{/Author's Note: Whee. Angst, angst, angst, and beating up on poor little Basil. And it came out so well!
The original use of "Sherringford" as Basil's first name is credited entirely to Diane N. Tran (Mlle. Irene Relda) and is used by me with her express permission.
Jean Cristof Bernier and Lauralyn Dalton, as well as Ozymandius and his kids, Elinora, and Kiersten Basil belong to me. Brynna Basil belongs to Eve Titus. Ratigan, Dawson, and Basil belong to Eve Titus and Disney.
There are also a few slightly-mangled quotes in here from some very famous movies. Can you guess which quotes and where they are from...?
I'll eventually get a little story up in which Dawson recounts the strange events of his Christmas staying with the Basil family, but not tonight.
Also, for anyone who's curious, my site (where this story and the comic my friends and I are working on will be posted) is mostly up. --http://www.geocities.com/chibijaime/gmd-- Go ahead and take a look.
In any case, let us begin!/}
~=~The Day London Wept~=~
I remember that day quite well... it was a day I had never thought would come, and a day I do not wish to see a repeat of. All of the papers in mousedom told the tale of the tragedy that had befallen us all that morning. Basil of Baker Street was dead.
It had happened some time in the hours just after midnight of January 14, 1899. Basil had left the flat I shared with him at lower 221B Baker Street in order to pursue a lead on a rather notorious jewel thief. He would not return.
I recall faintly Mrs. Judson, in tears and quite close to hysterics, shaking me awake with news that a messenger had arrived with a wire from the local hospital. A passerby in an alley near Baker Street had found Basil laying on his side in an awful state, his fur caked with mud, deep cuts and bruises covering his body, the hole of a bullet left cleanly through his left shoulder. His condition was grim.
It took no more to rouse me. As Mrs. Judson went to gather what things she could to take to her most unusual tenant, I dressed as quickly as I could, and soon, we were off.
Mere hours later, we sat silently in a waiting room with what remained of Basil's large family. Now, none can presume to say that Basil's family is not an odd lot. But in the end, they were all mice and mortal like their brother. A doctor by trade, Ozymandius - the eldest of the brood of five, had gone in with the doctor there to see his mortally wounded sibling.
Since then, not much had been said or done. Kiersten and Elinora stayed close together, but next to me sat Miss Brynna. While the eldest of the three girls, she was quite fond of and motherly towards her little brother, and his injury seemed to have stricken her harder than the others. Tears stained her pale tan fur, and her green eyes had a sickly hue. She looked as if she may become ill, hand resting upon the belly that held her first child, her gaze fixated on the floor. Her husband had not come, nor had Ozymandius' wife. However, Jean Cristof Bernier and his half-sister Lauralyn Dalton, opera mice and old friends of Basil, had rushed to the hospital immediately upon receiving word.
A long moment of silence passed before Ozymandius, following a brief chat with the doctor behind the door, stepped out. He was a distinguished young mouse, with a brush of a moustache and his dark brown fur combed back. He usually had in his eyes a hint of the mischief I often saw in Basil... but today, it was not there. Replacing it was utter grief, held back barely by his professional air... and even that was shattering.
Brynna stood carefully, hand upon her swollen belly, her tear-filled eyes focused on her eldest sibling. "Ozymandius... what has happened? How is Sherringford?"
There was a long silence as Ozymandius cleared his throat, then ran his hand back through his hair. It was obvious he was having difficulty finding the words he wanted. "Sherringford is... oh, my dear sisters... Dr. Dawson... Monsieur Bernier, and Miss Dalton... this is terrible news indeed... our dear baby brother has died. He passed away no more than five minutes before now, with not a word or a sound but a gentle sigh."
The professional air finally gave way right before my eyes as tears fell freely from the eyes of the eldest of the five Basil children... now four. I cannot deny that I shared his sentiments. I was beginning to weep myself, as Basil was as dear a friend to me as a brother. Brynna nearly collapsed, but I was quick to support her and lower her to her seat. She and Kiersten had both begun to sob uncontrollably, but only Elinora sat in awed silence, shaking her head slowly, reddish eyes focused steadily on her sibling. She got to her feet with a sort of clumsy awkwardness, walking towards Ozymandius with a slight stagger. The poor girl was in shock. "No... no, Ozymandius, tell me it's not true... it can't be true... Sherringford is fine, right?" She paused to sob as Ozymandius put his arms about her, hugging her tightly. "Right?!"
At last, she too dissolved into tears. No one appeared so hurt as the ladies, but in Ozymandius' eyes, I saw a pain beyond even theirs. Lauralyn, who had admired Basil greatly, if not had a bit of a fancy for him, looked up from her weeping, wiping her eyes carefully with a hankerchief, trying to find words for what she wanted to say. "But... but, Dr. Basil..."
It didn't seem to occur to Ozymandius that he was now the only heir in their generation of the family name. He just glanced at her with a glazed expression, rocking Elinora in his arms. "They haven't moved him to the morgue... it is only proper that friends and family have the opportunity... to say their last good-byes."
*****
Five minutes later, I found myself standing at the bedside of Sherringford Basil of Baker Street. In his solemn face, I saw nothing of this death that Ozymandius had spoken of. I had seen that expression upon his tired visage more times than not, sleeping peacefully in his chair after he had worked himself too hard. Honestly, I did not know what to say... but I did see what had killed him. That infernal gunshot wound. It was more likely than not that he had bled to death, trying to flee to safety.
In that instant, I had to remind myself that Basil was gone. The greatest detective in all mousedom, felled by a bullet from God knew who. I sighed deeply, glancing to the broken form of Brynna beside me. She was knelt at the bedside, her small hands grasping Basil's in a desperate search for any life, staring at his face as tears flowed freely down her cheeks once more. "Doctor... he... he can't really be dead, can he? Sherringford... he's... it has to be another of his games. He's toying with us." She paused, biting her lip. "...Isn't he?"
With a gentle frown, I placed my hand upon Brynna's shoulder. She looked up at me, stared for a moment, then began to cry again. I sighed, finding myself unable to comfort her more than a calming touch. "I am sorry, Miss Brynna. This... I never expected something like this to befall Basil, of all people..."
I watched in a numb silence as she lightly touched her brother's knuckles to her cheek. "Nor did I, Doctor," said she. "Nor did I."
*****
That night, I found the flat on Baker Street unnaturally stifling. It was as if Basil still remained, sitting there in his fine smoking jacket with his pipe in his hand, standing by his chemistry set with an expression of childish curiosity, fiddling with some little device he had located on the street, or playing a piece by Tchaikovsky or Beethoven on his violin. Basil was everywhere in that room, down to the little knicks his scurrying about in those hard-soled shoes of his left upon the hardwood floor.
With a sigh, I sank into the chair I usually occupied, a comfortable old green sitter directly across from Basil's red leather armchair. I stared at that empty seat for a long moment, fondly recalling the conversations I'd had with the lad over subjects ranging everywhere from bank robberies to brandy. No finer a fellow could have been found, nor would one ever live again.
But so tragically ends stories like his, and I had often heard Basil himself recount, "Only the good die young, my dear Dr. Dawson."
Mrs. Judson was not there just then... she had gone to relay the news to mice who did not receive it already. The misfortune lay upon all of our heads... and now I feared that no one in mousedom would be safe. Who would protect them, if not he who had fallen doing just that?
I retired to my chamber without bothering to find something to eat. I had no appetite, and I feared I would not for quite some time...
*****
The next few days passed slowly and solemnly. The funeral was indeed lovely. Ozymandius had paid for it, and he had spared no expense. It was closed casket... this confused me, but I assumed it was a sort of odd final request Basil had perhaps left in a living will. He always had been like that.
