Chapter 3

Not so very far away from Baker Street, a dark, caped, and otherwise malevolent-appearing form was slowly dragging its way along the sidewalk. A slight grunt accompanied each step; a great effort seemed to be necessary just to accomplish a single motion. Its breath wheezed in its throat, each lungful of air whistling disconcertingly.

It reached from beneath the cloak with a metal paw, opened its fingers, and clenched them in a fist. The motion was jerky, like that of machinery; when those claws hit the palm, there was a faint metallic clicking.

The hand thrust forth, and knocked down the street sign. "Baker St." went careening wildly across the cobblestones, before being neatly splintered beneath the mammoth wheels of a passing carriage.

A husky, but not completely unrecognizable voice growled from beneath the hood...

"Basil..."

Olivia sat up in her bed, breath coming in quick, short gasps. Sweat beaded upon her brow, and dripped down the back of her neck; idly, she wiped it away with one paw. Fighting back tears, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, and stood. A moment was taken to adjust her nightgown, and pull on her robe, before—silent as a mouse—she crept out of the bedroom that Basil had given her to sleep in.

Though, really, she supposed Mrs. Judson had given it to her; Basil just happened to be the owner of it. He seemed, in fact, to want to have as little to do with her as possible; he was much more content to pretend she did not exist. After supper, he had retreated from her presence without a word. He had not even wished her good night!

If not for the overwhelming kindness of Doctor Dawson and Mrs. Judson, she'd have felt extremely unwelcome.

She padded down the hallway, and paused just outside the two wooden doors, side by side. One led to Dawson's bedroom; the other, to Basil's. Dawson was like a grandfather to her, or even a second father, perhaps. He had been the one to lead her to Basil's home on Baker Street, those ten years ago; he had been the one to constantly offer her a comforting embrace.

And yet...

Basil was her knight in shining armor, she supposed—though, of course, no mouse had ever worn armor before, because they would, naturally, look quite silly in armor. Basil, especially. The thought nearly brought a giggle bubbling from her throat; she had to press a fervent paw against her lips to suppress it. He was far too slender for a suit of armor—he had almost become too thin, she thought. His cheeks were gaunt, his eyes sunken within his skull and always brooding. He seemed not at all content.

But still, it was his door that begged for a knock, not Dawson's—and Olivia had always supported the giving of things to those who most needed it, and that door quite obviously needed a knock. In fact, she doubted that door had ever had a knock before! She would be granting a favor—no, giving charity! Helping the needy!

With that in mind, she raised her paw, and rapped her knuckles upon the door.

Immediately, she regretted it. She did not even know why she had come! It was just a silly nightmare. She was old enough to deal with nightmares on her own, now—she wasn't even allowed to hug Basil, after all. How could he comfort her, anyway? Although, certainly, his logic would calm her down, and if nothing else, his endless chatter about said logic would bore her into sleep...

Well, see? He had not heard her, anyway. No harm done! She turned away from his door, and began a hasty retreat to her own bedroom.

"Aren't you a little old for this game?"

Olivia froze, ears perking. Basil sounded disgusted. Oh, I should never have bothered him! Slowly, she turned, and attempted a smile. "What game, sir?"

"Oh, you know—the one where you knock upon some unsuspecting gentleman's door, and then hide in the bushes?"

She stared at him blankly. Olivia had never played with other children; her father and the toyshop had been all the entertainment she had required.

"Never mind." Basil shook his head, and raised one paw to scrub at his eyelids. "Is there any particular reason you've awoken me, Miss Flasherbam?"

The instinctive wince at his usual butchering of her name was resisted; instead, she smiled. Something about his inability to get it right was almost.. endearing. "Forgive me, I just... Well, I had a nightmare, and.. and I wished for a bit of company—I did not mean to wake you. I'm terribly sorry..."

He gave a rather deep sigh, and then began to shake his head. "No, no, please—come in, come in..." He turned and began to walk down the hall a few steps, and then waved her within his study. "I hope you've no delusions about receiving any sherry, though—the doctor has drank every last drop of it."

She looked at him, startled. "N-no, sir—I.. do not drink."

One shoulder lifted beneath the worn red housecoat, and he moved to sit in an overstuffed leather chair, after lighting a single lamp.

Olivia sat down opposite him, ankles crossing, hands folding in her lap. An awkward silence followed—more awkward for Basil than for Olivia, by all appearances, for while she sat idly looking about the room, he squirmed, fidgeted, and otherwise acted like a young teenager in the presence of a love interest.

"It's a lovely room," she said, at the same moment that he asked, "What was the nightmare about?"

Both of them went silent again, politely waiting for the other to continue speaking.

"Mrs. Judson decorated," he replied, at the same moment that she said, "It was silly."

"Oh," said both of them in unison.

There was another moment of silence, before Olivia began to giggle. Basil looked almost insulted for a moment, before slowly his features melted into an amiable grin. When her laughter died down, the silence ensued; it was a much more comfortable one this time, however, and both of them relaxed their posture and began to actually appear to be enjoying themselves.

Unconsciously, Olivia began to hum, a quiet Scottish lullaby that her father had sung her, and (or so he had often claimed) her mother before him. Basil's eyelids began to droop, as his head leaned back against his chair.

"That's a lovely tune," he remarked sleepily.

A blush vividly colored her cheeks, and she let out a startled cry. "Forgive me, I did not realize..."

"No, please, don't stop..." He offered a smile. "It truly was lovely."

She blushed further, and her fingers began to fiddle with her nightgown. Feeling much too awkward to continue, she began to make a very conscious effort at silence.

"Would you like a book?" he asked suddenly. "I find reading often helps to get the mind off of things..."

