TW: This chapter contains blood and gore. Please read at your own risk if it makes you uncomfortable or try to avoid reading it.

At approximately 5:34 p.m., a young woman ran up to me, and one could see how horror-stricken she was like she had seen a ghost. She started speaking fast and incoherently, stumbling over her words and trembling uncontrollably, but after trying to calm her down, she managed to get out that she saw the dead body of a mouse and urged me to follow her, and I did not argue with her. She led me to an alleyway, and what I saw had me retching, my dinner having almost come up had I not forced it back down. It was indeed a dead body. The mouse had been murdered.

— Memorandum book entry of Constable Jude Peters's patrol

~ I II III IV V VI VII VIII IX X XI XII ~

Chapter II: Murder Mystery

Erin couldn't breathe, couldn't drag any air into her lungs. Her world tilted, the constable's exact words ringing over and over again in her eardrums, almost ear-shattering like the scream of a banshee her father described to her from an Irish folklore he once told her at a young age, who was now apparently...

Dead? Erin reiterated internally and likely would've wilted to her knees had she not been gripping the door, knuckles white. No…

"Oh, Erin…" Hiram said hushedly, draping his hand over the dark gray mouse's shoulder.

Erin felt lost on what to do or say. It wasn't that long ago she last saw and spoke to her father, but now, knowing that death had his life in its clutches? It felt too soon, too sudden.

"H–how did he…" Erin trailed off in a shaky voice.

"He was stabbed in the back," the constable explained, not mincing his words, "along with his throat slit."

Erin inhaled sharply, her jaw unhinged and her heart plunging to her feet.

"Good heavens!" Hiram exclaimed in shock.

A sickening feeling swelled in her stomach. Murdered… The word slid through Erin's mind in a whisper as if it were a curse.

Countless questions burst into her thoughts, vying for attention. What she couldn't grasp was how it all happened in the first place. London was notorious for its crime rates, yes, but even as that was, her father had never thrown caution to the wind. Tomás Ravencroft was always vigilant of his surroundings, never turning a blind eye. Even if he had gotten into a brawl, he would have come out of it with his heart still beating.

How was it possible that he fell prey to homicide?

"Take me to him," Erin said to the constable, finally finding her voice. "I must see for myself."

Though Hiram and the constable were not precisely thrilled with the idea Erin wished to see her father's body, they did not hold her back. The constable, Jude Peters, escorted her to the crime scene while Hiram stayed behind with his daughter, likely soon about to explain to her in a delicate matter what was going on. Erin built up a stoic appearance, involuntarily wringing her hands. She wanted to believe in every fiber of her being that the body she was about to see was someone else, but deep down, there was no evading the reality.

They soon picked their way toward an alleyway clogged by a throng trying to see the crime scene. Bobbies from Scotland Yard were barricading their path, though when Constable Peters approached with Erin, a couple of them shuffled aside so they could squeeze their way through.

"I must warn you, Miss Ravencroft," Constable Peters began saying, "that what you're about to see will–"

"I am aware of what I will soon be seeing, Constable Peters," Erin cut him off. "You said it yourself: He was stabbed in the back, and his throat was slit." She breathed in through her nose, and immediately, her olfactory was overpowered by the smell of iron and rot as she quietly breathed out through her mouth. They were nearing, and Erin could feel her stomach churning. "Whether this besets my dreams or not, I wish to gaze upon my father's body."

Erin didn't gauge his reaction, for her honey-brown irises were firmly centered on what was before her. A few constables were discussing the crime scene amongst themselves in whispers while a couple of forensic photographers were snapping photos of it. White lights flashed in her eyes, slightly burning as spots danced across her vision. However, even those flashes alone didn't deter her from making out a body concealed by a white sheet… a body that seemed precisely the exact shape and size she'd measured her father to since she was a mouseling.

Constable Peters waved the forensic photographers away, and as soon as they stepped off to the side, he knelt and started to remove the sheet gingerly as if the body would morph into dust. Erin waited with bated breath, and before long, her eyes were so wide they were like twin moons. There he was—Tomás Ravencroft, sprawled in a prone position in a dry pool of his own blood without a pulse and bearing stab wounds and a slit throat.

He laid there lifeless.

