All Credit belongs to who it is due! Comments are good. Basil is more from the books, while Holmes is from both movie and books.

Basil

I do believe that a higher power was involved for the number of people that suggested Holmes to me. I had wanted to find what really happened to Dorian's portrait, so I had asked various people for advice. Almost all advised me to Mr. Holmes, praising him for his near perfect record on solving cases of all kinds, so I made up my mind and journeyed to Baker Street. That day had been sunny, but cheerless somehow; almost as if the sun was not shining as brightly. I had gotten lost, to the point where I had to ask direction, but eventually, I found the house by a plaque mounted on the bricks of the house, declaring it to be the estate of Dr. J. Watson and Mr. S. Holmes. The amount of people that stopped and muttered something or other about the inhabitans also assured me that I had found the correct address. I knocked on the door of 221 Baker Street, and it was opened by a middle-aged woman, presumably the land-lady.

'I am here for Mr. Holmes.' I informed her.

She gave me a queer look, but let me enter. 'About a case, I hope?' She said it like a question, but it sounded more like a statement. I nodded, and she showed me to the second floor.

'I'd watch myself, if I were you.' She muttered as she bustled up the stairs. I counted as I climbed. There were seventeen steps. 'He's in a bit of a rut: I dare not think of the mood he's in currently.'

I was at a loss for words. No one had mentioned the possibility of Holmes being mad.

She knock on the door. 'Mr. Holmes? There a-' she turned and looked at me.

'Basil Hallward.' I supplied.

'There's a Basil Hallward here inquiring about a case.'

There was a muffled reply. She nodded, shooing me in. She had fled downstairs before I had even opened the door.

I entered cautiously, not knowing what to expect. I would have gasped when I saw what exactly the room contained, but I could only cough. The whole room was a haze of smoke. It reminded me of Dorian's parties after all the well-to-do guests had left; the opium think in the air and booze flowing faster than water.

'You have a case for me?' A low voice came from out of the fog. I peered in as deeply as I could, but all I could manage to make out was a shadow, large and shapeless, beside what seemed to be a window. I moved closer.

'Yes, I do.'

'Well? What are you waiting for?'

'Pardon?' I asked nervously. Who was this strange man? Surly it couldn't be Sherlock Holmes, the great detective! Where was the mastermind who never slept until a case was solved? The brilliant man who's knowledge of everything let him catch every criminal?

'I need the facts! What are the fact?' His voice had risen, but it was still barely more than a whisper.

'My name is Basil Hallward-' I started.

'Yes yes, I know. What else?'

'I am looking for a painting. I painted a portrait for a friend, and he claims that it 'has to be protected'. I have not seen it in years, and I would like to know if he still has it.'

'Those are the basics.' the voice growled. 'I need facts!'

I cleared me throat. 'Ah, well, I painted the portrait coming up on twenty years, I do believe. The friend I gave it to was a man named Dorian Gray, you may have heard of him-'

'Who hasn't?' I heard from the shadows.

'He is Lord Kelso's grandson. His parents-'

'I am not writing a biography of the boy, therefore, do not tell me his history. What of the painting? When did you notice its absence? Was there any changes in his demeanour, any person he clashed with about the same time?'

'No.' I thought about it. 'Well, actually-'

'Sit down man, but mind the paint on your sleeves. Indian Blue is nearly impossible to wash off. '

I looked at my sleeves; they were covered in small swipes of blue paint. I looked at the hazy shape. 'That is remarkable.'

'Pray, continue.'

'Yes, well,' I continued, 'Right around the time my piece disappeared, Dorian had a falling out with his bride to be. Her name was Sybil Vane.'

'And how did she die?'

'Poison. Harry and I-'

'Harry?'

'Lord Henry Wotton.'

'Watson?' He called.

There was a sigh. 'Yes Holmes?'

'Would you be kind enough to fetch me the file on Lord Henry?'

'Why can't you do it Holmes?' the second man asked as he came out with a file.

