The Perfect Gift
by Brinatello
Disclaimer: This is a basic Christmas story I came up with, so it has no real mystery to it except for unusual parts added for sheer amusement. I decided to create it after some inspiration from an episode from an old TV show. If you can't figure out what show and episode the inspiration is from, read my Author's Note at the very end to get your answer! The Great Mouse Detective and its characters is © Eve Titus/Disney
From the diary of Dr. Dawson
Tuesday 28 December 1897
As a good Christian who went to church every day as a young lad, I was taught the importance of what is real and what is not. I was never one to believe in strange phenomenon until I had my very first Christmas with Basil of Baker Street when... well, let me just start at the beginning...
It all began a week ago on Tuesday, the twenty-first of December. The Yuletide season was already in full swing in our mouse community. Many a nights I would venture out alone to find the perfect Christmas present for my new friends, Basil, and his landlady, Mrs. Judson. There was only one problem: I simply could not find the proper gift to give to a friend that would graciously not accept anything I offered! Basil told me repeatedly not to buy him anything, however, I could not sit and happily open gifts as he quietly brooded in the corner. My mind was set on buying everyone a present.
Later on that same day, a letter arrived from one of Basil's former clients. Olivia Flaversham and her father, Hiram, had made plans to visit London for the holidays and asked if they could come visit us. Mrs. Judson and I were delighted with the news while Basil, seeing as it meant extra socializing, was not too fond of the idea. However, his tune change when the girl's letter stated they had gifts for all of us. I suddenly found that I had acquired a new shopping companion.
"Be still my beating heart, are you actually coming shopping with me?" I tried to hide my enthusiasm to Basil applying his hat and coat. When I turned to face him, my lower jaw dropped. The detective was not putting on his usual deerstalker and Inverness, but rather a beautiful dark brown fedora and overcoat, both of which I had never seen before. The articles were made of tweed and looked as though they had hardly been used. I would have to assume they were his winter adornments, never worn at any other time of the year. Due to their thick fabric, it helped protect him against the cold, harsh winds. Wrapping a blue wool scarf around his neck and applying gloves of the same material, he provided me with a minimal smirk.
"I am merely eliminating boredom, doctor. That is the only reason why I am accompanying you."
I knew better that he wanted to do some shopping for our friends, but I chose to keep this satisfied thought to myself. He casually stated he also wanted to get a little something for Mrs. Judson. After all the years she abide to his untidiness, bullet holes in the wall, unwanted violin solo performances, chemicals exploding, and destroying her good pillows for his experiments, he owed it to her to buy something. When he was unable to think of an item, he asked for suggestions on what else he could do. Something that will make her gasp with joy especially when she always gasped with anger at him. It would be nice to see her smile for once. Since I moved in, I rarely caught that expression on her face. A two-week holiday in the tropics sounded like a good idea to me, and I was a bit shocked that Basil agreed to it. With that plan settled (and a large dent in our spending), we set out to find gifts for the Flavershams next.
The two of us hopped onto the first available hansom and made our way down the end of Baker Street, passing Melcombe, and heading in the direction of Wigmore. Basil caught me by surprise and asked to lead the way since I had already been looking around different streets and shops for gift ideas. I smiled at this gesture of allowing me to make the destination choices and remembered one place I saw a few days prior.
"There was an old antique shop I happened by on the corner of Wigmore near the post office," I said with the start of a quiet rambling. "I must say, Basil, I have been on that street many times when posting letters with you, and I have never noticed it before. Perhaps I had no reason to go there and browse around its goods?"
"Perhaps," Basil simply said.
"But, surely I would have remembered seeing it to and from the post office."
"I make it my business to know every shop in this city, Dawson," Basil began to say but paused to lower the brim of his hat to shield his eyes. A strong wind picked up riding on the hansom, having me lower my own brim. "Often times merchants arrive from all over the world to let in an empty building, open their shop for the season, and then close after the new year. What you saw was possibly one of those traveling vendors."
