The Great Mouse Detective and the Basil of Baker Street Mysteries belong to the Walt Disney Company and the late Eve Titus respectively. The original name of "Sherringford" for Basil's first name, Chief-Inspector Vole and Detective Inspector Clawes are the creations of Mlle. Irene Relda.
No Better a Remedy
Today had been the first day of August, a day no different then many others that came before it nor like the ones that will go after. The sun still decided to rise early in the mornings and fall back beyond the horizon late into the evening and the clock was still ticking steadily the last time I saw it on the mantle. I smiled to myself at that last remark and at the memory it brought me, and I now realize that I may now confuse whoever would be reading this entry with my silly rambling. Basil had told me on numerous occasions that I had a tendency to get ahead of myself, and I must admit that he is right. He's usually right, anyway.
But I guess it's time I set my mind in order. Or at least my notes.
It has been quite some time since I moved in with Sherrignford Basil of Baker Street and truth be told, at the beginning of it all, I was worried that I might have made a mistake. Moving in with a mouse not even half my age wasn't how I planed to live out the rest of my days. As you may know, I am not a young mouse, not anymore at least, and being in the constant presence of one who jumped and ran and stayed up long after the clock struck midnight and even had the audacity to claim that he was bored reminded me too much of my own youth. I care for Basil greatly, don't get me wrong on that one, but I just feel frustrated with myself over my own body limits. How I longed to so the same as he again: to jump without worrying my back would ache, to run without the fear of my legs giving up on me, to be so selfish as to be able to claim that I was bored again!
I envy Basil on many grounds, but I envy him the most for being so young while I feel like I've grown so old.
It is that why I haven't told him that today was my birthday. If I could, I would avoid speaking about it altogether, but naturally, as time passed, both he and other new friends I met trough my association with him became curious. I insisted that there was no need for anything. I no longer had the age for parties and other such things. Besides, I didn't need to be reminded once again just how old I've gotten, nor did I wish for Basil to know that. He's been such a dear friend to me, sharing secrets with me, taking me with him on adventures, making me feel like I was younger then I really was – and also worrying for me whenever my back would start to pain me. I feared that he might stop bringing me with him on cases, that he'll stop seeing me as a friend because I was no longer useful to him.
I don't know how to explain this fear of mine in but words. I only know that it exists, there, deep in my heart, and every time I look back and see what Basil had done for me – gave me a home, gave me adventure, gave me the best friend that I could dream of having – I feel like I could never do enough to show how much those things meant for me.
But although my own birthday didn't seem to bring me much reason of joy, the prospect of celebrating his was most appealing. I like doing things for my friends' birthdays after all. I so enjoyed it when I saw the look on young Inspector Clawes' face when I gave him that new, almost exquisite walking stick on his birthday. Even Vole looked touched when I presented him with a brand new writer's kit for writing better reports on his.
For that reason, the instant I have heard from Mrs. Judson that his birthday was coming up I was all-set on doing something for him. For days I tried to get into his head, to figure out what he would like, but all my attempts have proven to be unsuccessful. That is, until that day when a mouse of Japanese heritage presented a lovely little problem his way (Basil's words, not mine). When my friend presented the solution to the fellow, the client was beside himself with joy. He was so grateful that he even insisted he teach us how to make paper cranes, claiming that if we were to create one thousand cranes then one wish of ours would surely become reality. That was an odd way to show us gratitude, I thought then, but Basil looks rather amused by the proposal and even insisted I should try to learn. The sparkle in his eyes right then, when I was attempting to fold the paper in such a manner as to create the above-mentioned bird, made me decide then and there what I would get him. Basil was a too special mouse for just one simple present, which was why I decided to give him more then just one, but a thousand in fact: one thousand paper cranes.
It should not surprise you, dear reader, that my attempt at that came with no success whatsoever. My fingers simply couldn't fold the paper right and the time I had on hand was far too short. So on the eve of his birthday I did the only thing I could think of: I ran to the nearest department store and got him a nice cherry-wood clock he seamed to have taken notice in passing a few weeks prior – and yes, it is the same clock I have mentioned earlier. He adored it almost instantly and placed it on the mantle, right where Ratigan's portrait once laid. He had said that he wanted to get a proper clock in this room for a while now, but always seamed to forget to actually purchase one, so my gift was ever so practicable. Yes, practical maybe, but it was not special.
But now, as I was sitting in my consulting room after my last patient of the day have left, I dared pick up a peace of paper and attempted to create a paper crane just one last time. By God's will, next year, I will make one thousand cranes for Basil. There was still half a year to it… yet I still couldn't fold a paper properly even if my life depended on it.
It was in these circumstances that, just before I contemplated closing five minutes earlier, there came a knock at my door and a voice that said: "Good day to you, Doctor."
One last patient for the day it seamed. "A good day to you too, sir." I answered without quite looking. I was still rather put-out because of yet another failed attempt at creating a proper crane.
