The place: Acme Labs. The time: 8:30 PM. Or 8:37 if you're a stickler. I'm sitting in a stiff metallish-plasticky chair, staring enraptured at a TV set as I type this on the Macintosh G3 sitting on my lap. Perched on the chair's headrest next to me is a lanky though still small white mouse with big blue eyes and buck teeth, mechanically munching on scraps of dryer lint as he watches the screen. Playing on the TV is an old black-and-white movie, which I cannot describe right now because a squat, large-headed white mouse has just walked up behind us and is speaking.

"What is the meaning behind your presence?" he demands of me in a voice that sounds suspiciously like Orson Welles's. I twist around in the chair and am about to make a witty retort when I'm beaten to it by Pinky.

"Well, I LIVE here, Brain! Narf!" the taller mouse replies in a Cockney accent, then his ears stiffen as he reconsiders. "...I think."

"Not YOU, Pinky!" Brain snaps, pointing accusatorily at me. "THAT!"

I pretend to be offended. "Why do you have to be so SUSPICIOUS, Brain? I'm just watching an old mystery movie with Pinky! One of the Thin Man flicks, too."

"THEN WHY'RE YOU TYPING THIS UP?"

I barely even glance back up from the keyboard. "Purely sentimental reasons. I want to remember ALWAYS these pleasurable conversations with you...me sneaking into the lab at night...you accusing me of writing fanfictions about you...me writing one anyways and sending you into horribly painful situations..." I sigh. "These are good times, Brain."

Brain clambers up onto a nearby table so he can look at me without feeling too short, and is about to pass a scathing comment when Pinky pipes up. "Ooh, Brain, you're just in time for the EXCITIN' parts! Poit!" he squeals, his tail thumping against the headrest like a dog wagging its own tail. "Y'see, this guy was walkin' over to 'is wife, an' then 'e was SHOT! An' his wife was holdin' a gun, only she didn't shoot 'im! The shot came from somewhere else! An' her OLD boyfriend came over an' got rid of the gun so no one would know! 'Cept everyone still thinks the wife did it! An' nobody c'n figure out who REALLY murdered 'im!"

Even though he makes a show of not liking it, Brain is intrigued—you can tell by the way his ears straighten. He sits down (though somewhat sulkily) and watches along with us, paying close attention to the plot to catch up on whatever he missed. A few minutes later, though, Brain points to one of the characters on the screen. "Who's that man over there?"

I pause and try to think. (I always have trouble telling actors apart in really old movies.) "That's the wife's former lover."

Brain makes an audible scoffing sound, gesturing with a hand at the screen. "What sort of simpleton wrote this? It's obvious that THAT man is the murderer!"

Both Pinky and I pause, and turn slooooooowly towards the Brain. "Huh?"

The Brain sits back, crossing his arms as he makes clear his annoyance at our stupidity. "If I comprehend all of this correctly, THAT MAN saw the wife kneeling over the dead man with the gun, and he dispensed with the weapon to ascertain that it wouldn't be discovered." Pinky and I exchange glances, then nod dumbly, even though neither of us can understand a heck of a lot of what he's saying. "The wife didn't shoot him, and that man was the only other person present besides the deceased. As well, I surmise that this woman spurned him in order to marry the man who is now dead. If the woman's gun is never discovered and inspected, they can never prove that she DIDN'T shoot her husband. If THAT MAN killed the other man and framed the woman, she would be given capital punishment—DEATH—and the man would have revenge on both the woman who rejected him and the man who had taken her away. Q.E.D."

Even I, knowing through encyclopedic knowledge of the mice the extent of Brain's, well, brainpower, am astounded. "That's RIGHT!" I cry, making Pinky sit bolt upright. "I've seen this movie before! That's EXACTLY what happened!"

Rummaging in my laptop carrying case lying nearby, I pull out a small paperback book titled The Labors of Hercules by Agatha Christie, a collection of short Hercule Poirot adventures. Leafing through the pages, I select one and begin reading it out loud. After only a few more minutes, though, Brain stops me.

"This is all ridiculously simple!" he protests. "Obviously the dogs that escape are IMPERSONATORS, probably one singular dog, trained by the nurses to run away if they cut his lead while bending over a baby carriage. The REAL dogs are kept in a safe location so they can be easily returned after the ransom has been received."

I'm still amazed, and so is Pinky. "E-gad, Brain!" Pinky cries, clasping his hands together. "How do you DO it?"

Brain, although immeasurably pleased with himself, tries to appear humble by explaining it out. "It's only a simple matter of mathematical equations. One variable leads to a logical conclusion; the existence of certain variables proves the existence of their matching conclusions, and likewise the existing conclusions lead back to their originating variables. It's quite lucid."

