Towering stacks of smoke reach out toward the night sky, blocking all but the brightest stars from sight. The full moon pokes through the smog to illuminate the tiled roofs and cobblestone streets. A soft mist blankets the City of London. Her people sleep comfortably in their beds, ignorant to the happenings within the shadows.
A small figure scours the barely lit cobblestone street, using the shadows to mask their movements. A small sign pointing toward it reads Archibald Brewery Market. The figure quickly reads the sign and dashes into the alleyway.
Both sides of the alley are lined with shops of every kind. The figure lurks past the butcher's shop, the tailor's, and a toy shop, finally stopping in front of a large store with a dark green awning. Edward's Golden Calf is written in gold lettering across the awning. The figure peers through the window. Like the other shops, it's dark and empty. But within the darkness, the figure could see a small safe embedded in the wall at the very back of the store. They move toward the door and push their claw into the keyhole of the door.
They wiggle their claw around, putting an ear to the lock to listen. After a few seconds, there's a click and the door is open. The figure silently slips through the store and makes a beeline for the safe.
Once again, they put their ear to the safe and begin fiddling with the lock. This time, it's a combination. Slowly, the dial turns right until a soft clicking is heard on the number 9. Then the dial turns left, clicking on 5. Then the dial is turned right again. Once it hits 8, a much louder click makes the figure's ear twitch. The safe is opened, revealing a single jewel perched atop a dark green pillow. The figure clutches onto the jewel and hides it in the bosom of their shirt. It closes the safe and resets the lock before making their way to the door.
Soft footsteps catch their attention toward the alleyway. A Constable Mouse walks down the alley, humming a small tune to himself. He goes up to each door and checks to ensure they are locked. He reaches the Golden Calf's door and gives the knob and twist. It barely budges.
"Locked up nice and tight." He mutters happily before moving on.
[~~~]
The sun burned away the smoggy mist, making way for a beautiful day in London. Archibald Brewery Market is bustling with activity as the mice of London go about their days within the shops.
Edward's Golden Calf is especially busy as the more fortunate citizens sift through the cases filled with ear rings, wedding bands, necklaces, and more. Watching the customers and staff closely is Edward Thomas, the owner of the store. He smiles as he sees the money rolling in as the wealthier clients gawk at the fine collection he has to offer. One of his clerks walks up to him and hands him a note.
"From Mister Farrell, sir." He says. Edward nods and takes the note. His grin grows wider as he quickly reads the note.
"It appears he's finally ready to make the purchase." He says before walking over to a safe at the back of the store. The mouse excitedly opens the safe and looks inside to see… nothing.
His grin melts away as pupils dilate. His hands begin to shake as he feels around inside, begging to God that he's mistaken. He feels nothing. "My God," he and as reality sets in. "I've been robbed."
The clerk walks over to see what could be troubling his boss. The same horror washes over him as he sees the empty safe. "My God."
Edward turns to the store and bounds over to the door. He ignores the customers he shoved to the ground as he exits his store and cries out, "Help! Someone call the police! I've been robbed!"
[~~~]
If you live within a block of 221½ Baker Street, there are some things you have to do. Firstly, always assume the person knocking at your door has the wrong apartment. Usually, it's a mouse looking for the Famous Detective who has no idea where they are. Second, stay away from the less savory characters. After all, they're most likely going after the Detective, not you. So why get involved. Thirdly, be prepared for a lot of noise. Whether a screeching violin, a gunshot, or an explosion. And finally, get used to whatever awful stench comes from the home of Basil of Baker Street.
Inside his room, Basil has a massive chemical workbench set up. Dozens of vials both empty and full are scattered about. Some of which are precariously close to spilling their volatile contents. He eyes the red colored liquid as a single drop hovers over a vial filled with blue bubbling liquid.
"Come on, just a single drop will do." If his calculations are correct, which they almost always are, then anything more will be disastrous. He simply needs to twitch his finger and he'll have made the perfect dosage.
Unfortunately, life seems to enjoy throwing him off as the doorbell rings. The sudden noise makes him do more than twitch and two small drops drip from the vial in his hand to the bubbling concoction on the table.
Mrs. Judson chooses to ignore the explosion coming from upstairs in favor of answering the door.
A young mouse boy respectfully tips his cap. "Good Morning, Mrs Judson." He says politely. He produces an envelope from his small bag and hands it to her, explaining that it was meant for Mister Basil of Baker Street.