"Doctor, I'm feeling very ill." My patient told me, sitting down on a chair. Throwing the "bird" in the trashcan in defeat, I turned to the mouse.
"You're name please si-…" I stopped, mid-sentence, as I fully took in the mouse's appearance. "You again? You've been here three times already in the past couple of hours."
It was just as I said. Before me stood an elderly gentleman of… debatable intellect if I am to judge him by previous interactions. This mouse kept coming, telling me that he was suffering from some strange illness of sorts, when the truth was ridiculously trivial: a head cold.
"Yes, but I'm ill now." He persisted and I prepared myself for what would be a long discussion. But not too long I hoped.
"It's no illness. If anything it's just a minor head cold. Get yourself an aspirin and a pyramidon (1) from the drug store across the road from here and you'll be fine." I said, gathering my things and preparing to leave. Although this man had the habit of stepping into my office precisely when I wanted to close up for a bit and go back home, I was determined not to let him keep me away any longer. I have missed lunch because of him. I'll be damned if I am to miss dinner as well.
"Yes indeed, doctor, but that's what I've been meaning to ask you. What should I take first? The aspirin or the pyramidon?"
I sighted. "Any of the two. It doesn't matter. The effect will be the same regardless of your choice."
"Very well then doctor. First, I take the aspirin."
"Very well. First you take the aspirin my good man."
"And then I take the pyramidon!"
He said that in such a triumphant manner then I felt slightly uneasy just by being in his presence. "… Yes. Then you take the pyramidon."
"But… if I take the pyramidon first, will it do any harm."
"No, no harm at all. What harm could it possibly do?"
"Yes, quite, what harm indeed… But if I take the aspirin –"
"Whatever you take, just take it!" I snapped at him in frustration. But I didn't mean to. I guess old age is truly taking its toll on my nerves. Usually I could stand more. "I do apologize my good man, but the hour is late and I wish to close, so now if you please?"
"Ah yes. A good day to you doctor." He got up from his seat.
"Same to you sir." And I prepared myself to see him out.
"Oh, but, before you close… may I ask one more thing?"
I inhaled deeply, slowly counting to ten in my mind, then turned to face him. "Ask away."
"Well, I've been thinking doctor, and I've thought: shouldn't I take them both at the same time?"
It was better for my nerves if I jut agreed with him. "Take them both."
"Yes, but I need to be certain that I can be able to."
"No worries, my good chap. You'll be able to."
"Yes but doctor, my throat is awfully tight, it is. And of course, there's the little man I need to be thinking about."
Now that troubled me. What "little man" was he talking about? Interaction between mice and human was strictly forbidden, not to mention extremely dangerous. "What of the little man?"
"Oh, I worry not to swallow him, that I am."
I did the calculations in my head – I still am – yet that still failed to make any sense to my ears."… How, may I ask, would it be possible for you to shallow him?" Better just play along.
"Oh, just like I've swallowed the button I swallowed. One night I taught it was a pill and hup! Down the button weant. And believe it or not, doctor, it did me good!"
"Yes, yes, very well…" Of that I hade no doubt.
"So you see, if I can't take them both I better first take them separately."
And now we're back to where we started. "Yes, take them separately!" I cried out and attempted to see him out.
"With a bit of water."
"Yes, by all means. With a bit of water!" I assured him. Oh, and there was the door. Just a few more steps.
"Cold or boiled, doctor."
"Ether one is fine, my good man. Now, if you plea–"
"You know, if you wish, I can always boil the cold water."
"Boil the water then."
"And what, take it with boiling water. Won't that scald?"
"No my good man, because first, you will leave it to cool down…"
"Then why should I boil it in the first place? But say, why not let it all go and I'll take it with a bit of soda."
"Very well, take it with your soda." I sighted. This was not my day. This was so not my day.
"But wouldn't it hurt. You know: pyramidon mixed with soda… Who knows what that would come out of it…"
The prospect made me slap a hand to my forehead. Instead of making a spectacle of myself though, I merely shock my head and answered in a most grave tone, for I truly felt sorry for the man. "Nothing's going to come out of it."
"But what about the aspirin? Will mixing soda with that hurt?"
"Not in the slightest."
"Quite right sir, quite right, what could come out of that one… So I've been thinking: shouldn't I better take it with some raspberry juice?"
Few things kept me from throwing this person out of my consulting room. "Take it with raspberry juice, with whatever you wish! It's late, I need to close."
"Oh, terribly sorry doctor. It was not my intention to detain you, be sure of that doctor." I did not know how to take that. Really I did not. "I only – Goodness gracious! I forgot! I forgot to ask the most important fact!" God give me strength… "Should I take them before or after a meal?"
First thing that comes to mind. No use thinking over such things. "Before a meal."
"What? To take raspberry juice before a meal? How can I take raspberry juice before a meal?" Why was I bothering to answer such dunderheaded questions?