Whether he understands any of that ramble or not, Pinky is still flabbergasted. "Gee, that's BRILLIANT!" he cries, and leaps into the air, having forgotten that he's sitting precariously on the edge of a chair's headrest. I manage to scoop him out of freefall without damaging him TOO much, though. "Brain, YOU should be a DETECTIVE! You'd be even better'n SHERLOCK HOLMES!"

While Brain is "modestly" protesting this, my eyes light up. "You know, that's a good idea for a—" I begin, then stop myself midsentence. Putting Pinky down on the table by Brain, I ask, "Uhh, where's the bathroom?"

"Over there," Pinky answers, pointing to a pile of straw in a cage sitting only a few feet away from him. Brain rolls his eyes, conks Pinky over the head and points stiffly to a corner of the lab, probably hoping that I'll leave once I use it. I scamper away, carrying my G3 with me, then once I'm inside I close the door securely behind me. Putting down the toilet seat, I sit on top of it and reopen my laptop. Still on the text program, I press the buttons "Command" and "N". A blank new window appears on the screen and, cackling quietly, I begin to type.

——————————————————————————————————————

The Adventures of Sherlock Brain

(The Illustrious Crackpot)

This fanfic dedicated to Welshrose, without whose support and constant reminders this story might never have been finished...and whose patience miraculously managed to last for the six months since I promised her this story.

"Sentence structure is innate, but whining is acquired." —Woody Allen

Chapter 1

THE STORY BEGINS! (aka "I Just Signed My Death Notice With The Brain")

Darkest night. An abandoned laboratory. A small metal cage. And inside, a lanky white mouse with protrudant upper teeth gnawing on a slice of cardboard.

"Gwhee, Brwainh," he spat out around his makeshift snack, swallowing a soggy chunk, "whaddaya want'ta do tonight?"

Another mouse, squatter and with a larger head and a jagged pink tail, sitting on an upturned thimble and staring at a sheet of paper inside a large red binder sitting open on the floor. "The same thing we do EVERY night, Pinky," he replied smoothly, a light glinting in his bloodshot pink eyes as his voice raised in volume. "TRY TO TAKE OVER THE WORLD!"

"They're Pinky and the Brain

Yes Pinky and the Brain

One is a—"

The Brain looked up in irritation. "How did that TV get turned on?!" he demanded, getting to his feet and stalking over to the side of the cage. Reaching a large remote control, the stout mouse stepped on a button, and the television turned off with a click. He sighed in irritation. "It is exceedingly bewildering that people actually watch those sorts of hideous children's shows. After all, there's—"

The short mouse stopped midsentence, staring at the television. "Pause for a nanosecond..." he realized slowly, his eyes widening, "...that television WAS on before, wasn't it? And weren't we outside the cage merely a moment ago?"

Pinky ripped off another hunk of cardboard with his teeth, chewing it slowly. "Heeey, THIS isn't dryer lint!" he cried indignantly, then suddenly brightened. "It's MUCH better! Narf!"

Brain arched an eyebrow, then shuddered. "This is highly irregular," he remarked, rubbing his chin. "It's almost as if we're in another fanfi—no. No, that's impossible. We couldn't have been slipped into another idiotic piece of amateur 'literature' without my knowing it." As he pondered on this, however, his eyes narrowed into pinpricks of pure loathing. "But that 'Illustrious Crackpot'..."

"UM!" Pinky ejaculated nervously, derailing Brain's train of thought. "Um, well, uh, (Zort), um...want some, Brain?" He held out the now-damp slice of cardboard towards the Brain with a weak grin.

Glancing between the proffered snack and the taller mouse before him, Brain let out a sigh of utter contempt. "I have always been appalled at your mental capacity, Pinky, but never have I realized just how feeble your cerebrum is." With that remark, he turned and began to pace in the opposite direction.

Pinky paused, repeating the sentence in his head, then "Poit!"ed and clasped his hands together. "Oh, THANK you, Brain! You NEVER compliment me!"

The Brain sighed again, not even deigning to reply. However, Pinky had managed to get the shorter mouse's mind off of the cosmic, fanfiction-based reality, which was good for the author who was still hiding in the bathroom typing this up. When it became clear that Brain was too deep in thought to resume speaking, though, Pinky laid the cardboard chunk on the cage floor and plodded along behind his companion. "Ummmmmm...what're we doing tonight again, Brain?"

Eased back into the normal routine, Brain raised a fist and shouted much more loudly than was necessary, "TRY TO TAKE OVER THE WORLD!" Then he stopped, rubbed his chin again and turned to Pinky, slightly embarrassed. "Uh...unfortunately, I, eh...haven't the slightest notion how."

