Mouselet sighed. It was days since she had last seen Inspector Hopkins. They weather had been grey and there was nothing to cheer her up. Even the sight of her favourite jam tarts scarcely made her smile, for the crumbs were so much sweeter when they fell from her beloved inspector’s fingers.
At that moment, Holmes said, “Ah, we’d better ask Mrs Hudson for another cup.”
Mouselet looked hopeful, but then her whiskers drooped again as Aemilia Vole said, “It’s the lovely Inspector Lestrade.”
Dr Watson was part way down the stairs to tell Mrs Hudson, when Holmes called out, “Tell her we’ll need two cups.”
“I’ll ask for another pot of tea as well,” Watson called back.
Mouselet had joined Aemilia in her vantage point, so she too could see out of the window. The two skipped round happily at seeing the arrival of their favourite inspectors.
The two detectives entered the room and took their usual seats.
Holmes looked at Hopkins and asked, “What have you done to your head?”
“Oh, it’s nothing much,” Hopkins replied.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Dr Watson said. He walked across the room to take a closer look.
There was a small thud as Mouselet overstretched, trying to see the injury for herself.
“I’ll just clean the wound,” Watson added, “but there’s nothing to worry about.”
Hopkins nodded, unaware that the doctor’s last sentence hadn’t been directed at him, but at a small mouse, who was peering up anxiously from underneath his chair.