If you say so, Basil, I thought to myself, unsure if I could accept that answer. This antique shop was different, unlike anything I had ever shopped in. It was run by a single elderly mouse. That is, I never saw any other assistants, and it was one moderate-sized room full of his wares. And what wares they were! I felt like a child in a sweet shop looking over the many different items on the shelves. There was something for everyone on every shelf. One side of the room was dedicated to endless toys and nick-knacks, a view that would make Flaversham turn sour. My eyes scanned up and down at a long line of...pipes! Yes, there was a collection of some rare smoking products on a shelf nearest to the floor. Basil was on the other side of the room when I carefully lifted up a gorgeous calabash.
"Are you an avid smoker?" the shopkeeper asked, appearing from out of nowhere. I was so startled by his words that I almost dropped the pipe. I turned to respond, but first took a brief moment to look him over. The merchant was very old with wrinkles all over his face and hands. Unlike my mustache, he wore a full beard with hints of grey and white hairs all throughout it. His blue eyes stared pleasantly at me through a pair of spectacles pressed onto his small nose. One arm was supported by a decorative cane while the other rested comfortably across his rather large middle. He had a striking resemblance to our own Father Christmas, and I could feel myself smiling inwardly at his appearance.
"Oh, I've smoked on occasion, but never with a pipe before," I finally said, turning the item over to examine it. I panned my eyes around the room for Basil, finding him browsing another shelf with arms behind his back. The mouse caught my gaze looking over to Basil, then back to him.
"Oh, your friend over there is a smoker. I see. Well, I have gathered these precious works of art for many years, and I must admit, I would not notice if one had gone missing from my collection."
"It is beautiful," I whispered. "How much would you sell it for?"
"How much do you think it's worth?" the mouse challenged with a wink.
"More than I could possibly afford," I chuckled.
"I like you sir, you have a very nice sense of humor. I'll tell you what I will do for you," the mouse started to move behind the counter, extending his shaky hands in my direction to take the pipe. I followed and watched in wordless confusion as he started wrapping the pipe in a small box. "A pipe smoker can be very persnickety, therefore, I will give it to you to give to your friend to merely sample it. If he does not like it, you may bring it back."
"Oh, I am quite certain he will be delighted with it," I said in a flabbergasted way. "I must ask for a price-"
"No charge," the mouse waved his hand, adding, "Your laughter was a good enough payment for me." I stared at this mouse, feeling both brows drop low. How could he make any business if he did not accept money? I felt utterly strange, not to mention wrong for taking something without paying for it. Before I could question him any further, he slipped around the counter toward Basil. I remained where I stood and gawked to the mouse. This would not do in the least. Making sure he was not looking, I snuck around the counter and placed a five pound note near the cash register. I wrote out a small letter stating if that was not enough, I would gladly send more, leaving our home address.
My mind was already set on what present to give to Dawson, and we both found something worthy for that toymaker friend of ours, Mr. Flaversham. It was his daughter, however, that I could not find the perfect gift. What do young girls her age fancy these days? I was completely at a loss of what to find that it was starting to become a frustration. I felt a bit of movement behind my back and turned to face the elderly shopkeeper. He provided a smile that said he had something to say, and he wasted no time in saying it.
"I see that you have been looking over these items for a young lady?"
"Mm, yes," I shrugged and continued to scan the shelves, sizing up and down a number of dolls, nick-knacks and other items children grow attach to and then put away in a toy box, never to play with it again. I did not want to buy such an item as that, and the shopkeeper could sense those thoughts upon me.
"You know, my dear wife, Lord rest her soul, used to collect jewelry," the shopkeeper began to say, though, I was hardly listening. "She would keep her precious stones in a small box upon her vanity table. Now, this one here," he reached over and lifted up a beautiful square-shaped box made of carved cherry wood with flowers painted on top, "this would make a wonderful gift for a little girl who loves jewelry."
"Yes, it would, if the child wore jewelry to begin with," I challenged, crossing my arms.
"Well, does she own...fur accessories?" he asked, lifting his smile further when he noticed my face light up to the realization that the girl did like to wear things on her head. "She could store her bows or barrettes into this box. In fact, just about anything could go in here, anything she wants to keep safe. It does not have to be jewelry."
"Hmm...how true..." I nodded slowly, thinking he was a rather good sales pitcher. "How much is it?"
