I bit back a shout of laughter as Holmes got down on his hands and knees again, his long nose scant inches from the smug mouse. Basil stood there on the carpeting, casually leaning one arm – or was it a leg in a rodent? – on the top of the bullet, which he had now stood on its end.
The little chap then squeaked a laugh and pushed the offending projectile toward my friend. Holmes snatched it with a glare that would have made most men (and I supposed mice) cringe, but the mouse didn't appear to be fazed in the least by it, his whiskers merely twitching in a grin.
Holmes growled something and scrambled to his feet, re-seating himself at his chemical table and starting his experiments afresh. Basil stood for a moment, sniffing curiously at the horrid smells emanating from the chemicals, and then turned to me, cocking his head curiously, a question obvious in his little dark eyes.
I smiled and held the novel I'd been reading out at his level, and he climbed up on it with a thin, tiny voice of thanks. I noiselessly walked over and set the book upon the table, completely unnoticed by my intently working friend, and settled back to watch the afternoon's entertainment.
I calculated approximately ten minutes before a blowup…