Author's notes: Sorry for the long wait; I have a lot of pre-school preparations (such as band camp, Honors packets, and reading books that I put off) that I'm currently taking care of. That, and after the first chapter of every story, I mentally come up with a goal number of reviews per chapter. For this story it is five; although I'm not saying I won't post a new chapter if I get less than that. I just like feedback.

By the way, I got bored and decided to title all of the chapters.

Thank you for the wonderful reviews, everyone!

And on to the story. This is an EXTREMELY short chapter because I felt bad about not writing in a while and I didn't have a lot of time to write.

Irony is one of my favorite topics to discuss. Back in my Afghanistan days, I was known to arbitrarily break into a debate with one of my co-workers about a certain book passed around the tent during our (rare, but useful) downtime. Since then, I'd annoyed Basil to no end with the endless wanderings of my mind, and there were several times when the poor chap had to lightly smack me in the head to get my attention.

The particular irony of Olivia's sudden entrance, Basil's retort about asking about her lack of visiting, and his sudden melancholy nature was excessively frustrating to me, and it seemed as if I was having mental conniptions every time I thought about it.

In the weeks after Basil's birthday, summer turned to fall and the weather swiftly began to get cooler. I found that I did not miss the scorching conditions of summer, and welcomed autumn with open arms. My roommate, on the other hand, was extremely bitter about the change in seasons. Once again, I chose not to remind Basil that only weeks ago he complained of the summer heat. I also could have told him that a lighter jacket might be more appropriate for milder weather, but I knew when to hold my tongue.

There were more and more of these irritating times, I found. Basil did not like change a bit. An acidic gloom descended upon Baker Street, and it was not uncommon for an entire day go by without anyone saying anything. There was no lapse in cases, yet it seemed as if out of the blue I had more free time.

And, apparently, this was true for Basil. I was concerned for my friend, for it seemed as if he was becoming obsessed with the idea of death. I constantly found him in his leather chair smoking a pipe and reading books on the morbid topic such as Life After Death, The Conclusion of a Life, Romeo and Juliet, and other melancholic books, although Romeo and Juliet made me chuckle a bit, for a Shakespearian tragedy with romance as it's dominant theme did not seem like a book I ever pictured Basil reading. I tried to ignore the occasional sniffle he emitted towards the end of the play, but I did see him pause and give me a particularly nasty glare during one of the moments when I couldn't contain my thoughts from escaping onto my face.

One day in early-October, I was surprised to feel a feather-light tap on my shoulder while I was helping Mrs. Judson clear the dishes from breakfast. I turned around to see Basil holding a piece of paper.

"Dawson," he said, he voice seemingly hoarse from not being used as often as it usually was, "I want you to wire this message immediately."

And as quickly as he said it, he was off to read another depressing novel or morbid research book.

Mrs. Judson scooped up the bowls in my arms. "I'll finish the dishes, dearie; poor Mr. Basil hasn't been himself lately and you should do what he asks right away."

I looked at the note in my hand. Basil's half-tidy, half scrawled handwriting had taken me quite some time to decipher years before, but I could now read it without much trouble. It was very short.

To Miss Olivia Flaversham:

That was a sincere invitation, you know.


I was processing the name of the recipient for a moment, half shocked because it was for Olivia, and half amused because I knew that Basil obviously had copied her last name from one of the girl's progress reports.

As I left to wire Miss Flaversham, I added a note at the bottom.

Miss Flaversham:

Please visit Baker Street as soon as you have free time. I have a matter of great importance to discuss with you, and it is essential that I speak with you soon.

-Dr. Dawson

I wired the message. Yes, I had a feeling that Olivia Flaversham was somehow connected to Basil's current state. Why was she so hesitant to come see us? Why was she working at the restaurant (which I had consciously not been to since, even though something told be that I should)? And why was her current relationship with Basil so awkward?

I had to speak to her to find out, and soon, for Basil's current obsession was not healthy for many reasons, one of which being that I was deathly afraid that he'd kick me out of Baker Street if I let my face slip one more time into a smirk while he was reading romantic tragedies.

That almost worried me more than his fascination with death.

Author's notes: Yes, it's very short. It really bugs be that every time I type "Baker Street", Word tries to get me to display a map of London.

Please keep reading and reviewing!!!