"You just take it."
"If you say so doctor… Illness is serious business, it is." He's telling me… "But which meal? Breakfast?"
"Yes."
"But I don't eat anything for breakfast. I only get myself a cup of morning coffee. Should I take it before my morning coffee?"
"Yes."
"But how can I take raspberry juice before my morning coffee? Shouldn't I better take it with my morning coffee?"
I was truly at the end. I could not take it any more. Still, I managed to weakly say: "Take it with your morning coffee."
"But… how can I take my morning coffee… before my morning coffee?"
It must have been the first time in my entire career as a physician when I was forced to literally kick a mouse out of my consulting room. I may not be proud of myself, but by Jove it felt good! Still, the damage was done, and now I was facing the consequences.
By the tine I reached home I was forced to stand one of the most colossal head-aches I have ever had, heavily contemplating on retirement. Basil, though apparently engrossed in another experiment of his seamed to notice my poor state (he always does) the instant I set foot in the flat, for much like always he asked the unavoidable question: "I say, old chap, are you quite all-right?" No, I was just getting old.
"My apologies, Basil. I just have the most ghastly of head-aches…"
Basil waved off my comment as if the answer to my little problem would have been obvious. "Oh, nothing a good head pill won't cure. You just lie down and I'll see what I can find for you. No, no, doctor, please allow me." And with that, he exited the room, leaving me quite alone in the room. Letting out a sight, I took a seat in my green chair near to the fire. I had to accept facts. I truly was getting too old.
But then, something caught my eye. Near the arm of my chair was a box. It was by no means a small one and what more, it had something written on it… "For Dr. David Dawson"
I hope this goes without saying that I became terribly curious. Though a part of me said that I should wait for Basil to return before taking any action, I found myself picking it up out and opening it. It was addressed to me after all…
I almost dropped when I saw its contents.
Paper cranes! The box was full with them! Great Scott, they must have been hundreds! All perfectly folded! But how… It was then that one particular crane caught my eye. It was not as perfect as the rest. It looked much like one's first attempt at one. Cautiously as to not ruin any of the delicate shaped, I pulled that particular crane out. It seamed to have some something scribbled on its wings…
Some people, no matter how old they get, never lose their shine – they merely move it from their faces into their hearts. (2) Thank you for being, my friend, and give us the honor of wishing you a happy birthday – one thousand times.
I was speechless. I truly was. Dear me, he knew. All this time I tried to hide this from him… and he knew. And he didn't care. He knew and he didn't care! Oh dear me, I was crying with joy by now, truly crying. Basil always managed to surprise me. Always did, always will. But this – this not only surprised me, but touched me beyond any possible means.
God bless him. God bless that impossible mouse till the very bottom of his unseen heart! All these cranes… it must have taken him forever to make them all! But then, something accurred to me: why did he write the "us" instead of "me"?
I was furiously trying to keep down my tears by the time Basil re-entered to room. "Aha! Here we are doctor!"
But then, the old mouse from earlier stepped into the house followed by a smiling Inspector Vole and Mrs. Judson. Our landlady had the most appetizing cake in her had and Vole brought a bottle of champagne. As for the elderly mouse from earlier took off what I recognized as a mask, revealing the happy face of Inspector Clawes. I practically bleached at the implications… but he didn't seam to bear any ill though towards me. Instead, he merely winked and nodded towards Basil's general direction. Could my friend have planned this from the very beginning? And everyone else…
"Basil…" I asked him "What is this?"
He offered me on of his rare smiles.
"Just your standard dose of aspirin and pyramidon, my friend. I for one can think of no better remedy for a stubborn head cold such as yours." Basil finished with a wink.
The irony of the situation was too much to bear! I let out a heart-filled laugh, struggling to fight back tears of mirth. Clawes was apparently snickering as well, much to the confusion of both Vole and Mrs. Judson. Basil however was still looking at me, that smile of his still printed on his face. I felt like crying again. I so wanted to run to him and hug the life out of him! All of the sudden I felt so young I was practically bursting! I should have known that for my friends, age truly did not matter, and finally, after having seen but not observed, I found that this applied to me as well.
Making one last attempt to get a hold of myself, I thanked them the only way I possibly could give the circumstances, a fact that made both Basil and Clawes laugh harder then ever:
"Which one should I take first?"
(1) pyramidon – a drug most commonly used as a pain reliever, much like aspirin, somewhat famous due to the Romanian comedy short "Aspirina şi piramidonul" (eng. "The Aspirin and the Pyramidon") on which this fic is being based.
(2) "Some people, no matter how old they get, never lose their beauty – they merely move it from their faces into their hearts" – quote by Martin Buxbaum, but slightly altered in the fic
It appears that I cannot write a proper short story to save my life. I apologise for that, but hopefully you will like this all the same.
Reviews are greatly motivating and highly appreciated!