Scars of the Past

Chapter 1:

On the morning of June 13, 1898, Dr. Dawson descended the stairs and entered the sitting room. He was now settled into his new home at 221 ½ B Baker Street, which he shared with his friend, Basil of Baker Street, the Great Mouse Detective. He was surprised to find the sitting room empty, as Basil was usually up and about before he was. As he passed by the detective's favorite red armchair, the breeze from walking by caused some papers sitting on the side table to fall off. Dawson rolled his eyes as he bent over to pick them up. Basil was certainly not the most tidy of mice. As Dawsosn stacked the papers back together neatly, his eyes fell on the one on top. The paper was filled with colorful scribbles and doodles. Dawson called to mind the case that Basil had solved within the last week. A client had been receiving strange notes that resembled a child's drawing of mice dancing across the page; it turned out that they were actually threatening messages written in a code to the client's wife. But then Dawson noticed some writing.

"Hapy birtday Uncl Bazil."

Dawson chuckled softly. He had met Basil's family briefly at the ceremony where they were honored by the queen for thwarting Professor Ratigan's plans for taking over the kingdom. This must have been from Basil's niece and nephew, Louise and Arthur. Arthur was still just a toddler, so that would account for the scribbles; Louise was just the age to begin to learn how to write, which would also explain the misspellings and a few letters written backwards.

After replacing the papers back onto the table, Dawson settled into his own chair and began browsing the contents of the morning's paper. A few minutes later, Basil came into the room and hastily went straight to the suit of armor where his Inverness coat was draped over the arm.

"Morning," Dawson greeted him cheerfully.

"Um, morning," Basil replied as he shrugged on his coat. He gestured toward the door. "I'm uh…I'm heading out."

"You have a case then?"

"Ah, no, I'm just…going on a walk."

Dawson turned to look at Basil. Strange. He almost seemed nervous. "You want some company?" Dawson offered.

Basil attempted a smile, but it looked very strained. "No thanks, old boy," he replied as he fumbled with the button on his coat. "I uh… I just need some air. Be back soon."

"Oh. Alright." Dawson watched him concernedly as he headed toward the door. Hoping to cheer him up a bit, he added, "Oh um…Happy birthday, by the way."

But the gesture had the complete opposite effect on the mouse. Basil flinched visibly and froze in his tracks. He had expected Mrs. Judson to keep quiet about it, and she always had at his request, for which he was enormously thankful. But she must have told Dawson since he now lived here. Basil turned around and opened his mouth to speak, but his eyes fell on the open letters on the side table by his chair. He hastened across the room and began gathering them together.

"I didn't realize it was a habit of yours to examine other's private correspondence, Doctor," he said coldly without turning around.

Dawson grew alarmed, and a bit offended, at the sudden change in his friend. Finding it best to proceed with caution, he quietly replied, "I just saw the children's drawing because I picked it up when it blew off the table as I passed by. And I only read it because I thought the scribbles might be another cipher. Remember the case of the dancing mice? But I guess I shouldn't have-"

"No, you shouldn't have," Basil interrupted tersely as he stacked the papers together and hastily shoved them into his pocket. "Obviously, the phrase 'Curiosity killed the cat' has no meaning to you." He spun around to face Dawson, his emerald eyes flashing. "But since you must know; yes, it is my birthday. However, it is a day just like any other, and one that I do not wish to celebrate."

Dawson bristled angrily as Basil brushed past him toward the door. Though he wasn't one to lose his temper easily, Basil's behavior was certainly beginning to try his patience. "I don't suppose I'm allowed to ask why you wouldn't want to celebrate the day of your birth," he snapped.

Basil paused once more and spun around, his coat twirling around him as he turned to face the doctor. "Oh no, by all means, ask," Basil replied with a flourish, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He snatched his deerstalker cap from the suit of armor and placed it squarely on his head. Dawson gulped as Basil glared at him, his voice now dangerously low. "But forgive me if I refuse to provide an answer." With that, the detective stormed out angrily, slamming the door behind him.

Dawson exhaled slowly, now realizing he had been holding his breath. Though he hadn't known the detective long- less than a year- he had rarely seen Basil so angry, and never before towards him. Of course he had meant no harm, but he supposed it was rude to look through someone else's mail. But then again, the problem seemed to lie with him mentioning Basil's birthday. Though he was completely at a loss as to why he would get so upset about that. Dawson glanced up as a lady entered the room carrying a tray of tea.

"Dreadfully sorry for the commotion, Mrs. Judson," Dawson apologized as he returned to his chair with a weary sigh.

The landlady smiled sympathetically. "Oh, it's quite alright, Doctor," she replied as she poured them both a cup of tea. "In a way, it's my fault really. I should have warned you earlier about this."

Dawson looked at her quizzically. "Why on earth would Basil get so upset over his birthday? Surely it's not an issue of not wanting to grow older; he's still so young!"

"Oh no, it's not that," Mrs. Judson replied. "But honestly, I haven't the foggiest notion why he's so secretive about it. He's always been like this. Just a couple months after he got settled in here, his siblings came to visit, wishing him a happy birthday. But Mr. Basil's face paled, and looked almost as if he would collapse. Then, despite our pleas, he practically ran out the door. His brother, Byron, followed him, and later found him in the cemetery. But it was nearly dark before Mr. Basil finally came home. He was obviously very embarrassed and apologized for his behavior…but he then respectfully asked me to never speak of his birthday again."

Dawson's eyes grew wide listening to the story. "Whatever caused him to react in such a way?"