'Can't you see Doctor? I have a previous engagement.'

The doctor sighed again and went back into the other room. The haze seemed to be thinning.

'Hm- yes- Lady Victoria. Hm hm- one child- hm. Ah yes. He is the one who not only frequents the opera, but also the lower class clubs and gin- houses.'

'Yes,' I muttered , 'That is Harry.'

'Continue.'

'Harry and I had gone to the theatre where Sybil played, but that night, she performed horrifically. Dorian assured us she was much better then that and must have fallen ill. I know he went down to speak with her afterwards, they spoke, but I have no knowledge as to the details. The next morning, Sybil was found dead in her chambers.'

'Hm. Interesting.' A long, sparse form lept from the shadow and statted to pace. 'So it was after that unfortunate incident that Dorian hid his portrait?'

'Yes, I believe so, and Dorian had not been his usual self ever since Sybil's death. Something changed in the boy. I fear it was Harry's advice afterall.'

'I will see to this case. Call on me Friday, and I will have-'

'Friday?' I interrupted, confused. 'Today is Friday.'

'What?' The pacing stopped. 'Watson; is this true?'

'Yes Holmes.' The doctor called back. 'You haven't moved from that chair in three days.'

'Now Watson, I thought I gave you specific intructions to-'

'I did Holmes.' Watson replied forcefully. 'But you said it was for an experiment.'

'That would be it.' Holmes murmured. The pacing started up again. 'Monday then. I will have something for you by Monday.'

'And your payment?' I asked nervously. I hopped it wouldn't be too steep. I blinked. The smoke was almost dissipated to the point where I could see Holmes. Watson must have opened a window in the other room.

'Pish posh man. When you get the money from the paintings you are waiting to dry, you may pay me. I have no need for money currently. Though, I could not paint the same night sky over and over; the boredom would drive me to madness. '

'The copies?' I cried, 'How did you know?'

'There are repeating patterns of blue, in different shades, apon your sleeves at different intervals. That tells me that you are painting the same thing over and over. You recently displayed an exhibit featuring London during the night, hence the blues. You also have a new jacket on, but your shoes and waistcoat are both worn and your birthday is nowhere in sight. Therefore, I deduced that you expect to come into money soon enough; a man does not buy a new jacket without getting a new waistcoat or shoes.'

'But how did you know I was waiting for them to dry?'

'You have come in the middle of the day; you had just finished painting and now only had to wait for the paint to dry before you could deliver them to the proprietor. If you hadn't finished, you would have come later; a painter does not leave his painting half finishes in fear he would lose his inspiration.'

I was left speechless. His powers were simply amazing. 'Well, Mr. Holmes, if you can see all of that through my jacket, I am confident you will find my painting.' I stood and went to the door. The smoke had cleared efficiently for me to see the room; and the man in it. The floor of the chambers were carpeted in clothes and jackets. There were shoes in the fireplace, and a box of files balanced on top of the clock. A set of test tubes were nesting in the firewood and the still- life on the table had a pipe sticking out of it.

That was the least intestine part, for now I could see Sherlock Holmes. I had never seen the man myself, but his appearance was the opposite to what I had expected. I had thought a man who burrows himself in solving crimes would be hideously ugly, or perhaps disfigured; for why else would one purposely involve themselves in crime? Mr. Holmes was nothing of the sort; he was tall and thin, with a regal face and bird- like nose, while his eyes were bright and calculative. His hairline was receding somewhat, but still held all of its black pigment. His fingers were long and spider-like, as were his toes; he wasn't wearing shoes. He reminded me on an eagle, and I could imagine him swooping down on criminals like a bird of pray. I even gave a small gasp as I took him in. His figure and face was such that I instinctively wanted to paint him, like I had Dorian.

'Mr. Hallward?'

I shook myself out of artist's headspace. 'Yes?'

'One last thing before you go.' He came closer to me. 'Does Mr. Gray know you are seeking help to find this painting?'

