{/Disney pretty much forwent recovery time for one very beaten up Basil when they did the movie, but if you look at the date on the paper on the mantle, it was July 21, 1897. The actual Diamond Jubilee held by Queen Victoria (and, in this case, Queen Moustoria) was on June 26, 1897. It's safe to assume Basil may have spent some time in the hospital.
So, this is some introspect of his during his stay. Blah.
Short one-shot. This is what I do when I'm on winter break... got nothing better to do than write about things, so I churn stories out pretty quickly. o_O
Basil, Dawson, and Ratigan are c/o Eve Titus and Disney. Olivia Flaversham is c/o Disney. Inspired by the books by Eve Titus (the "Basil of Baker Street" mysteries) and Disney's "The Great Mouse Detective". Based on the events in Disney's "The Great Mouse Detective"./}
~=~In Retrospect~=~
I could just barely hear the murmur of voices over the din of the ringing in my ears. I felt as if I had died a hundred deaths, only to return to die once more. Slowly, I lifted my hand to rest it against my forehead, made aware most suddenly of a searing pain that throbbed throughout my entire being. The events that had led me here suddenly returned to me in a flash of images...
Running through the gears of Big Ben, Ratigan in hot pursuit, holding in my hand the hand of the little girl I had chased him to rescue. Barely succeeding to get her to her father's grasp of safety as I myself was tackled from the tower, plummeting down before both I and my adversary landed sorely upon the hour hand of the massive clock.
I recalled claws ripping across my chest, arms, shoulders, and back. Staggering blows that made me feel as if I would not survive another. Ratigan looming over me as I clung for dear life with all of my strength to the edge of that clock hand, only to have his claws tear into my beaten shoulders again. I fell, but did catch that accursed dirigible...
Oh, I won. I nearly died when the clock struck and he fell, tearing me from my safe perch to fall with him. But I won... by peddling with all my might to cause the propellor to carry me upwards. As soon as my feet touched the matchbox on our makeshift dirigible, the last thing I recalled was a startled cry from Dawson as I fainted from my wounds and, most of all, exhaustion.
My eyes fell upon the faces surrounding me as I allowed myself to face the waking world once more. It was Dr. Dawson I noticed first, and I forced a jovial smile. "I say, old man," I began, my voice a harsh whisper of what I had expected it to be, "why so solemn? I'm very much alive."
"Mr. Basil!" That voice belonged to that little girl. Little Olivia... Flaversham, was it? Or was it Flamchester? Ah well... Her small hands clutched the edge of the bed as she stood on tip-toe to look at me, hope written in every feature on her round little face. "Mr. Basil, you're all right!"
I couldn't help but smile at the glee in her tiny voice, and wearily I reached over to pat her atop the head. "Of course! A fiend like Ratigan couldn't do me in."
Ratigan. I cocked my head a bit. Surely he must have died in the fall. I had spent many a restless night, many long-stressed months, pursuing him and his lackeys through dank alleys and seamy pubs. Was it all over now? Closing my eyes, I almost found myself regretting my actions.
I had spent so much of my life moving steadily ahead with a single-minded determination to capture that villain that had put those around me in danger. It was over now. A chill ran through my bones. Now what was there for me? The great mouse detective?
...I had to move on, that's what. As mousedom's one true defense against those that would oppose the law. My attention fell on Dawson again as the child to my side chattered on about how she got to meet the queen, and how nice a lady she was. It was rude of me, but my mind blocked out the words almost out of instinct. I had not had a close friend since university, and even then, they were shaky companionships at best... and here was the very chap who had done everything in his power to help me succeed. If it had not been for him, I would have been crushed and worse in that wretched trap of Ratigan's.
I felt too weak to speak again, so I just smiled and nodded or shook my head to questions and comments thrown to me. But the one I did not reply to was from Dawson. Would I be all right?
I truthfully did not know the answer. After all, no matter how many times I told myself that I could move on and continue my business as usual, I could not bring myself to truly believe that was it for a waking nightmare I had lived for almost three years, possibly four. I heard the question repeated and I started slightly. Had I blacked out? Giving a weak, but so forced, smile, I nodded. "I'll be fine." My voice was still so harsh and soft... it was unnerving. "Don't worry about me."
What I needed was a break. A rest. Of course, laying in that hospital bed, I was certainly looking foreward to that. I had only just noticed the shivers that spiralled through my form, and the aching of my throat and inside my chest... no doubt I had caught ill from being torn apart so in the chilly rain. What I wanted... what I wanted? For the first time in a while, I found myself wanting something that was not a case or a lead.