"I don't know," Mrs. Judson replied with a shrug. "But I've kept my word, and haven't mentioned it to him again. Though I do wish I had told you ahead of time so you would have been prepared."

"You've done nothing wrong, Mrs. Judson. It's my fault for upsetting him." Dawson rose and stepped across the room to the coat rack. "I'm going to go look for him; make sure he's alright. And apologize," he added guiltily.

Mrs. Judson smiled. "You're a good mouse, Doctor Dawson, and as far as I know, you're the closest friend that Mr. Basil has ever had. If he'll listen to anyone, it's you. Good luck."

Dawson returned the smile as he put on his coat. "You're too kind, Mrs. Judson. And thank you…I'll need all the luck I can get." The doctor then went out the door, beginning his search for his friend.

The doctor turned his collar up and shoved his hands deep into his pockets to better fight off the cold. He was alone, the streets deserted as mice and humans alike huddled inside their homes to escape the pouring rain. Thunder boomed in the distance, heralding the coming of a storm. Basil shouldn't be out in this weather, especially alone, Dawson thought worriedly. However, from what Mrs. Judson had said, he had a hunch as to where the detective might have fled.

Dawson looked up as he spotted a tall church steeple reaching upwards to the heavens through the fog. Keeping along the wall surrounding the church, he reached a small iron gate. The rusty door gave out a creak as he gently pushed it open and stepped inside.

This small mouse cemetery was located behind some bushes of the church's graveyard, hidden from the view of humans. As Dawson wound his way through the maze of gravestones, he came upon a small clearing with a large fountain standing in the middle. Dawson spotted a lone mouse sitting on one of the benches that lined the walkway surrounding the fountain. Sure enough, it was Basil. The detective sat hunched over, his shoulders drooping as he rested his elbows on his knees. Dawson noticed that he held two small yellow flowers in his hands, tied together with a white ribbon.

Leaves crunched under Dawson's feet as he approached, alerting Basil of his presence. He knew it was Dawson without even having to look up because he was familiar with the doctor's footsteps.

"Mind if I join you?" Dawson asked quietly.

Basil replied by indicating the seat next to him with a nod. Neither mouse spoke. For a while there was only the sound of raindrops hitting the leaves of the bushes providing them with a bit of shelter. After a few awkward moments of silence, Dawson began. "Basil, I-"

"No, Dawson," Basil interjected, fiddling with the bow on the flowers in his hand. "You have done absolutely nothing wrong. I, on the other hand, need to learn to better control my temper." Basil blushed slightly in embarrassment remembering how he had reacted back at Baker Street, letting his temper get the better of him. "I…I am truly, very sorry, Dawson."

The doctor reached out and gently put a hand on his friend's shoulder, touched at his confession. It wasn't every day that the Great Mouse Detective admitted to being wrong. "All is forgiven, chap," he said with a smile.

Basil responded with a small smile of his own. But Dawson could see an infinite sorrow in the detective's emerald eyes.

"Doctor," Basil said suddenly, "have you ever had a…" Basil seemed to struggle to find the right word, "a… an unpleasant…experience that you strove to erase from your memory… however, the harder you tried to forget, the more it seemed to burn itself into your mind?"

"Yes," Dawson replied with a nod, understanding what he meant. "Such as some of those awful moments in Afghanistan, where my comrades were dying around me…" The Doctor grew saddened at the thought. "Those are actually some of my most vivid memories from my time in the service."

Basil nodded in agreement. Despite the cold, he rolled up his right sleeve to reveal three long faded white scars on his arm; one of the many injuries he suffered at the hands of Professor Ratigan at the top of Big Ben nearly a year ago. "It's like a scar," he said quietly, rubbing his arm gently. "It fades with time, and occasionally, you may forget that it's even there. But then, when the pain returns, you're reminded of its presence all over again. You may use medicine to try to help it to heal, or you may cover it up to hide it. But it never completely goes away."

Watching Basil as he spoke, Dawson knew that he was no longer speaking of physical scars. Truth be told, he did not know much about Basil, though they had shared the same living quarters for some time now. Dawson had often compared the great detective to a machine that could solve the most difficult of problems. However, looking at his friend now, he could see Basil struggling to control the intense emotions threatening to rise to the surface.

The detective took a shaky breath, and hesitated. He had never breathed a word about this to another soul. The only ones who knew about it were those directly involved, mainly his siblings and a handful of the older officers from Scotland Yard. He did his best to keep his past a secret to protect those he loved; so much so that he even went by his first name rather than his surname in order to protect his family from any harm that might come from his enemies. But looking at Dawson, seeing the compassion in his eyes… it encouraged him to continue his story.

…...

Author's Notes: Resubmitting this because I decided to combine the first 2 chapters into one because they went together, plus I fixed spelling and grammar errors and change a few things. For example, the date of Basil's birth. I originally had it as January 6 for some reason... I think I read somewhere that that was the accepted date of Sherlock Holmes' birthday. But I've now changed it to June 13. Why? Well, since Eve Titus got Basil's name from Sherlock Holmes actor Basil Rathbone, I figured they could share the same birthday as well ^_^

Yes, I admit Basil is being a little bit of a jerk-wad here xD He's just very sensitive about this particular date, and you'll find out why soon.

*Fair warning: if you can't already tell, this wil be a very angsty depressing fic... I've only written a few sentences for chapter 3 and I'm almost in tears :(

Thanks for reading 3

Oh and I named Basil's niece and nephew "Arthur" and "Louis" in honor of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and his wife ^_^