The question took me by surprise. 'I do no believe so, Mr. Holmes. I have asked for it many times, but he wouldn't think I had the tenacity to go ask you for your help.'

Holmes opened the door. 'Very good then Sir. Monday?'

'Monday.' I agreed, and walked swiftly out, the door clacking behind me.

'You're alright, then?' The landlady called.

'I followed her voice to a kitchen. 'Yes, thank you. He was rather... Placid.'

'Mr. Holmes does have his moods. A cup of tea before you go Mr. Hallward?'

'No, thank you. I have paintings waiting for me.' I winced even as I said that. Though his deductions were very simple once explained, it unearned me that he could tell so much by a few paint smears on the sleeve of my jacket. What could he have learned from the rest of my clothing?

Holmes

'Well, Watson, that Mr. Hallward had quite a tale, I must say.'

Watson come from he room, and sat down with a file in his chair.

'Indeed!' Watson muttered. 'But I noticed you didn't have a file on him. The only mention I could get was from Mr. Gray's file.'

'But of course, Mr. Hallward was the painter of the picture, he should be mentioned.'

'But that's not all he's mentioned in. Apparently, the man could have made a small fortune off of the sketches and drawings of Mr. Gray, but Hallward kept every single piece. Seems odd, doesn't it?'

'Yes...' I muttered. 'Perhaps there is more to this case then meets the eye.' I sat back down, but did not relight my pipe. 'I do not think I will be going out tonight Watson. I need to think.'

'Then how about diner with me?' The doctor asked.

I nodded. 'As long as it is somewhere Mr. Gray frequents.'

'Perfect!' He cried. 'I can get us reservations at The Marrion for seven thirty. It is mentions along side Gray's name in the file.'

'That would lovely. As for now, I would like a cup of tea and a quiet book.'

'Mary will there.' Watson said as he got up.

I stood as well. I felt my arms and legs protest as I thought of sitting in that chair any longer. 'A walk. I must go for a walk. How long was I in this chair for, did you say?'

'Three days. Holmes, did you hear what I said?'

'Yes; Mary will be there. What is the address on the file for Mr. Gray?'

Watson picked it up. 'Here, you read it.' He tossed me the file, and I pocketed it.

'Very well. I shall try and return before seven, but if I am not back, go to The Marrion without me; I will meet you there.'

I left before Watson could protest.

He most likely thought this walk was to get out of diner with Mary. I had nothing against the girl of course, but she did bore me. After I had solved her case, all the interesting qualities disappeared from her. I knew Watson didn't think so, though I could only take small doses of the girl's company. I wandered through the streets, a plan formulating in my head as I walked. The plan would involve lots of preparation, but when are my plans simple? I picked up a few items on the way; a small sack of barley, some cheese and three rats. I made my way to Mr. Gray's house and by the time I got to the correct address, it had begun to rain and was foggy. It certainly helped my cause for now, but the return to 221 wouldn't be pleasant.

I slipped between the house of Gray and his neighbor, making sure there was a window. I slid the window open and pushed the rats inside. I placed the barley in my shoes and the cheese in my pocket. I disguised myself using a splash of mud and the rain, hoping the fog would do the rest; it was vital the servants did not recognize me. I rung the bell and waited. A balding, stif man answered.

'Can I help you Sir?' He asked in a dry tone.

'Yes, you most positively can! But, the question that is more important is if I can help you! And, Sir, I can.'

'What is it that you want?' He interrupted sourly.

'You have rats Sir. I am here to get them out.'

'We do not have rats. Please leave.' He insisted.

'No no! ' I stopped him from pushing me off the steps, 'You can hear them! Listen!'

The butler stopped. Over the rain, a slight squeaking could be heard. I smiles. 'See? I'll get those buggers out for you, real quick and easy.'

The butler sniffed. 'How much?'

'This one's on the house mate! Just tell your friends about me!'

