UGH FIRST PERSON MY BELOTHED I'm such a hypocrite I never read first person fanfiction no rarely ever first person fiction in general BUT LIKE? I had to we know I had to we understand why I had to so ya this is in first person

Love toward my beloved worstie jessie von skyward sword for the Nintendo wii for betain my fic

{Originally posted to AO3 on 2022-02-13 for Febuwhump 2022}

In all my years as an army doctor, I'd seen many men go down with all sorts of injuries. It never really is something you get used to. The constant in and out; some back to the battlefield, some lucky (or unlucky) few back home, and the poor bastards who only find themselves waking up before the Lord's gates. I've seen it all in my time.

However, the event's of my first real encounter with Basil of Baker Street still remain to be a unique experience; as most all my experiences with him tended to turn out. The writings of that first meeting were not the full truth, I must now admit. As the ending was made much more with whatever audience those writings were to possibly gather in mind. Now, I am going in to fill in that moment, as I believe it is important with the knowledge I now have of Mister Basil.

When I and Mr. Flaversham grabbed Basil onto our makeshift aircraft, the poor man had practically fallen into our arms. I can only reasonably assume the adrenaline had left in that moment, his mind and body now, somewhat, confirming that he was safe enough to let go.

Unfortunately, that 'letting go' did include him losing consciousness against us, both. His tattered clothes gave sight to terrible gashes across his form. From the short glance I had gotten in the moment, I was confident he would survive; yet it was still imperative that we were to get him medical help at once.

Thankfully, years of medicine never truly leave you. As Mr. Flaversham and I were able to safely get him back to his flat and inside. Mrs. Judson truly had a hollar at the sight; and I learned quite quickly that calming her down from such hysterics was much easier said than done.

Once I'd significantly assured the three that he would be alright, given they allow me the space and time to do my work, Mrs. Judson had fled back to her own quarters. Whereas Mr. Flaversham and his daughter took their leave, assuring that they would return to properly thank Basil.

I'd begun by pulling the tattered clothes from the man's body. I'd momentarily questioned throwing them out; they were unsalvageable by that point. However, knowing my new companion the little I did at the time, I was under the impression that he would be right sore with me if I were to do so. He is quite an odd man like that; even back then I'd had recognized such.

Yet, despite his oddities he was fascinating all the same. These days, I'm not in any way surprised that I would be to spend the rest of my life on adventures with him.

However, in that moment, I was much more concerned with making sure he would live to see the rest of his own life.

I was correct in my earlier assumption that the gashes were not deep enough to be fatal. And yet, the fur in those parts were still lightly crusted over with blood, and new splotches rising to the surface. Quickly, I set forth to take a cloth and began to wipe across the wounds, cleaning them as best I could and the fur around them.

It was during this that Basil began to stir. I was, notably, surprised, as I was sure it would have been another hour or so that he would rise.

He never did cease to amaze me.

He greeted me as he finally pulled himself back to complete consciousness, "Doctor Dawson."

He attempted to rise out of the chair but I was quick to place a hand to his chest, lightly pushing him back.

"You're not going to die, but that does not mean you should take your injuries so flippantly," I berated.

Basil let out, what I could only assume was, a humored sigh. "You should also note the injury on my back, before I am to bleed all over my nice chair."

I met his eyes at that. His gaze was darker than it had been last; eyes rimmed darkly and color lost out to whatever storm had taken over. "Turn around then," I instructed and put a hand on his shoulder to help maneuver him as I needed.

As he had said, there was a notable scratch across his back. I'd vaguely remembered catching a glimpse of it back at the tower. "I never much took you as one to be particular over blood," I inquired as I began to clean his back just the same.

"I'm not, really," he responded. "Though Mrs. Judson would surely have a fit over it. And between you and me, Dawson," Basil turned his head to look back at me, "I don't particularly feel like dealing with that at the moment."

I couldn't really help the light chuckle that formed primarily within my chest. Only coming out in small huffs.

Once I had sufficiently cleaned the wounds, I pulled the bandages out and lifted at Basil's arms to silently instruct what I needed of him. I then went to bandage him up. Half way through the process I'd become rather unnerved by Basil's silence. Though I supposed any man would be pulled within his own thoughts after such an ordeal, Basil struck me as the kind to speak most his aloud. And even then, it was much less the silence itself and more so the mood that hung bitterly in the air alongside it.

"You've been awful quiet, Basil," I finally spoke; finishing up the last loop of bandages and beginning to tie them up properly.

"A man has just died, Doctor Dawson," Basil replied in what came more a mumble. "I do believe it is normal to offer a moment of silence in respect."

I then remembered Ratigan. I'd watched with my own eyes as he fell; as did the others. He would not regain consciousness from a fall like that; that was to say if consciousness was all he had lost from such a drop.

I looked at my bandage work with satisfaction as I let a sigh slip out. "A long moment for a man I question deserves such respect."

Having sensed I'd completed my work, Basil stood and looked to me. "A man is still a man. Despite his deeds."

"That isn't how you spoke of him before."

Basil only gave a shrug. "I was speaking ill of him before. And I may just continue to do so tomorrow."

I could only look at him for a moment at that. It was then that I gained the first inkling of a thought, that Basil and Ratigan had more of a history than the man before me truly let on. At that time I'd wondered what such a history could be besides the back and forth battle of wits I had been privy to just earlier that night. Such respect, such gentle quiet that lined Basil's words that I hesitantly would describe as sorrow.

"Thank you," Basil began, pulling me from my thoughts. "For your help, Doctor Dawson. But we should be heading back out."

"Back out?" I looked at him as he pulled on a new shirt. "But- but you're injured," I reminded. "You really should rest."

"A couple of scratches are not going to kill me, Dear Doctor." Basil smiled at me as he slung on his coat. "Besides, the Queen is to request us shortly, and we best not keep her waiting." He then started out the door without another word.

I watched him, slack-jawed. "The Queen?! Basil, wait a moment!" I then grabbed my own coat before chasing after him.

The rest is history. Or at the very least, already written down in the original transcripts of this adventure. I'd never really understood the notability of that moment till much later in our time together. Most will not understand the purpose of this addition, as there are plenty of moments I cut from my writings. Private moments between Basil and I that maybe one day, decades after our passing, will see the light of day. But for now, they remain locked away, safely, in 221 B Baker Street.

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