"How much do you think it's worth?" I blinked and turned to the mouse questionably. I was not in the mood for games, nor was I wanting to stand and think about the value of a simple wooden box. My answer was only a shrug with both brows dropping a bit. "Tell you what I will do, my friend. You do not seem too certain she will like the box. Why don't you take it with you and give it to her as a present? If she does not like it, you are more than welcome to return it here."
"Are you suggesting that I just walk out of your shop with this item unpaid for?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
"That is exactly what I am suggesting, my good fellow," he nodded, gesturing me to move away from the shelf with the box in his arms.
"I do not feel too sure about this, Mr.- ?"
"Nicholas, just call me Nicholas," the mouse grinned.
"Er, right, Mr. Nicholas, uh.. " gazing downward, I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out a paper and pencil. "Well, allow me to give you my address so that I may be reached if-"
"Oh, that will not be necessary," Nicholas waved a dismissive hand in the air. "Just return here if the child is not satisfied with the gift."
I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Miss Flaversham would be very taken by the box, and would not want me to return it. Yet, that strange shopkeeper refused to take my money, nor any information I offered. I looked down to the shopping bag in my hand and sighed heavily. Being a strong upholder of the law, I did not want to be known as a criminal in my own city. Without the shopkeeper looking, I placed a five pound note onto the counter along with my address. I immediately pulled myself away and pretended to shop around a bit more, hoping I was not spotted. Upon seeing Dawson near the exit, I made my move towards him as fast as my legs could carry me.
"Ready, Basil?" he asked.
"Very much so, Dawson..."
After Basil and I left the antique shop, the hour had grown much later. It had also grown much colder outside and my coat was not considered the best at keeping me warm from the dropping temperature. All I could think of was a nice hot bowl of soup and some tea to satisfy my appetite. As we waited for a hansom to take us home, I spied a bag dangling near Basil's opposite side. That strange mouse sold him something as well, or did he just give it to him for free? No, Basil would not accept an item without paying for it, and he would be very suspicious if he was told to take it.
"What do you have there, Basil?" I asked in curiosity. Basil turned his head sideways to look over in my direction. He lifted a smile that meant I would not receive the answer I was hoping to hear. I should have known better with it being Christmas; it was impolite to ask a shopper what he had purchased (or received for free!).
"I am not about to question the wares within your sack, Dawson," he replied slyly.
"Well, then, answer me this, did you find that mouse in the antique shop a bit...strange?"
"His name was Nicholas, and believe me when I say I am bound to find out more about him through City Hall. Where he came from and how long he has been in town, I want to know everything I possibly can." Huffing a small cloud of his warm breath, Basil stared outward onto the cobblestone street, his eyes giving him the appearance of looking somewhat lost in thought. "This gift I found is intended for Miss Flaversham, Dawson. It is nothing too special in my opinion."
"Oh, well, I'm sure it will be special for her?" I asked, raising a smile. My answer from him was a quick shrug. "I found her a nice pair of shoes during one of my previous shopping trips. Mind you I have never shopped for a young child before. I did not want to fall into the trap of the usual gifts such as dolls or toys she will place into a chest, never to play with again." Squinting against a streetlight, I could dimly see Basil starting to chuckle, followed by placing a gloved hand near his mouth to try and stifle the sound.
"Oh, Dawson, it is truly wonderful to hear you say such words."
"Why is that?"
"Because I was thinking the exact same thing!"
Christmas Eve arrived faster than I expected and our good friends arrived right on time. The Flavershams brought a sense of warmth and joy into our home that made me feel very good inside. I received a hearty handshake from the toymaker himself and a strong waist hug from his lovely daughter. Young Olivia seemed to have grown since I last saw her. She always looked bright and beautiful but now she appeared at least half an inch taller.
Upon seeing her favorite detective, she ran down the small steps and used the final step as a springboard to leap into his arms. I shamefully could not withhold my laughter at that point. Basil was prepared for this form of a greeting and handled it astonishingly well. After all, he was the same mouse who restored her father to her. With a pleasant smile and a small snicker, he lifted up the exuberant tyke to offer a very quick hello of an embrace.
"Happy Christmas, Mr. Basil!" I heard the girl gleefully reply.
