Chapter 3
Dawson yawned and stretched. His body ached from his recent injuries, but he had been feeling much better the past few days. He carefully got out of bed, put on his slippers, and wandered into the sitting room. Despite the early hour, the doctor wasn't particularly surprised to see Basil in his chair, smoking a pipe.
"Another all-nighter, Basil?"
Basil looked up quickly at his friend. His usual confident expression couldn't hide the rings under his eyes.
"You might say that." Basil muttered.
Dawson sighed inwardly. The detective never seemed to know his own limits. More often than not, Dawson's scolding was the only reason he took any break from his work.
"Basil, after we finish up the case today, promise me you'll try to sleep."
"'We?' You intend to join me today?"
Dawson blinked.
"Well, yes. Is that alright?"
The detective studied the doctor with his piercing green eyes. Then, he plastered on his usual smug grin.
"Just making sure you are up to a hard day's work, my dear Dawson. Come, then! We should get down to the police station!"
With that, Basil ran off, leaving Dawson to follow.

For the third time that night, Basil awoke, a cold sweat on his brow. He sat upright in his bed for a moment, attempting to catch his breath; ever since Dawson had resumed work by his side, the nightmares had become more frequent—and even more horrifying.
Once again, Basil rolled out of bed, put on his favorite purple dressing gown, and crept out of his room.
Once again, he snuck into the bedroom down the hall, and peered in at the still form of David Dawson.
And once again, Basil turned to leave.
"Basil!"
"No! Dawson!"
Basil stopped short. It was no use; as soon as he went back to sleep, the awful dreams would begin again.
"Wait a minute..." Basil thought. "The nightmares only come when I leave Dawson." He turned around, crossing a patch of moonlight, and walked toward the bed once more.
"Then why leave?"
Carefully, he lifted the corner of the covers, and climbed into the bed without disturbing the doctor. Basil smiled as he shut his eyes, and fell asleep listening to his friend's rhythmic breathing.
Hours later, as the first rays of sunlight shone into the bedroom of 221 1/2 Baker Street, a slim figure slipped from beneath the covers. With a caring glance at his still companion, he tiptoed out of the room.

It had been a rough day.
Basil had woken Dawson while the sky was still a rosy pink streaked with warmer shades, and the two had spent hours upon hours in a seedy tavern, looking for a criminal. During that time, the duo had gotten in to no less than three bar fights, and both were exhausted. Even Basil had, for once, gone to his bedroom without protest. Rubbing his sore leg—the day's activity had made his old war injury flare up—the good doctor quickly changed and climbed into bed.
It was about 11:45 when he felt the bed creak. Still feeling groggy, Dawson rolled onto his other side.
And found himself facing with his best friend.
"Basil? What..."
The detective opened one shining green eye.
"You're dreaming, Dawson."
"Oh."
With that, Dawson rolled himself over so he wouldn't be nose-to-nose with Basil.
"Silly me," he thought. "Of course I'm dreami—"
A sharp pain in his sore leg broke into Dawson's train of thought.
"Wait a minute..." Dawson whispered.
"No I'm not!"
He sat up so quickly that he knocked the detective onto the floor, which he hit with a loud "CRASH."
"Ow..."
"Basil! What in the blazes are you doing in my bed?"
"Sleeping." Basil muttered. "Psyche, you should not have looked at Eros!"
"I am NOT a gorgeous maiden! Now answer me!"
"I notice you aren't denying the fact that I'm a god." The detective said with a naughty smile.
"BASIL!"
Basil's grin morphed into a sheepish look. He heaved a sigh.
"Well, I guess I should have known I wouldn't be able to keep this...habit...a secret forever."
"Wait, just HOW LONG have you been sleeping with me?"
The detective looked guilty.
"Since shortly after you were injured." Basil hugged his knees to his skinny frame.
"Ever since Drebber shot you, I haven't been able to sleep well—alone, that is."
Dawson's face softened. He slipped out of his bed carefully, and sat on the floor next to his friend.
Basil took a deep breath and went on, unable to meet the doctor's eyes.
"I can't...I just can't forgive myself. You were almost killed because of me. I've been dreaming about that night in the alley again and again, and I can only rest if..." he risked a glance at Dawson. "If I know you're safe."
After a moment's pause, the doctor managed a reply.
"Basil," Dawson carefully put his paw on his friend's slim shoulder, and looked into his green eyes. "As you well know, I'm no stranger to injury. I knew the risks when I became your partner, but I moved in with you anyway. Being with you—on cases, I mean—well, it's worth the danger."
Basil's usual confident mask slipped fully off, and he looked touched.
"Do you mean it?"
Dawson smiled. "Of course, my friend."
The corner of Basil's mouth twitched upward for an instant, but then he sighed again.
"I am...sorry, though. For sneaking into your bed. I'll leave you be."
Basil unfolded his long legs, got up, and trudged toward the door.
"Wait..."
The detective turned. Dawson sighed, blushing slightly. "If this is the only way you can sleep, then...so be it."
Basil's face lit up.
"I can stay with you?
Dawson chuckled nervously. "Well, I'd be a rather hypocritical doctor if I prevented you from sleeping!"
Basil quickly padded across the floor and climbed under the covers. Dawson tucked himself in as well, and closed his eyes.
"Goodnight, Dawson."
The doctor smiled.
"Goodnight, my friend."

(A/N: .
Read if you're not familiar with the Greek Myth of Eros and Psyche.
I just had to insert my own take on "am I a pretty lady?")