Chapter 1

Ten years after the solving of the case brought forward by Miss Olivia Flaversham...

Basil sat deep in his favorite arm chair, surrounded by its scarlet hues on three sides and the heat of the fire on the fourth. His pipe hung limp in his lips, smoke curling lazily into the air to pester his eyes and nose. He was dimly aware of the bustle of Mrs. Judson as she moved across the living room to answer the knock that he had purposefully ignored.

"If they're looking for me, I'm not in," he groaned wearily, as he sank deeper within the worn cushions.

There was a slight sniff of disapproval, followed by the sound of the door opening. The cacophony of sound that was the rain landing upon London's cobblestone streets barged into his quiet flat, to harass his tired mind. A pout began to form on those mousy lips, and his paws migrated to his ears, to press earnestly against them.

It did no good, of course—not once, in the history of mousekind, has the pressure of fingers against ears accomplished any real goal—and soon a contrite voice slid between those pathetic barriers and tickled his eardrums.

It was a girl's voice, and she sounded upset—they always did. So many great tragedies, and all never of any real import. Not since Ratigan's demise. There had been only lost trinkets, long-lost relations, nothing invigorating, nothing to get the blood flowing. He had grown tired of their trivialities, tired of never being presented with any particularly challenging mystery.

A choked sob was emitted, before that sweet voice cried out, "Oh, Mrs. Judson!" More sobs ensued.

"There, there, child, now whatever is the matter?"

"Oh, Mrs. Judson!" she whined. "I'm so relieved! I feared perhaps you had moved, or even left London!"

The door shut, and the sound of the rain once again lowered to a dull roar, nearly indiscernible over the crackling of the fire. One paw removed the pipe from his lips, as an insufferably curious mind forced his head to turn so that those small, beady eyes could peer around the edge of his chair.

Mrs. Judson was leading the slender frame of a young mouse towards the fire, and mindlessly assuring her that they had not, in fact, moved or left London—they were still quite in residence on Baker Street. The girl was leaning heavily on the plump old woman, one paw covering her face as sobs continued to rack her frame. "Oh, Mrs. Judson—please! I must speak with Basil, immediately!"

Mrs. Judson froze, and Basil tensed. "Well, now, deary... Basil.. isn't in, at the moment, I'm afraid... He's.. gone out, with the good doctor, to, uh..."

Thankfully, the girl rescued the floundering housekeeper from her own incapability to lie. "Oh, of course. How foolish of me—they would, naturally, be busy solving other mice's mysteries..." Her teeth fell to gnaw upon her lower lip, as her paws clasped in front of her stomach.

There was a nervous chuckle from Mrs. Judson. "Yes, of course... Other mice's mysteries... Why don't you come in the kitchen, deary, and have some tea and crumpets."

The girl hesitated, and then the slightest of smiles brushed across her lips. "Oh, yes, that would be nice... I have so missed your crumpets, Mrs. Judson."

Basil retreated deep into his chair as they passed on their way to the kitchen, forehead knitting into a frown. The girl obviously was familiar with them, but so many young damsels in distress had passed through this flat that there was no way to tell who she could be. There was not even a way to narrow down his choices, and of course, his memory was not especially reliable...

A creaking on the stair foretold Dawson's arrival. The doctor had lost many a pound, upon signing on with Basil... and then had immediately gained them back, when Basil had begun refusing cases, and had sunk into his current misery. For every crumpet that Basil had refused, Dawson had eaten two; as a result, he was now back to his former portly glory, and glowed with all his usual jolly cheer, almost more so than he once had, as if attempting to make up for Basil's utter lack of it.

"You are officially lacking in sherry, Basil," came the oddly meek voice of the doctor. "I have drunk the last of it from the library, and cannot find a single drop of it anywhere else in the house!"

"Shshshsh!" Basil leapt out of the chair, pipe spilling to the carpet as he stumbled towards Dawson and clamped one paw over his mouth. He began to push him towards the stair urgently, shaking his head back and forth all the while. "There's a girl, in the kitchen," he mouthed. "She doesn't know we're—"

The kitchen door swung open, and both mice's heads whipped around to look at the girl, now framed in the sharp lighting of the kitchen. Her face was nearly impossible to see; the dim light of the living room resulted in a silhouette effect. "Dr. Dawson?" She hesitated. "B-Basil?"

Slowly, Basil's paw lowered from Dawson's mouth. "Er..."

A teacup fell from her fingers to crash against the floor. Somewhere in the distance, there was a muffled cry from Mrs. Judson. The girl rushed forward, arms flinging around the necks of the two mice. More sobs followed, as she pulled them into a vice-like grip. Dawson's immediate reaction was to put one thick arm around her in comfort; she leaned more into him than Basil, as Basil's reaction to her was more of a tenuous fingertip touched lightly against her shoulder.

"Oh, it's horrible!" she moaned, clinging to them both as the tears overtook her. "It's terrible! Terrible! Oh, Doctor Dawson—oh, Basil!" She continued to weep.

"There, there, child," murmured Dawson softly. "I'm sure it can't be so very bad as it seems."

She did not reply, merely cried on their shirts.

"Forgive me," Basil managed, in half-civil tones, as he pried himself free of her hold, "but are we.. acquainted?"

She drew back, rubbing at the tears with one paw. "D-don't you r-recognize me, Basil?" she asked, in trembling tones. The light hit her pale-furred face, and something struck him as vaguely familiar about the sadness in those pleading eyes.

And then, it hit them, and they both uttered their realization at the same moment.

"Olivia?" cried Dawson.

"Miss Flabberhasher?" cried Basil.