Lauralyn, barely able to keep her voice from breaking in sorrow, had sung for him a beautiful farewell... "Think of Me" from Hannibal. When she had finished, she dissolved into tears and buried herself weeping in her brother's arms.
That evening, Basil was buried in a family plot in York with his mother and father. I heard Ozymandius' weary sigh, and I looked at him with a light frown. "I say, Dr. Basil, are you quite all right?"
"Please, Doctor... I told you before. Ozymandius is fine." He shook his head then, looking towards me with that tiredness I was so used to seeing in Basil. "And no... I had hoped... well, as you know, I am older than Sherringford by nearly ten years... the eldest of the lot of us. I did not want... to see my youngest sibling buried first." He sighed, glancing at the tiny blossoms of clover that littered his brother's grave, reaching down to pick one up. "Such a lovely shade of violet. You know, Doctor... this flower has grown for so long upon the tombs of our ancestors. Now, I live to see it decorate the grave of my only brother... my charming baby brother... Such a dear boy..."
Ozymandius' wall was beginning to crack again, and in him, I once again saw so much of Basil. He gave me a weak smile, cocking his head just slightly to one side. "Sherringford would never have us in such low spirits. Why, if he saw this affair, he'd be beside himself with absolute annoyance."
I couldn't help but to laugh at that, because I knew Ozymandius was right. Basil hated huge get-togethers... he felt there was too much room for tricky business to happen when there was no one looking. On top of that, he could be almost annoyingly antisocial when the mood struck him. I smiled fondly as I brushed back a tear. "He was a fine young mouse. Finer than any I should ever hope to meet again."
We said little more to each other that day. Ozymandius stated quietly that he would be over the next day to pick up some of Basil's old things, we shook paws, and that was that. I took the next train from York and returned to the flat in silence... the night would surely prove to be a long one.
*****
As promised the next day, Ozymandius was over early as he could to collect his brother's more precious belongings... his fine Persian smoking jacket, one pipe, and... Ozymandius paused near the leather armchair, next to which sat the most precious posession Basil had owned. His fine cherrywood violin. The composed gentlemouse set his jaw, reaching out to delicately run a finger over the catgut strings, creating a melodious sound that nearly brought tears to my eyes.
"Sherringford... Sherringford always did have Mother's love for music. I believe Elinora and I are the only ones that did not inherit it. He was particularly fond of Tchaikovsky..." Swallowing hard, Ozymandius turned to me. "I shall leave his violin with you, Doctor... it belongs here. It is a part of this place as much as he was."
It was not difficult to detect the barely hidden emotion in the distinguished doctor's voice. He spoke of his brother with hushed tones, not wanting to let go of what precious little he seemed to feel he had to grasp. I watched with a heavy heart as his fist clenched upon Basil's beloved pipe. "Father gave this pipe to him, as a gift on his eighteenth. Sherringford had cradled it in his hands like a foreign thing, and asked if it was really his to keep. This pipe, you see, belonged to our grandfather, Ozymandius, with whom I share a name... and as I had not taken up the habit of the pipe, Father saw it suiting to give it to Sherringford, who rather enjoyed the practice." A deep sigh escaped his lips. "You know something, Doctor? Now that I take a good look around... there is more of him in this room alone than in all of the cases he solved put together."
I frowned at the shaking I now saw in Ozymandius' shoulders. He bowed his head under the weight of it all, other fist clenching as he pressed the knuckles against his forehead. "I couldn't save him, Doctor! I was right there! I held his hand as he gave his dying breath! And there was nothing I could do, not a bloody thing!"
"You shouldn't be so hard on yourself, Ozymandius... I am certain Basil would not blame you for what happened." I glanced around for something to say, then motioned towards Basil's chair. "I pray you, sit. You need to take a breath before you head out again... you've been under quite the deal of stress."
I felt quite a bit of relief as a smile just barely crossed Ozymandius' face at my words. He sank into the leather armchair, his fingers somehow finding the same spots Basil had grasped so many times in deep, worried thought. "Thank you, Doctor..." I could hear his tiredness and his grief as he sighed again, the same sigh I had heard him make as he browsed his brother's many belongings. "...I did not tell my sisters the whole truth, to be frank with you, Doctor."
My brow went up. Ozymandius' tone was entirely serious, and his fingers were laced together now, chin resting atop his folded hands. "If you did not tell them the whole truth, Ozymandius, what did you leave out?"
"...The fact that our brother did not have a peaceful death... nor was it true that he had no final words." His eyes squeezed shut against what I surmised must have been a painful memory. "Sherringford gripped my sleeve like a vice and looked at me with such eyes that I feared he had gone mad. "Ozymandius," he said to me, "my assailant is still at large. I must be permitted to go, Ozymandius! If you love me as your brother, let me go!" I denied him, of course! He did not relieve me of his vice grip, however, and those eyes remained trained upon me... those haunted green eyes, so like Mother's when she died... There is something different, Dr. Dawson, in having to watch a patient fade into the tendrils of the unknown than when it is your only brother... and your youngest sibling, at that."
At seeing the pain in the eldest Basil's face, my frown deepened and I shook my head. "My dear boy, if you do not wish to continue, you most certainly do not have to."
Ozymandius shook his head, and his eyes returned to me. "No... no, Doctor, this is something I must get off my chest. My brother's dying words will haunt me forever if I do not." He released a shaking sigh, his fingers lacing together even tighter. "He... he smiled at me. Sherringford always was charming, no matter what the case had been, and he was certainly trying then. There was no light in his eyes as he did so, Doctor, and that is what frightened me most... for it had been that fire that Sherringford showed so many times that had kept me going when I felt I could go no further."
Tears began to roll down his cheeks, and I could see the obvious pain he felt in having witnessed Basil's final moments with this world. I was not far from tears myself... his every word cut like a dagger into my heart. "He gave my hand a gentle squeeze then and said to me, "Good-bye, my dear brother, I must leave you now... but do not fret. For I shall see you again... and as hopeless and far-off as it may seem to be, we shan't be parted long..." And then, he gave a soft groan and moved no more."
A deathly silence had settled over the sitting room between us. Ozymandius made no sound, but his shoulders shook with silently surpressed grief at the final words of his dearly departed brother. I looked down at my hands, then closed my eyes. "The poor chap," I murmured silently. "Basil fought valiantly to his last breath, didn't he? It pains me to think of how he must have suffered... and Ozymandius, I give you my greatest respect and condolences. My heart goes out to you... it must be awful for you and your family."
"My little ones are taking it hardest, I fear," responded Ozymandius, his voice considerably softer than before. "They were quite fond of their Uncle Sherringford. You saw that over the holidays, when you came with Sherringford to visit. I just don't know what to tell them, Doctor... especially not little Samantha. He was her favorite person, next to myself and her mother."
I allowed myself a smile at that, despite my troubled mind. I had met Ozymandius' three darling children at Christmas the year before, and at the funeral, the youngest - Samantha - had demanded of me to tell her where her dear Uncle Sherri had gone. I could only look down at her, frowning softly and not knowing what to say, as her little hands tugged at my coattail, tears welling up in those great brown eyes.
"It is a tragedy, Ozymandius. A terrible tragedy indeed."
The young mouse nodded, turning his eyes to me again as he offered what cheerfulness he could muster. "I've taken too much of your time, old boy. I should really be off... the girls came with me, and we are staying in London for a while. The girls are having trouble returning to the manor. Apparently..." and he paused. "...Apparently, there is too much of Sherringford to remind us of his life than we want to see... so soon after his death."