Erin clapped a hand over her mouth, and her breath stalled. Tears threatened to slip from her eyes, yet she kept them at bay. Father… was the only word that came to her mind, her knees on the verge of buckling. Erin ground her teeth together with her eyes squeezed shut, hands balled into fists, and nails biting into her palms. Now is not the time to break down…

She eventually pried her eyes open and pored them over the crime scene, starting with her father, the mathematics gears turning in her head as equations were written out in her field of vision. It was a gruesome sight, with the stab marks marring Tomás's body, along with the throat lined with a deep, quick slice from a knife. His blood was everywhere, staining the ground and his own body, and there was even a bloody handprint on the wall of the alleyway. If Erin's calculations were correct, her father was stabbed at least twelve to fifteen times before his throat was brutally sliced open.

Many scenarios of what could've happened played out in her mind's eye, and equations came and went. There were some plausible conclusions, but something wasn't adding up, and her brain had that nagging feeling whenever she felt that way.

Constable Peters spoke to her before she could forge on any further with what she was doing. "Miss Ravencroft?" he said, concern coating his words. "Do you need to sit? Some water, perhaps?"

Erin went to collect herself. "That will not be necessary, thank you," she responded in an even tone. While she surveyed her surroundings, Erin noticed that a certain mouse who should've been here wasn't. Her mother. "Has my mother been informed of… my father's death?" Saying that out loud, it felt so wrong to her—abnormal.

The constable didn't get the chance to say anything when a feminine voice screamed, "TOMΆS!" Erin whipped her head over her shoulder to see her mother dashing over to where her father was, skirts hiked up. Nancy came to a halt, a gasp emitting from her lips as her hands fell over her mouth, eyes flared wide with horror. "No… no…"

Nancy dropped to her knees, her skirts pooling around her. Erin quickly joined her before she wilted all the way to the ground, steadying her. Nancy burst into tears, head buried against her daughter. The two wound their arms around each other tightly, and Erin allowed her mother to grieve against her while she shut her eyes tightly, ears pinned against her head.

It seemed this was a night they had both not expected at all and had slapped them too soon.

They were advised to leave the crime scene and not torture themselves any further, and Erin didn't dispute for her mother, who was usually composed with decorum, was a sobbing, wreckless mess. Constable Peters escorted them to Erin's childhood home for their safety, and Erin begrudgingly agreed, for she mostly didn't want to stir up anything and tax her mother any further. Once they arrived, Constable Peters bid his farewell and condolences to them and then took his leave. They were just that, though: Words. Words that would not bring back Tomás Ravencroft.

Erin guided her mother inside and had her sit on the settee. Nancy's face was smeared with makeup, too shell-shocked to say or do anything. Erin's lips melted into a thin line. Seeing her mother like this was like seeing a shell of her former self, and while she was still upset about their quarrel at luncheon, she did not wish this upon her. Tomás Ravencroft was the glue that held the family together, but with him now gone… Erin's heart panged just thinking about it.

She glided into the kitchen to boil water in a tea kettle, and right as she set the kettle onto the cast iron stove, someone rapped loudly on the door. Erin wiped her hands against her skirt, biting back a sigh, for this was the worst time for anyone to be here. Her feet carried her to the door, and she opened it to see a familiar face—her father's good friend, Lorcan Conwell, who was also an Irish immigrant.

"I heard what happened," Lorcan spoke without any formal greetings, his dark hazel irises looking distraught. "Is it true? Is he…"

Erin's weary eyes said it all. Her ears flattened against her head as her fingers clenched the door more forcefully than necessary. "He's gone…"

"No…" Lorcan removed his flat cap, shoving his hand through his dirty brown hair. He pressed his eyes shut. "It can't be…"

But yet, it was.

Erin didn't hesitate to invite Lorcan in, and he accepted without question. He was basically family anyway. The story Erin was told was that he and Tomás were orphans back in Ireland, and they survived the streets together before they emigrated to London for better opportunities when they got older. They were more like brothers than friends.

The tea kettle soon started screaming, so Erin went to remove it from the cast iron stove. She poured the hot, steamy water into three separate porcelain cups and steeped them before carrying them on a tray to the parlor, giving one to her mother and Lorcan. With her father no longer here and her mother very vulnerable, Erin had to step up and not burst at the seams.