She smiles and gives him a shilling. Once the boy runs off, she closes the door and makes her way into the living room. Sitting by the fire is the other, more polite and tolerable tenant of Baker Street. Doctor Q. Dawson. He stares intently at an empty page in a book, stabbing the page with a pen impatiently.
Mrs Judson grabs the pen from his hands and puts her other hand on her hip. "Murdering that journal of yours won't do, Doctor Dawson."
Dawson sinks into his chair. "I know, Mrs Judson. But I haven't written anything in weeks. I'd hoped that I could write something of value, something that mice would love, but… well. Life has gotten dull."
Mrs Judson looked at the good doctor with pity. It had been some time since the Queen's Jubilee, where Basil and Dawson had thwarted a plot concocted by Professor Ratigan to take over all of Mousedom. Ever since, the two had taken on very few cases and clients. Now, Basil is in a rut, refusing to take anyone unless he felt it was worth his time, which was almost all of them. That rut carried over to poor Doctor Dawson, who would sit for hours either reading the paper, begging for excitement, or staring at an empty page in his journal, straining his mind to produce a single sentence worth reading. It broke the renter's heart to see her two boys like this.
She looks at the envelope and hopes against hope. "Perhaps this will spark your writer's hand once more."
Dawson takes the envelope and looks it over curiously. Then snorts. "I doubt it. It might just be another missing pet fly." He pulls a letter from the envelope and reads it over once. Then twice. Then again for good measure. Mrs Judson is surprised to see Dawson shoot up from the chair and hop up the stairs toward Basil's room.
He knocks hard on the door before entering, and regretting it immediately. His nostrils fill with a stench that threatens to rip his lungs apart. Thinking quickly, he pulls out a handkerchief and covers his mouth and nose with it.
"Confound it, Basil. How can you stand this stench?"
The detective in question has his own handkerchief wrapped tightly around his face as he wipes down the table. Spilled contents and knocked over vials are everywhere.
"What came in the post today, Dawson?" He asks, changing the subject. "Another lost pet cockroach?"
Dawson shakes his head and hands Basil the note. "No, this might be a real caper this time." He goes over to open a window as Basil reads the note.
The detective's eyes light up for the first time in ages. A priceless jewel stolen. No leads found by police. No pet carrier cockroaches were involved as far as he knows. This is it! A case worthy of his time!
Just as Dawson opens the window, he is grabbed from behind by Basil, who is already back in his classic clothing. "Come, Dawson!" He exclaims. "We haven't a moment to lose!"
Mrs Judson is bringing the laundry up the stairs when she is hit by the vile stench. It takes all of her strength to stand as the smell nearly knocks her out. The perpetrator of the putrid odor guns past her, with his partner in hand, down the stairs.
"Now hold on there, Basil!" She calls out. "You're not leaving this hole until the smell-"
"Not to worry, Mrs. Judson. We left the window open to air out the room. The smell should dissipate within the hour." Basil quickly explains as he gathers his kit, including his magnifying glass, fine powder, and gloves.
From its little post on the mantle, Basil takes his signature pipe. He bounces around the room like a child as he puts everything into his travel bag. Dawson barely gets his coat on before he's shoved out the door.
"Come Dawson, we mustn't dawdle."
"B-But, aren't we taking Toby with us?" Dawson asks. Basil shakes his head.
"Afraid not. He's on a walk with Holmes. They won't be back until much later in the day." The pair stop on the corner of the street. "We'll simply take a cab."
Right on que, a large carriage stops right in front of them. A human nearly crushes the two of them as he steps out. Basil and Dawson scramble to climb aboard with some help from a mouse chauffeur.
With a crack of the reins, the carriage sets off once more. Excitement fills Basil's soul as they ride the carriage down the road. He hopes against hope that this will be the case he's been waiting for.
(-)
A large crowd is forming around the Golden Calf. Curious onlookers and nosy reporters push against the thin line of police officers to catch a glimpse of the crime scene.
"Keep back, there's nothing to see here!" The officers shout every time a mouse tries to shove their way in.
Watching the scene from in the shop is Inspector R. Pertwee. Pertwee is a large mouse with a pencil thin mustache. He stands tall over his officers as they check every crevice for a shred of evidence.