An unexpected Christmas gift happened that same night. Instead of Basil and I having a quiet dinner alone of soup and rolls, Mr. Flaversham invited us all out to eat at the Café Royal. For one who does not like to socialize too much, Basil almost turned down the offer. I do not know how I convinced him, or it might have been Miss Flaversham's pleading eyes to come along. Mr. Flaversham confessed that his toy business had been doing so well during the holidays, he could afford this one-time luxury of dining out instead of in.
I could feel the discomfort radiating off of Basil throughout the entire meal, but he masked it well with his nods and smiles across the table. He was not used to this sort of lifestyle, nor was I for that matter. Despite his inner demons of irritation, he politely sat in-between myself and Miss Flaversham, answering any questions that came his way, and consumed the delicious feast provided.
There was so much I should have recorded from the dinner, the many wonderful conversations shared, but the majority of it has become a blur to me now. All I know was that I enjoyed myself with the friends I made and I felt very fortunate to be with them that evening. We soon returned to Baker Street to talk a little more into the late hours. With one hour left to midnight, the Flavershams left for their room at a nearby inn and I came around to see how Basil was fairing. I found him lying flat on his back within his red armchair. Judging by his circular hand motions upon his middle, he looked like he was in pain from all that rich food he ate. Mrs. Judson covered that remedy by giving him a glass of water mixed with baking soda. I sat down in the green chair and watched him sip and nurse the water.
"I would offer you a taste of my plum pudding, but you look as though you could not touch another morsel."
"I am refraining from eating so much as a crumb from now until after the new year," he droned.
I should have warned him not to eat more than two helpings of the baked oysters during the appetizer course. They were highly seasoned as far as I was concerned. Fortunately, my friend was able to chew on a lightly buttered slice of toast the following morning. Though, I could not convince him to a helping of Mrs. Judson's delicious porridge. That would not have been a wise choice on my part. I quietly wished him a Happy Christmas as I moved away from the kitchen into the sitting room. The Flavershams arrived promptly at nine with their gifts in tow.
The moment I had been eagerly waiting for had finally come. Everyone gathered into the sitting room and passed around the brightly colored packages to whomever they belonged to. One of my most favorite parts about Christmas was watching everyone open their gifts. I could not hold back my enthusiasm to the smiles and gasps once those wrapped packages were opened.
I quietly began opening my gift from Mrs. Judson, smiling back to a wonderful box of various herbal tea flavors. Basil's gift to me was a brand new coat, the colour very much like the other one I usually wore with the Lambert stitches. I could not help but smile at its beauty of a precise tailor's touches. I never told Basil my measurements, yet it looked as if it were the right size. I should have foolishly realized he took one of my coats for the measurements.
"Thank you, Basil!" I found myself blurting out to my friend. "What an extraordinary coat!"
"Yes, old chap," Basil lifted a grin. "One without any distinguish odor of catgut!"
Miss Flaversham's gift to me was a handmade doll of a mouse dressed like a surgeon. She tried to make him look like me, but she claimed she did not have enough material to complete the full roundness! I laughed to her attempt and noted that I did plan on losing some of the weight. After chasing criminals around the streets, I had to drop some of the extra bulk in order to keep up with my lean partner.
"Oh, bless the day that has finally arrived!" Mrs. Judson exclaimed, waving the envelope in the air with joy. She obviously read our gift with the holiday ticket to the tropics. I soon felt a large plant of a kiss onto my cheek that confirmed my answer. Basil received the same gesture and looked up to her with an embarrassed laugh. "Should I start packing tonight?"
"It can be used at any time you wish, my dear, and it's looking as though that will be very soon!" Basil laughed again before returning his attention to another present in his lap, one that Miss Flaversham put there. "Well, now, what have we here?" The packaging size looked identical to mine; I could only predict it was another handmade doll. I was right as soon as Basil lifted up a smaller version of himself. "Oh, look at that handsome fellow!" The detective doll was wearing a green coat and hat, but the features were quite close to the real thing. Mr. Flaversham noted to me that he did not help his daughter at all.
"She has the makings of a fine toymaker, Mr. Flaversham," I told her father whom nodded.
