Chapter Sixteen

Endings

Dawson and I went to Mouseland Yard later that morning, only to discover that Mrs. Butler had already headed back to Sussex with her children. We took our third train in three days. Neither of us had had a good night's sleep in three days, so we fell asleep on the train and nearly missed our stop.

We went to the Manor, but were informed by a maid that Mrs. Butler had gone to the hospital with her children.

Upon entering Thomas Butler's hospital room, we found Mrs. Butler talking to her unresponsive husband and holding his hand. My heart ached for the poor woman. I remembered earlier this morning holding Basil's hand and talking to him while receiving responses. Then I imagined Basil and I in the Butlers' position. How thankful I was that everything had turned out all right!

Michael and Rose had fallen asleep on hospital chairs next to their mother.

Dawson cleared his throat. "Good morning Mrs. Butler."

Her head shot up, but she smiled when she saw us. "Dr. Dawson. Miss Havers. How is Mr. Basil?"

"He's going to be himself in no time," Dawson said.

Despite the fact that her husband was still unresponsive, Mrs. Butler looked relieved at the news of Basil's condition. "Thank God! Bless that man. He risked his own life to save my children. I am forever grateful for what he has done for us."

"Mrs. Butler?" I said cautiously. She looked at me questioningly. "What are you going to do with the Eye now?"

Her face fell. "I haven't really thought of that yet."

"Ma'am, Basil wants you to get rid of it as soon as possible."

Her eyes met mine. "Why?"

"He... well..." I looked to Dawson for help, but the doctor shrugged. I did not know how to answer her. "He... he thinks that it will cause you grief..."

"He believes that others will be after it?" she asked. "That I will never be safe from those who would want it for themselves?"

I nodded.

Mrs. Butler sighed, and looked at her husband. "The Eye is loathsome to me. My husband has had to pay a terrible price because of it. My children have become its victims. I am afraid that they will never recover from their ordeal."

"They have you," Dawson said quietly. "You remained strong despite the odds against you. They have an admirable mother who serves as an example of strength and courage."

Mrs. Butler took the Eye from her pocket.

"Tom, why did you keep it?" she asked. "Why?" She stared at him, as if he would wake up and answer her. She took a deep breath, and turned back to us. "Well, apparently the Eye now legally belongs to Tom, to our family. Mouseland Yard was quick to inform me of that this morning when I presented the Eye and the papers to them. But now that the danger is past, I never want to see it ever again! I'd rather it was destroyed, along with its trail of blood."

She rose from her chair and held the Eye out to me. "Take it," she said.

I pushed her hand away. "I can't do that!"

"Take it," she persisted. "I don't care what you do with it, just get it out of my life!"

"But Mrs. Butler, Basil wouldn't let me accept this!"

"I'll pay him for his services-"

"That's not what I mean!"

"And I mean something entirely different as well," Mrs. Butler said. She looked at us pleadingly. "If you won't accept it, then please take it to London, and throw it in the Thames. No one ever needs to find it ever again."

Dawson and I stood on the Tower Bridge well after dark. I unwrapped the handkerchief holding the Eye of Diom. The emerald glowed in the faint lights of the streetlamps on shore. A thousand thoughts coursed through my head. Couldn't the Eye be used for good? Surely you could sell it, use the money and give it to those who need it. You could do so much good!

I felt frozen in place, as if I could not continue on to the next moment to complete the deed Dawson and I had set out to do. It seemed such a shame to throw it into a river where it would go to waste.

Dawson seemed to be reading my thoughts. "Meg, what good has it ever done for anyone?"

"But-"

"Is it really worth it?"

I thought that over, but I felt even more confused. I closed my eyes. I saw Basil. I pictured the look on his face if I brought the Eye back.

Without hesitation I hurled the Eye of Diom into the Thames. It made a plop as it fell into the water.

Dawson and I stared at the spot where it fell for a few minutes. I guess neither of us had really expected that I would throw it in. Finally Dawson turned away. "Well, that's over and done with. Let's go."

We never spoke of the Eye of Diom ever again.

Basil recovered with only a scar on the abdomen. He was back on his feet in a week.

Thomas Butler came out of coma around the same time. He was never quite the same after that. He had had considerable brain damage, but with the loving care of his wife he was able to recover better than any of the doctors had expected.

Arlen Gillespie did not get much recognition for his part in the case, but he did not mind. He became our ally within the Yard, and later helped us on several more cases.

Garret Hunter literally disappeared.

And we all went back to our normal lives, or as normal as one's life can be at Baker Street.

A few days after Basil came home from the hospital found the three of us sitting in the parlour in front of the fire. Dawson sat in an armchair reading a book. Basil had given up his armchair to share the space on the sofa with me. I leaned against his shoulder and watched him sketch a portrait of Dawson. It was a very rough sketch, but still ressembled the doctor in a distorted way.

Basil looked over at my pad of paper. I was sketching an image of a poor factory girl standing by a grave. My drawing was not very good either, but I had learned to not care after awhile.

"Why the grave?" he asked.

"I don't know. This image is stuck in my head."

There was a knock at the door. "Now who could that be?" Dawson asked getting up. Basil got up as well.

The doctor opened the door. "Is Mr. Basil of Baker Street here?" a young man asked.

"Yes, I am he," Basil said, straightening his cravat. "How can I be of service?"

The young man handed him a piece of paper. "I received this letter this morning, but I don't know who it's from or what it means. I had heard of the case you solved recently about the millionaire's riddles, and I was hoping that you could help me.

Basil read the paper out loud,

"One across, thirteen down

Find a message in a bottle."

"Hmmm... interesting," Basil said to himself. "And you are?" he asked the young man.

"Arthur Proctor."

"Mr. Proctor, where do you live?"

"In my uncle's house on Kings' Court.

"Does your uncle have a cellar? Perhaps a wine cellar?"

"Yes! How did you guess?"

"And are there thirteen stairs leading down into this cellar?"

"I'm not sure, but that could be."

Basil grinned, handing the young man the paper. "Your message is in one of the bottles of wine."

Proctor looked anxious. "Mr. Basil, there's more. My uncle has been missing for three months."

"Three months!" Basil exclaimed. "Have you gone to the police?"

"No sir. You see, he usually goes away for a while, and comes back without warning. But he has never been gone for over a month before."

"Well, this is a more serious matter," Basil said. "Tell me, does he usually leave with a valise?"

"Yes."

"Did he take one this time?"

"Yes he did."

"How much did he pack?"

"Enough for one week, but that's what he usually packs, regardless of how long he's leaving."

"And did he leave with anyone?"

"No."

"You did not know of his destination?"

I smiled to myself. Basil of Baker Street, hot on a case once more!

Meg: I am finally done! Whew, that story took longer to write than expected. I have several story ideas, but I don't know what I really think of them yet. Perhaps I'll write another story soon.

JWJ: Spare us!

Meg: (continues unfazed) I also have an idea for a novel so I might be concentrating on that a little more than these fanfictions. But I promise to write another one no matter what!