Silence enveloped the trio as they nursed their cups of tea. Erin was seated in a plush armchair, Lorcan perched next to Nancy on the settee, and they all just zoned out, their eyes leveled on their tea, which sapped slowly of warmth. Once rapturous and full of life, the house was now hollow with only the ghosts of memories. What they all could agree on but wouldn't dare say out loud was that things would not be the same without Tomás Ravencroft. They would no longer hear his boisterous laughter, sense of humor, or voice altogether. He would no longer roam among them, for Heaven was now his new home. His face would grow hazy over time through their mind's eye, but the pictures of him never would.

"Mother, when was the last time you saw Father?" Erin punctured the silence, needing clarity.

Nancy's China cup kept clinking against the saucer, and it was a miracle that nothing got chipped. She soon gravitated the cup to her lips, taking a slow, long sip, lost in thought.

"Take your time, Nancy," Lorcan said in a soothing voice.

Nancy's eyes remained on her tea, and Erin was beginning to think she was too shaken even to speak when suddenly… "It was around when I came back home…" she said, barely above a whisper. "It was three something when I returned…"

Three and a half hours ago…

Sitting on the bed, Nancy channeled all her frustrations into embroidery, weaving her needle precisely in and out of the cloth attached to the hoop as hushed, indecipherable words slipped from her mouth. She'd taken a long stroll, but it did little to snuff out the storm brewing in her, so as soon as she came home, Erin had left by then, and she isolated herself in her and Tomás's living quarters. Embroidery usually calmed her nerves, and she didn't want to say anything to her husband she'd regret. Nancy had been at it for a while now, and thankfully, Tomás let her have her space—to have a little more time for herself.

"It is better than following in your footsteps."

Erin's words had been echoing in Nancy's ears since they'd been spoken, and it was like someone had lodged a dirk into her heart. Her daughter looked her right in the eyes and said them without a second thought… Nancy sometimes wished Erin was a little girl again because then they wouldn't constantly squabble. As the story goes, though, children would soon be grown up, which was what happened to Erin.

She grew up.

"You're muttering."

Nancy was drawn out of her reverie at Tomás's voice, pausing her sewing. Despite that, she kept her blue-gray irises locked on her embroidery progress. "I don't mutter," she denied.

From the edge of her vision, Tomás gave her a knowing smile, pushing himself off the doorframe he was leaning against and shutting the door gently. "Aye, you do. You mutter, lass, when something's troubling you."

It was irking and endearing at the same time that Tomás could read her like a book. Nancy puckered her brow, picking up the threads of her embroidering. "I blame you. Stubbornness runs through your veins."

An amused, gusty breath escaped Tomás. "I should say that it runs through yours as well. We knew what we were getting into when we had Erin."

A jaded sigh spilled out of Nancy's mouth, her entire countenance dropping just as her sewing ceased. "I don't know what to do…"

Tomás plopped down next to her, his arm circling her waist. "Speak to her, dear."

"I do speak to her, she just doesn't listen!"

"Come on, now." Tomás tipped Nancy's chin with his forefinger so her eyes met his honey-brown ones Erin inherited. "Erin is grown up, and she needs our support. Throwing fuel on the fire will only push her away."

Nancy felt a twinge of guilt and couldn't suppress it, even if she tried. "It's not that I want to push her away. It's just that…" She sighed, her ears sinking against her head. "I'm just worried about her. You know how society is, Tomás. I don't want her getting any hopes up, and I'm afraid that if she keeps going down the path she is on now, it will all end in a calamity she won't come out of, or worse…"

"Nancy, have some faith in the lass," Tomás said with forbearing. "She has a sharp mind and can hold her own. You and I have seen what she can do, and her gift in mathematics could lead her to more doors of opportunity."

At those words, Nancy stared off into thought. Erin truly did have an extraordinary talent in mathematics, and her grades showed back then. Even most of her teachers were impressed. What went from basic numbers soon switched to advanced mathematics problems that even Nancy and Tomás couldn't solve themselves. Erin's gift did get her into the university of her choice, from which she soon graduated, but would it be enough for the road ahead of her?

"I just want her to be happy and safe," Nancy admitted softly.

"I know, but we can't be the ones to choose what path Erin takes—that's for her to decide. She has to spread her wings and fly." When Nancy didn't reply to that, Tomás blazed on. "What would be better for our daughter? Pretending to be something she's not or being her own person? It's like makeup. You can apply how much you want, but it can't mask who someone truly is."