With a nod of understanding, I stood and took his paw, giving it a hardy shake. He regarded me for a long moment after that before a genuine smile finally replaced his melancholy expression. "You're a good man, Doctor. Now I see why Sherringford trusted you so much. Thank you... for listening. For everything."
He gave a brief nod, then pulled on his coat and lovingly placed what things he had taken of his brother's in a worn leather suitcase. Then, he gave a nod of goodbye and was off. I made a mental note to visit the Basils later if I could. It would do them good, to have a familiar and friendly face about so soon after such a dark time.
I settled back into my chair after that, gazing at the mantlepiece and the spoils of Basil's victories that lay there, from things before I knew him to the Flaversham case to everything we had done to follow. In my heart-felt sorrow, I do not know when, I suppose I dozed off. But what happened at that moment that I awoke was such an experience that I do not think anyone could understand what it felt to live through it...
*****
It was late evening when the clock struck six that I stirred from an uncomfortable sleep in my old green sitter, but it was not simply the chiming clock that had aroused my suspicions. There was a clatter of movement, and some sort of commotion coming from Basil's unoccupied room. I frowned... Basil may have been gone, but he was still very much there in spirit, and I would allow no thief or blackguard searching for a souvenier touch his private things.
Grabbing my revolver, I stood from my seat and made my way up the small stairway to the corner room. Intending soully upon frightening the intruder off, I burst through the door and aimed the revolver squarely at the rogue's head!
Only to find, looking directly back at me, a pair of green eyes that shined with a mischievious light, and the face of a mouse with such a wicked smile of childish glee worn upon it that I thought I may faint on the spot. For there before me, as alive as you or I, was Basil of Baker Street.
"Dawson, old boy, I do believe you can lower that wretched thing. I am certainly not going to steal my own personal belongings! It would be rather redundant, don't you agree?" He had never stopped grinning, and I began to believe he was most amused by the stunned look I had on my face. But I did lower the revolver, and for that he seemed grateful. It was only then I noticed the sling his arm rested in... so he had been shot. "Ah, thank you. Hm... I see Ozymandius was here, however... most likely to put my jacket and pipe in the family vault, where the most prized belongings of all the dead folk of my line go. He didn't dare take my violin, though, I wager. I'll have to bother him into getting my pipe back later... for now, at least I have a pack of cigarettes or two. Those should tide me over."
I opened my mouth to say something as he rather nonchalantly rested a cigarette between his lips, striking a match to light it, but for a moment could find no words. Then, I gave my head a quick shake, squinting as if to make certain he really was standing right there. "Basil, you are...! I can scarcely believe you... I stood right there next to your body! You were DEAD, Basil!"
The younger mouse's expression softened as he made his way over to me, laying his hand upon my shoulder, confirming him as a blessed reality and not some fantastical spirit or hallucination. "I am terribly sorry to have worried all of you, Dawson. But I could not let that cad get close to my family." He sighed deeply, and I knew he was sincere. Basil did not lie about things like this. "You see, I most certainly did not intend upon getting shot, but the wound was not as severe as what it appeared. Dickerson saw me crawling away, however, and in what state of mind I had through the pain, I knew quite well that he would pursue until he had killed me. So, I collapsed in an alley and mimiced death as well as I could."
"Why didn't you tell us, Basil?" I had to admit, I was miffed and upset over that much. "You could have let us know..."
"Because had you known I had lived and not died, you never would have had that lovely funeral, and Dickerson would assume I still lived. And if he assumed I still lived, he would have struck at those closest to me... Ozymandius and his family, Brynna and her husband, Elinora, Kiersten, Lauralyn, and you, my dearest friend. My being wounded brought them here. He's no reason to go after them if I am dead and buried, does he?" He took a long draw from the cigarette he held lightly between two fingers, and I saw a sort of relief cross his face. "Oh, that does me a world of good."
I couldn't help but sigh after that, and I watched the boy for some time before speaking again. "What shall we do now, then, Basil?"
"Wire Ozymandius, and tell him to bring my things for it is a matter of most urgency. Insist if you must. But have my brother come here."
*****
It was nearly nine when Ozymandius showed up at the front door, and he nearly shouted with shock when Basil answered, smiling at him like - if you will excuse the horrid phrase - the cat that swallowed the canary. His brown eyes grew wide, and it was all he could do to keep from throwing his arms about his brother. "SHERRINGFORD! Upon my word, boy, you--...! I don't believe it's you!" Giving in to his better judgment, he did hug his sibling, but gently as to not irritate the wound. "I don't understand, though... you were as dead as could possibly be! I was there when the final breath left you. I remember your last words to me!"
"I apologize greatly for the trouble I've caused you, Ozymandius," replied Basil with a roguish smile, patting his brother's back with his good hand before both mice stood straight, facing one another, "but I did say we shan't be parted long! And I assure you, I will pay you back for the lovely funeral, and the casket and headstone along-side. But right now, Ozymandius, is a matter of most importance. It will not take long before Dickerson realizes I was not killed when he shot me. You must take your family and our sisters and return to York as soon as possible. Take the next train once you arrive at the station if you must, and do so with such haste as you have never shown before."
"The girls will want to see you, Sherringford, at least grant them that," Ozymandius protested, frowning at his brother.
The stern expression was one any concerned sibling would wear, but Basil would have none of it. "Please, Ozy." He had shortened his elder sibling's name... something I assumed he must only do when speaking on a perfectly intimate level with his brother. "If you care for me any as your brother, do this one thing for me. I promise I shall wire you when this whole ordeal once I have cleared up some things, and you may bring everyone back to see me... give me one week."
Ozymandius began to speak, then simply sighed and shook his head. With a fond smile, he ruffled the fur atop Basil's head and leant down eye-to-eye with him. "Take care of yourself, Sherringford. I will await your wire at the manor. Don't stress yourself... I do not desire to see that farce of yours become reality."
The elder mouse sat down the leather bag that contained Basil's smoking jacket and pipe, then hugged his brother once more before saying his good-byes and departing.
"And now," Basil stated once he had smoothed his rumpled fur and retrieved his cherished pipe, "we begin our hunt. Come along, Dawson... we must fetch Toby and be off... for I know exactly where Dickerson shall strike next."
*****
As I have stated before in other writings concerning Basil's exploits, it never ceases to astound me how logic works in his mind. Clues so simple that normal men and mice overlook them are never missed by his keen eye. And so he told me as we made our way to a small jeweler near the center of town, and I shall recount to you, exactly how he knew where our new adversary would strike.
"You see, Dawson," he called to me over the wind that rushed past us from the ride upon Toby's back, "it's rather elementary! While I was pursuing him, I noticed that the pattern within which he remained upon to steal the jewels he does is circular... the last set he stole, the caper within which I was shot and nearly done in, was at the end of the circle! That only leaves one place for him to strike. A jeweler near the center of town, the center of his circle if I'm not mistaken, that is home to one of the largest collections of large diamonds in all of mousedom!"
I myself was clinging desperately to Toby's collar... at least I hadn't flown back to the tail yet. "Great Scot! Do you think we'll get there in time, Basil?"
I heard him laugh as he threw his head back somewhat, his tail flickering against the wind. "I should certainly hope so, Dawson! Because I know for a fact this time... he is waiting for me to arrive! And I have a hunch in the back of my mind that something else is waiting for us as well..."
*****
The old jewelry store was silent when we arrived, save but the slight tap I could hear from Basil's shoes as he slunk around a window until he found one that had been carefully cut out. His voice was barely a whisper, but I heard him and approached. "Quickly, Dawson... he's still inside."
