Chapter 2
"...had me worried for a bit, but he'll live."
"Look, he's coming around!"
Dawson woke on a soft bed, with several figures standing over him. A young voice piped up.
"Dr. Dawson? How are you feeling?"
He shook his head once, and the world came into focus. Olivia Flaversham was standing at his bedside, her father, Hiram, behind her. Dawson smiled weakly.
"Fit as a fiddle. What exactly happened to me?"
A man he didn't recognize, presumably a doctor of some sort, spoke up:
"Dear fellow, you took a gunshot to the stomach. We were worried for awhile that you wouldn't make it!"
Dawson's eyes widened as memories of that night came rushing back.
"Oh my...what happened with the case? Did they catch Drebber?" His breath caught in his throat as he tried to stutter out another inquiry.
"Is—is Basil all right?"
A soft chuckle from a figure in the corner answered his question.
"Thanks to you, my dear Dawson. The case is solved, and I must confess: I am in your debt." Basil strode across the room to Dawson's bed. As the detective neared his friend, his cocky grin slipped the slightest. Dawson was in a terrible state; it had taken intensive surgery to remove the bullet, and the doctor's recovery was bound to be a slow, hard one.
Basil reached out, and patted his friend's shoulder gently; a small, but genuine, smile appeared on his thin face.
"I'm glad you're...still with us."
Dawson rolled his eyes good-naturedly, and returned the grin.
"I'm pretty happy about that myself, Basil."
He hadn't been expecting much of a scene—Basil had never been one for heartfelt emotional gestures.
Darkness surrounded around Basil. From the shadows of the alley emerged Drebber, large and monstrous.
"Looking for someone?" He sneered.
A cry echoed in the alleyway.
"Basil!"
"Dawson..." Basil breathed. He could faintly see his friend through the swirling mists. Dawson was being held by Drebber's gigantic minions, a gun pointed at his forehead.
Drebber laughed cruelly. "You've lost, Basil."
The detective tried to run to his friend's aid, but he was paralyzed. Drebber's face appeared, obscuring his view.
"The death of the dear doctor is on your head! You've led your lamb to slaughter!"
"No! Dawson!"
A gunshot rang out.
And Basil awoke with a start.
"A dream...just a dream," he muttered, breathing hard. He shuddered. Dawson's screams and the sound of shooting still echoed in his ears.
After lying still a moment, the detective finally gave up on sleep. He pulled on his dressing gown and headed to his lab table, hoping to work on his experiments for a bit before the world awoke.
As he passed the doctor's room, Basil slowed. After a moment's hesitation, Basil carefully opened the door of his friend's bedroom. Ever so quietly, he snuck over to the side of the bed.
Dawson lay curled under a heavy blanket, sleeping soundly. The detective stood by the bed for a moment, listening to his friend's rhythmic breathing. Then, he patted Dawson's head gently, crept out of the room, and returned to his own bed, where he dozed fitfully until the early morning.
(A/N: yes, I stole a line from the Sherlock Holmes movie with Robert Downey Jr. I like the line. Roll with it.)