Nancy sopped up those words. That was the truth there, something she couldn't sweep off to the side like a broom. Though she barely showed it, Nancy loved their daughter and only wanted the best for her. Perhaps she had been hard on her and never fully understood Erin's choices, and it didn't precisely help she was a traditionalist. Maybe it was time to support her better, for better or worse.

"Just think about what I said," Tomás spoke once again, then pushed to his feet. "I'll be off to work now."

Upon hearing he was going to work now, worry worked its way through Nancy's system, forming a lump in her throat. "Tomás, I wish you would stop taking shifts that have you working late at night. The streets can be dangerous around that time, and London's crime rate has increased."

"It will all be okay, Nancy, and don't forget who you're talking to. Besides, Lorcan will be with me at work."

That brought a bit of reassurance to Nancy. Tomás and Lorcan always had each other's backs, mainly when they worked at the docks, but still…

"Just be careful is all I ask," Nancy requested.

Tomás cupped her face with his hand, a warm smile reaching his face. "Anything for my beautiful wife."

He closed the distance between them, and their mouths collided, their tails twining. This man was Nancy's world, and each time they kissed, her heart melted to putty for him. Opposites they were, but their love for each other ran as deep as blood.

The two then reluctantly pulled away, studying each other as if they were trying to memorize each other more. "I will await your return," Nancy said a little breathlessly.

"And I will be thinking of my return to you," Tomás responded in a husky tone. "I will see you soon."

With that, Tomás made his way out the door, neither realizing what would soon come.

"...and that was the last time I saw him," Nancy concluded, tears glistening in her blue-gray eyes. "You can already speculate what happened when a constable dropped by here to break the news to me…"

Erin allowed those words to settle over her. One moment, her father was alive, then the next thing they all knew, they came to find out he was murdered in cold blood. This didn't feel real.

Lorcan kneaded his temples with his hand. Guilt was sketched across his countenance. "This is all my fault…" he said, voice strained. "I was just doing my part on the docks, and then the next thing I know… he was gone…"

Erin snagged her bottom lip to rein in the tears. There was nothing they could've done to prevent this, and they all knew it, too. Her eyes were closed, and she could still see her father's body, deceased in the wake. Who did this to Tomás Ravencroft and why? From what she gathered, whoever her father's killer was, they didn't pilfer anything from him, and through the blood and death she was smelling, she thought there was alcohol she was picking up on… but that was silly. Her father was not supposed to drink on the job.

Perhaps I'm overthinking this, Erin tried to tell herself, but even when she did, she couldn't shake the very feeling that there was more to her father's murder, and her heart was telling her she had to figure out what happened and who did this to her father.

Erin's mother soon turned in early for the night, and she couldn't blame her. It had been a rough night for them and was still difficult to process.

"I'll stay over and watch your mother," Lorcan volunteered.

"Lorcan," Erin began saying, "I couldn't possibly let you do that. I don't want to burden you with–"

"You're not burdening me, Erin. You and your mother are like family to me as much as your father was. I want to help you however I can and shall not take no for an answer. Your hands are tied enough as it is."

Erin pressed her lips together in thought. She wanted to decline once again, but Lorcan had a fair point. Since her father was dead, that made her the breadwinner of the family, and she had no doubts there would be more tasks piled on her. With Lorcan's help, it would make things easier for her…

Finally, Erin emitted a sigh. "I appreciate it, Lorcan, and if there's any way I can repay you–"

"All I request is that you try to get some rest as soon as you return to the Flavershams'. You need it. In the morning, we can talk with your mother about what to do moving forward."

Even after he said that Erin still felt she had to repay him somehow. She just wasn't sure what yet. "I'm sure you know your way to the guest room then."

Lorcan nodded. "Get to the Flavershams' safely, and I bid you goodnight."

"I bid you a goodnight as well."

With that, Lorcan climbed the flight of stairs, and as soon as Erin heard the guest room swing open and shut on squeaky hinges, she sagged against her seat. She propped her elbow on the chair's arm and rested her head against her hand, her honey-brown eyes sweeping over the parlor. It was too quiet and vacant of felicity and without her father…

It all happened at once. Everything inside her chest burst like a dam when sobs began racking her body. Tears clustered in the corners of her eyes and tracked down her cheeks, and Erin buried her face in her hands, trying to keep quiet as she finally was able to let it all out and grieve over her father—the man who taught her almost everything and was always there to lend her his support.