He slipped in ahead of me, and I followed as quickly as I could. Even injured, I could see the thrill of the chase in Basil's eyes, his ears standing perfectly alert. His tail swayed back and forth very slowly until he froze, nearly causing me to run into him. He was staring straight ahead, to the sound of a cane tapping lightly on the wooden floor beneath our feet.
I do believe that at that moment I came to the conclusion that I had seen quite enough miracle resurrections to fill a life time. Looming over Basil there like a nightmare, glaring down at him with all the hate of a thousand suns, leaning on a cane to support him in standing was none other than Professor Jamison Ratigan himself. Basil scowled, hissing through his teeth, "Ratigan! How did you survive the fall?!"
"Perhaps a passing bird," replied the villain, a wicked grin crossing his face.
Basil's smile was hateful, and his ears pressed back against his head. "We are men of action, Ratigan. Lies do not become us."
He was answered with a dangerous hiss as the rat closed in, paw tightening upon the grip of his cane. "A trash barge... and in that landing, I received the crippling blow that forces me to walk with this accursed cane. All no thanks to YOU, Basil of Baker Street." The last words were growled out with such contempt that a shiver ran up my spine to hear them. But Basil stood tall and strong, his eyes narrowed sharply. At seeing no response from his old adversary, Ratigan snorted, his tail flicking behind him. "I saw that you did not fall with me, however... and I recalled you had grabbed that propellor from my dirigible. You must have figured out that it could possibly lift you to safety. Accursed little creature that you are, you escaped death as well."
"At least I did so without falling into the refuse that so becomes you," Basil sneered in reply. "I take it, then, that you are behind Adrian Dickerson's schemes?"
"With pride. He's quite the protege." Ratigan's clawed hand shot foreward then, gripping Basil's wounded shoulder with such force that I thought it would kill the poor chap. I went for my gun, but those hateful eyes glared at me, and I froze on the spot. "Stay where you are, old man. I've no interest in killing Basil yet. No... it is no fun without a chase, and particularly not when he is already wounded." His attention returned to Basil then, delighting in the torment that the painful wound caused him. "You arrived too late, but I knew you would come. Dickerson is gone, but I waited for you... just to see your expression at knowing you had failed again. But our story has not finished yet... oh, no. We have a score to settle, Basil, and we will do that in due time."
At his final words, he shoved Basil so hard that the poor boy tumbled backwards, landing on his side with one hand gripping the reopened bullet wound on his shoulder. He hissed at Ratigan, tail lashing like an angered snake. "I swear, Ratigan... mark my words... if it takes the rest of my days, I will see you behind bars!"
Ratigan just chuckled as he limped off into the shadows, the clicking of his cane fading off until it was gone. I turned to look at my friend, whose expression was a mixture between utter hate and anguish. "Basil... are you all right there, lad?"
"All right?! I am FURIOUS!" Basil staggered to his feet at that remark, clutching his shoulder pitifully. "He survived! That fiend has been alive all this time and I had no idea!" He chuckled bitterly to himself as he spun on his heel, stalking towards the point that we had entered. "Oh, Basil, you are a fool!"
I knew better than to interrupt his rantings at this point. Whenever Basil found himself outwitted or stumped, he would fume at himself or play melancholy arias on his violin for hours, if not both, until the mood passed, or until something else caught his interest.
And so we left the jewelry shop, boarding Toby's back. The basset hound kept a steady trot instead of a run on the way home, and on his collar sat Basil, puffing on his pipe and looking thoroughly annoyed with the world.
*****
On a calm morning later that week, the rest of Basil's odd family had assembled in the sitting room of our flat, all chattering on and asking their brother questions as to how he had survived. And more importantly, how he had managed to fool even the combined medical expertise of Ozymandius and me. Paxton, Emily, and Samantha practically clung to their uncle. Once detaching them from his person, Basil motioned with one hand for everyone to quiet, then smiled at them. "Quite simple, really. You see, I know the doctor at St. Bartholomouse very well. It was he that helped me not only fake my own death, but fool my own dear brother and Dr. Dawson in the process... which I apologize deeply for, Ozymandius... Dawson."
"Then the funeral?" questioned Brynna.
"The same reason it was closed casket." Basil cocked his head at her, a mischievious look in his eyes. "The doctor, as I said, is a good friend of mine. He took my weight with my fine clothes on, and filled the casket with just that amount of sand. As the casket was sealed at the funeral, no one was the wiser!"
Brynna closed her mouth with an audible click of teeth, glaring at her brother most obviously. Everyone else seemed rather baffled, but all of a sudden, Ozymandius started to chuckle... and very soon, that chuckle turned into uproarous laughter. "Oh, good show, Sherringford! And to fool even me! You've been studying since that time at the lake when you were a boy!"
The praise made Basil beam with delight, his ears perking up as the tip of his tail snapped once. I noted a sort of closeness in the brothers, one Basil did not exhibit with most other people.
But interrupting Ozymandius' jovial mood, Elinora made a small sound from where she sat on the floor amidst the fluff of her dress, looking up at Basil with a very distraught face. She looked most unlike her siblings... her fur snowy white and her eyes a strange shade of pink. The exact reason her siblings were all so protective of her. "But why didn't you tell us, Sherringford? When we thought you... and..." She wiped her eyes as, with a soft expression, Basil stood from his chair to kneel beside his sister, putting an arm around her shoulder. Her arms went about his waist instantly. "I was so afraid we'd lost you!"
Basil, in return, gave a weary smile, patting his sister's back. "It's all right, Elinora... I'm fine, you see? I'm fine."
Kiersten gave a little sigh as she watched, looking up at me with a little bit of a smile. "Doctor, I am going to personally apologize for my brother's behavior. I know you know him quite well, but he's been known to play dead before... although under far less serious circumstances."
"Tried to fool me into believing he'd drowned once," Ozymandius admitted as he watched Basil calm the smallest of their sisters. "Caught himself a nasty chill in the process... I do believe he was only about eleven then." He grinned suddenly, and I noticed he had caught Basil's eye. The younger brother was scowling at him, but that didn't phase Ozymandius in the slightest. "I only wish Father and Mother could see him now... Mother was always a curious sort. She'd be so proud to see how his intelligence has paid off. And what Father wouldn't give to know his youngest child is the greatest detective in all mousedom!"
At those words, Basil's scowl gave way to a longing smile. He looked to me at that. "Don't listen to him, old chap." He smiled a bit wider, and despite the sorrow in his eyes, I could see that he shared Ozymandius' heartfelt sentiments. "He's full of hot air and old cheese."
Brynna laughed at the exchange, smiling towards me. "I commend you for all this time you've put up with Sherringford, Dr. Dawson. He's known for such terrible mood swings that I wonder if he's at all sane."
Basil's jaw dropped. "Brynna! How could you say such a thing about your darling baby brother, hm?"
"Darling!" Brynna had an incredulous look upon her face, but she was fighting back a smile. "You, little brother, are more disquieting than darling!"
I chuckled slightly at the five, particularly as Basil fumed his annoyance. It was good to see all of them together, and at that moment, I saw something I had not seen in Basil before.
Oh, certainly, he was perfectly at home in this little flat at lower 221B Baker Street, but now here, with his elder brother and three elder sisters, his nephew and two nieces... he seemed... moreso. I saw in him a much younger mouse than I had recalled meeting, boiling silently at the affectionate jibes of his siblings, fighting off a smile that threatened to appear.
For after everything that had happened, all of the terror and pain we had lived through, he managed to bring back a sense of happiness to all of us, just in his calm voice and jovial laughter. It was on that day I was grateful to have a friend and a comrade quite so like Basil of Baker Street.