Soon came the moment of opening the gifts Basil and I found from the antique shop. When Basil opened my gift with the pipe, I wanted to watch and listen to his response the most. He blinked and stared downward at the object within the tissue paper, not saying one word. I immediately heard Mr. Nicholas' voice in my head, repeating sternly how a pipe smoker can be very persnickety.
"Oh, Dawson, I..." Basil's brows knitted together as he picked up the pipe, turning it over a few times. "You bought me a...calabash?"
"Well, not actually, but-" I began to say, seeing him snap his neck over at me. "I'm sorry, if you do not like it-"
"No, no, that's not it at all, um..." Basil's voice drifted when he noticed Miss Flaversham was now opening her gift from him. I too eagerly watched her remove the lid and pull back the paper. There was a gasp that I tried to determine if it was joy or sorrow. Judging by her face, it appeared to be a mixture of both. Miss Flaversham stared at the simple little box in her lap, unable to speak or move.
"What did Mr. Basil give you, my barin?" Mr. Flaversham was smiling as he asked the question, but by the time he walked over and viewed the item in the package, he soon formed a very deep frown. Basil and I both looked to them, unsure of what to say or do. The toymaker slowly turned his head towards Basil and faintly asked, "Where did you get that box?"
"It was at an antique shop on Wigmore," Basil softly replied, looking back and forth at them. "Why?" Mr. Flaversham only shook his head and strode out of the room. Miss Flaversham walked over to stand next to Basil's chair, gazing downward at the box in her hands. "This was not the reaction I had hoped for," he told her. "Do you not like it-"
"No, Mr. Basil," she said, rubbing her small fingers over the painted flowers on top of the box. "I love it."
"Well, then, please explain what just happened here," he insisted, stealing a glance in my direction. Rather than tell him, she showed him. Miss Flaversham carefully lifted the box to turn it upside down, pointing to a distinctive marking on the bottom. Basil leaned inward to squint at the marking. "V...F... oh..."
"Eh? What does that mean, Basil?" I asked with a growing curiosity. Basil only stared at the marking in a way that told me he was retrieving all of the gathered information and processing it into his brain. The child gasped at the sight of the box, Mr. Flaversham walked out of the room without explaining himself, and then Basil was asked to look over a 'V' and an 'F' carved into the wood, 'F' being the second letter. He immediately put the puzzle together, soon nodding his head in full comprehension. Miss Flaversham sniffed quietly with tears rolling down her cheeks, now pressing the box up to her chest. After much silence, I finally blurted, "Basil, what is it? What are you thinking?"
"I am thinking how much of a pure coincidence this whole thing is," he slowly said, eyeing the girl and the box. "This jewelry box, it once belonged to your...mother, did it not?" Miss Flaversham was only able to nod her head as a response. I gasped in my chair, hearing an echo beside me from Mrs. Judson. Basil whispered the last question with, "Was it Victoria? Valerie?"
"V- Virginia..." the poor girl stammered, clutching the box as if she were embracing a loved one. Basil reached out a hand to tap her shoulder in a bit of condolence while Mrs. Judson and I could only stare in utter shock. Of all the shops in the entire world, Basil found an item that once belonged to Miss Flaversham's mother. He had no idea whatever, nor did I. He thought he was just giving her a plain box with no sentimental value attached. I too began to ponder how it was possible he would come across one of her mother's personal items.
"Virginia Flaversham," I muttered, shaking my head with a sigh. "It does fit the initials on the box all right."
Basil wanted answers of where and how this shopkeeper obtained this particular jewelry box. The following day, the twenty-sixth, we made our way back to the antique shop on Wigmore. Miss Flaversham tagged along despite her father worrying over being late for their train ride home. The stubborn girl wanted to meet with the shopkeeper to personally thank him for having her mother's jewelry box within his inventory. It was while riding on the hansom when Basil confessed about the calabash pipe I gave him. He used to have one just like it when he first moved to Baker Street. It carried a sentimental reminder of when he met Mrs. Judson, for it was she who gave him the pipe. Over the years, he acquired new pipes, losing track of the calabash, until he never saw it again.