For the first time, I found myself wanting the companionship I had kept the past few days. Someone to talk to when cases were few, and to work on cases with. Dr. David Q. Dawson, of course, would have been my first choice immediately, but I will admit that I am a sorrowfully stubborn mouse, and will not speak my mind unless angered or frustrated. And just then... I was neither. I was simply tired. So I closed my eyes, shuddering again from top to tail. I felt a hand on my forehead before Dawson stated rather bluntly that he was going to get one of the doctors on duty, for I apparently had developed what felt like a high fever.
I fell asleep then... and it was a welcome sleep, for it was dreamless. I did not see that horrible monster looming over me, nor did I feel his claws tearing into me and tossing me about like a child's rag doll. I saw sweet, blissful nothing... and that was quite the relief.
*****
When my eyes fell open again, I do not know what time it was or how long I had slept. The little girl and her father were not there, but Dawson was, speaking quietly with the doctor. I felt relieved to see him there... to wake up to an empty room was what I dreaded most at that moment. The doctor glanced to me, smiled, then made his way out. Dawson turned. "Oh, Basil... it is good to see you awake. We were worried that you were not going to come out of that. Olivia and her father are staying in a nearby inn until you recover."
"Come out of that?" I asked, barely suppressing a cough. "Whyever would you think I wouldn't?"
Dawson just shook his head, taking a seat in the chair at the bedside. "You had pneumonia, Basil. It's a wonder you didn't die. I did not know if you had any family to contact, or I would have before now."
Stretching slightly, uncomfortable in the hospital bed and stiff from however many days sleep, I spoke again, finding some of my strength had returned to me. "It is best they don't know about this. They would be in danger if they came here, and I would prefer to keep that from happening." Then, my brow went up. "...How long HAVE I been asleep, doctor?"
"A week and a half."
Startled, I stared at him, opening my mouth to say something. After a moment, I found my voice again. "That long? Great Heaven, I've been lazy, haven't I?"
That drew a chuckle out of Dawson and I smiled. "It wasn't your fault at all, Basil," said he. "But you realize you are a national hero right now. The papers are speaking of what you've done from here to Sussex. The queen wishes to thank you publicly, and personally."
"And you as well, if I can tell anything from the tone of your voice." I grinned when he started. "No need to be modest, old boy. After all, had it not been for you, I never would have succeeded in the first place. You helped as much as I to defeat Ratigan."
Suddenly, that fear returned to me. I couldn't hide my expression, and my ears pinned back slightly, so I knew that Dawson had to notice, and he had. "Whatever is the matter?"
"Dawson, for the past three years... almost four now, if I recall proper... I have pursued Ratigan and his gang. Now that he is dead... what do I do?"
The good doctor observed me with a raised brow, then chuckled and patted my shoulder. "My dear boy, you do what I have told less mice than you that I have been in the service with to do. You go on. The people respect you, and that is your greatest achievement. You now have their eyes... you must show them that all the stories of your courage and intelligence are true."
"Oh, wonderful," I joked playfully. "Now a hero and a legend. They'll be calling me greater than Sherlock Holmes for sure, and I simply cannot have that!"
Both of us laughed at that, until a coughing fit saw me curled up on the bed. Dawson called a nurse to bring hot tea and honey... something to soothe my throat. "Your fever has gone down significantly, and I believe you should be well enough to leave within two days. That is, if the doctor here should agree with me."
I nodded slightly, shifting back and adjusting my pillows so that I may sit up. He was right, of course. As I had told myself before, I had to simply move on... there was nothing more to say on the matter. My gaze fell on the small brass bell on the bedside table, and I lifted it to examine the fine make and the worn interior. "My goodness," I chuckled, almost sorry for the fellows that had been doomed by the thing, "he must have had quite the temper against his own men. This bell has been used so many times that I fear it may have broken if he rang it again! That cat certainly looked as if she had dined upon one too many henchmen, wouldn't you agree?"
Dawson nodded in reply, and with a wicked smile I gave the bell one light ring. The tone made my ears twitch, and I started to laugh, ignoring the urge to cough. The hand that had rung this bell so many times before was with its owner at the bottom of the Thames River. My pensiveness disappeared, and I found a bit of my old self returning.
