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 permission.

Note: "Ferret" incident inspired by The Mouse of Amherst by Elizabeth Spires
Quote at bottom from The Final Problem by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

In Part II: Three days after his accident, Basil is now fully recovered and much more comfortable with
his surroundings. But in spite of a pressing need to return to his flat, he is as yet unwilling to leave
the presence of Sherlock Holmes, whose kindness and wisdom have now become more important
than ever to Basil.

Some days later, however, he notices Holmes absent from the sitting room, and eventually finds out
that The Great Detective is ill. In compassion for his human friend, the mouse detective steadfastly
refuses to leave---even after Dawson finally finds him and urges him to come home.

Later during the night, Basil is carried upstairs---to his surprise, by Mrs. Hudson---and brought by
Dr. Watson into Holmes' bedroom, in hopes that having the mouse nearby will bring the detective
out of his depression.

As Basil now keeps a silent vigil over his mentor, he is soon to become aware that he has long
been a part of The Master's world...

O tiny timorous forlorn beast,
O why the panic in thy breast?
Thou needst 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 III

DEEP INTO THE NIGHT, awaiting the dawn, I kept watch over The Master. He lay with his head and
back slightly propped up with pillows; I gazed at him earnestly, hardly moving in my box, listening
in silence to his breathing. Its calmness was strange contrast to his somber face; yet, I thought, it was
not unlike the nature of Sherlock Holmes--a man of many paradoxes.

I wondered now...was he dreaming? And what must The Master's dreams be like? Were they anything
like mine: filled with joys and sorrows of life past and present? Tormented visions of cases unsolved,
of enemies living and dead--or troubling memories of those nearest to him?

Were his reveries, perhaps, of the famous Miss Adler...or predictions, even warnings of the future? Or
perhaps he stood again at Reichenbach Falls, engaged in mortal battle with Moriarty--might it be that
the long-dead evil professor lived again in dreadful nightmares, just as Ratigan returned at times to haunt
my own rest? I would never know, perhaps; I could only ponder the mystery.

Of one thing I was certain: my resolve to keep awake proved to be in vain as the darkness and strangely
placid silence of that room began to take toll on my sleep-heavy eyes; quite before I knew it, they had
closed. It was then, in a fog of drowsiness, that I heard his voice...

"My little friend..."

I was instantly awake. Had I been dreaming?? I looked up to find Mr. Holmes gazing at me from his bed.
No, I thought with sudden joy; it hadn't been a dream--The Master was calling me!

My heart pounding, I raised up quickly in my box. "Did you want me, Mr. Holmes?" I squeaked eagerly.
"Oh, please...speak to me once more!"

"My little friend," he repeated softly. "So they've brought you up here to me...were you afraid I had
forgotten you?"

"Oh, Heaven forbid it, dear Mr. Holmes!" I cried, my eyes beginning to mist. For I knew that even in
his sadness, he had not forgotten me--any more than I could forget him.

I had thought him too ill to move; but suddenly, his arm slowly swept over the bedcovers and he
stretched his hand out toward me. My heart seemed to stop that moment: he was beckoning me.
Surely this is only a dream! I said to myself--though I prayed it wasn't. Apparently mistaking my
hesitance, Mr. Holmes gave a nod of encouragement.

"Come here, little fellow...you needn't be afraid."

Afraid?? I had long cast aside any fear I'd had of this great man. On the contrary, I felt quite honoured
to have private audience with my beloved human friend. Needing no second invitation, I leapt out of my
box and onto the bed, then ran straight to Mr. Holmes' outstretched hand.

Words cannot describe the emotions that fill me as I recall this; for thus began an experience that will
live forever in my memory.

The Master's hand closed around me gently; handling me as carefully as though I were made of glass,
he carried me slowly towards him, then laid me on his stomach. With his hands cupped around me, he
began to pet me; by now, I had quite come to love such attention. For several minutes he was silent; his
eyes, still sad and troubled, stared almost hypnotically into the darkness.

As I sat so close to him, I watched him with heartfelt pity...longing to cheer him any way I could. Wishing
that I could see into his heart, to know what troubled him and hopefully offer some remedy, some solace...

Though I knew he could not understand my speech, I decided to speak to him.

"My dearest friend: what ails you so?" I squeaked gently. Mr. Holmes did not look at me. Suddenly, I
could not bear his silence a minute longer.

"My poor Mr. Holmes!" I cried in anguish. "Is there no comfort I can give you? I pray you, look at me
and speak to me but for a moment...and know that you are not alone in this dark night of your soul!"