"And the pipe I gave you, was it the same one from Mrs. Judson?" I had to ask. Basil only stared back at me in a way that meant he did not have to answer. "Oh, this cannot- Basil, you cannot be serious!" He was very serious; his expression was proof enough. This elderly mouse must have created his collection from what others considered mere rubbish. Although, I could not see Mr. Flaversham selling or pitching his wife's jewelry box, so how did the shopkeeper have it? She could only lower her head in a bit of shame, having Basil provide a suggestion instead.
"You and your father have moved a lot, perhaps the box got lost within the shuffle of moving from place to place?" he said, looking down to Miss Flaversham when she spoke up.
"It was given to me by my daddy, so I wouldn't want to throw it away. I just...lost it during a move." Looking up to him, she smiled, "And now, you found it again."
"Unexpectedly, I might add," Basil nodded, returning the expression. A sly grin soon formed on his lips as he muttered to her, "It looks as though I will not be returning the box to the shop, will I?" Miss Flaversham dropped her jaw and fiercely shook her head no.
"Oh, no! It's the perfect gift, Mr. Basil! I wouldn't take it back for all the money in the whole wide world!"
I started to laugh to that amusing statement, but my tune quickly changed to dread as we neared the corner of Wigmore Street. The building used for the antique shop looked not only closed but vacant of all the items in the window. We hopped off the hansom and scrambled over to its entrance, finding the front door unlocked. Upon entering, I continued to possess a sinking feeling that I desperately wanted rid of. A sense of confusion was not too far off either. Our footsteps echoed within the empty room, leaving prints upon the very thick layer of dust. I dared not see Basil's face throughout it all, but I knew he too was looking around in bewilderment.
"Do you think he might have moved out right after we left?" I asked hopefully.
"Unless he had help, a mouse his age could not have possibly moved everything out of here in mere days," Basil said, continuing to pan all over the room, noting the child was no longer by his side. "Miss Flaver-"
"Basil, Basil! Look! I found some money!" The girl shouted somewhere in a dark corner. Basil walked briskly in the direction of her voice and found her crouched on the floor, holding up bank notes in her little hand. "See?" Basil took the notes from her and peered closely at them. I soon approached his side and read them as well, agreeing that they were indeed two five pound notes. Though, that was not the only thing the girl handed the detective. Also with the notes were two pieces of folded paper. I squinted down to the scribble written upon it, feeling a sudden chill.
"Basil, that's my handwriting," I whispered.
"Mine too," he replied, showing me the other piece of paper with his own message.
"But, how did-" suddenly, out of nowhere, all three of us heard a faint sound of an old music box playing a tinkling yet familiar tune. Miss Flaversham stood up and inched her way closer to us as the tune continued to play. The more it played, the more I figured out what song it was. I began to quietly sing, "We wish you a Merry Christmas, we wish you a Merry Christmas, we wish you a Merry Christmas, and a Happy...New...Year..." my voice drifted and I gulped a little, scanning around the room. I was not sure if my eyes were now playing tricks on me when I thought I saw black forms dancing about in the far corners of the room. "Basil...we're not alone in here, are we?"
"Your thoughts are once again the same as mine," he slowly nodded, turning to face my wide eyes.
"What's going on?" Miss Flaversham fearfully asked.
"I'm not...entirely sure, but I think it's time we made our departure from here," Basil calmly told her along with taking her hand into his. "Dawson, if you would be so kind as to follow my lead without saying a word, just turn around slowly and make your way to the front door. Do not look left, right, or behind you. Are we clear?" I barely nodded. "Good. Right then, on the count of three, we turn and walk out together. One...two...three-"
The sound of a bell suddenly gonged in the room as if a large clock was striking the hour. Miss Flaversham shrieked and latched onto my hand next as we walked in a fast manner for the front door. The invisible clock continued to chime until we made it outside onto the pavement. It was a welcome sight to see the street again along with the dim light of the late afternoon. As soon as Basil slammed the door behind us, the chiming immediately ceased.
"Mr. Basil, what...what..." Miss Flaversham could not find the words and only sighed with a shaking breath.
"It's all right, we're safe now," he told her quietly, patting the top of her head.
"Safe from what? What just happened in there, Basil?" I asked, still feeling my heart pound a mile a minute. "Was I the only one seeing and hearing things that were not really there?"
