Prompt: Wrapping Paper
From: cjnwriter
...
"Let me guess, Watson, you got me a new violin case."
"How the deuce did you"-
"Watson, a child could have deduced it. That was a waste of wrapping paper."
"Oh, really, Holmes!"
...
I watched nervously from the mouse hole as a lean brown shape darted out across the rug, diving deftly into well-known nooks and crannies to avoid detection. From beneath Holmes' armchair, I watched his glimmering green eyes target his prey with the swiftness of our most feared enemy the cat.
I prayed my dear friend would hurry up and finish his mission without getting himself caught. I had no desire to spend this Christmas with memories of his haunting screams whilst being drowned in Mrs Hudson's cleaning bucket.
...
"Nevertheless, my dear Watson, it is a very opulent case for my violin. I do appreciate the taste and practicality of your gift, if not its presentation."
"I'm glad of that, Holmes. You do try my nerves sometimes. Would you care for a glass of brandy?"
"Yes, dear doctor, if you would be so kind."
...
I felt dread build up inside me in tune to the glass clinking and blood running cold akin to pouring brandy. Where is he? I wondered, brown eyes darting centre, left and right. But no sign of the detective was to be found.
It was a pity Toby was not here to help us. He was not at 221B today, for their human inspector- Lestrade, I believe his name was- had borrowed him for a case, on the human detective's recommendation. Blast the timing! If Toby was here, Basil would have no need of me to keep watch for unexpected movements.
Not that he doubted his sharp reflexes and quick thinking under pressure; but he insisted I keep a second watch out for him. Had he not left me here, I would have been convinced he brought solely to give him company.
"The fun is over, my dear Dawson." A warm breath trickled into my ear unexpectedly.
I jumped out of my fur and nearly- nearly- punched him out of the worry and stress I had had of keeping watch for any signs of fatal danger from the mousehole. Instead, I let all the tension flow from my body faster than an Indian river, and I felt my knees go weak at the fact he had not died from sheer stupidity.
"Come, man!" He ordered, helping me into the tunnel, on seeing my state.
...
Between this and sitting down at my chair by the fire was a blur, but after Basil poured out and thrust a brandy at me, for my shock, I felt my mind begin to clear, although my heart was still pounding, and I dared not stand just yet.
"Dawson, I shall never understand your limits. You always, always want to help me in such dangerous missions, even for pleasure's sake." He gave me an affectionate smile, looking unusually embarrassed. His ears drooped, and his shoulders deflated, as though wanting to shrink into himself or disappear altogether.
My heart went out to the fellow; his aloof nature, his pragmatic ways, and his genius had rendered him to be a mouse without emotion- so much so that any doubt, uncertainty or embarrassment made him look more like a long-limbed mouse child than the kingdom's greatest detective.
"Well, I am always happy to be of service, my dear boy," I told him, sincerely. "But it is very unusual to go about building a museum of Sherlock Holmes in the broom cupboard. Now why the deuce did you need up there this time?"
"This, Dawson, this!" Basil held his prize aloft, and I felt bemusement on seeing it. In his paw, was something brown, irregularly shaped and plain, with nothing of interest to note, as far as I could observe.
"It is merely a piece of wrapping paper." I said, bluntly.
"Not merely a piece of wrapping paper, Dawson- it is one that he himself ripped open!" Basil said in delight, clapping his paws like an eager mouse child on Christmas morning; clearly too excited to care that I had once again just stated the obvious.
"You sound like a minister going on about finding some holy relic." I told him with a smirk. However, on seeing his face fall into a mixture of hurt and irritation nearing a huff, I decided to be tactful, lest I sparked an unwarranted row.
"But, it is very, um, admirable how you have shown such dedication and passion to preserving his memory for the mice of future generations." I told him kindly, and he brightened at once.
"I am glad you share my opinion, Dawson." He said. "I hope this will not make you think any less of me, with my schoolboy- like admiration of the fellow. It just won't do."
"I don't think any less of you, old chap," I answered affably. He nodded with satisfaction, and then descended into one of his customary silences.
And indeed, I think no less of my dearest friend than I did when we first met during the Flaversham affair over 3 years ago. He will always be a source of comfort, inspiration, and most importantly, awe for as long as our friendship endures.
Although I do question his sanity considering how much he went through- how much he risked- for a piece of plain brown wrapping paper that Holmes had ripped open to stick into a broom cupboard converted into a self-curated museum on a man we could never meet face to face, on pain of death.