The shop owner anxiously watches as the police turn the entire establishment upside down. One officer flips over a chest, dumping some expensive jewelry onto the floor. Another puts a ring on his finger, checks to see how it looks then shrugs and replaces it with another.
The owner tries to grab Pertwee's coat, but the inspector holds him back. "Please, Inspector!" The owner begs. "Please tell your mice to be gentle! The jewelry in here is worth millions!"
Pertwee scoffs as he fixes his coat. "Don't worry, Scotland Yard will pay for any damages caused by our officers."
The owner glares. "I seriously doubt any of your inspectors can afford a single diamond in this shop!" Several officers stop their investigation to scowl at the shop owner. The mouse flinches under their intense gazes. But with a cough, he recovers and gives his own glare back to Pertwee. "Now, either find a way to find the thief without destroying my shop or I'll resort to… other means."
Pertwee grinds his teeth together and leans into the shop owner's face. The mouse suddenly realizes how tall the inspector actually is.
"Now you listen here." He growls. "Scotland Yard is the best at what we do and we do it for free! So either butt out or-"
"Inspector Pertwee, sir!" A young officer rushes into the store and salutes. Pertwee gives a curt nod back. Then gives the owner a side glance before addressing the young officer.
"What is it, Dibbles?"
"Sir, a mister 'Basil of Baker Street is outside, sir."
The entire shop goes silent. All eyes are on Dibbles, gazing at him as if he's claimed he found the Holy Grail in a thrift store.
Pertwee opens his mouth and closes it again. How could he respond to that? What does he do in this situation?
He doesn't have time to answer these questions as the crowd outside goes into a frenzy. Only now, they're not trying to get into the store. Their attention has turned over to a duo of mice walking down the alleyway.
Basil of Baker Street, dressed in his classic jacket and hat, leads his partner, Dawson, through the swarm of press mice and excited onlookers. Many whisper his name under their breath in amazement.
Turns out saving the Queen and all of Mousedom does wonders for your celebrity status.
"Mister Basil!" One journalist calls out. "Are you here to solve this robbery case?!"
"Do you suspect someone from Ratigan's gang?!" Another asks.
"Oh Basil, please marry me!" A woman's plea echoes through the crowd. The detective pauses for a moment to register what she just said. But he quickly brushes it off and slips in through the police line.
Dawson is having no such luck. The poor doctor is fully enveloped by the crowd, answering what questions he could. It would be impolite to not respond to a few of these fine mice.
"Oh-oh. Not to worry, my dear chaps. We'll solve this case in no time."
"No, we're not sure about Ratigan's lackeys."
"He doesn't even know you, young lady!"
"Dawson!" Basil snaps as he grips Dawson's coat collar and drags him through the police line. The officers brace themselves as they once again hold back the tide of frenzied mice.
Basil pats himself and Dawson down, removing what wrinkles and dust they accumulated from that crowd. He ends up finding one piece of paper with an address on it. Without a second thought, he tosses the paper to the side and walks up to Pertwee.
"Good morning, Inspector." He says politely. He extends a claw forward, offering a handshake. Pertwee not so politely declined.
"What are you doing here, Basil? Scotland Yard has this handled!"
Dawson looks around. Officers are turning the whole place upside down with little regard to the jewels they toss aside. The whole place looks like a battlefield. "Clearly."
"So I'd clear off, maybe take some of this ilk with you!"
"Wait, Inspector!" The shop owner exclaims. "I requested Mister Basil's presence. I believe he may be able to help."
Pertwee gives the owner the side eye, making him wilt under the gaze. "Is that so?" The inspector scoffs. "Very well then. Let's see if the Great Mouse Detective can save the day again."
Basil huffs and turns toward the shopkeeper. "Tell me, is there anyone who watches over the place at night?"
The shopkeep shakes his head. "Not all night. Just the usual night watch mouse."
Basil ponders for a moment before heading over to the safe. Dawson takes over questioning, he notices Basil's ears are pointed towards them, so he knows he's listening.
"What time does the watch mouse usually pass by?"
The shopkeep shrugs. "I wish I could tell you, but he comes at his own pace."
"Then perhaps," Basil muses as he pulls a rag and a small vial from within his jacket. "We should question if the watch mouse had seen anything."
Pertwee huffs. "Don't bother, I already sent some men to question him. He says it was as quiet as ever. The door was locked as he passed by and there was no sign of any mouse inside."