"I'm afraid not, Dawson," Basil stated, lifting a grin. "Unless someone has decided to play a glorious trick on us, I can definitely categorize this incident as above and beyond...normal."
We returned to Baker Street and chose not to tell the others what happened to us. They probably would not have believed us if we did. I myself tried to figure out what was happening in that room, but Basil said it was something considered unexplainable. He was a mouse who always had a logical way about him, but even he had his moments of questioning who or what was stirring in the shadows. Everything had an explanation, there was just some he could not fully respond to with a decent answer. After we said our goodbyes to the Flavershams, I made my way to the green chair, plopping down within it and looking very disturbed.
"Still thinking about the antique shop?" a voice asked to my left.
"I'm of sound mind, Basil, but what I saw and heard in that room, I..." I shook my head, unable to finish what I wanted to say. "We've been on many cases together, and I have tried my best at keeping silent to the many bizarre things I have come across, unexplained things, that is...what are your thoughts?"
"Hmm...you know, this is...a really good pipe!" Basil said, sitting down in his red arm chair and puffing on his old calabash. I blinked to his answer and continued to wait for the other shoe to drop. Looking my way finally, he added, "I have decided to snuff it out, Dawson. Nothing escapes me, but when it comes to things not of this earthly bounds, well then, I leave it to those crazy fortune tellers."
"So, you're not going to pursue this? Alert City Hall? Do some more investigating on old Nicholas?"
"What for?" Basil shrugged. "You saw that room, we got our money back, and that message written on our letters-"
"Wait, what message?" I cut in, lowering my brows. Basil raised a finger for me to wait a moment as he dipped his hand into his robe pocket. Extending a hand to me, I retrieved the folded paper and read its contents. " 'Thank you for the payment, doctor, but it was not necessary. I hope your friend enjoys the pipe. Happy Christmas to you both,' signed..." I swallowed a little, "Father Christmas." Shaking my head, I could feel that chill again, adding, "Oh, we are dealing with a real loony here, Basil! Did he write on your note, too?"
"He did, along the same lines as yours," Basil nodded, unfolding his note. " 'Thank you for your payment, detective, but it was not necessary. I hope your niece enjoys her jewelry box. Happy Christmas to you both, Father Christmas."
"Well, there now, you see?" I pointed out with a grin. "He's not the real Father Christmas! If he was, he would have known that Olivia is not really your niece. The real Father Christmas knows everything there is to know in the world."
"That may be true, Dawson," Basil said, refolding the note. "However, he could have meant she was a niece as an affectionate term, not necessarily a real family member of mine. Come to think of it, the girl has called me Uncle Basil before, and I naturally would never tell a mere shopkeeper about that..."
"Not to mention he also referred to you as a detective. Unless you told him who you were?" I asked with eyes widening.
"No, and I doubt you revealed your own profession to him, either... doctor," Basil matched, a sly grin rising.
It was settled. I was not going to push finding logic in this whole incident any longer. I was done racking my brain over trying to reveal facts that were becoming more and more harder to grasp. Basil laughed to my attempts, something that surprised me when I thought for sure he would be trying just as hard to come to a solid conclusion. There was no rhyme or reason to it. Though, I had to do one last thing to ease my mind.
On Monday, the twenty-seventh, I went out alone and made my way down to the local church within our community. I entered the majestic main chapel room and made my way specifically to the donation box. Pulling out the five pound note, I dropped it within the box. I could not keep it any longer and I knew it would do good for the church funding. A hand reached out from behind me, also dropping a note into the box. I briefly caught the number five on the note and turned to face who the hand belonged to.
"I feel so much better now," I confessed sheepishly.
"Me too, Dawson," Basil said with a smile. "Me too."
A/N: End of story. All right, I was having way too much fun at the end with the supernatural parts. I literally scared myself writing the empty room scene with the sights and sounds of eeriness. XD The whole idea with Basil and Olivia receiving items they once had before (the pipe and the jewelry box) was inspired by the Punky Brewster episode, "Yes, Punky, There Is A Santa Claus." I also named Olivia's mother, Virginia, after the real life wife of Alan Young, Virginia McCurdy. I felt that was fitting since Alan Young was the voice of Hiram Flaversham. Hope you enjoyed it; feedback is greatly appreciated!