A/N: One of these characters belongs to Arthur Conan Doyle. The two "unknowns" belong to Eve Titus.
Bookcase
"You must admit, you aren't going to win this," drawled a high-pitched voice.
"Do your worst." Another high-pitched voice spat back.
Watson crouched on the stair, listening to the voices in the near-darkness in amazement. He had left the sitting room hours ago for the comfort of his bed. Holmes had retired to bed after the fire had died sufficiently. For a few hours, Watson had slept soundly, but a faint clatter woke him. Listening intently, he heard voices downstairs.
Grabbing his revolver, he crept halfway down the stairs and paused, peering at the shadows in the darkness. What he thought he saw however, was enough to make him start to question his own sanity. Two tiny shadows moved on the dining table. Watson had placed a chessboard there earlier, attempting to draw Holmes from his cocaine haze with a game of chess. Watson had watched them for the better part of an hour, amazed
Another faint scraping sound and the first voice spoke again, smugly.
"Checkmate."
"Again?" said the second voice, sounding disappointed. "One of these days I am going to beat you."
Watson shifted slightly to get a better view, and his foot slipped, cracking his knee into the wall. The tiny figures whirled at the thump with identical squeaks and ran for safety through the hole in the bookcase.
A/N: If you deduce that two tiny figures with high-pitched voices, one having an overdeveloped sense of ego, means two mice, then congratulations Basil.
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