Poking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth as if to clear some space for any wayward brain cells, Pinky scratched his head and thought. Then he gasped, spreading his arms wide and flapping them up and down a bit. "I know! I know!" he cried enthusiastically. "We could make a giant jelly roll, then TOSS it off the Leanin' Tower of Pisa, and everyone in the world will be all CONFUSED! Oooh, ooooh!! OR we could buy a lot of coathangers an' stick 'em in our ears, makin' 'WOO WOO' sounds so people'll think that we're ALIENS!! Or, even better, we coOOOF!"

Reaching up, Brain had grasped the taller mouse's nose and yanked Pinky down to his eye level, glaring at him. "Pinky, stop talking," he commanded, then let go. Pinky's nose snapped back up to the rest of his face, and though he rubbed it gingerly he couldn't help but giggle. "I must think. Somehow, we need a plan—if we spend one night without attempting to take over the world, that will probably end up being the one night we would have been able to." Even before Pinky's ears perked up and his mouth opened again, the Brain cut him off. "And no, Pinky, NOT one of your plans."

"Oh," was all Pinky could really think of to say, his large ears flopping over just a little as Brain turned away again, sitting back on top of the thimble and staring intently at the blank sheet of paper before him. It didn't take too long for Pinky to brighten, though, and he suddenly began applauding. "E-gad, I've got it!"

With this, Pinky made a running start and then skidded to a halt in front of the TV remote. The motion was meant to be impressive and just a little "cool", but Pinky's lead foot slipped at the end and, flailing his arms, the little mouse landed flat on his back with a whumf. Raising himself up on his elbows, he laughed nasally before rising to his feet, brushing off his ruffled white fur and hopping onto the "power" button of the remote. The TV turned on with an audible click, abruptly cutting in on the middle of a horrible cartoon about two domination-minded lab mice. The noise made Brain straighten with a start, then he glared irritably at the taller mouse.

"Pinky, what are you doing?"

Pinky couldn't answer immediately, as he was jumping rhythmically up and down on the "channel" button and was too busy panting to formulate any words. "Just—pant—trying—pant—to—wheeze—find if—snerk—Donald Trump's on here somewhere, Brain," he gasped, grinning at his companion as he continued to literally channel-hop. "He should—pant—have some ideas for world—huff—domination for you to use!"

A small silence, then Brain commented flatly, "Then why don't we just listen to the president's radio address?"

Accidentally mis-jumping, Pinky landed on his bottom on the cage floor and started laughing hysterically, clutching at his sides and periodically emitting such colorful sounds as "Fjord", "Troz" and even a "Glarb". "Oooh, ooh, that's FUNNY, Brain!" he eventually wheezed past more spasmodic chuckles, wiping tears out of the corners of his eyes. "An' most people fergit about the political humor in our show!"

The Brain scoffed. "Political humor? Us?" he demanded almost seriously, encouraged by whatever laughs he'd just generated outside his Pinky-comprised audience. "It's the government that has been formulating a satire of me! How ELSE could they come up with the idea of a large-eared individual attempting to take over the world?"

—Slight apologies to Mr. B. if he's reading this (which would be more than a little scary), but he should see all the CLINTON jokes during the series's original run.—

A possibly life-saving disclaimer out of the way, Brain turned his attention to the television set, which was still on. A fuzzy, black-and-white movie was playing, and on the screen a man in a deerstalker cap stuck a large clay pipe into his mouth, brooding quietly.

"Pinky, turn that off," Brain commanded, having finished with political jokes for the time being. "I need to ponder."

For the first time in, well, longer than would seem possible, Pinky disobeyed a direct order. "But I can't turn it off, Brain!" he protested, gesticulating wildly at the screen. "It's Sherlock Holmes! Oooh, I've GOT to watch!" So proclaiming, he plopped himself down on the floor and stared hypnotically at the screen.

Somewhere in the Brain's massive...brain, a few gears quietly began turning. "Why have you...'got to watch'?" He spoke slowly, less angry than he normally would be. Depending upon Pinky's reply...

Pinky drew in a massive breath in astonishment. "It's Sherlock Holmes, Brain!!!" he repeated, as if that was quite answer enough, and started flailing his arms again. "Sherlock Holmes! Like the Holmes of Sherlock! Like the Holmes of Watson! Like the Sherlock of Hemlock!—No, wait, not quite the last one...IT'S SHERLOCK HOLMES, BRAIN!!"

A long career with Pinky as his sidekick had equipped Brain with, if nothing else, a sense of patience. "I'm going to ask for clarification now, Pinky," he informed the taller mouse testily. (I didn't say he was patient and happy.) "Are you willing to explain just a tiny bit MORE?"

"Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm..." Pinky thought, scratching his head vigorously as the movie continued to play. "Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm...mmmmmmmmm...yes, Brain." He nodded emphatically. "I'm willin' to explain."

Brain looked at his companion, then very calmly strode back to the upturned thimble, tranquilly picked it up, even more demurely walked back towards Pinky and with an utter sense of serenity he smashed it down over Pinky's skull.

