For Awanderingbard's birthday.
Warning: some chapters are less fluffy than others.
--chapter 1: I do not believe that word means what you think it does.
--chapter 2: Clyde solves a case.
--chapter 3: Rachel Howell.
--chapter 4: What could possibly go wrong?
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters of the Canon, nor of their interpretations. I make no money from any of this.
Clyde the tortoise could see it all from where he stood on the papers. Could see event the answer to the puzzle Watson had clearly placed him here to help solve.
"Come on," Watson said encouragingly to Clyde.
Couldn't she see it, Clyde wondered. So excited to have solved it before his humans, he nearly widdled like a puppy. Quite undignified, he knew.
Perhaps she needed him to point the way. Clyde bit lightly the relevant paper and began trawling it over to the vital clue's paper.
"No, Clyde, that's not for eating," Watson objected, making that uniquely human groan she tended to make in conversation with Clyde's other owner.
Eat? Ugh and meh, Clyde felt. Child fingers tasted better than this brand of print, he felt; and had only nipped reproachfully at the ruffians who had tried to poke this turtle's eye.
"Come on," Watson said again, encouragingly.
I cannot speak, Clyde would have pointed out, had this not been contradictory. Look! tapping the two pages with his upper beak.
"Watson? Where -" Sherlock said, entering the room. "Why is Clyde on a newspaper I've not yet finished?"
"It's still dry," Watson said. "According to my sister-in-law's brother, this is how to housebreak a turtle."
What?? Clyde was three shades of indignant now. I just solved a crime with this newspaper, and that's what you focus on?
Clyde lay down, now about to move until his humans deigned to recognize Clyde's accomplishment.
"I believe he's more intent upon a nap presently," Sherlock said.