Prompt: A candlelit meeting
From: mrspencil
A/N: This and another prompt down the line will have GMD in it one way or another. I love that movie! And I love the idea of Basil interacting with our favourite (human) sleuth! I also reference my fanfic, The Case of the Emerald Puppet Mouse in this fic. Call it shameless self-promotion. 😉
...
Clambering out of my concealed tunnel, I allow an inhalation of fresh, dust free air before adjusting my muffler and glancing round.
It is exactly the same as the countless times I had been here in his home.
Toby lies asleep by the hearth, containing only a dead fire. Papers and books loom out of the darkness like shadowy, miniature London Towers. The air around me feels as though I am walking in a cemetery.
But I am not afraid. It is merely cold and dark.
I am not here for anything in particular. I merely suffer from insomnia following the case of the Emerald Puppet Mouse, but I am reluctant to admit both this, and the cause behind it, to Dawson. As much as I trust the good doctor, I am afraid- afraid of being seen as weak, as someone who is meant to control their sentiment, but cannot.
I fear I would break down, and even when cases were sparse, I tossed and turned under my covers; heard nasty sniggers coming from the darkest corners of the room-
-And the screams of the doctor who has come to mean so much to me, and the one I almost lost due to my callous behaviour. True, I warned him of the truth, and he ignored me; but the subsequent argument as a result nearly cost me my conscience and my friend's life.
I shiver, and pull my coat close. How could I ever hope to sleep, ever hope to allow one night to pass without regret, fears and the alternate possibilities?
I long to confide in someone unjudging, someone who understood what it felt to nearly lose one's friends, and how to self-forgive.
Dawson had long forgiven me, God bless his soul. But I have not forgiven myself in the slightest.
...
The brush of taciturn, unforgiving oak mark my palms, and I begin to climb up the table leg of his chemistry table, my heart feeling more and more like stone as I clamber up that wooden mountain.
The top, however, is where I realised I had made a rare but grave mistake.
...
On the table, burns a single candle, half melted. Sitting in the stool nearby, paper in one hand, a test tube of silver oxide in the other is him.
In an instant, he sees me staring at him, and I feel my heart freeze in my chest.
"Do not worry about me, little fellow," he says. "I do not harm mice, or any living creatures, for profit or entertainment."
I know this, but all the same, I feel myself relax. As daring as I could, I shuffle closer to the man I admired.
"Hum! I see you are a bold creature!" He remarks, quietly, giving me a curious gaze. For a moment, ice-grey eyes lock with emerald green, and I feel a peculiar sensation from the top of my ears to my tail-tip.
I keep walking closer, and closer to him, knowing at every step could lead me to my grave, but I hardly care. My burden has been heavy for a month and a half, and if my life ended tonight, at least I won't have to dwell on it for long.
"What brings you here at this hour, little friend?" He queries. I look at him for a moment, before I begin to explain my dilemma. But I see he only looks confused- he must not understand what I am talking about.
Curses! I would have better luck talking to a princess from a fairy tale than my own idol!
In my frustration, I accidentally knock over a bottle of ink. Struck with an idea, I grab a nearby dropper and, with an apologetic glance to my human companion, I dip it into the newly formed lake of ink and write out a short message on some paper nearby.
It ran thus:
'Mr. Holmes.
I am a detective, much like you, and I recently solved a case with my best friend and partner, Doctor David Q. Dawson. It was a tough case, and... I tried to warn him of a particularly dangerous part of the case, but he didn't listen, and I acted like a cad towards him. I nearly lost him during the case, and I feel that, somehow, if I had not been so horrible, I would not have come close to losing my dearest friend. What could have been haunts my sleep, and renders me unable to rest. There is naught I can do to change the past, but I cannot let go of it, for fear of losing my most faithful companion.
Basil'
...
I heave a sigh as I finish writing the note; for I had written more than I had cared to, and a mouse writing legibly enough for a human to comprehend was exhaustive on the body's physical resources. I try not to reveal this to him, but I suspect he has deduced it already; and he appears to be more surprised at my plight than at the fact that I am a literate mouse.
"What did you want to keep your friend from?" he asks me.
'From falling in love with the wrong woman, and I failed.' I write in response. 'All I did was made him angry and I refused to listen.'
"We all make mistakes which can interfere with friendships." He replies. "The important thing is that you are not to blame for your actions. You have played a part in his unwise decision, but you cannot pin blame on him or you. All you can do is acknowledge your responsibility in this affair and allow yourself to have been wrong, and a chance to start anew." He tells me.
That is the wisest advice I have heard from a human; especially one I greatly admire. I smile gratefully, and tip my deerstalker to him in gratitude.
I shall talk with Dawson and bury these ghosts of mine for once and for all.
...
After a short note of my sincere thanks and farewell to my companion he merely nods, and even allows me to ride in his hand back to the mouse hole. I am surprised when he places me in front of the correct hole without any prompting from me; but he merely winks and bids me goodnight.
Doing likewise, I enter the hole and look down the tunnel, eager to talk to my friend and allow us to lay this guilt to rest permanently.