~=~End~=~
The original use of "Sherringford" as Basil's first name is credited entirely to Diane N. Tran (Mlle. Irene Relda) and is used by me with her express permission.
Jean Cristof Bernier and Lauralyn Dalton, as well as Ozymandius and his kids, Elinora, and Kiersten Basil belong to me. Brynna Basil belongs to Eve Titus. Ratigan, Dawson, and Basil belong to Eve Titus and Disney.
There are also a few slightly-mangled quotes in here from some very famous movies. Can you guess which quotes and where they are from...?
I'll eventually get a little story up in which Dawson recounts the strange events of his Christmas staying with the Basil family, but not tonight.
Also, for anyone who's curious, my site (where this story and the comic my friends and I are working on will be posted) is mostly up. --http://www.geocities.com/chibijaime/gmd-- Go ahead and take a look.
In any case, let us begin!/}
~=~The Day London Wept~=~
I remember that day quite well... it was a day I had never thought would come, and a day I do not wish to see a repeat of. All of the papers in mousedom told the tale of the tragedy that had befallen us all that morning. Basil of Baker Street was dead.
It had happened some time in the hours just after midnight of January 14, 1899. Basil had left the flat I shared with him at lower 221B Baker Street in order to pursue a lead on a rather notorious jewel thief. He would not return.
I recall faintly Mrs. Judson, in tears and quite close to hysterics, shaking me awake with news that a messenger had arrived with a wire from the local hospital. A passerby in an alley near Baker Street had found Basil laying on his side in an awful state, his fur caked with mud, deep cuts and bruises covering his body, the hole of a bullet left cleanly through his left shoulder. His condition was grim.
It took no more to rouse me. As Mrs. Judson went to gather what things she could to take to her most unusual tenant, I dressed as quickly as I could, and soon, we were off.
Mere hours later, we sat silently in a waiting room with what remained of Basil's large family. Now, none can presume to say that Basil's family is not an odd lot. But in the end, they were all mice and mortal like their brother. A doctor by trade, Ozymandius - the eldest of the brood of five, had gone in with the doctor there to see his mortally wounded sibling.
Since then, not much had been said or done. Kiersten and Elinora stayed close together, but next to me sat Miss Brynna. While the eldest of the three girls, she was quite fond of and motherly towards her little brother, and his injury seemed to have stricken her harder than the others. Tears stained her pale tan fur, and her green eyes had a sickly hue. She looked as if she may become ill, hand resting upon the belly that held her first child, her gaze fixated on the floor. Her husband had not come, nor had Ozymandius' wife. However, Jean Cristof Bernier and his half-sister Lauralyn Dalton, opera mice and old friends of Basil, had rushed to the hospital immediately upon receiving word.
A long moment of silence passed before Ozymandius, following a brief chat with the doctor behind the door, stepped out. He was a distinguished young mouse, with a brush of a moustache and his dark brown fur combed back. He usually had in his eyes a hint of the mischief I often saw in Basil... but today, it was not there. Replacing it was utter grief, held back barely by his professional air... and even that was shattering.
Brynna stood carefully, hand upon her swollen belly, her tear-filled eyes focused on her eldest sibling. "Ozymandius... what has happened? How is Sherringford?"
There was a long silence as Ozymandius cleared his throat, then ran his hand back through his hair. It was obvious he was having difficulty finding the words he wanted. "Sherringford is... oh, my dear sisters... Dr. Dawson... Monsieur Bernier, and Miss Dalton... this is terrible news indeed... our dear baby brother has died. He passed away no more than five minutes before now, with not a word or a sound but a gentle sigh."
The professional air finally gave way right before my eyes as tears fell freely from the eyes of the eldest of the five Basil children... now four. I cannot deny that I shared his sentiments. I was beginning to weep myself, as Basil was as dear a friend to me as a brother. Brynna nearly collapsed, but I was quick to support her and lower her to her seat. She and Kiersten had both begun to sob uncontrollably, but only Elinora sat in awed silence, shaking her head slowly, reddish eyes focused steadily on her sibling. She got to her feet with a sort of clumsy awkwardness, walking towards Ozymandius with a slight stagger. The poor girl was in shock. "No... no, Ozymandius, tell me it's not true... it can't be true... Sherringford is fine, right?" She paused to sob as Ozymandius put his arms about her, hugging her tightly. "Right?!"
At last, she too dissolved into tears. No one appeared so hurt as the ladies, but in Ozymandius' eyes, I saw a pain beyond even theirs. Lauralyn, who had admired Basil greatly, if not had a bit of a fancy for him, looked up from her weeping, wiping her eyes carefully with a hankerchief, trying to find words for what she wanted to say. "But... but, Dr. Basil..."
It didn't seem to occur to Ozymandius that he was now the only heir in their generation of the family name. He just glanced at her with a glazed expression, rocking Elinora in his arms. "They haven't moved him to the morgue... it is only proper that friends and family have the opportunity... to say their last good-byes."
*****
Five minutes later, I found myself standing at the bedside of Sherringford Basil of Baker Street. In his solemn face, I saw nothing of this death that Ozymandius had spoken of. I had seen that expression upon his tired visage more times than not, sleeping peacefully in his chair after he had worked himself too hard. Honestly, I did not know what to say... but I did see what had killed him. That infernal gunshot wound. It was more likely than not that he had bled to death, trying to flee to safety.
In that instant, I had to remind myself that Basil was gone. The greatest detective in all mousedom, felled by a bullet from God knew who. I sighed deeply, glancing to the broken form of Brynna beside me. She was knelt at the bedside, her small hands grasping Basil's in a desperate search for any life, staring at his face as tears flowed freely down her cheeks once more. "Doctor... he... he can't really be dead, can he? Sherringford... he's... it has to be another of his games. He's toying with us." She paused, biting her lip. "...Isn't he?"
With a gentle frown, I placed my hand upon Brynna's shoulder. She looked up at me, stared for a moment, then began to cry again. I sighed, finding myself unable to comfort her more than a calming touch. "I am sorry, Miss Brynna. This... I never expected something like this to befall Basil, of all people..."
I watched in a numb silence as she lightly touched her brother's knuckles to her cheek. "Nor did I, Doctor," said she. "Nor did I."
*****
That night, I found the flat on Baker Street unnaturally stifling. It was as if Basil still remained, sitting there in his fine smoking jacket with his pipe in his hand, standing by his chemistry set with an expression of childish curiosity, fiddling with some little device he had located on the street, or playing a piece by Tchaikovsky or Beethoven on his violin. Basil was everywhere in that room, down to the little knicks his scurrying about in those hard-soled shoes of his left upon the hardwood floor.
With a sigh, I sank into the chair I usually occupied, a comfortable old green sitter directly across from Basil's red leather armchair. I stared at that empty seat for a long moment, fondly recalling the conversations I'd had with the lad over subjects ranging everywhere from bank robberies to brandy. No finer a fellow could have been found, nor would one ever live again.
But so tragically ends stories like his, and I had often heard Basil himself recount, "Only the good die young, my dear Dr. Dawson."
Mrs. Judson was not there just then... she had gone to relay the news to mice who did not receive it already. The misfortune lay upon all of our heads... and now I feared that no one in mousedom would be safe. Who would protect them, if not he who had fallen doing just that?
I retired to my chamber without bothering to find something to eat. I had no appetite, and I feared I would not for quite some time...
*****
The next few days passed slowly and solemnly. The funeral was indeed lovely. Ozymandius had paid for it, and he had spared no expense. It was closed casket... this confused me, but I assumed it was a sort of odd final request Basil had perhaps left in a living will. He always had been like that.
