Author's notes:
This is my second venture into the Holmesian and Basilian fandoms, and I do hope that I have done well.

This is the result of a family New Year's Eve challenge- "Whoever writes the longest and best fiction in the day wins."
At a total of 2,544 words, mine won.

Now, a bit of a warning. No characters are given long-term harm during this fanfic, no matter what Mrs. Hudson says, so you needn't fear for Basil.

Mrs. Hudson cautiously swept a bit of dirt out the door of 221b, not daring to wonder what sort of odd substance might be included in the particles. It was a rare occurrence that her tenant, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, allowed her to tidy things up a bit in the flat, let alone actually clean anything. However, after his latest case, she had insisted that he at least let her sweep an unsightly mound of dust and heaven-knows-what-else out of the foyer.

It wasn't a wonder that her other tenants came and went like a summer breeze. With the near-constant comings and goings, violin playing at hours that would only be pleasant for an owl or bat, and often odorous chemical experiments in 221b, Mrs. Hudson herself probably wouldn't wish to reside in the neighboring flat.

Truth be told, however, she'd gotten rather used to things, and Holmes's actions rarely surprised her.

It was then that she glanced around the wall of the foyer and into the main interior of the flat, and nearly dropped her broom.

Holmes snapped upright at the sound of a quiet shriek and a bark from the main room. The bark had, obviously, been Toby, and the shriek was the familiar, distressed sound of Mrs. Hudson, but, this time, Holmes had done nothing within his knowledge that could have caused that reaction.

He stood quickly, dropping the letter he'd been decoding, and swiftly strode to the doorway.

There, in the center of the room, was Mrs. Hudson, who was defensively holding her broom out in front of her like a wooden sword. On the other side of the room, Toby was standing by the footstool, staring defiantly at Mrs. Hudson with one lip slightly raised.

"Mrs. Hudson..." Holmes inquired slowly, wondering what exactly she'd done to upset the hound. "What, may I ask, is going on here?"

Mrs. Hudson turned to the detective in the doorway, her expression a mix of annoyance and embarrassment. Mostly annoyance. "Mr. Holmes," she replied, still wielding her broom in the same direction. "You have a mouse in your flat."

Holmes blinked. "A... Mouse?" he replied flatly.

"Yes, Mr. Holmes! A mouse." Mrs. Hudson insisted, motioning with the broom.

Toby growled audibly, and looked like he'd have liked ripping the said cleaning tool to shreds.

Holmes looked at the hound with a raised eyebrow, puzzled by his reaction. There was, indeed, the still form of a mouse of the floor by the footstool- apparently, it had at first been closer to the landlady's weapon- but Toby seemed to be standing over it defensively.

"Mr. Holmes," Mrs. Hudson started, calling her tenant's attention back to her. "Please, call away your dog so that I can remove... It."

Toby reacted again, this time with an angry sounding bark, followed by a low growl.

"Toby." Holmes said abruptly in a scolding tone, causing the dog to quiet. He then turned to Mrs. Hudson. "Don't worry, Mrs. Hudson, I will take care of it."

Mrs. Hudson hesitated. "Why is it that I feel the need to question your definition of 'take care of'?"

Holmes shook his head. "Now, now, whatever would I want with a mouse?" he answered in a mildly amused tone as he guided the landlady to the door.

Knowing you, I wouldn't be surprised if you thought of something... Mrs. Hudson thought, but hesitantly stuttered "I... I suppose that you have a point, Mr. Holmes..." instead. Before she went through the door, however, she made one point very clear. "I don't mind your experiments and frequent visits, Mr. Holmes," she stated firmly. "but I simply draw the line at keeping a dead mouse, or dead anything else, whatever the reason my be."

Holmes, truth be told, had a hard time keeping a straight face as Mrs. Hudson said this. "Your line shall be well minded." he replied, all but shooing her out the door. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Hudson."

Holmes shut the door after Mrs. Hudson exited, but was surprised by the sound he heard as the latch clicked- Toby whimpering. Turning toward the sound, he saw the faithful hound gently nudging the mouse with his nose, an urgent whimper escaping his throat. Whatever had gotten into him?

The detective walked over to the rodent and canine, a look of curious confusion on his face. As he drew nearer, he was met by a sudden growl from Toby.

"Toby!" he verbally scolded again, not having expected the dog to react in such a way to him as well. "Whatever is the matter?"

Toby whimpered, looking up at his human with his sad, brown eyes.

Holmes reached down, petting the dog with one hand while cautiously reaching for the mouse with the other.

Toby was clearly angered by this, as he snarled sharply and returned to his defensive posture over the rodent.

Holmes pulled his hand back at the hound's sudden outburst. "Toby, what...?" he paused mid-sentence, hardly daring to believe what he'd just noticed.

He took a second glance at the mouse, confirming the minute detail that he'd noticed but a moment before. The mouse was clothed.

The color of the cloth closely matched the mouse's fur, but, at close range, one could clearly make out the tan, Inverness cape, similar to one that Holmes himself sometimes wore.

"Back, Toby..." Sherlock ordered, gently but firmly pushing the hound away with one hand. "Sit... Stay."

Holmes stared at the mouse in amazement before slowly reaching toward it and carefully picking it up.

Toby grumbled a muffled growl.

"Toby..." Holmes warned, not taking his eyes off of the mouse in the palm of his hand as he stood up. "Stay."

Sherlock could feel the small heartbeat of the warm, furry creature that he held. Mrs. Hudson had been far from right, the mouse was unconscious, but very much alive.

Holmes slowly sat down in his usual spot, still not looking away from the mouse. From his closer view, he could see as much detail as he could see of a human standing in the doorway. The green tie, the small, black shoes, the rounded bulge in the pocket of it's jacket... He mentally took note of each and every thing he noticed.

Oddly, he thought that he recognized the shape of the object in the mouse's pocket. If he didn't know better, his first thought would have been that the thing was a magnifying glass.

What he didn't know was, he was right.

Did I mention that this is also my first multi-chapter fic? (WOOO!)

I've actually been in a simmaler situation, having to rescue a mouse, so I know what it's like to hold one. (Although, with me, it was fully consious and wouldn't leave the toe of my boot when I set it down.)

Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and Basil of Baker Street do not belong to me.