Dawson frowns. "Not a lot to go with, is there?"
All eyes are on Basil as he opens the small vial, filled with a very fine white powder, and starts pouring it on the safe's lock. Pertwee chuckles as he watches the strange display. "And what's this supposed to accomplish, Mister Basil?"
Basil keeps his focus on the powder, being very careful not to blow any of it away. "I'm checking for claw prints."
Dawson, Pertwee, and the shopkeep collectively raise an eyebrow. Dusting for claw marks? They had never heard of such a thing before. Was that even possible? Basil thinks so as he pulls out some paper and begins gently patting it around the lock. "My hope is that we'll find the prints belonging to our thief. Then, we simply find a match."
"But that'll be impossible!" Pertwee insists. "The thief could be anywhere by now!" The shopkeeper falls to his knees in despair. He's going to be fired or worse! His shop was going to be ruined! His reputation will go down the drain! Everything his family had worked for will be for nothing!
"True, but I've been reading up on this subject and I think we may have a way of narrowing it down." Basil explains. "The mouse who helped invent this technique also created a sort of algorithm. He used test subjects to see if different types of mice created patterns." The detective carefully puts the paper away and blows off all remaining dust off the lock. He stands up and turns toward the crowd.
He scans the crowd of mice that are still gathered outside the building. Most simply stare over the shoulders of the bobbies standing in line, while a few try to push their way in to see the Great Mouse Detective working up close.
One mouse stands out among the masses. A bush of bright red hair accompanies a beautiful face with a small nose. She stands near the front of the crowd, revealing her bright green dress that compliments her slim figure. Dark green eyes pierce the police line right into Basil. He can feel her watching him, like she knows he is looking at her too.
The moment is interrupted by shouts of indignation from the crowd as big, burly police mice push their way through the crowd. Once the onlookers are parted, a stout gentle mouse in some of the finest clothing Basil has ever seen, swanks his way into the shop.
Inspector Pertwee stands at attention while the shopkeeper tries to hide his face in his claws.
Basil takes note of everything this mouse projects. Fancy clothing, meaning a mouse who is wealthy and wants all of London to know it. A cane with a brass handle and beechwood only enforces this. He did take note of the small trigger in the handle, meaning that this mouse was armed. The police response means that he is a mouse with authority. The groveling shopkeeper gives a mighty obvious clue as to who the owner of the stolen jewel is.
"Lord Edwin," Pertwee gives a salute that would put the Queen's Guard to shame, "Inspector Pertwee of Scotland Yard, at your service, My Lord."
"I hope you made some headway with this investigation, Inspector." Lord Edwin says plainly. "I want my property returned to me as soon as possible."
"I assure you, My Lord, that Scotland Yard will not rest until we've captured the thief."
"See that you do. Now, where is my secretary? She was supposed to be here already."
"Over here, sir!" Basil turns toward the crowd. The woman in the green dress waves from behind the police line. Lord Edwin rolls his eyes. The police see him wave his hand, so they let her through into the shop.
"I see you're late, Miss Lee."
The mouse fixes her hair and bows her head. "I apologize, sir. The police wouldn't let me through. I've been trying for over an hour."
"I expect better of you, Mary." Lord Edwin leans in. Basil can't tell what he is saying, but judging from her crestfallen expression, it isn't pleasant. Something stirs inside him. Like his gut is telling him that he's missing something important.
He decides at that moment to trust his instincts and steps forward. "Lord Edwin," he says, giving a slight bow. "Basil of Baker Street, at your service, sir."
Lord Edwin smiles. Basil's stomach churns at the sight. "Ah, the famous Basil of Baker Street. With you on this case, I expect this thief to be caught in no time." The tone of his voice lacks any semblance of genuine hope. Basil has been in the business long enough to know when someone is being insincere. But he put on his most pleasant grin and shook his hand.
"Not to worry, Lord Edwin. We'll get your jewels back in no time."
Lord Edwin's grin sends a chill down Dawson's spine. He shakes Basil's claw. "When you find my jewel, Mister Basil, you'll have my eternal gratitude."
Basil is not entirely sure he wants it.
(~~)
(It's been a long time since I've written anything anywhere. Life and other projects took up all of my time. But when I could, I decided to completely rewrite this fic to have a better plot and longer, more descriptive chapters. This is the Start and I hope you all enjoy!)