In another fan fiction (not sure if I'm suppose to name it, but I have no problem sharing in IM) its mentioned only 2x that a mouse named Basil existed (a reference to The Great Mouse Detective), so I decided to write about him only instead of him having been there when John was there, I've decided he moved in during the time the apartment was abandoned.
The day had been hard for Sherlock. Coming back from the dead was not an easy task, not that he expected it would be, but John's reaction to his resurrection was not favorable.
Even though he'd washed up, gotten a nice shave and the like at Mycrofts that afternoon, he felt the over whelming need for a soak in a hot bath and a meal.
He'd only had some chips while fighting with John earlier and, frankly, they weren't sitting all that well with him, but he was still hungry and craved something filling.
Of course, it had been a feat to calm Mrs. Hudson down. He'd gotten smacked with a pan and his ear drum was still vibrating, but once she had calmed down and he explained the situation, she was over joyed and immediately prepared him a nice plate of food. It was her left overs, obviously, but she thrust it in front of him, excited and crying and seemed to be petting him with her free hand.
It'd been nice to see that his flat was largely untouched and even all his clothes were still there, but it also drove home how much he'd hurt the people he loved; no one had had the bravery to pack his things away or sell them. It was a bit like a dusty museum…. but it was home. After two years, he was home.
As welcoming as his bed was after his long soak, though, he could do little but toss and turn and after several frustrating hours, he opted to have a cup of tea.
His eye shifted over the linoleum, observing and tracing its pattern with his eyes. He'd remembered it, actually. While he was away, he'd actually had dreams about this floor. He had missed the floor, the nooks, the crannies, the cracks, the bubbles and chips…. The whistle of the kettle tore him out of his daze.
Before he came back, he honestly believed that John would stay in 221B. He honestly hadn't expected to be living alone. Not that it was a problem. Of course it wasn't a problem, it would be silly for anyone to assume it was a problem for him. He'd lived alone before and he had traveled for two years breaking up Moriartys network and he really only had himself. Sure, there were the rare text messages he would send to Molly, no more than 76 throughout the entire one year and eleven months he was away from her and he'd been able to get a few letters back and forth…. four total, then there was the run in with The Woman. That had been interesting. Nothing had happened, but seeing a familiar face was nice.
Point being, he hadn't had a lot of social contact. Being a high functioning sociopath, though, he decided, it was probably for the best.
There was no way in this world he was, or would even admit if he happened to be, - lonely.
That was completely ridiculous. Sherlock Holmes was not lonely. He was absolutely not lonely and anyone that thought that would have to be a complete idiot.
He sat at the table with his tea and played with the spoon a bit, dreamily; completely unfocused, for maybe an entire minute before the sound of squeaking and desperate scratching drug him back into the moment.
In front of the sink and below the window, there was a loose brick, splashed with a bit of white. At one point, he had moved some of his cigarettes there when he had quit. The ruckus was coming from there. Slowly, he crept over and slid the brick out revealing a small brown mouse, who immediately jumped onto the counter, knocked over some seasoning and appeared to have a bit of a fit.
"Hello." Sherlock smiled at his new friend. "I'm Sherlock Holmes, and you are?" He watched the mouse right himself and shake off the stale seasoning as he rolled the bottle off the counter and into his hand. "Basil…." He read. "Is the name Basil agreeable to you?" The mouse appeared to acknowledge him at that point and was, surprisingly, not afraid of the human in front of him. "Well, I don't have much, but on my way home I got some biscuits. No, I don't know why, but would you like to join me for tea?" Basil brushed off the remaining of his name sake and stepped towards Sherlock who allowed him to walk into his hand. With the other, he gathered the biscuits from a cupboard and placed them on the table. Once everything was together, he poured some tea into a saucer for his new pal and broke off a bit of biscuit for him.
"So, well…. its nice to meet you…. have you been on a long holiday,too?" The detective observed how fast the mouse was eating and drinking up the tea. "Here, have a bit more."
With a sigh, Sherlock began talking. Talking a surprising amount, actually. He told the little brown mouse his entire life story and simply couldn't stop himself. By three in the morning, he was stifling himself because he found himself giggling while sharing stories about his friends. "They're all good people, Basil. You'll definitely get to meet Molly and …. George? Well, Lestrade. John, I'm not sure of at this point…. Mary did say she'd talk to him, but I'm not sure what will come of that." He paused for a long, deep breath. "Listen, Basil, I'm fairly certain my brother will be around early tomorrow morning, so I should give sleeping another go, but you're welcome to come back around for tea tomorrow. Not sure what I'll be doing, but you can pop in."
Basil did. Frankly, Sherlock was relieved he showed up. The pleasant brown rodent hopped onto the counter as Sherlock was coming in for tea after his soak and before bed.
"Basil! Let me put the kettle on!" He brought the mouse over to his table. "I've had a day, Basil, really. I pulled John out of a bonfire." Sherlock widen his eyes and tightened his smile."Don't make jokes like that, Basil. 'Jon-fire', very much in bad taste." He turned to answer the kettle. "Although, seeing as he's alright now, that is a bit funny, but not too funny." Just as last night, he poured some tea onto a saucer with a bit of broken up biscuit and recounted his day. He told him about putting Mycroft in his place and spending the day with Molly. "I think, well… I may have made a bit of a fool of myself. I called her John. Only once though and to be fair, it had been weighing on my mind." Basil had paused and stretched his body up, looking to Sherlock and squeaking a response. "Well, she's engaged and caring is not an advantage anyway, so it doesn't really matter. What matters is that she's happy." Another squeak from his furry company. "No." He breathed a long heavy sigh. "But, thats who she's chosen and I'm going to respect it because thats what friends do. Moving on though, speaking of choices, John has made a fine one. Mary Morstan is quite clever and brave…. Saw the skip code...She was right there next to me, even pulled at the bonfire with me, tried to help me pull him out." He shook his head. "Johns smart, choosing her…. I mean, I like her. She obviously cares very deeply for him. And, ya know, I think she actually likes me." He chortled. "Not many other humans seem to enjoy my company. They find me a bit rude… cold, abrasive,… even cruel… It helps, though, to not have a lot of friends. Could you imagine having to keep up with and care about the nonsense happening in dozens of ordinary peoples menial lives. I mean, really. Four friends is enough. Well, maybe Five…. or three…." He looked a bit sad as he met Basils eyes again. "We will see, though, I'm certain things will work out as they should. I mean, I tried… thats all I can do, right?" The mouse looked just as confused as Sherlock sounded. "I know, sometimes people are strange. This is what happens when you care, though. Mycroft warned me for years. 'Caring is not an advantage.' Sentiment is a waste of time and energy." Sherlock tilted his head, much like a dog confronted with an unfamiliar noise or word. "Do you think I'm an idiot?" There was a squeak and messy biscuit chomping in response. "You're right. I'm not stupid. I'm a genius. Why would I ever think otherwise?"