Lauralyn, barely able to keep her voice from breaking in sorrow, had sung for him a beautiful farewell... "Think of Me" from Hannibal. When she had finished, she dissolved into tears and buried herself weeping in her brother's arms.
That evening, Basil was buried in a family plot in York with his mother and father. I heard Ozymandius' weary sigh, and I looked at him with a light frown. "I say, Dr. Basil, are you quite all right?"
"Please, Doctor... I told you before. Ozymandius is fine." He shook his head then, looking towards me with that tiredness I was so used to seeing in Basil. "And no... I had hoped... well, as you know, I am older than Sherringford by nearly ten years... the eldest of the lot of us. I did not want... to see my youngest sibling buried first." He sighed, glancing at the tiny blossoms of clover that littered his brother's grave, reaching down to pick one up. "Such a lovely shade of violet. You know, Doctor... this flower has grown for so long upon the tombs of our ancestors. Now, I live to see it decorate the grave of my only brother... my charming baby brother... Such a dear boy..."
Ozymandius' wall was beginning to crack again, and in him, I once again saw so much of Basil. He gave me a weak smile, cocking his head just slightly to one side. "Sherringford would never have us in such low spirits. Why, if he saw this affair, he'd be beside himself with absolute annoyance."
I couldn't help but to laugh at that, because I knew Ozymandius was right. Basil hated huge get-togethers... he felt there was too much room for tricky business to happen when there was no one looking. On top of that, he could be almost annoyingly antisocial when the mood struck him. I smiled fondly as I brushed back a tear. "He was a fine young mouse. Finer than any I should ever hope to meet again."
We said little more to each other that day. Ozymandius stated quietly that he would be over the next day to pick up some of Basil's old things, we shook paws, and that was that. I took the next train from York and returned to the flat in silence... the night would surely prove to be a long one.
*****
As promised the next day, Ozymandius was over early as he could to collect his brother's more precious belongings... his fine Persian smoking jacket, one pipe, and... Ozymandius paused near the leather armchair, next to which sat the most precious posession Basil had owned. His fine cherrywood violin. The composed gentlemouse set his jaw, reaching out to delicately run a finger over the catgut strings, creating a melodious sound that nearly brought tears to my eyes.
"Sherringford... Sherringford always did have Mother's love for music. I believe Elinora and I are the only ones that did not inherit it. He was particularly fond of Tchaikovsky..." Swallowing hard, Ozymandius turned to me. "I shall leave his violin with you, Doctor... it belongs here. It is a part of this place as much as he was."
It was not difficult to detect the barely hidden emotion in the distinguished doctor's voice. He spoke of his brother with hushed tones, not wanting to let go of what precious little he seemed to feel he had to grasp. I watched with a heavy heart as his fist clenched upon Basil's beloved pipe. "Father gave this pipe to him, as a gift on his eighteenth. Sherringford had cradled it in his hands like a foreign thing, and asked if it was really his to keep. This pipe, you see, belonged to our grandfather, Ozymandius, with whom I share a name... and as I had not taken up the habit of the pipe, Father saw it suiting to give it to Sherringford, who rather enjoyed the practice." A deep sigh escaped his lips. "You know something, Doctor? Now that I take a good look around... there is more of him in this room alone than in all of the cases he solved put together."
I frowned at the shaking I now saw in Ozymandius' shoulders. He bowed his head under the weight of it all, other fist clenching as he pressed the knuckles against his forehead. "I couldn't save him, Doctor! I was right there! I held his hand as he gave his dying breath! And there was nothing I could do, not a bloody thing!"
"You shouldn't be so hard on yourself, Ozymandius... I am certain Basil would not blame you for what happened." I glanced around for something to say, then motioned towards Basil's chair. "I pray you, sit. You need to take a breath before you head out again... you've been under quite the deal of stress."
I felt quite a bit of relief as a smile just barely crossed Ozymandius' face at my words. He sank into the leather armchair, his fingers somehow finding the same spots Basil had grasped so many times in deep, worried thought. "Thank you, Doctor..." I could hear his tiredness and his grief as he sighed again, the same sigh I had heard him make as he browsed his brother's many belongings. "...I did not tell my sisters the whole truth, to be frank with you, Doctor."
My brow went up. Ozymandius' tone was entirely serious, and his fingers were laced together now, chin resting atop his folded hands. "If you did not tell them the whole truth, Ozymandius, what did you leave out?"
"...The fact that our brother did not have a peaceful death... nor was it true that he had no final words." His eyes squeezed shut against what I surmised must have been a painful memory. "Sherringford gripped my sleeve like a vice and looked at me with such eyes that I feared he had gone mad. "Ozymandius," he said to me, "my assailant is still at large. I must be permitted to go, Ozymandius! If you love me as your brother, let me go!" I denied him, of course! He did not relieve me of his vice grip, however, and those eyes remained trained upon me... those haunted green eyes, so like Mother's when she died... There is something different, Dr. Dawson, in having to watch a patient fade into the tendrils of the unknown than when it is your only brother... and your youngest sibling, at that."
At seeing the pain in the eldest Basil's face, my frown deepened and I shook my head. "My dear boy, if you do not wish to continue, you most certainly do not have to."
Ozymandius shook his head, and his eyes returned to me. "No... no, Doctor, this is something I must get off my chest. My brother's dying words will haunt me forever if I do not." He released a shaking sigh, his fingers lacing together even tighter. "He... he smiled at me. Sherringford always was charming, no matter what the case had been, and he was certainly trying then. There was no light in his eyes as he did so, Doctor, and that is what frightened me most... for it had been that fire that Sherringford showed so many times that had kept me going when I felt I could go no further."
Tears began to roll down his cheeks, and I could see the obvious pain he felt in having witnessed Basil's final moments with this world. I was not far from tears myself... his every word cut like a dagger into my heart. "He gave my hand a gentle squeeze then and said to me, "Good-bye, my dear brother, I must leave you now... but do not fret. For I shall see you again... and as hopeless and far-off as it may seem to be, we shan't be parted long..." And then, he gave a soft groan and moved no more."
A deathly silence had settled over the sitting room between us. Ozymandius made no sound, but his shoulders shook with silently surpressed grief at the final words of his dearly departed brother. I looked down at my hands, then closed my eyes. "The poor chap," I murmured silently. "Basil fought valiantly to his last breath, didn't he? It pains me to think of how he must have suffered... and Ozymandius, I give you my greatest respect and condolences. My heart goes out to you... it must be awful for you and your family."
"My little ones are taking it hardest, I fear," responded Ozymandius, his voice considerably softer than before. "They were quite fond of their Uncle Sherringford. You saw that over the holidays, when you came with Sherringford to visit. I just don't know what to tell them, Doctor... especially not little Samantha. He was her favorite person, next to myself and her mother."
I allowed myself a smile at that, despite my troubled mind. I had met Ozymandius' three darling children at Christmas the year before, and at the funeral, the youngest - Samantha - had demanded of me to tell her where her dear Uncle Sherri had gone. I could only look down at her, frowning softly and not knowing what to say, as her little hands tugged at my coattail, tears welling up in those great brown eyes.
"It is a tragedy, Ozymandius. A terrible tragedy indeed."
The young mouse nodded, turning his eyes to me again as he offered what cheerfulness he could muster. "I've taken too much of your time, old boy. I should really be off... the girls came with me, and we are staying in London for a while. The girls are having trouble returning to the manor. Apparently..." and he paused. "...Apparently, there is too much of Sherringford to remind us of his life than we want to see... so soon after his death."
