The lights glimmered throughout the foyer of the Mousetoria Theatre as the chandeliers sparkled like the diamond earrings they had once been. Men and women milled in the usual frenzy of evening excitement in black coats and swirling skirts, and standing stiff-backed in the thick of it all was a perturbed Basil of Baker Street.

It had been Dawson's idea to attend the opening of "The Detective of Baker Street", but then, he didn't find it nearly as tiresome to glad-hand society mice and indulge such a glut of small talk as comes with being recognized as the inspiration for the evening's entertainment.

"I say, old chap," Basil muttered to his associate in a rare moment's peace "what an absolutely tedious production."

Dr. David Q. Dawson sniffed, straightening his waistcoat. "Really, Basil, is it as bad as all that?"

"Excuse me, Madam" Basil caught the attention of an approaching woman, who looked at him curiously "how do you find the play thus far? Your honest opinion, please, if you will."

The woman looked taken aback for a moment, then answered "Honestly? I find it quite a delightful diversion - especially if your taste in entertainment is watching actors fumble wooden lines."

Dawson's mouth gaped, but Basil stifled a self-satisfied smirk.

"Precisely, Madam." He agreed.

"Besides, I must say their portrayal of the detective is terribly skewed." The woman continued carelessly.

"I found it quite accurate." The real detective of Baker Street replied, a prickle of defensiveness in his voice.

"Really?" The woman raised her eyebrows. "I am certain he was not always such a gentleman. Why, I have it on very good authority that as a child he quite terrorized his poor nurse and was never fit to be seen by society mice for the dirt and sap on his breeches."

"My dear lady-" Dawson began, aghast.

"How could you possibly know that?" Basil's features darkened suspiciously.

"Really, Mr. StJohn," She smiled mockingly up at him "Have I changed so much that you wouldn't recognize me?"

The detective looked down at her. The trim, powder-grey mouse with the sweet smile and laughing eyes cut a fashionable silhouette in her burgundy evening gown. A gold comb pushed her curls forward, holding them in place and gleaming in the foyer lights.

"Not at all," He said at last, smiling in recognition with the same kind eyes that looked back at him, "Millie."

"You are and always have been the only person who calls me that." She grinned. "I do hope you'll continue, Mr. StJohn."

"To you, Millie, I will always be Basil." he assured, clapping a hand to Dawson's shoulder. "May I introduce Dr. David Q. Dawson, my trusted associate. Dawson, miss Wilhelmina Pole. It is still Miss Pole?"

He asked the question more out of formality than curiosity.

"It is." She nodded "But as observant as you are, I suspect you already knew that.""

Basil sighed modestly "No ring on your left hand." He admitted.

"Absolutely charming to meet you, I''m sure." The doctor nodded politely at the woman.

"Likewise, Dr. Dawson." Millie replied.

"We grew up together." Basil explained.

"Wilhelmina, dear," a tall, gaunt mouse with pale brown hair and an over-waxed mustache touched Millie's elbow, gently demanding her attention. "There you are. We should take our seats, the show is about to resume."

"Yes, of course." She nodded stiffly. "But first, this is Basil StJohn, the real Detective of Baker Street."

"Really?" The gaunt mouse bared his teeth in an unsettlingly disingenuous smile and shook Basil's hand firmly. "I say, ripping good show tonight. You are quite the hero, aren't you?"

"This is Bartholomew Aldermouse." Millie sounded embarrassed, and slightly put out by the man's presence. "My... accompaniment for the evening."

"A pleasure." He said in a voice as oiled as his mustache. "Would love to stay and chat, but we really must get to our seats."

"Yes, of course." Basil nodded, looking to the woman intently. "Do come by and visit. 221 1/2 Baker Street."

"I will," Millie smiled, slowing the pace as Bartholomew Aldermouse led her away. "I look forward to it."

The foyer began to empty as mice returned into the theatre for the second half of the show. Basil and Dawson waited, watching the thinning crowd.

"Fancy that." Dawson mused.

"Yes." Basil agreed quietly.

"If you find the production that bad," Dawson offered "we needn't stay."

"Come, come, Dawson." The detective flashed his comrade a dashing smile. "Things are just starting to get interesting."