The butler stood aside, and I enter. The entrance was grand to be sure, but I didn't bother taking in any detail. I had one job to do right now, and it wasn't getting a look at the inside of the house. I found two rats near the window, and scooped them up. 'Found 'em!' I called and the butler came rushing in. 'Some stupid bloke left the window open, they musta come in from the rain.'

'Thank you, I will tell my friends, but now, would you kindly leave!' The butler growled.

'I'm going, I'm going.' I muttered, and left, grumbling the whole way. But as soon as the door shut, I smiled. Mr. Gray was going to have a rodent problem soon. The barley and cheese were no longer on my person, but two of the rats were. I put them near a crack in the panelling of Mr. Gray's house and went on my way. At the post office, I sent a telegram to every mover and frame maker in the near by area, and one to the Baker Street Irregulars. My work done, I return to 221. Watson had left, I had just missed him, but I donned a proper jacket and hailed a cab to the restaurant. The restaurant was nearly filled; how Watson had gotten a reservation, I'll never know. When I arrived at the table, the wine had been poured, but the food hadn't arrived.

'Holmes!' Watson smiled as I took my seats. 'Mary and I were beginning to take bets on how much longer you'd be.'

Mary smiled. 'Don't believe him Mr. Holmes. We've only been here for a few moments ourselves. But where ever were you?' She cried suddenly, 'You are all wet and you have mud on your face!'

I used a spoon to catch my reflection and wiped it off while I spoke. 'I was on a case, but I suppose a bit of dirt must have rubbed off on me while I was-' I stopped when I caught Watson's glance. 'Walking.' I finished.

'A case? How exciting!' Mary proclaimed. 'Were you catching the murder or the jewel thief tonight Mr. Holmes?'

I was about to answer here when a commotion by a table caught my eye. One of the men involved looked familiar. 'Excuse me.' I murmured and went over. I hid behind the large potted potentilla, and bend down like I was fixing my boots.

'Who are you to come in here? Audrey has not spoken in months and Harold refuses to see her!' A bodacious woman was yelling at a seated younger man. He looked young to be a boy even. There was no husband in sight, and the other patrons were beginning to notice.

'Oh calm down,' a second man stood, older than the first, and grasped her elbow. 'Harold was a poor excuse for a father, and I think you'll find that Audrey does speak, only not to you.'

The woman huffed and shook the man's hand off. 'Well, I never!'

'Sit down Lady Calforth. You are drawing attention to yourself.' the second man insisted quietly. 'I shan't think Harold would be pleased to find you here.'

The lady took a step away. 'The only reason he wouldn't be please,' She sniffed, 'Is because you're here.'

She bustled off, head high. The older man sat down with a sigh. 'That is the problem with married women now days, Dorian; they don't know when or how to make an argument. If they did, I'd think about spending time with my wife again. Don't marry Dorian. If you do, you will be doomed for a life with petty arguments and boring conversations.'

The boy laughed. 'With all the advice you give me Harry, it's a wonder I do anything at all.'

'But where would you be with out me?' Harry asked. 'No doubt still with Basil, being painted.'

'And wouldn't that be the life?' Dorian replies. They both laughed.

'Where is that portrait anyway?' Harry asked. 'Basil has been pining for it, but I wouldn't mind seeing it myself again, to compare it to you know.'

'It's locked away.' Dorian had suddenly bored and sullen. He toied with his glass. 'I never liked it anyway, but didn't want to hurt Basil's feeling. I loath looking at it.'

Lord Henry got the message. 'Have you something planed for your birthday this year? Your last party was spoken about for ages.'

Gray brightened. 'Yes, I believe I do. This year, I was thinking a masquerade ball.'

'Splendid!' Henry laughed 'that way I won't have to look at the ladies' faces.'

Buisness concluded, I stood and walked back to my table.

'What are you grinning about Holmes?' Watson demanded cheerfully. 'Come one man! Out with it.'

'I have a lead.' I muttered under my breath. 'I shall be attending a masquerade ball, whether Gray wants me to or not.'