"May I ask you a question?" Watson requested curiously.
"Certainly," the mouse replied, perking up his ears.
"Why are you in our sitting room?"
"I must admit to being a music lover, Dr. Watson," the creature said, "and I was very much enjoying the Lieder Mr. Holmes was playing a few minutes ago."
At this, I leant down despite myself.
"How can you recognize…what am I saying."
I straightened up in disgust – talking music to a mouse, honestly.
The rodents squeaked again in those high-pitched laughs.
"Basil and I were sitting behind the drapes when your estimable landlady came in and chased Mr. Holmes out," the shorter mouse spoke up. "We got caught and only made your desk, Doctor, before she started that infernal shrieking."
I had forgotten about the woman – she had taken herself off apparently, scared of the mice.
"Half a moment, how did you know –"
"That it was your desk?" Basil replied.
Watson nodded.
"Simple deduction. It is evident from the journals and yellow-backed novels here, one of which almost flattened my colleague, that this desk is yours, not Mr. Holmes's."
I stared at the rodent, whose whiskers twitched in an approximation of a smirk.
"May I ask you something, Doctor?"
"Certainly!"
"Would you request your landlady to remove the mousetraps she set along the hall baseboards?"