Title: Mouselet and the Genie
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes (ACD)
Rating: G
Length: 1,974
Summary: Mouselet encounters a brass ornament on the mantelpiece and strange things happen.
Note for the uninitiated: Mouselet has a deep and enduring crush on Inspector Stanley Hopkins of Scotland Yard.  The Ocelot publishes Mouselet’s works, having amended them as necessary – hence O/N.

The last few days have been rather strange and I shall therefore attempt to record them in the same fashion as Dr Watson writes his adventures.  I know Mr Holmes occasionally complains the Doctor’s tales are a little flowery, but some description is, I believe, essential to give a full understanding of a story.

[O/N: In other words, expect a disproportionate amount of descriptions of Inspector Hopkins.]

It began two days ago.  Mr Holmes had placed a small brass ornament on the mantelpiece.  I thought it must be a little tea pot, although I could not see any particular use for it, since it would not hold even one cup of tea.  I knew Mr Holmes had shown Inspector Hopkins the ornament the day before, so as I passed it, I put my paw on it and rubbed slightly, imagining my paw where the dear man’s fingers had been.  As I did so, I said quietly, “I wish I could see my inspector today.”  I then continued along the mantelpiece and went to search for any stray crumbs.

Later that day, I heard several footsteps outside the door to 221B. I peeked out of my hole, to see Dr Watson come in.  As he did so, he said, “Help him over to the chair by the fire.  I will fetch my bag.”

And then I saw Mr Holmes and Inspector Lestrade helping my poor inspector in.  He looked dreadful.  He had a cut above his left eye and his nose had been bleeding.  Some of his clothing was torn and he was limping badly.  I was horrified, and for a moment thought the worst.  But then I reasoned it could not be quite that serious, or the Doctor would have sent him to hospital and not brought him to Baker Street.  Nevertheless, I crept closer to see how badly he was hurt.

[O/N: Several paragraphs of minute descriptions of the injuries the inspector had sustained, followed by exactly how Dr Watson treated them, have been omitted.]

Through all this, the poor man bore his trials bravely.  He hardly said a word, apart from one exclamation when the doctor treated his left hand and strapped three of the fingers together, for two of them were broken.  I believe the word he used would even have been excused by Mrs Hudson, given the circumstances.

I was very concerned my lovely inspector would have sustained permanent injury, but Dr Watson was reassuring, which was a comfort.  He did say the inspector might have a small scar above his eye, but he thought it would be practically invisible.  I, of course, will see it, but it will serve as a reminder to me of how brave he is, so will not detract from his handsome face in any way.

He remained for only a little while longer.  I was sorry to see him go, but Inspector Lestrade said he would ensure my beloved inspector would reach his lodgings safely and I had to agree it would be good for him to rest.

After they had left Mrs Hudson came in to remove the tea things.  (I did not mention her bringing them up in the earlier part of my narrative, for I did not wish to interrupt the flow.  Since she is now removing them, it is obvious she must have brought them earlier.)

Anyway, as she did so, she said to Dr Watson, “I’m surprised Mr Holmes has put that brass ornament on show.  It looks like a lamp, one of those you read about in the Arabian Nights, with a genie in them.”

“You know what Holmes is like,” the Doctor replied.  “Never explains anything he’s doing until he’s ready to do so.  And if you’re worried about it, don’t rub it and you should be quite safe.”

I am sure Dr Watson meant his last sentence as a joke, but I am not certain Mrs Hudson was convinced.

Nothing more happened for the rest of the day.  Well, Mr Holmes covered the floor with pieces of paper and smoked several pipes, but nothing dramatic or unusual happened.

The following morning both Mr Holmes and Dr Watson went out early.  I wasn’t sure about the brass lamp thing, so I decided to do an experiment.  Mr Holmes does experiments when he wishes to establish the facts, so it seemed a good thing to do.  I waited until the housemaid had opened the window.  I wasn’t too sure about this phase, but since the window is frequently opened during or after an experiment it seemed an important part of the process.

I walked along the mantelpiece, rubbed the brass lamp and said, “I wish to see my inspector today, but without him having any further injuries.”  Nothing happened, so I retreated to my hole to await developments.

Once again, mid-afternoon I heard footsteps outside 221B.  I recognised them as belonging to my inspector and my heart leapt.  The footsteps did not seem too steady, but I was not unduly concerned, for he was probably still limping after the attack the day before.  However, when he entered the room, he once again looked dreadful.  He had not sustained any further injuries, but clearly something terrible had happened.

Shortly afterwards, Mrs Hudson bustled in.  She, too, looked upset, but at the same time she was clearly trying to reassure the inspector.  He tried to tell her he didn’t want anything to eat or drink, but she insisted he drink the tea she had made and eat some toast and he obliged her by doing so.  In truth, I do not think he had the energy to resist.

