Winter War

By Cybra

A/N:  This is a snippet from an upcoming story I like to call "Christmas on Baker Street".  Knowing my luck, the full story won't be out until after Christmas.  -.-;;;  This is in response to that "snowball fight" challenge I issued last month.

Disclaimer:  The Great Mouse Detective and the Basil of Baker Street Mysteries belong to Disney and Eve Titus respectively.

There was no time to escape the projectile flying at the good doctor's chest.  He closed his eyes and prepared himself for the hit.

Not even the famous Basil of Baker Street could tell you afterward exactly how this war on Baker Street came about.  What he did remember was this: He and Dr. David Q. Dawson had merely walked up the path towards their own front door when he had been hit in the back of the head by a similar projectile from the landlady Mrs. Judson.  Neither gentlemouse had any idea what had spurred her attack, but Basil had been quick to retaliate, and Dawson had chosen to take neither side, aiming for whichever of the two mice that was in range.

Splat!

The icy projectile split apart on contact, covering the doctor's front further with snow.

Basil – the one who had thrown the snowball currently decorating Dawson's front – laughed, then yelped as he ducked under his good friend's return attack.  He leaped out of the way of another attack from Mrs. Judson.

The once pristine white snow that had fallen all around in gentle flakes, perfectly covering Baker Street so that it resembled a painting, was no longer evenly covered the small yard as it had that morning.  Piles of snowballs that had missed their intended targets lay here, there, and everywhere.  Footprints made by the combatants decorated the snow.

Mrs. Judson glanced at Dr. Dawson, the two of them nodding in agreement.  Basil was still mostly clean.  There would be a temporary truce in order to correct that problem.

"Two to one aren't fair odds!" Basil yelped, dodging another snowball.

"You're young," Mrs. Judson said, smiling fiendishly. "You'll get over it."

Basil barely had time to shoot his landlady a dirty look before he had to duck from one of Dawson's snowballs.

The difference between the newly allied doctor and landlady and their current target was this: while Dawson and Mrs. Judson's clothing and fur nearly matched the color of the surrounding snow, Basil still had plenty of places where snow from a snowball had not touched.

Still, even though the two older mice had the advantage of numbers, Basil had the advantage of youth on his side, allowing him to more easily dodge their attacks.

He rolled, rolling a snowball quickly in his paws as he did so, then rolled to his feet.  Taking quick aim, he launched his projectile at Mrs. Judson, then leapt away from another snowball from Dawson.

Mrs. Judson turned her body in an attempt to get away.  Good fortune was with her, for the snowball only grazed her arm.  She bent down to gather more snow into her paws.

To any passerby, the war at 221B was positively ridiculous.  Who could imagine three full-grown mice willingly participating in a snowball fight?

Yet, here were three mice, shouting and laughing like children, trying to hit each other with snowballs.

Slowly, Mrs. Judson and Dawson worked their quarry into a corner.  Basil's back hit the brick wall that made up the side of the flat.

"Oh, dear," he muttered, looking around for an escape route.

Dawson chuckled a bit sinisterly as he asked, "Nowhere to run, eh, Basil?"

Defiant as ever, Basil raised his chin up and dared, "Hit me with your best shot!"

Dawson grinned and looked at Mrs. Judson.  "Shall we?"

"He did ask for it," the landlady responded, an equally sinister grin on her face.

Basil audibly gulped.

Twin snowballs flew towards their target.  Basil squeezed his eyes shut and charged forward.

Predictably, the snowballs hit their target, but Basil kept coming, pouncing on Dawson and tackling them both into a deep snow bank.  Mrs. Judson lost her balance due to her surprise at the attack and soon joined them.

The three laughed merrily.

"Jolly good, Basil!  Most unexpected!" Dawson praised as he began to worm his way out of the deep snow.

Mrs. Judson followed suit, as did Basil.  As soon as the three adult mice had pulled themselves free of the snow, they continued laughing.  Even Basil whose tan fur was not as easy to lighten had become the same pale color of the snow about them.

"Shall we…call it a…truce?" Basil asked, between gasps for air.

One by one, the three combatants shook each others' hands (after being careful to make sure that there wasn't a snowball hidden in the hand not shaking theirs) and began to brush the snow off themselves.

Still smiling with good humor, the three entered the flat for a well-earned cup of tea and seat by the fire.