In my impetuousness I had raised up a little on my hind legs. Whether The Master noticed this or my
passionate squeaking had distracted him, I was uncertain; but he turned his gaze upon me, seeming not
to have been disturbed.

"There is nothing to fear, little fellow," he said at last, as if he had understood me. "My dark mood need
not trouble you."

But indeed it troubles me! I thought as I gazed up at him sadly. And who should understand it better
than I, dear Master? For so often has such a melancholy been my own....

Mr. Holmes began to pet me again, slowly this time. "What are you thinking?" he asked me in a quiet voice,
a slight smile coming to his solemn lips. "Are you thinking of your home, perhaps of your next meal? How
mysterious must be the mind of a mouse...yet how simple and uncomplicated is your life. In your world,
you need only food and shelter; and safety from man and beast. The joys and sorrows of my world are
far removed from you..."

I was quite startled at his words; I should not have been, for The Master was merely expressing the belief
of all humankind regarding my race. But of course, I thought--how could any human, even Mr. Holmes,
possibly understand my world? For it was by no means removed from his--rather, it mirrored it in very
many ways. Moreover, my life and those of my fellow mice were very much complicated...and decidedly
far from simple.

How sad that you know so little of my world, Mr. Holmes, I wished to tell him. That we differ from your
kind only by virtue of our species...for we, like you, have homes and families, occupations..we feel love
and hatred, joy and sorrow--all the virtues and vices present in human thought! We, too, care for our loved
ones, seek knowledge to make our world better or worse...we deal with the heroes and villains of society,
defend our homelands...and mourn our dead. And if, indeed, we are truly "vermin"--the robbers of pantries
and the invaders of houses--most often, is it not for our own survival?

Such were my own thoughts; yet I realised that, had many of my fellow mice seen me with this man, they
would surely be aghast that I was in the company of a human--that I even allowed human hands to touch me.
It would have been no less horrifying to my kind than if I were playing with a cat.

I had been taught from early childhood that human beings were my enemies. Experience, also, had taught
me not to trust them; for with only the rarest of exceptions, what human had ever shown sympathy to the
lowly mouse--nor looked upon us as other than unwanted pestilence, fit only for exploitation and destruction?

Humans long had blamed us for the Black Plague of the Middle Ages---even though many of my kind also
fell to its scourge. Humans hunted us with cats and ferrets; slaughtered us with agonising poisons and barbaric
traps. They fed us to reptiles and birds of prey. We were even tortured and killed in the name of science...

And as if all of that did not suffice, our homes and our very nests were destroyed--no, even our children
were not spared. Indeed, humans had seldom been our friends...too often, they had been our executioners.

All this passed through my mind as I sat on The Master's bed, while he stroked my head and back. Yet in his
presence and in his very hands, I felt safe and loved by this man...this extraordinary human, who should have
been my enemy.

But...had Sherlock Holmes ever been my enemy?

I suddenly remembered an odd occurrence some years ago, when I had first come to live at the house on
Baker Street. My quarters had been a bit simpler then, since Mrs. Judson was still setting up housekeeping.
Although I had thought my presence unnoticed by any of the human residents, some days later I was quite
alarmed to hear Mr. Holmes' own housekeeper reveal otherwise:

"Mr. Holmes, I have long suspected that there were mice in this house! But I fear trapping them will do no
good--I have summoned the exterminator to bring his ferret here, and rid us of those nasty creatures once
and for all."

I recalled that Mr. Holmes gave no reply, but merely nodded his head, his customary pipe in his mouth.
Quickly, I warned Mrs. Judson and we prepared to flee. A few minutes later, I noticed a mousetrap being
pushed near our entrance at the wainscoating; cautiously peering outside, I saw Mr. Holmes walking away
from it.

I stared at the brutal machination in dismay--unable to believe that the man I admired so deeply now sought
to kill me, or perhaps Mrs. Judson. But there was no time to think of it further; the sounds of strange human
footsteps and all too familiar growls in the distance told me that my natural enemy was already in the house.
My heart nearly stopped when I saw that horrid ferret running across the floor, heading straight toward the
wainscoating. It was too late to escape; any moment the cruel beast would enter and slaughter us both!

Mrs. Judson screamed and nearly fainted at sight of the creature. I rushed to her, pushing her away from
the entrance--hoping that somehow we might outrun the ferret, or that I might find some sort of weapon
to fight it off. But suddenly, I heard a snap and a shrill cry. I glanced warily behind me; no ferret appeared.
I found the courage to approach our entrance, and risking a peek outside, I saw the animal running frantically
away, its nose caught in the trap!

