The Case of the Black Arrow (A Great Mouse Detective Fanfic) (COMPLETED)

Chapter 5

The wait for Sister Bernadette's letter telling us more about The Black Arrow, or rather, Miss Artemis Fletcher, was agonizing, especially for Basil. For the first week, he was more agitated than he normally was, and became so snappish that I, not wanting to be on the receiving end of his short temper, took to avoiding him. It was quite a stroke of convenience that I had a string of house calls during that time, otherwise being in Basil's company would have been unbearable.

The weather gradually became warmer as summer rolled around, bringing with it slightly more sunshine and longer days, though this did nothing to alleviate the tension in our home. The anniversary of Ratigan's demise occurred the following week. I didn't notice until I realized Basil had not come out of his room all day and I checked the date on that day's newspaper. I went upstairs to check if he was all right, but he did not answer his bedroom door when I knocked. I decided the best thing to do was to just leave him be, and go about my business until he came out of his melancholy on his own.

In the interim, the newspapers were filled with articles about The Black Arrow. Some were speculations about who the man was (oh, if they only knew!), but most were about recent incidents of Miss Fletcher bringing down more criminals. It seemed the events at the printery did nothing to deter the woman from her cause. I was still reeling from the revelation that the person who had London in a tizzy, the person who brought people who hurt children to justice with such violent efficiency was, in fact, a woman. In hindsight, it made sense. The Greek goddess for which I was sure Miss Fletcher was named was a protector of children, which explained why all her victims were victimizers of children. The rage she brought upon those men was certainly reminiscent of a Greek god. When I expressed my surprise to Basil (before his mood had deteriorated) that a woman could be filled with so much rage, he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world, "Rage? Of course women have that". There was one positive outcome of Miss Fletcher's presence in London: criminal activity of all kinds had decreased immensely. People were too afraid of encountering The Black Arrow to risk committing a crime. Not that I agreed with Miss Fletcher's methods, but she was making the good folk of London feel safer, and to me, that did count for something.

Pine visited from time to time, every few days or so, to keep us up to date on new evidence The Black Arrow left and to ask us about any breakthroughs. Strangely, Basil failed to divulge Miss Fletcher's identity, only telling Pine that we were following a lead and would tell him if anything came of it. When I asked Basil about it, he told me (rather impatiently) that if Pine knew who The Black Arrow was, he wouldn't be able to do anything with that information, so what was the point in telling him until we ourselves knew more? Instead of arguing that Pine was part of this investigation too and had a right to know what we had discovered, I stormed off to my room, asking Mrs. Judson to bring me a pot of a tea when she had a moment. Later that night, Basil knocked on my door wanting to talk. He apologized for his behavior over the last two weeks, telling me that what Miss Fletcher had said about him had gotten under his fur, and he knew she was right. I did my best to comfort him, telling him that while he had his faults, and he had many, he was a good mouse who worked tirelessly in pursuit of justice. The words of a dangerous vigilante shouldn't affect him so. Basil's reply was a simple thank you, and he took his leave of my room. His mood went back to a more pleasant level after that.

Finally, at the end of the month, marking just over three weeks of waiting and wondering, we received a large envelope from Sister Bernadette with the afternoon post . Basil opened it eagerly with all the vigor of an excited child on Christmas. Once the letter was out, Basil flipped through the sheets, as there were many, and his expression turned perplexed.

"What is it, Basil?" I questioned.

"Dawson, there are two letters here. One is from Sister Bernadette, obviously, and the other," his eyes darted down to the bottom of the letter before widening ever so slightly, "is from Miss Fletcher's adoptive father, Professor Fletcher".