For I was, after all, the Sherlock Holmes of the mouse world... Basil of Baker Street. It was in my blood to solve cases Scotland Yard and other private investigators could not.
How could I do anything else?
~=~End~=~
So, this is some introspect of his during his stay. Blah.
Short one-shot. This is what I do when I'm on winter break... got nothing better to do than write about things, so I churn stories out pretty quickly. o_O
Basil, Dawson, and Ratigan are c/o Eve Titus and Disney. Olivia Flaversham is c/o Disney. Inspired by the books by Eve Titus (the "Basil of Baker Street" mysteries) and Disney's "The Great Mouse Detective". Based on the events in Disney's "The Great Mouse Detective"./}
~=~In Retrospect~=~
I could just barely hear the murmur of voices over the din of the ringing in my ears. I felt as if I had died a hundred deaths, only to return to die once more. Slowly, I lifted my hand to rest it against my forehead, made aware most suddenly of a searing pain that throbbed throughout my entire being. The events that had led me here suddenly returned to me in a flash of images...
Running through the gears of Big Ben, Ratigan in hot pursuit, holding in my hand the hand of the little girl I had chased him to rescue. Barely succeeding to get her to her father's grasp of safety as I myself was tackled from the tower, plummeting down before both I and my adversary landed sorely upon the hour hand of the massive clock.
I recalled claws ripping across my chest, arms, shoulders, and back. Staggering blows that made me feel as if I would not survive another. Ratigan looming over me as I clung for dear life with all of my strength to the edge of that clock hand, only to have his claws tear into my beaten shoulders again. I fell, but did catch that accursed dirigible...
Oh, I won. I nearly died when the clock struck and he fell, tearing me from my safe perch to fall with him. But I won... by peddling with all my might to cause the propellor to carry me upwards. As soon as my feet touched the matchbox on our makeshift dirigible, the last thing I recalled was a startled cry from Dawson as I fainted from my wounds and, most of all, exhaustion.
My eyes fell upon the faces surrounding me as I allowed myself to face the waking world once more. It was Dr. Dawson I noticed first, and I forced a jovial smile. "I say, old man," I began, my voice a harsh whisper of what I had expected it to be, "why so solemn? I'm very much alive."
"Mr. Basil!" That voice belonged to that little girl. Little Olivia... Flaversham, was it? Or was it Flamchester? Ah well... Her small hands clutched the edge of the bed as she stood on tip-toe to look at me, hope written in every feature on her round little face. "Mr. Basil, you're all right!"
I couldn't help but smile at the glee in her tiny voice, and wearily I reached over to pat her atop the head. "Of course! A fiend like Ratigan couldn't do me in."
Ratigan. I cocked my head a bit. Surely he must have died in the fall. I had spent many a restless night, many long-stressed months, pursuing him and his lackeys through dank alleys and seamy pubs. Was it all over now? Closing my eyes, I almost found myself regretting my actions.
I had spent so much of my life moving steadily ahead with a single-minded determination to capture that villain that had put those around me in danger. It was over now. A chill ran through my bones. Now what was there for me? The great mouse detective?
...I had to move on, that's what. As mousedom's one true defense against those that would oppose the law. My attention fell on Dawson again as the child to my side chattered on about how she got to meet the queen, and how nice a lady she was. It was rude of me, but my mind blocked out the words almost out of instinct. I had not had a close friend since university, and even then, they were shaky companionships at best... and here was the very chap who had done everything in his power to help me succeed. If it had not been for him, I would have been crushed and worse in that wretched trap of Ratigan's.
I felt too weak to speak again, so I just smiled and nodded or shook my head to questions and comments thrown to me. But the one I did not reply to was from Dawson. Would I be all right?
I truthfully did not know the answer. After all, no matter how many times I told myself that I could move on and continue my business as usual, I could not bring myself to truly believe that was it for a waking nightmare I had lived for almost three years, possibly four. I heard the question repeated and I started slightly. Had I blacked out? Giving a weak, but so forced, smile, I nodded. "I'll be fine." My voice was still so harsh and soft... it was unnerving. "Don't worry about me."
What I needed was a break. A rest. Of course, laying in that hospital bed, I was certainly looking foreward to that. I had only just noticed the shivers that spiralled through my form, and the aching of my throat and inside my chest... no doubt I had caught ill from being torn apart so in the chilly rain. What I wanted... what I wanted? For the first time in a while, I found myself wanting something that was not a case or a lead.
