Two Worlds...One Spirit
A Great Mouse Detective Pastiche

by E. Grimes

Rated G (U)

© 2003 by E. Grimes. No part of this manuscript may be copied or used in any manner without author's written permission.

In Part I: While roaming Sherlock Holmes' flat collecting souvenirs of his hero, Basil becomes careless
and is soon spotted by Mrs. Hudson, who attacks him with a broom. In his attempt to escape, he falls
into the housekeeper's cleaning bucket and nearly drowns, but is saved just in time---by none other
than The Great Detective himself.

After being nursed back to health by Holmes and Dr. Watson, Basil thinks about returning to his own
flat, worried that both his household and his work are being neglected. Yet he is most reluctant to leave
his detective friend---who, for whatever reason, seems happy to have the mouse under his care.

As Basil ponders his situation, he soon discovers that Sherlock Holmes really needs him---and how much
the two of them actually share in common.

O tiny timorous forlorn beast,
O why the panic in thy breast?
Thou needest not dart away in haste
To some corn-rick;
I'd never run and chase thee
With murdering stick.

I'm truly sorry man's dominion
Hath broken nature's social union
And justifies that ill opinion
Which makes thee startle
At me, thy poor earth-bound companion
And fellow mortal!

~~~~from "To A Mouse" by Robert Burns
(Adapted by E. Grimes from the English translation)

Part II

ABOUT THREE DAYS had passed since my fortunate rescue by Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson.
My strength had fully returned by this time, and I was in much better spirits---thanks to the kindness of
both these men. I was well fed and infamously pampered, which rather surprised me; one would have
thought they had never seen a mouse in all their lives. Even Mrs. Hudson seemed to have softened
towards me a bit, though she still gave a start whenever she saw me moving around in my box.

I must confess that I rather enjoyed the care I was given---perhaps, too much; I had the feeling Mrs.
Judson would find me even more difficult to live with once I finally returned to my flat. Had my life
been quite different, in fact, I might have been reasonably content with my new home.

However, I wasn't; the inner struggle I had been facing continued to weigh upon me, as did the
questions in my mind: Should I stay? Should I leave? As yet, I had seen no easy solution.

I was all too aware of my own responsibilites to mousekind...after all, I was Basil of Baker Street, the
Sherlock Holmes of my own world. I was a free spirit, and therefore no human's pet. But in spite of
myself, I could not shake off the almost mystical bond that tied me to the man who had saved my life.

Late at night, I would climb out of my box and wander the flat. Yet each time I approached my secret
passage near one of the wainscoatings---the way back home---I would think of Mr. Holmes all alone in
his room. Then a strange sadness would overcome me; and always, always, I would turn away and
return quietly to my box, there to remain...unwilling to stay, yet unwilling to leave.

But why? I asked myself over and over. Why is it so difficult to leave? Surely Mr. Holmes, though very
kind, doesn't need a little mouse to keep him company! He has Dr. Watson and Mrs. Hudson, and Toby.
There is also his brother Mycroft, though I've seldom seen him...

I finally decided not to torment myself further about the matter. If it made these humans happy, I would
let them take care of me until such time as I felt free to leave them. Somehow, I thought, I would get word
to Dawson, and in time the situation would right itself.

"Everything happens for a reason", I had once heard. I had not always found that easy to believe; yet
there were times when it made good sense. Perhaps, I thought, there IS a reason for everything that's
happened to me here...and a reason why I can't leave yet. Can it be that Mr. Holmes DOES, in fact,
need me somehow?

What I did not yet understand was that all of my assumptions were correct---for in due time, destiny
would reveal the answers to my questions, and help me see why I meant so much to the man I so
deeply admired.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It began one rainy afternoon, some days after my accident; I had been brought out to the sitting room
just before breakfast and placed close to Mr. Holmes' chair. Having little else to do with my time this
particular moment, I was busying myself glancing at a copy of The London Times which had been left
lying about. My eyes were sharp enough to read it from my box, though I would have liked to have been
much closer.

But something was wrong this day. Dr. Watson and Mrs. Hudson were alone in the sitting room; Mr.
Holmes, I noticed, had not been present since breakfast. I was worried, for that morning he had been
strangely quiet and withdrawn---not the bold and energetic detective that was often so familiar to me.
He had scarce eaten his breakfast, though he made sure I was properly fed. Afterwards, he had gone
to his room, where he had remained since.

I am well familiar with Mr. Holmes' varying moods---and their extremes. I myself confess to a rather
mercurial temperament (as both Dawson and my long-suffering housekeeper can surely testify). My
emotions have always run in dramatic courses, and in a single hour I can quickly traverse from delirious
joy to the blackest pit of despair. At worst, I have been so disheartened as to become physically ill and
unable to leave my bedchamber for days. I wondered now if The Master might be suffering by way of a
similar trial...

I eventually found out. Dr. Watson came from Mr. Holmes' room around tea time, then sat down by the