I listened intently to their conversation, and learnt to my horror Dr Watson had been attacked and was in hospital.  My inspector had come to Baker Street to wait for Mr Holmes and Inspector Lestrade, who were continuing their enquiries.  Although I was pleased my dear man was safe at Baker Street, I was a little surprised he had not stayed with them, for I knew him to be brave.  However, it appeared they had told him to come here, as he needed to rest.

Once Mrs Hudson had gone downstairs, my inspector sank back on the sofa.  He closed his eyes and I took advantage of the situation to creep closer.  I was able to have a better look at his injuries and check they were healing well.

[O/N: Once more, we have omitted the details.]

I was relieved to see he would make a good recovery.  For a while I could not get close to his fingers, but then he fell asleep and I was able to make my way along the sofa.  He has beautiful long fingers, and it would be a shame if they were permanently damaged, but I do not think this is the case.

It was a few hours before Mr Holmes and Inspector Lestrade arrived.  My inspector woke as they entered the door and promptly apologised for having been asleep.

Inspector Lestrade said, “Best thing for you.  And we have good news: Dr Watson is out of danger and will make a good recovery.”

I was extremely relieved.  Inspector Hopkins may be my favourite, but I do not like to think of anyone I know coming to harm.

A while later, the inspectors departed leaving Mr Holmes to smoke his pipe and think.  I retreated to my mouse hole and began to think myself.

For a while I thought the events had been my fault, but I am a practical mouse, and I could not see how my wishes could have caused bad men to attack two people of whom I am fond.  That these men existed there can be no question.  And that Mr Holmes would catch them was also without question.  But, from the way Mr Holmes had looked at the brass ornament, it was clearly involved in some way.  However, there was nothing I could do until Mr Holmes left.

So, this morning, I put my plan into action.  Once again I approached the brass lamp, teapot or whatever it is.  It had a little lid on it (you see, just like a teapot) and after a bit of an effort I removed the lid and peered in.  I’m not sure what I expected to see inside, in fact, I think I thought it was empty, so it was somewhat of a surprise to see something which looked like a large beetle in there.

“Oh, come for your third wish,” the beetle sneered.

“Not particularly,” I replied.

“Didn’t you like the way I granted the first two?” it asked.

I thought briefly, then replied, “You may have brought Inspector Hopkins here, but you were not responsible for what had happened to him.”

“You don’t really believe that,” the beetle sneered again.

“Why shouldn’t I?”  I could see the beetle was growing annoyed at my apparent lack of belief in its powers.  “Of course, you could prove how good you are.”

The beetle smirked.  Had I been able to reach it, I believe I would have bitten its head off.

“Your third wish?”

I wanted to show my anger, but I was modelling myself on Mr Holmes, when he is meeting with a suspect in his rooms, and instead said quietly, “I wish for all the gang to be captured without anyone on Mr Holmes’ side being injured.”

There was a spark of interest in the beetle’s eyes, as if it was preparing to do battle with me.  I was not prepared to engage with it though and returned to my mouse hole to await developments.

This afternoon when I heard footsteps outside the door I waited in some trepidation to see who entered.  I need not have worried.  Inspector Lestrade was first in and I could tell immediately all had gone well.  He was followed by the best man in the world, who looked much better than he had done yesterday.  He was smiling, and when he does that his whole sweet face lights up.  Lastly came Mr Holmes, who called downstairs, “Mrs Hudson, tea and crumpets, please!”

I settled down to hear what had happened.  Inspector Lestrade was in high spirits.  It appeared the gang had turned on each other, so when he and his officers had arrived at their hide out no-one was in a position to resist.  I suppose I should feel sorry they had all been hurt, but I am only a mouse and they had done the same to both my poor dear inspector and to Dr Watson, so I was quite pleased.

My attention was caught once again when Inspector Lestrade said, “So what will happen to the lamp now?”

Mr Holmes replied, “I shall be sending it to the British Museum.  It will make an interesting exhibit.”

I was worried for a moment Mr Holmes would handle the lamp (or tea pot, I am still not sure which), but he carefully put on gloves, before picking it up, wrapping it in newspaper and placing it in a box.

When I was happy the tea pot was safely packed away I could concentrate once more on my beloved inspector.  His grey eyes were shining and the bruising he had sustained on his sweet face was fading.  He still looked a little tired, but the tension had left and he looked altogether better.  I watched him lean back on the sofa as Mr Holmes and Inspector Lestrade continued to discuss the case and I saw his eyelids gently close.  His chest began to move more slowly up and down, and his lips parted as his breathing became slower and more regular …

[O/N: We shall leave the story with Inspector Hopkins falling asleep.  The case is closed and Mouselet is happy.  No more needs to be said.]