Who in the world would do such a vile thing?
I list names to myself as I thread my needle. A young female mouse lies on the davenport. Her fur was brown flicked with a light grey; her light blue dress is mutilated like her slender face and there were gashes all over her forehead. She was in a bad way, and needed my utmost urgent medical attention, the poor thing. The lamp flickered as I recalled how I came by her...
I had just returned from my rounds when one of Basil' s Irregulars came up to me and had told me that he and some other lads had found a battered, bruised and bleeding young woman just round the corner from Scotland Yard, so I had hurried there with him, and it was there that I encountered a tragic sight.
I paid the young guide, and sent for Inspector Lawless to assist me carry the lady to 221 1/2 Baker Street. She had deep, wide gashes to her head and face, a bruise on her left eye and a broken wrist. Her dress lay scattered round the gutter and her right ear had been badly nicked by a knife. From my meagre powers of deduction, combined with my sufficient medical knowledge, all I could partake from that horrific crime was that the foul deed had been done with a butcher's cleaver. Had not some divine intervention happened, she would have been ruthlessly slaughtered for no crime. As it was, she was unconscious and barely breathing.
The police could not find anything when they arrived, save for what I had already discovered myself.
After she had been checked over, Lawless, another constable and I had taken her here for treatment, as the nearest hospital was full due to a cholera epidemic.
...
"How's she holding up, Doctor Dawson?" A voice asks.
"I fear she may not make it through the night." I reply sadly. "The poor woman- she's so young."
"I know, Doctor, but you can't save everyone, no matter how much you want to." Mrs Judson tells me. "It pains me to say it to you, Doctor Dawson, but at least God will have mercy on their souls." She wipes a tear away. "Do you need anything else?"
"I require more thread, please, Mrs Judson, if you can spare any." I tell her, looking at my own woeful spool, now completely bare of black thread.
"I'll give all I can, but I haven't a lot left." She warns me.
"I'm sure it will be fine." I assure her as bravely as I can, though a look at the clock tells me I have a long battle to fight. One against time and fatigue, as well as death itself. My hands were stained with her blood, like her midnight blue dress. She was very thin, much like my dear colleague and friend, Basil of Baker Street. Which reminds me, where was he?
...
I kept on stitching her wounds and cleaning her blood until six o'clock the next day, which meant that I was worn with exhaustion, but I felt relieved as my patient is faring a lot better now than when I found her.
Feeling unable to sleep, I went to the bathroom to wash up and change clothes. As I did so, I heard someone stumbling round the living room downstairs, amid a loud curse. Realising my friend had returned, I hurtled out of my room and dashed downstairs as quickly as I could to hopefully prevent him from waking the young lady.
You could probably imagine my bafflement, dear reader, at finding no lady on the davenport, but my friend, the esteemed Basil of Baker Street himself, on the floor, wincing.
"Ah, good morning, my dear Dawson," He tells me casually. "I was hoping I would catch you this morning. I do want"-
"Basil, where the devil have you been?" I ask angrily, as I make my way over to the davenport. "You were gone all night with no explanation as to your whereabouts!"
My friend looks up at me, and starts to try to explain about his latest case, but I suddenly notice his right ear, followed by the rest of his face. It was covered in stitches sewn up black and navy blue thread, and I immediately recognise it, as well as the stitches.
"Basil, were you the..."
My friend just harrumphs impatiently. "Yes Dawson, there was no young lady here last night- I was in a disguise!" He exclaims impatiently.
Glaring at him, and feeling unwilling to speak to him after everything I went through, I storm off to the kitchen to make coffee. As you could guess, I was not at all happy with Basil at the moment- he had not bothered making any communication with me last night, and then he never revealed his true identity whilst I tended to his wounds. I had fretted about him when he had been here all along!
My thoughts are interrupted by someone grabbing my wrist. It was a firm grip, but not so firm that it hurt. I slowly turn around to see the great mouse detective looking at me with great melancholy in his green eyes.
"Dawson, I...I would like to apologise for not sending you word last night. I know you could not help staying home last night. You're not to blame for any of this, Dawson."
"But I feel that if I'd just ignored my leg pain you wouldn't be in this mess..."
"Dawson, your leg was hurting you last night. As much as it pains me to say of you, my friend, you would not have made very much difference to the outcome. Also, there is a chance I miscalculated the attacker's strike and got the comeuppance for such an idiotic flaw."
"But, Basil, old boy, you didn't deserve to be left lying in a gutter for dead!" I exclaim in shock.
"But indeed so, I am grateful to you for helping me out, Dawson. At least I have a true friend who is willing to overlook my folly." He manages a small smile at me. "Thank you, Doctor, for your efforts and compassion in your medical attention."
"Well, that's quite alright Basil." I tell him, softening a little. "I'm just glad you pulled through. It looked very grim for you at one o'clock in the morning."
He gives me a rueful look, so I take his paw in my own and gently patted it with my other one comfortingly.
"I do hope you promise to be more careful in future." I tell him firmly, but with my usual benignity.
"Ah, I have been warned against making promises I cannot keep." He tells me, but he squeezes my paw gently. "I shall, however, attempt to make sure that I do not make such erroneous calculations again."
Then his face hardens to one of determination and excitement at the thought of the case. "So, my dear doctor, are you up to helping me solve this case?"
"Yes, of course," I reply. "But I recommend you heal first. Neither Mrs Judson or I have any more thread in the house."
I almost wish I hadn't said that, for he decides to take to finishing an experiment with sulphuric acid and bromine. But almost- I still do not wish for my friend to partake in anything related to the case out of doors for fear of reopening his wounds.