hearth with a heavy sigh. His face was tired and discouraged, though I could see he was trying to appear
cheerful for Mrs. Hudson's sake as she served the tea.

"How is he, Doctor?" she asked gently.

Dr. Watson sighed again and stirred his tea. "Still the same. I don't know what to do for him; this is the
worst he's been in awhile. We'd best let him rest and leave him alone, as much as possible---something
should perk him up again, before long."

The housekeeper sniffled a bit and dabbed her eyes with her crisp white apron. "The poor soul...but
if you don't mind, Dr. Watson, I'll take him some beef tea and biscuits. He hasn't touched a morsel of
food all day."

"Well, no harm in trying, my dear. But don't be surprised if he refuses them...you know Holmes, and
his moods."

"Yes," Mrs. Hudson sighed, with a martyred glance to the ceiling. "And only too well!"

I raised up in my box and watched anxiously as she carried a tray to The Master's room, and I was
remembering the many times Mrs. Judson had tried to coax me to eat. I had not often thought my
landlady a patient enough woman, but I realised now that at times she had been far more patient
with me than I might have deserved. However, my thoughts were mainly with The Master, and I
could feel my own mood begin to match his...

"Hello! Hungry, are you, little fellow?" came Dr. Watson's voice close behind me. Startled, I
dropped back down and gawked up at the doctor as he leaned over and picked up the box, setting
it in his lap. He spoke to me in a low voice; whether he wished not to frighten me or simply not
to disturb Mr. Holmes, I was unsure at the moment.

"You'll enjoy this, surely," Dr. Watson said jovially, as he spread a bit of Stilton on a biscuit and
offered it to me. The fragrance was tantalising---Stilton is one of my many favourite cheeses---but
I could feel little appetite as I thought of poor Mr. Holmes lying in his bed, sad and discouraged.
Unable to eat, I gazed woefully at Dr. Watson, who shook his head.

"Tch...not you too, little mouse?" he said sorrowfully. "And Holmes asked me just awhile ago to
look after you..."

A bittersweet pain flooded my soul at those words...and though I have seldom cried, tears rushed to
my eyes. Even in his darkest despair, Mr. Holmes was still concerned for my welfare. Anxious as
always to please The Master, I nibbled heartily at the biscuit and cheese as the doctor watched with
a relieved smile.

"You're worried about him too, aren't you, little fellow?" he asked gently, as he stroked my
head and back. I looked up at him in surprise, wondering if he had somehow read my thoughts.

"Holmes will be all right," Dr. Watson continued. "It's been awhile since he's had any work to do...
he feels rather useless right now. But you musn't worry---he'll be his old self in good time, you'll
see."

His words were most encouraging, though I suspected that he had said them mostly to reassure
himself. It seemed to do him good, however, to have another living creature to talk to, even if it
was only a mouse. I realised that for everyone else's sake as well as my own, I would have to keep
my chin up---and my strength up as well.

In the mean time, Mrs. Hudson had returned. Mr. Holmes had still refused to take food; but the
landlady seemed a bit more hopeful as she listened to Dr. Watson's words. She stood watching the
both of us with misty eyes, a sad smile on her face. Whatever she thought of me, she was as fond of
The Master as I was---and I could respect her for that.

But when Dr. Watson retired for the night, I noticed to my surprise that he had left me in the sitting
room. Perhaps the doctor thought I might disturb Mr. Holmes in some way, or had simply been too
worried about him to think of anything else.

I also noted that Toby had been absent for some time. He usually stayed in the sitting room during
the night; perhaps he was in one of the rooms (though Mrs. Hudson would not have allowed him on
any of the furniture). He had seemed gloomy as well, and as worried as everyone else.

However, as I lay in my box thinking things over, I heard Toby's happy whine---and a voice I had
desperately missed...

"Basil ???"

It was Dawson!!! I leapt up and nearly shook his arm off.

"Dawson! Where on earth have you been???" I cried joyfully.

"I was about to ask you that question," he replied, staring at me in astonishment. "Not to mention:
what are you doing in that box---and where in Heaven's name are your clothes??"

"Oh..." I blushed a little as I suddenly remembered that I was still in puris naturalibus (though a
human eye would have been more shocked to see me clothed). "Well, Dawson, it's a long story..."

I told him about my harrowing adventure; he was horrified to hear of my near-drowning, but relieved
and deeply touched at the care these humans had given me.

"They took away my clothes," I continued. "They were soaking wet. I've been here all this time."

"And I've been looking for you all this time," Dawson said, a bit irritably. "And to think, while Mrs.
Judson and I have worried ourselves silly over you, you've been spoiled rotten by all these humans!"

I gave a wry smile, for I could not deny that. Yet I assured him that I had been just as worried about
the both of them. "I had, in fact, tried to come home---several times."

Dawson frowned slightly. "You mean these people stopped you from leaving?"

"No," I had to admit, "I stopped myself."

My friend did not have to ask why. "I know how fond you are of Mr. Holmes. But this isn't your real
home, Basil...you have to come back sometime."

"I know," I sighed.