For the first time, I found myself wanting the companionship I had kept the past few days. Someone to talk to when cases were few, and to work on cases with. Dr. David Q. Dawson, of course, would have been my first choice immediately, but I will admit that I am a sorrowfully stubborn mouse, and will not speak my mind unless angered or frustrated. And just then... I was neither. I was simply tired. So I closed my eyes, shuddering again from top to tail. I felt a hand on my forehead before Dawson stated rather bluntly that he was going to get one of the doctors on duty, for I apparently had developed what felt like a high fever.
I fell asleep then... and it was a welcome sleep, for it was dreamless. I did not see that horrible monster looming over me, nor did I feel his claws tearing into me and tossing me about like a child's rag doll. I saw sweet, blissful nothing... and that was quite the relief.
*****
When my eyes fell open again, I do not know what time it was or how long I had slept. The little girl and her father were not there, but Dawson was, speaking quietly with the doctor. I felt relieved to see him there... to wake up to an empty room was what I dreaded most at that moment. The doctor glanced to me, smiled, then made his way out. Dawson turned. "Oh, Basil... it is good to see you awake. We were worried that you were not going to come out of that. Olivia and her father are staying in a nearby inn until you recover."
"Come out of that?" I asked, barely suppressing a cough. "Whyever would you think I wouldn't?"
Dawson just shook his head, taking a seat in the chair at the bedside. "You had pneumonia, Basil. It's a wonder you didn't die. I did not know if you had any family to contact, or I would have before now."
Stretching slightly, uncomfortable in the hospital bed and stiff from however many days sleep, I spoke again, finding some of my strength had returned to me. "It is best they don't know about this. They would be in danger if they came here, and I would prefer to keep that from happening." Then, my brow went up. "...How long HAVE I been asleep, doctor?"
"A week and a half."
Startled, I stared at him, opening my mouth to say something. After a moment, I found my voice again. "That long? Great Heaven, I've been lazy, haven't I?"
That drew a chuckle out of Dawson and I smiled. "It wasn't your fault at all, Basil," said he. "But you realize you are a national hero right now. The papers are speaking of what you've done from here to Sussex. The queen wishes to thank you publicly, and personally."
"And you as well, if I can tell anything from the tone of your voice." I grinned when he started. "No need to be modest, old boy. After all, had it not been for you, I never would have succeeded in the first place. You helped as much as I to defeat Ratigan."
Suddenly, that fear returned to me. I couldn't hide my expression, and my ears pinned back slightly, so I knew that Dawson had to notice, and he had. "Whatever is the matter?"
"Dawson, for the past three years... almost four now, if I recall proper... I have pursued Ratigan and his gang. Now that he is dead... what do I do?"
The good doctor observed me with a raised brow, then chuckled and patted my shoulder. "My dear boy, you do what I have told less mice than you that I have been in the service with to do. You go on. The people respect you, and that is your greatest achievement. You now have their eyes... you must show them that all the stories of your courage and intelligence are true."
"Oh, wonderful," I joked playfully. "Now a hero and a legend. They'll be calling me greater than Sherlock Holmes for sure, and I simply cannot have that!"
Both of us laughed at that, until a coughing fit saw me curled up on the bed. Dawson called a nurse to bring hot tea and honey... something to soothe my throat. "Your fever has gone down significantly, and I believe you should be well enough to leave within two days. That is, if the doctor here should agree with me."
I nodded slightly, shifting back and adjusting my pillows so that I may sit up. He was right, of course. As I had told myself before, I had to simply move on... there was nothing more to say on the matter. My gaze fell on the small brass bell on the bedside table, and I lifted it to examine the fine make and the worn interior. "My goodness," I chuckled, almost sorry for the fellows that had been doomed by the thing, "he must have had quite the temper against his own men. This bell has been used so many times that I fear it may have broken if he rang it again! That cat certainly looked as if she had dined upon one too many henchmen, wouldn't you agree?"
Dawson nodded in reply, and with a wicked smile I gave the bell one light ring. The tone made my ears twitch, and I started to laugh, ignoring the urge to cough. The hand that had rung this bell so many times before was with its owner at the bottom of the Thames River. My pensiveness disappeared, and I found a bit of my old self returning.
For I was, after all, the Sherlock Holmes of the mouse world... Basil of Baker Street. It was in my blood to solve cases Scotland Yard and other private investigators could not.
How could I do anything else?
~=~End~=~