Needless to say, Mrs. Hudson was most displeased; nor did she appear to believe Mr. Holmes when
he told her that she had wasted her money on the ferret, that there were likely no mice--and if there
were, a trap alone would be sufficient. All the same, my relief and Mrs. Judson's knew no bounds; as
for the ferret, it never darkened our door again.

Not long after that harrowing incident, we moved our quarters to elsewhere in the house; and I made
quite certain the passage into The Master's sitting room was carefully concealed. The odd thing was
that after the near brush with the ferret, no further mousetraps were placed at the wainscoating--nor
have they been so placed since. I gave little thought to that at the time; but recalling it now, I came to
understand that Mr. Holmes had deliberately set that particular trap for the ferret, rather than myself.
Strange it seemed that The Great Detective, though a good man indeed, would have deigned to take
pity upon a mere mouse such as I; yet to this day I am humbly grateful for his singular act of mercy.

Thinking of the kindness Mr. Holmes had shown me these past days and nights, and of how he had
gone so far as to save my life--again--the memory of that act now shone with deeper meaning. I
realised then, to my greatest astonishment and joy: Mr. Holmes had meant to keep me alive! He
had always known of my presence in his house...and had allowed it!

Suddenly, Mr. Holmes picked me up and brought me nearer to him, as though he wished to look at me
closer. His expression was still somewhat grave, but it had softened more and more with my presence.
And now, he looked upon me with what seemed to be pity...yet that did not surprise me quite as much
as his words when he spoke again.

" 'Vermin' we call you," he said solemnly, as if he had read my very thoughts. "We, who look upon
ourselves as a superior race, the masters of the world; who believe we hold dominion over all living.
Yet have we proved worthy of that belief? And how have we appeared among your own kind?

"Perhaps, in your own eyes, it is we who are the vermin, the unwanted creatures--we who are the pestilence,
come to rob and destroy. We, like cruel giants, tread upon your little world where we have no right. Truly,
your kind have served us far better than we have served you. For you act merely by instinct; we, gifted with
reason and intelligence above higher animals, have often behaved no better than brute beasts! Might it be that
in the sight of all Providence, that we who claim to rule the world have less right than your fellows to walk the
earth?

"Yet in the end, Fate makes all things equal...for both of us are but flesh, and shall wither as grass. Together
we shall die; together we shall return to dust. And then, only eternal destiny will seperate us...

"My little friend," he continued as I listened, astonished and mesmerised at his words, "such was my mind
when you made your home with mine. You and I are not so greatly apart in our seperate worlds. We both
must rely upon our wits to survive; solitude is the friend of us both, and we desire simply that the world
bear with us as we are, and leave us in peace."

I was most overwhelmed; for in that moment, The Master had given answer to the question I'd held so long
in my mind. This was why he had saved my life; the reason he had given me such meticulous care and had
staunchly defended me against his own housekeeper. It was why he spoke to me now on such intimate
terms, as though I had been his closest and oldest friend.

He had not merely tolerated my presence in his home; he had welcomed it. Oh, was it possible that The
Master, was so lonely in his heart as to desire the company of a humble mouse?

Too happy at first to speak, I bowed my head, tears stinging my eyes. When I looked up at him again,
I suddenly saw him in a new light.

How harshly you reproach yourself, Mr. Holmes--that you, the most wonderful of humans, could
place yourself at level with those who hate us! You, who in fact see yourself in me--just as I have
looked to you as my mentor. Surely, if more humans were of your mind, this earth would be far
better for those such as I...

Oh, if you could only see through my eyes...and that I might see through yours, dear Master!

"Oh, my dearest friend!" I cried out. In the fullness of my heart, I reached out and gently placed my
paw upon The Great Detective's hand, gazing into his eyes with love and admiration that no words
can possibly express.

At the touch of my paw, the man's eyes met mine also; as though under the spell of a benevolent mystic,
we each held the other's gaze...and in that moment, that glorious, most blessed moment, it was as if we
could read into each other's heart, each other's soul. For but a brief time, I am quite certain, each of us
had entered into the other's world, and become a part of it. We were different, and yet the same, Mr.
Holmes and I...of two worlds, yet one spirit.

After a few seconds, my senses returned, the "spell" broken. I looked up at Mr. Holmes, who was
blinking curiously; but his face seemed brighter somehow, and he was smiling. I beamed back at him,
tired now, but feeling as though I had awakened from a most wondrous dream.

