Sherlock breathed in the air of the crime scene with a smile in his heart, but not on his face. Crime scenes always did that to him; a new case, a new game, but he prided himself on not revealing this on scene. After all, he was famous for not seeming very , excitement at a crime scene was very… 'not good'. He did notice, very easily, however,that some people there were staring at him. It wasn't unusual,especially given he had just resurrected, but he knew it had to do more with that fact that he'd just put a biscuit inside the left breast pocket of his Belstaff and it had been received by tiny, mousy hands.

Word of Basil had spread, obviously.

Refusing to let it bother him, he continued into the building, ignoring the whispers and giggles and even Lestrade's nervous stare.

"Are.. are you ok, Sherlock? Do we need to talk?" Lestrade approached, leaning in to whisper.

"Talk? Yes, of course! There is a murder victim on the floor." No interest was expressed in his friends attempt to investigate his behavior; there were more pressing matters at hand.

"No, no, I mean,… the mouse… in your pocket." Greg hadn't become a D.I. by chance and could be just as stubborn as Sherlock when necessary.

"Oh,he's with me." Sherlock gave his breast a pat and flashed a smile, before kneeling next to the corpse.

"Yeah, I know, I get that…"The DI winced at the squeak, "but, why?"

"Why not?" Sherlock rose again to meet his friends eyes and began studying him in a manner that, though Greg was accustomed to, still made him uncomfortable.

"Its just…. odd." He sighed. "And I'm fairly certain illegal." Sherlock snorted at this and returned to his former state, snapping on a pair of gloves and poking at the body.

"I don't know why you're fussing, Gabe. Officers bring dogs onto crime scenes often."

"And you." He was resisting the urge to pull his hair out at this point. "And by the way, its Greg. G-R-E-G, for god sakes. I don't know why thats so hard for you." As usual, he was ignored as Sherlock continued his work; insisting on silence. "Sherlock, why is the mouse here?" He found himself raising his voice and Sherlock sighed in response.

"John is… unavailable, currently."

"What about Molly?" Greg crossed his arms and leaned against a nearby wall.

"Also…otherwise engaged."

"Interesting choice of words." He jabbed at his brooding friend.

"Shut up." Sherlock spat and gingerly released the mouse from his pocket.

"You can't…is that a crime scene suit?" Greg truly had no words. The tiny brown mouse was wearing a suit similar to the one he himself was wearing and Sherlock frequently refused to wear. Complete with booties, gloves and a hood that revealed only the rodents face and ears, he was covered in a protective, meticulously made blue body suit.

"Well, I didn't suspect you would have the proper gear."

"So.. you bought him a suit?"

"Of course not." Sherlock insisted. "I made it."

"You made it?"

"You doubt my ability to tailor?" Greg realized four eyes were staring up at him, confused and frustrated as well as a bit affronted.

"No, I just… I never thought about it." Sherlock looked away with a shrug, dismissing the interaction.

"Now, Basil, want to help me solve this ladies murder?" Having no choice but to look on, confused and a bit horrified to hear Sherlock use a higher octave of his voice, he simply did just that and observed.

As carefully as possible, Sherlock set Basil on the dead body and both seemed to go about their separate tasks. Though, much to Gregs disgust, Basil made his way into the poor woman's mouth. With the speed that Sherlock worked, it was unsurprising that, after another 45 seconds, Sherlock seemed pleased with the out come.

"Well, Basil," He asked, cheerfully. "Did you find anything?" To further Gregs shock and surprise, the mouse did appear to be holding something.

"Did— did that mouse just hand you evidence?" He was having a hard time processing what had just taken place.

"He sure did, George—"

"Greg."

"He found an interesting fiber. Definitely left by the killer." He offered Lestrade a large smile as his eyes lit up.

"In her mouth?"

"Oh, yes, must of asphyxiated her with something made of this." He muttered, placing it into a bag with a bit of child like excitement.

"He brought you a fiber he found in her mouth." Sherlock paused and looked up at Greg again, eyes searching.

"Yes."

"How—what?—Sherlock, you can't let a mouse help you investigate crimes."

"I beg to differ, I believe I just did."

"Thats not even— You!" Another heavy sigh as Greg began to pace. Sherlock merely looked on like an oblivious child. "This— this is ridiculous, Sherlock. I don't understand."

"Whats not to understand? I've trained a mouse to specially assist me in my work. I must say, I don't understand what you find so perplexing about that." During the next moment of extended silence, they merely exchanged glares.

"Ok." Lestrade threw his hands up and Sherlock retrieved his mouse friend to replace him in the breast pocket inside his Belstaff. Not a word was said between the two men as Greg reopened the crime scene to his crew and Sherlock brushed passed in a huff…obviously on his way to St. Barts.