"Zort," Pinky ejaculated, his voice sounding tinny and robotic from inside the metal sewing tool; it was about the same proportion to him as a normal bucket to an average-sized human being. Without even removing the thimble, the small mouse explained dizzily, "Everyone's gotta watch Sherlock Holmes, Brain! He knows EVERYTHING! I mean, he, he just looks at someone an' he knows EXACTLY how old they are an' their jobs an' how many kids they have an' everything!" Groping dazily with his hand, Pinky managed to locate the rim of the thimble and pull it off of his head, making his ears pop back to their normal dimensions. "An' everyone trusts 'im! Why, when people find out that he's Sherlock Holmes, they let 'im do anything!! They even let 'im set a fire once 'cus it helped him find a crook!"

The Brain had stiffened halfway through the monologue, a light sparking behind his pink eyes. (Had he not been so incapacitated, he would most definitely have wondered how in the world Pinky had had the patience/ability to read the original Sherlock Holmes stories, seeing as the diminutive mouse was unaware that almost all of them had become radio broadcasts and TV specials.) Putting down the thimble, Pinky looked over at his companion, then noticed that Brain wasn't moving. He made an odd, inquisitive sound, the onomatopoeia of which is impossible to write save in Chinese characters, then waved his hand in front of Brain's eyes. The stout mouse didn't even blink. Realizing this, Pinky stuck out his tongue, swung his arms around in the air and made all sorts of vocal noises that the Brain would never even tolerate, only to receive no reaction.

Stepping back, Pinky placed a hand under his chin and shut one eye, viewing the situation critically. "So, Brain is in, ummmm, whatchamacallit, a, um, COMMA STATE!"

"A comatose state," a disembodied voice corrected him, looking up from a Macintosh.

"Oh, right. Thanks. Poit!" Rubbing his chin and thinking harder than normal, the mouse's blue eyes widened. "So then, I c'n do some things he'd never let me if he was..."

Trailing off, Pinky's eyes misted over. Bending over and leaning close to the Brain, he reached quiveringly towards him—

—and poked him in the head.

Immediately Brain snapped out of his stupor, his eyes refocusing as he grasped Pinky by the shoulders and shook him roughly back and forth. "Pinky!" he cried. "Repeat yourself!"

Obligingly, Pinky poked him again.

Having given the taller mouse a new dent in his forehead, Brain waved an arm frantically. "No, Pinky, reiterate yourself! Reiterate!"

Pinky gulped slightly, appearing nervous. "In front a' all these people?" he asked in a hushed voice, directly haphazardly towards the readers. "Gee, Brain, I—"

"NO, YOU FOOLISH WASTE OF ATOMS!!!!!" Brain shouted irritably, jostling his companion like an old rag doll. "REPEAT WHAT YOU SAID ABOUT SHERLOCK HOLMES!"

"Ohhhhhhhh, is that it?" Pinky chuckled slightly. "Well, Brain, you shoulda' said that the first thi—" Noticing the shorter mouse becoming angrier and angrier, Pinky proceeded to the point. "Narf! Well, all I said was that people let 'im do anything."

"Exactly!" At last, Brain released the taller mouse, turning around and walking forwards a few steps in order to regain his personal space, then rubbed his hands together as a plot formed in his mind. "Sherlock Holmes was a brilliant man, respected by all and trusted by all! He was allowed access to everything, permitted to do anything, because the populace assumed that, because of his greater intellect, he was simply working good in a way that no one else could understand!" He whirled around again to face Pinky, who was staring at him with a totally blank expression on his face. "Pinky, do you know what I plan to do?"

The taller mouse gasped excitedly, twining his hands together and jumping up and down. "Oh, Brain! You're finally going to ask Dot out! Oh, I always thought you'd be a good couple!"

Brain glowered at him. "Pinky," he remarked acridly, "sometimes I wonder what your parents could have been thinking." He let out a huff of breath, then, crossing his arms, he regained his former composure. "No, Pinky, I shall give the world a new intellectual figurehead, a detective to top all others, a detective the people themselves will elect to RULE THE WORLD!"

Using a toon trick he almost never employed, Brain then began to spin around at a nearly-impossible speed. When he stopped he had on an auburn-checkerboarded deerstalker cap, and as well a collared shirt, slacks (with his jagged tail poking out the back) and mouse-sized shoes. A matching reddish cloak whipped around him dramatically as he raised his fist. "I shall become—SHERLOCK BRAIN!"

Pinky began hyperventilating, jumping up and down and pointing at the Brain. "Oh, Brain, look, LOOK!" he cried, glancing around behind him. "Oh LOOK, Brain, it's Sherlock Holmes! C'mon, Brain, where ARE youOOOOOOOF!"

Dusting off his palms, Brain tromped off to elaborate on this new plan while Pinky sat and wondered how the lights had gotten turned off so quickly.