“Scottish Schnauzer,” he supplied.

“No,” huffed Mister Holmes, rising. “Mister Quill, Mister Ferret, I fear our visit must be cut short, urgent matters require my attent—”

“A Scottish Schnauzer,” I interrupted, “like the curious Ticklish Rubin who has recently disappeared from his home with the Chandlers, a kind-hearted family who also keep an African spurred tortoise, Scully.”

“It’s years since I’ve been in the business of finding lost dogs, Mister Quill!” said Holmes, shortly.

“You might reconsider, Mister Holmes, if you knew that Ticklish Rubin, before his disappearance, had a ravenous appetite, a tendency to be where he should not be—”

“Mister Quill!”

“And that the Chandlers’ garden abuts that of the feline-loving mistress of Mister Winston.”

Mister Holmes froze. Doctor Watson’s jaw dropped.

“Yes, Mister Holmes,” I said. “Winston, the jeweler entrusted by the fourth Lord Harris to set the Seringapatam emeralds into a suite of jewelry for his wife, Lucy Ada. A suite that will be spectacular once the largest emerald is recovered by you. Nature is strange, Mister Holmes. A dog like Ticklish Rubin may swallow something with the appearance of a treat. He may then chase a cat into a burrow carved by his menagerie companion and find that he cannot escape, well, not without a bit of—”

“Ferreting,” said Ferret, with a smirk.

“And then?” asked Holmes, his voice a whisper.

“And then, if the poor, rescued beast is offered a genuine a treat, say—”

“A very large number of ripe Italian sausages,” said Ferret, licking his lips.

“—until, at last, an egress occurs”

At this, Ferret produced the green stone from his waistcoat pocket.

“I took the liberty of leaving your card, Mister Holmes, at the butcher’s. When the dearth of inventory is discovered, you may receive a sizable bill.”

“Which will be paid in full and gladly,” said Holmes as he took the stone and studied it in the light. Then he shook his head and smiled. “The world lost a fine crime-solver when you decided to become a poet, Mister Quill.”

And so, my dear readers, some Yuletide gifts come in a shoe filled with straw, some come in a stocking hung by a chimney, and some come quite early in the season in the form of a sincere compliment from a sleuth who writes a bit of poetry to a poet who does a bit of sleuthing.

Until next time,
Inky Quill