With a nod of understanding, I stood and took his paw, giving it a hardy shake. He regarded me for a long moment after that before a genuine smile finally replaced his melancholy expression. "You're a good man, Doctor. Now I see why Sherringford trusted you so much. Thank you... for listening. For everything."
He gave a brief nod, then pulled on his coat and lovingly placed what things he had taken of his brother's in a worn leather suitcase. Then, he gave a nod of goodbye and was off. I made a mental note to visit the Basils later if I could. It would do them good, to have a familiar and friendly face about so soon after such a dark time.
I settled back into my chair after that, gazing at the mantlepiece and the spoils of Basil's victories that lay there, from things before I knew him to the Flaversham case to everything we had done to follow. In my heart-felt sorrow, I do not know when, I suppose I dozed off. But what happened at that moment that I awoke was such an experience that I do not think anyone could understand what it felt to live through it...
*****
It was late evening when the clock struck six that I stirred from an uncomfortable sleep in my old green sitter, but it was not simply the chiming clock that had aroused my suspicions. There was a clatter of movement, and some sort of commotion coming from Basil's unoccupied room. I frowned... Basil may have been gone, but he was still very much there in spirit, and I would allow no thief or blackguard searching for a souvenier touch his private things.
Grabbing my revolver, I stood from my seat and made my way up the small stairway to the corner room. Intending soully upon frightening the intruder off, I burst through the door and aimed the revolver squarely at the rogue's head!
Only to find, looking directly back at me, a pair of green eyes that shined with a mischievious light, and the face of a mouse with such a wicked smile of childish glee worn upon it that I thought I may faint on the spot. For there before me, as alive as you or I, was Basil of Baker Street.
"Dawson, old boy, I do believe you can lower that wretched thing. I am certainly not going to steal my own personal belongings! It would be rather redundant, don't you agree?" He had never stopped grinning, and I began to believe he was most amused by the stunned look I had on my face. But I did lower the revolver, and for that he seemed grateful. It was only then I noticed the sling his arm rested in... so he had been shot. "Ah, thank you. Hm... I see Ozymandius was here, however... most likely to put my jacket and pipe in the family vault, where the most prized belongings of all the dead folk of my line go. He didn't dare take my violin, though, I wager. I'll have to bother him into getting my pipe back later... for now, at least I have a pack of cigarettes or two. Those should tide me over."
I opened my mouth to say something as he rather nonchalantly rested a cigarette between his lips, striking a match to light it, but for a moment could find no words. Then, I gave my head a quick shake, squinting as if to make certain he really was standing right there. "Basil, you are...! I can scarcely believe you... I stood right there next to your body! You were DEAD, Basil!"
The younger mouse's expression softened as he made his way over to me, laying his hand upon my shoulder, confirming him as a blessed reality and not some fantastical spirit or hallucination. "I am terribly sorry to have worried all of you, Dawson. But I could not let that cad get close to my family." He sighed deeply, and I knew he was sincere. Basil did not lie about things like this. "You see, I most certainly did not intend upon getting shot, but the wound was not as severe as what it appeared. Dickerson saw me crawling away, however, and in what state of mind I had through the pain, I knew quite well that he would pursue until he had killed me. So, I collapsed in an alley and mimiced death as well as I could."
"Why didn't you tell us, Basil?" I had to admit, I was miffed and upset over that much. "You could have let us know..."
"Because had you known I had lived and not died, you never would have had that lovely funeral, and Dickerson would assume I still lived. And if he assumed I still lived, he would have struck at those closest to me... Ozymandius and his family, Brynna and her husband, Elinora, Kiersten, Lauralyn, and you, my dearest friend. My being wounded brought them here. He's no reason to go after them if I am dead and buried, does he?" He took a long draw from the cigarette he held lightly between two fingers, and I saw a sort of relief cross his face. "Oh, that does me a world of good."
I couldn't help but sigh after that, and I watched the boy for some time before speaking again. "What shall we do now, then, Basil?"
"Wire Ozymandius, and tell him to bring my things for it is a matter of most urgency. Insist if you must. But have my brother come here."
*****
It was nearly nine when Ozymandius showed up at the front door, and he nearly shouted with shock when Basil answered, smiling at him like - if you will excuse the horrid phrase - the cat that swallowed the canary. His brown eyes grew wide, and it was all he could do to keep from throwing his arms about his brother. "SHERRINGFORD! Upon my word, boy, you--...! I don't believe it's you!" Giving in to his better judgment, he did hug his sibling, but gently as to not irritate the wound. "I don't understand, though... you were as dead as could possibly be! I was there when the final breath left you. I remember your last words to me!"
"I apologize greatly for the trouble I've caused you, Ozymandius," replied Basil with a roguish smile, patting his brother's back with his good hand before both mice stood straight, facing one another, "but I did say we shan't be parted long! And I assure you, I will pay you back for the lovely funeral, and the casket and headstone along-side. But right now, Ozymandius, is a matter of most importance. It will not take long before Dickerson realizes I was not killed when he shot me. You must take your family and our sisters and return to York as soon as possible. Take the next train once you arrive at the station if you must, and do so with such haste as you have never shown before."
"The girls will want to see you, Sherringford, at least grant them that," Ozymandius protested, frowning at his brother.
The stern expression was one any concerned sibling would wear, but Basil would have none of it. "Please, Ozy." He had shortened his elder sibling's name... something I assumed he must only do when speaking on a perfectly intimate level with his brother. "If you care for me any as your brother, do this one thing for me. I promise I shall wire you when this whole ordeal once I have cleared up some things, and you may bring everyone back to see me... give me one week."
Ozymandius began to speak, then simply sighed and shook his head. With a fond smile, he ruffled the fur atop Basil's head and leant down eye-to-eye with him. "Take care of yourself, Sherringford. I will await your wire at the manor. Don't stress yourself... I do not desire to see that farce of yours become reality."
The elder mouse sat down the leather bag that contained Basil's smoking jacket and pipe, then hugged his brother once more before saying his good-byes and departing.
"And now," Basil stated once he had smoothed his rumpled fur and retrieved his cherished pipe, "we begin our hunt. Come along, Dawson... we must fetch Toby and be off... for I know exactly where Dickerson shall strike next."
*****
As I have stated before in other writings concerning Basil's exploits, it never ceases to astound me how logic works in his mind. Clues so simple that normal men and mice overlook them are never missed by his keen eye. And so he told me as we made our way to a small jeweler near the center of town, and I shall recount to you, exactly how he knew where our new adversary would strike.
"You see, Dawson," he called to me over the wind that rushed past us from the ride upon Toby's back, "it's rather elementary! While I was pursuing him, I noticed that the pattern within which he remained upon to steal the jewels he does is circular... the last set he stole, the caper within which I was shot and nearly done in, was at the end of the circle! That only leaves one place for him to strike. A jeweler near the center of town, the center of his circle if I'm not mistaken, that is home to one of the largest collections of large diamonds in all of mousedom!"
I myself was clinging desperately to Toby's collar... at least I hadn't flown back to the tail yet. "Great Scot! Do you think we'll get there in time, Basil?"
I heard him laugh as he threw his head back somewhat, his tail flickering against the wind. "I should certainly hope so, Dawson! Because I know for a fact this time... he is waiting for me to arrive! And I have a hunch in the back of my mind that something else is waiting for us as well..."
*****
The old jewelry store was silent when we arrived, save but the slight tap I could hear from Basil's shoes as he slunk around a window until he found one that had been carefully cut out. His voice was barely a whisper, but I heard him and approached. "Quickly, Dawson... he's still inside."