"Well...no harm done," Dawson said cheerfully. "At least we know you're all right. I'll look around
for your outfit...if I can't find it, I'll come back with your dressing gown. You can change after you
come home."

My face fell. Come home?? Now?

"But...surely you want to come home?" Dawson asked in surprise.

I gave him an anguished look. "I can't come home, old friend. Not yet..."

"But why? These humans won't see you. What on earth is holding you back now?"

I glanced up toward Mr. Holmes' room. "That is what's holding me back. The Master is ill right
now. I know I need to get back to our flat, and it isn't as if I don't want to, Dawson. But if it hadn't
been for Mr. Holmes, I would surely have died. He helped me in my darkest hour...how can I leave
him in his?"

Dawson stood silent, his thoughts his own, as I sat down and stared sadly ahead of me. Finally, he put
a comforting hand on my shoulder.

"It's all right, dear friend," he said with a gentle smile. "I understand. I know I would feel the same way."

I looked up at him in relief and gratitude. "Thank you, Dawson," I whispered brokenly.

He nodded. "I'll let Mrs. Judson know you're all right. When you're ready to leave, go to our passage
and knock. I'll come out and give you some clothes, then we'll be off. I'll see you later, Basil...and I do
hope Mr. Holmes shall be well soon."

We shook paws firmly; and I watched as my dear friend, with a cheery salute, disappeared out into the
darkness. A part of myself ached to have gone with him; but I was most determined to stay with Mr.
Holmes until he recovered.

It was around 4 o' clock in the morning when I awakened to feel my box being lifted up again. Thinking
that it was Dr. Watson, or hopefully Mr. Holmes, I glanced up and was quite startled to see Mrs. Hudson.
She was holding a lit candle, trying to balance it and my box at the same time. But why had she come for
me? What would she do to me? I squeaked in distress, fearing that she had mind to turn me out---perhaps
even to destroy me.

"Now, now...do be quiet, little fellow!" she whispered frantically. I could feel the box shaking in her hands,
and I calmed down a little as I realised that Mrs. Hudson was much more frightened than I was...yet, why
was she handling me? But---to my eternal surprise---I saw that she was carrying me toward Mr. Holmes'
bedchamber. I stared up at the woman, astonished and grateful, for I realised that her devotion to The
Master was far greater than her fear of myself. This did not stop her from cringing at me, however.

"Oh, please, little mouse---shhh, shhhh!!!" she hissed in fright at my joyful squeaks. "And do stop staring
at me, won't you?" She threw the tea towel over me, but I poked my head out again, in mischievous glee at
the woman's hysterics. At that moment, Dr. Watson's door swung open, and I chuckled heartily as Mrs.
Hudson stiffened and just barely swallowed a squeal of fright.

"What in Heaven's name...?" the doctor groaned sleepily. "Mrs. Hudson, what are you doing up at this
hour?"

"I...ah..." The housekeeper, now trembling more than ever, glanced down at me, then back at Dr. Watson.
"The mouse was downstairs...I thought..." She gestured toward Mr. Holmes' room.

Dr. Watson stared at us both in surprise, then nodded understandingly at the sight of my box in the
housekeeper's shaky hands. "I see..."

Mrs. Hudson smiled nervously. "He thinks so much of the wee mouse, Doctor...I thought, p'r'aps it
might cheer Mr. Holmes a little, if we put it in his room?"

"Why not?" the doctor replied. "I'd thought about it myself, but I wasn't at all sure...the mouse will be
more comfortable there, though, and safer as well. And who knows? It might do well for Holmes to have
the little chap around. But you'd best let me bring him in," he added with a grin. "You're about to drop
him and that candle both."

"Oh, yes---please take him, quickly!" The housekeeper pleaded, shuddering as her eyes met mine one
last time. "He's looking at me...oh dear, he's looking at me...!"

Shuddering, she pushed my box into Dr. Watson's hands, and went quickly off to her room.

The doctor watched her leave, chuckling good-naturedly. "Well, she may be right," he said at last. "Perhaps
this might perk him up. At this juncture, I'm ready to try anything..."

As quietly as possible, he opened the door to The Master's room and carried me inside.

Mr. Holmes lay still with his eyes closed; I was unsure whether he was sleeping or simply resting
a little. Dr. Watson gently set my box on a chair close by the bed. "We shan't disturb him right now,"
he whispered. "I'll just leave you here where he can see you."

He placed a small dish of water and a biscuit in my box (to tide me over until breakfast, I supposed),
then silently crept out of the room, leaving me alone with Mr. Holmes. Although the bedchamber was
dark, I could see The Master well...and my heart went out to him as I noted his face, for it bore a piteous
look of grief, despair, and pain. It was a sight far too familiar; for in my darkest moments, my own face
had worn exactly that expression.

Though I saw no logical reason to do so---nor did I know if it would help in any way---I resolved to stay
awake through the night and keep silent vigil over Mr. Holmes. For the time being, my homesickness
would no longer trouble me, and nothing else would seem of importance in my particular life.

Now that Dawson knew I was safe, and understood why I chose to remain, I freely cast off my anxiety---
both for my household and my work. It was Mr. Holmes who mattered the most right now...and I sensed
that whomever else might have need of me this night, my human friend needed me more.

End Part II

Continue to Part III (Conclusion)