A hesitant smile curled her lips upwards. "Why.. yes, thank you, I would much appreciate that."

Basil seemed pleased, at having guessed correctly at her pleasure in reading, and immediately stood to find a book. He began at one end of the bookcase, and slowly walked its entire length, head moving up and down as he read each title. Finally, nearly halfway down, he extracted one. "I think this shall do nicely," he said, as he handed it to her.

She took it, and looked down at the leather cover. It was a decades-old collection of each of the issues of Godey's Mouse's Book. Olivia wrinkled her nose, whiskers twitching.

He looked crestfallen. "It.. does not meet your approval?"

Her eyes raised to find his, and she offered the best of smiles that she could. "Of course it does, Basil; the dust merely made my nose itch, a bit." What was Basil doing with a book like that, anyway? Had it been Mrs. Judson's? Or.. had there been a Mrs. Basil of Baker Street, once upon a time?

The relief written so plainly across his face was heartbreaking. Basil nodded delightedly, and gestured her up off the chair. "Back to bed with you, then; you can read there, in much more comfort than you can here."

She took his offered paw lightly in hers, and stood. He escorted her to the door, opened it for her, and led her down the hallway to her own bedroom. "If you need anything else tonight, Miss Flabendish..." She stepped away, and he smiled broadly, "Mrs. Judson's room is on the first floor, off the kitchen."

Olivia laughed, and was relieved to hear his own chuckle in response. She began to close the door, but paused, and locked gazes with him. Both mice hesitated, before, both at the same time, they murmured softly:

"I've missed you."

There was a loud crash downstairs. Olivia jumped, and Basil whipped around. "What's all that fuss, Mrs. Judson?" he hollered.

"T'wasn't me, sir!" she called, voice ragged with sleep. "I just heard it myself—" Her words were cut off by a tail-curling scream.

Dawson burst out of his room, nightcap askew, fumbling with his robe. "What's going on?"

Basil was already racing down the stairs. Olivia joined with Dawson, one paw taking his own much larger one, as they followed in Basil's wake. "I don't know, Doctor—there was a crash, and then Mrs. Judson screamed, and—"

More crashes drowned out her words. Basil was yelling about something—"Years of work, down the drain! Ruined! Wasted! You fiend!"

"That'll be his chemistry set, then," Dawson murmured in her ear. "Now be quiet, my girl, until we know what's—"

A large shadow moved into the doorway ahead of them.

"Olivia Flaversham?"

(Somewhere in the other room, crouched amongst the ruins of his experiments, Basil made another mental note about "Flaversham".)

The voice, so terrifying and yet so familiar, made her knees go weak. She leaned heavily on Dawson, attempting to resist her body's sudden desire to swoon.

"Olivia Flaversham?" the figure repeated, one metallic arm reaching forwards out of the gloom towards her.

Thwang!

The figure staggered, and then fell to its knees in front of them.

Thwang!

It fell forwards, onto its face, to reveal Mrs. Judson standing behind it with a frying pan raised high above her head.

"I am sick and tired of my teacups getting broken!" she shouted. "I'll teach you to come burstin' through my kitchen window and breakin' all my good china!"

There was a moan from the other room. All three of them followed the sound; the proverbial pot of gold at the end of that particular rainbow was Basil, sitting on the floor amidst the wreckage left behind by the shadowy figure.

Olivia picked her way past the glass, and crouched beside him. "Basil?"

"Ruined," he moaned. "Ruined! Do you know how long it took me—"

There was an angry roar from the living room, and more crashing about. Olivia mashed a paw against her lips to keep from screaming, and backed away from the doorway.

"Looks like he's regained consciousness," remarked Mrs. Judson, fingers readjusting their grip on the frying pan.

"I propose we evacuate," Dawson said. "Immediately."

"I'm not leaving my house to that monster!"

"Mrs. Judson," Basil said wearily, as he stood, "I think perhaps the doctor has made a wise decision..."

A table came flying across the room to land against the doorway, efficiently blocking escape—through that exit, at least. The mice all ran to the window, Basil beginning to pound his fist against it.

"Step aside," growled the housekeeper. Basil had barely cleared her path, before she shattered the window with one fatal blow from the frying pan.

Basil placed one paw on each side of Olivia's waist and then, without warning, lifted her and threw her through the window. She shrieked, and landed hard on the wet cobblestones outside of 221½ Baker Street. "Basil! Dr. Dawson! Mrs.—"

The housekeeper, also shrieking, landed beside her.

Basil crawled through the window next, and managed to scramble over to where they were. "Have a nice flight, ladies?"

"Basil!"

They all turned to see Dawson, struggling to get through the window. Olivia and Basil both ran to him, each taking one plump arm and tugging with all their might. With a quiet pop, he slipped free of the window and out into the street.

Behind him, they could see the shadowy figure moving across the living room, silhouetted against the orange glow of a growing fire.

"My house!" cried Mrs. Judson.

Basil blinked, and looked at her. "Don't you mean, my house?" he asked curtly.

"I decorated it, I clean it—it's my 'ouse," Mrs. Judson growled, hefting the frying pan threateningly—and Basil had enough sense not to argue with her.

"Now where?" Dawson asked softly.

"I used to know a nice, quiet boot right near here," Olivia said, half-jokingly.

No one laughed.

"Oh, come on, then," Mrs. Judson sighed, turning and marching off down the street. The other three mice followed after her obediently. "I've got a cousin 'round these parts, only a street or two over. He'll let us stay with him."

"You mean to say you've a cousin within less than an hour's walk, and you've still insisted on living with me?" Basil asked incredulously.

Mrs. Judson shifted the frying pan from one hand to the other. "I told you," she said stiffly, "it's my 'ouse more 'n it's your 'ouse."