Title: In the Clover
Author: Pompey
Universe: Basil of Baker Street (book)
Rating: G
Warnings: none
Word count: 470
Summary: Dawson's having a rough day. Basil surprises him.
Prompt: July 6 – sweet treat
It had been a most trying day, filled with long walks over hard roads, incessant and chilly rain, and prowling predators. I was more than glad to finish my rounds and make my way back to Baker Street. I anticipated a cheery fire, a cup of hot tea, and a comfy armchair.
Instead I found a fire nearly gone out, a cold kettle, and various papers scattered about the room like dandelion seeds. The cause of this chaos – Basil himself – hunched over his chemistry set and muttered to himself. He gave no sign he heard my entrance, nor yet my (I am ashamed to admit) deliberately noisy tidying and fire-tending.
It wasn't until I dropped into my chair, more tired out than I was when I walked in the door, that Basil deigned to take notice of me. And when he did, it was only to ask me to fetch him "that blue cloth on the table, there's a good fellow."
Letting myself sink into full-blown petulance, I stomped over to the table. The blue cloth in question was draped over some large object I didn't recognize. Further annoyed, I jerked the wretched cloth down. What lay beneath was a heavy vase containing a single, large pink clover blossom that wobbled precariously. Immediately I bent to steady it and my nostrils filled with the scent of honey and fresh hay. "Basil!" I exclaimed, part in pleasant surprise and part in fond exasperation, for it was obvious he had set me up only to surprise me with one of my favorite delicacies.
My friend's low chuckle merely confirmed it. "Do you like your surprise, Dawson?"
"Of course I do, Basil," I replied, still overcome, "but where in the world did you find red clover at this time of year?"
He smiled and walked over to me. "There is a farm mouse in Surrey who owed me a favor. Whatever are you doing?"
I had plucked one of the tiny pink flower tubes from among the blossom's inflourescence and was holding it out to Basil. "Giving some to you."
"But it's yours. I procured it for you."
"I know. And I am choosing to share it with my friend."
When neither I nor the offered flower waivered, Basil merely sighed, thanked me, and accepted it. He did, however, wait until I had plucked a flower of my own. Together we bit into the crunchy, white base that stored the nectar.
I closed my eyes and savored the honey-like sweetness on my tongue. When I opened my eyes again, Basil was licking the remnants of nectar from his whiskers and looking thoughtful. "I've never eaten red clover before," he explained when at my questioning expression. "I think I may need to ask my Surrey contact if he can find any more of it."
Author's note: if you have never tried pulling out and eating the white tips of red clover flowers, you need to. They're at their best in the spring and they are truly as sweet as sugar.