He slipped in ahead of me, and I followed as quickly as I could. Even injured, I could see the thrill of the chase in Basil's eyes, his ears standing perfectly alert. His tail swayed back and forth very slowly until he froze, nearly causing me to run into him. He was staring straight ahead, to the sound of a cane tapping lightly on the wooden floor beneath our feet.
I do believe that at that moment I came to the conclusion that I had seen quite enough miracle resurrections to fill a life time. Looming over Basil there like a nightmare, glaring down at him with all the hate of a thousand suns, leaning on a cane to support him in standing was none other than Professor Jamison Ratigan himself. Basil scowled, hissing through his teeth, "Ratigan! How did you survive the fall?!"
"Perhaps a passing bird," replied the villain, a wicked grin crossing his face.
Basil's smile was hateful, and his ears pressed back against his head. "We are men of action, Ratigan. Lies do not become us."
He was answered with a dangerous hiss as the rat closed in, paw tightening upon the grip of his cane. "A trash barge... and in that landing, I received the crippling blow that forces me to walk with this accursed cane. All no thanks to YOU, Basil of Baker Street." The last words were growled out with such contempt that a shiver ran up my spine to hear them. But Basil stood tall and strong, his eyes narrowed sharply. At seeing no response from his old adversary, Ratigan snorted, his tail flicking behind him. "I saw that you did not fall with me, however... and I recalled you had grabbed that propellor from my dirigible. You must have figured out that it could possibly lift you to safety. Accursed little creature that you are, you escaped death as well."
"At least I did so without falling into the refuse that so becomes you," Basil sneered in reply. "I take it, then, that you are behind Adrian Dickerson's schemes?"
"With pride. He's quite the protege." Ratigan's clawed hand shot foreward then, gripping Basil's wounded shoulder with such force that I thought it would kill the poor chap. I went for my gun, but those hateful eyes glared at me, and I froze on the spot. "Stay where you are, old man. I've no interest in killing Basil yet. No... it is no fun without a chase, and particularly not when he is already wounded." His attention returned to Basil then, delighting in the torment that the painful wound caused him. "You arrived too late, but I knew you would come. Dickerson is gone, but I waited for you... just to see your expression at knowing you had failed again. But our story has not finished yet... oh, no. We have a score to settle, Basil, and we will do that in due time."
At his final words, he shoved Basil so hard that the poor boy tumbled backwards, landing on his side with one hand gripping the reopened bullet wound on his shoulder. He hissed at Ratigan, tail lashing like an angered snake. "I swear, Ratigan... mark my words... if it takes the rest of my days, I will see you behind bars!"
Ratigan just chuckled as he limped off into the shadows, the clicking of his cane fading off until it was gone. I turned to look at my friend, whose expression was a mixture between utter hate and anguish. "Basil... are you all right there, lad?"
"All right?! I am FURIOUS!" Basil staggered to his feet at that remark, clutching his shoulder pitifully. "He survived! That fiend has been alive all this time and I had no idea!" He chuckled bitterly to himself as he spun on his heel, stalking towards the point that we had entered. "Oh, Basil, you are a fool!"
I knew better than to interrupt his rantings at this point. Whenever Basil found himself outwitted or stumped, he would fume at himself or play melancholy arias on his violin for hours, if not both, until the mood passed, or until something else caught his interest.
And so we left the jewelry shop, boarding Toby's back. The basset hound kept a steady trot instead of a run on the way home, and on his collar sat Basil, puffing on his pipe and looking thoroughly annoyed with the world.
*****
On a calm morning later that week, the rest of Basil's odd family had assembled in the sitting room of our flat, all chattering on and asking their brother questions as to how he had survived. And more importantly, how he had managed to fool even the combined medical expertise of Ozymandius and me. Paxton, Emily, and Samantha practically clung to their uncle. Once detaching them from his person, Basil motioned with one hand for everyone to quiet, then smiled at them. "Quite simple, really. You see, I know the doctor at St. Bartholomouse very well. It was he that helped me not only fake my own death, but fool my own dear brother and Dr. Dawson in the process... which I apologize deeply for, Ozymandius... Dawson."
"Then the funeral?" questioned Brynna.
"The same reason it was closed casket." Basil cocked his head at her, a mischievious look in his eyes. "The doctor, as I said, is a good friend of mine. He took my weight with my fine clothes on, and filled the casket with just that amount of sand. As the casket was sealed at the funeral, no one was the wiser!"
Brynna closed her mouth with an audible click of teeth, glaring at her brother most obviously. Everyone else seemed rather baffled, but all of a sudden, Ozymandius started to chuckle... and very soon, that chuckle turned into uproarous laughter. "Oh, good show, Sherringford! And to fool even me! You've been studying since that time at the lake when you were a boy!"
The praise made Basil beam with delight, his ears perking up as the tip of his tail snapped once. I noted a sort of closeness in the brothers, one Basil did not exhibit with most other people.
But interrupting Ozymandius' jovial mood, Elinora made a small sound from where she sat on the floor amidst the fluff of her dress, looking up at Basil with a very distraught face. She looked most unlike her siblings... her fur snowy white and her eyes a strange shade of pink. The exact reason her siblings were all so protective of her. "But why didn't you tell us, Sherringford? When we thought you... and..." She wiped her eyes as, with a soft expression, Basil stood from his chair to kneel beside his sister, putting an arm around her shoulder. Her arms went about his waist instantly. "I was so afraid we'd lost you!"
Basil, in return, gave a weary smile, patting his sister's back. "It's all right, Elinora... I'm fine, you see? I'm fine."
Kiersten gave a little sigh as she watched, looking up at me with a little bit of a smile. "Doctor, I am going to personally apologize for my brother's behavior. I know you know him quite well, but he's been known to play dead before... although under far less serious circumstances."
"Tried to fool me into believing he'd drowned once," Ozymandius admitted as he watched Basil calm the smallest of their sisters. "Caught himself a nasty chill in the process... I do believe he was only about eleven then." He grinned suddenly, and I noticed he had caught Basil's eye. The younger brother was scowling at him, but that didn't phase Ozymandius in the slightest. "I only wish Father and Mother could see him now... Mother was always a curious sort. She'd be so proud to see how his intelligence has paid off. And what Father wouldn't give to know his youngest child is the greatest detective in all mousedom!"
At those words, Basil's scowl gave way to a longing smile. He looked to me at that. "Don't listen to him, old chap." He smiled a bit wider, and despite the sorrow in his eyes, I could see that he shared Ozymandius' heartfelt sentiments. "He's full of hot air and old cheese."
Brynna laughed at the exchange, smiling towards me. "I commend you for all this time you've put up with Sherringford, Dr. Dawson. He's known for such terrible mood swings that I wonder if he's at all sane."
Basil's jaw dropped. "Brynna! How could you say such a thing about your darling baby brother, hm?"
"Darling!" Brynna had an incredulous look upon her face, but she was fighting back a smile. "You, little brother, are more disquieting than darling!"
I chuckled slightly at the five, particularly as Basil fumed his annoyance. It was good to see all of them together, and at that moment, I saw something I had not seen in Basil before.
Oh, certainly, he was perfectly at home in this little flat at lower 221B Baker Street, but now here, with his elder brother and three elder sisters, his nephew and two nieces... he seemed... moreso. I saw in him a much younger mouse than I had recalled meeting, boiling silently at the affectionate jibes of his siblings, fighting off a smile that threatened to appear.
For after everything that had happened, all of the terror and pain we had lived through, he managed to bring back a sense of happiness to all of us, just in his calm voice and jovial laughter. It was on that day I was grateful to have a friend and a comrade quite so like Basil of Baker Street.
~=~End~=~