She didn't even get the chance to say goodbye…

Erin was drained but finally forced herself to take her leave. She shut the door behind her with as much silence as possible and then began traipsing down the street lit by the large human-made lamps that guided her way, shadows falling across the walls and ground. Nighttime had thrown the heavens into almost complete darkness, lit only by the stars and crescent moon in the sky. Then there were the telltale signs of fog materializing, rolling out into the streets, and enveloping what it could as if coming to feast.

Within a few steps, someone called out to her. "Erin!"

Erin froze, her heartbeats faltering. Please tell me it is not who I think it is… she prayed.

She turned around, and her eyes goggled a little. Sprinting toward her was a face she thought she would never see again but had made a name for himself in London: Basil of Baker Street, the 'Greatest Mouse Detective' of London… who also happened to have been her childhood friend and had been the one who deflated her heart.

Erin swallowed a groan as her head tilted back, eyes shut briefly before returning her attention to Basil, who now stood before her. He'd changed quite a lot since the last time she saw him, though his emerald eyes were the same as she remembered them. He was donning his classic detective attire she'd seen in a few newspaper articles, and if Erin weren't so sore by his presence, she could've considered him handsome.

"I had a feeling you would be here," Basil got across. "I'm sorry about–"

"You have some nerve showing your face here after all this time," Erin sliced off Basil's sentence sharply, anger simmering under her dark gray fur. "Of all days, and this is the time you decide to turn up finally?"

Basil winced a little. "Okay, I see that you are upset–"

"Upset?!" Erin scoffed. "Upset doesn't even cover it. I just lost my father tonight, and now here you are, suddenly thinking all bygones will be bygones just because of that factor."

"Erin–"

"It's Miss Ravencroft to you, Mr. Basil."

Erin thought she saw a flash of hurt wash over Basil's features but thought little of it. "Just hear me out. I know how much your father meant to you, and I want to help you solve his murder case."

Erin's brows pinched together more. "Absolutely not. You can take your high and mighty self on a hike because I refuse your help."

After having said that, evident signs of frustration rippled over Basil's face. "Er…" Basil grumbled to himself. "Miss Ravencroft, don't be obstinate. This is your father we're speaking of, who—might I refresh your memory—was murdered without lenience."

"It doesn't take a maven to cast their minds back to the moment they saw their father's cold and lifeless body," Erin countered. "It is still fresh in my mind, so don't act as though that is too complex for me to understand, given that you don't understand my pain."

Basil scrubbed a hand down his face. "That was not what I was trying to allude to…"

"Save it, Mr. Basil. I don't need your pity, and I certainly don't need your help solving this case so it can boost your career. I will not allow my father's case to be something you display, like your many awards for London to see. I will solve it myself, and if I have to, I shall seek out another detective."

Basil gawked in disbelief. "Is that how little you think I view your father's case? I want your father to have justice as much as you do, but you've never solved a case in your life, and this is dangerous territory you're about to tread into. I can help you, just give me–"

"Even if I let you help me, what happens after you solve it?" Erin challenged. "You become a hero yet again, and we return to acting like strangers?"

Basil's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. No answer.

Disappointment dug a hole in Erin's chest, hurting more than it should. "That's what I thought… Good day, Mr. Basil." She pivoted away from Basil, beginning to stride away.

"Erin, I–"

"I said good day, Mr. Basil," Erin repeated herself more tersely after stopping in her tracks. Without another word, she carried herself down the street, her head held high, never looking back, even as she sensed Basil's eyes staring holes into her back.

Basil watched as Erin's figure grew more distant until there was nothing left of her to see. A heavy sigh came out of his lips, his head hanging with his ears pinned against his head. He deserved that. Whatever friendship they might've had left was burnt to crisps—unmendable. Erin had a grudge against him, and Basil expected that much, and he only had himself to blame. After what happened between them when they were teenagers, who wouldn't be bitter towards him?

If anything, though, Erin would eventually come around and seek him out at Baker Street. Basil just knew it. Until then, he'd be waiting as he worked on something important. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and retreated to Baker Street, sulking.

A/N- Woo, another chapter! Well, things certainly took a twist, but whatever shall happen in the next chapter? Stay tuned!

Reviews:

STG96: Thank you! I've never seen that movie, but I'll definitely check it out when I get the chance!