Slowly and carefully, The Master reached over and set me back near my box, apparently wishing
now to rest. As he laid back, he smiled at me once more.

"Thank you, my little friend," he said softly, and closed his eyes.

I watched him a few moments; then I returned to my box, glancing back at him one more time.

"No," I whispered brokenly, tears of joy rolling down my cheeks, "thank you..."

With a weary sigh, I settled into the soft cotton and fell asleep, feeling that all would soon be well.

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

Indeed, it was. In the morning, to everyone's relief--not to mention mine--Mr. Holmes had rallied
well, and even ate breakfast. Consequently, my own went down much more heartily. There was
soon further reason for the household to be brighter; hardly had The Master begun to read the
morning's London Times than he had discovered yet another case: the apparent theft of a costly
diamond necklace from a shoppe near Regent's Park.

Once again, the great Sherlock Holmes of Baker Street was in his deerstalker and Inverness cape,
as eager and alert as though he had never been ill in his life; with the faithful Dr. Watson at his side--
the game afoot once more.

I was delirious with joy at The Master's recovery, most assuredly...yet I felt a certain sadness, for I
realised that now I must return to my own world. But although I was sorry to leave my human friend's
close company, Dawson had been right: The Master's home was not my own. I had my duty to help
mousekind, just as Mr. Holmes had his work to continue. I would be glad to return to my flat, and all
my creature comforts.

But how would Mr. Holmes feel? Would he be sorry to see me leave? And when, surely, would be
the right time to do so?

I soon had my answer. As the men were about to leave, Mr. Holmes looked back at me, as I sat
watching from my box, with Toby close beside.

"Watson, do wait outside for the cab, won't you?" he asked the doctor. "I seem to have forgotten
something..."

The moment he was alone, Mr. Holmes walked over to my box, stopping first to pick something up
from his laboratory table; then he picked up my box and carried it, Toby following, over to the
wainscoating--the very one hiding the entrance to my flat. I looked up at him, astonished--had he
always known of the secret passage? But now, I realised, it no longer mattered. Setting the box
down on the floor, The Master opened his hand to reveal my clothing--dry and carefully kept. He
put it in the box beside me, with a knowing glance.

"You'd best be careful wandering about here from now on," he said with a sly smile. "I won't always
be around to fish you out of cleaning buckets..."

I smiled sheepishly as he patted my head; then he turned and walked away, off to pursue his work once
more. I realised now that I was free.

As I dressed, I watched my friend until he was out of sight; then I opened the passage, and with one last
grateful nod to Toby, I crawled through and returned to my flat.

I need not relate the joy and relief of Dawson and Mrs. Judson as I made my appearance; as for myself,
I nearly wept at the sight of my sitting room, my little laboratory and chair...and my beloved Stradivarius,
which I had sorely missed. It was all my housekeeper could do to avoid embracing me heartily, and there
were happy tears in her eyes as she flew to her kitchen to prepare my favourite cheese soufflé. I supposed
for all the trouble I'd been to her, she thought a great deal of me after all.

Yet a healthy period of adjustment awaited my return. It was one of the great ironies of my world that we
could behave as humans among our own kind, but could only act like animals among humans. In only the
week I had spent with The Great Detective, I had acquired habits not far removed from those of a savage.
For some days, I constantly horrified Mrs. Judson by picking up my food with my paws to eat. I had to
constantly remind myself that I had a real bed to sleep in, and it seemed strange to sit upright in a chair.
Dawson was quite understanding, commenting only that he had seen similar behaviour in liberated
prisoners.

"This is what comes of living with humans," he declared with a stiff smile.

I stared around at my flat, bewildered that it was so familiar, and yet so strange. A bed with pillows and
blankets, the chair and the rugs in my sitting room, the dishes and silverware at our table--had I actually
used all of these things, every day of my life?

I am happy to say that in time I came to myself again, my home as it always had been. But I resumed my
cases with renewed spirit as I often recalled that happy time I had spent in The Master's own company,
which had been well worth the effect on my table manners. A part of Sherlock Holmes' spirit would ever
after work beside me; and I shall wonder always if a part of myself walks at his side also...

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

I have now come to the end of my remembrance. It is late as I finish writing; I am tired, but deeply happy.
For I have lived what I know to be the greatest event in all of Mousedom...and can someday pass from this
world knowing that its memory will live long after. Many have been those, good or evil, whom I shall long
remember; but blessed am I to have called friend "him whom I shall ever regard as the best and the wisest
man whom I have ever known."

The End

In Memory of Eve Titus
&
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle