Title: Our Little Game

Fandom: The Great Mouse Detective

Rating: R

Warnings: violence, hints of slash

Summary: After the battle on Big Ben, everyone believes Ratigan to be dead. Yet murders keep happening and everyone is pointing fingers on who's to blame. Meanwhile, Basil fights his own demons as his past with Ratigan comes to haunt him. Dawson/Basil, Ratigan/Basil

Author's Note: This is the first time I've written in this fandom, so, be nice. And no flames, thank you.


Chapter 1


Lightning pierced through the sky, illuminating the soggy and dank docks and piers that skirted the shoreline of the River of Thames. Millions of raindrops plopped down into the frigid water's surface as the water began to shift and ripple as movement disturbed its melancholy.

Water splashed as a heavy body made its way closer and closer to the muddy grasses and marshes. Trembling claws emerged from the water as the large rat stepped its way further; clenching every now and then from spasms. Deep, shallow and husky breathes could be heard from the creature's throat, proving its long tiring journey; every now and then a growl escaping from it.

The sky went bright as another bolt of lightning shot through the sky and Ratigan was able to see his destination more clearly for just that brief moment. The rain poured harder on the rodent's tattered form, feeling like tiny knifes hitting against his fur and skin; yet his mind was currently too wrapped up on its one source of misery and malcontent.

For just those few moments he had had victory. After so many years of fighting to get it back, it had been taken from him in a matter of moments; all thanks to the sheer luck of that pathetic pipsqueak. Oh, how his fury ran through his veins at the sheer memory of his failure! To have allowed himself to be outwitted!

The very fact that the miserable excuse of a mouse had not fallen alongside him proves he had succeeded in using the bicycle part of his dirigible to manage an escape from death itself.

The ferocious rat stepped further out of the water in his bare paws; having lost his shiny and expensive shoes somewhere between Big Ben and the fall. No matter; they were trivial things. He continued walking, glaring straight ahead of him and gasping in both exhaustion and outrage. He didn't care that his clothes were far beyond repair, no longer recognizable since they were now rags that clung to his wet and filthy fur.

Several yards away, hidden behind one of the many piers, a cat hollered out; yet Ratigan paid no mind to it. In the state he was in, he could kill anything that crossed his path. All he cared about was getting out of that river and finding the best way to find revenge on that no good detective.

Oh, how he longed to wrap his claws around that mouse's throat and tear it to shreds! How he yearned to have another go at that detective and kill him properly!

That was just his initial reaction though. If Ratigan was truly honest with himself, he knew he would never be able to permanently murder Basil of Baker Street in such a tragic way. No. What had happened on Big Ben had been a loss of control. Being there, in the moment; he had thrashed and sliced at Basil's tiny and frail body to the point where he was clinging for dear life. In that moment in time, Ratigan had allowed himself to be completely taken over by his instincts; finally unleashing the beast within him which he forced back deep inside him time and time again for so many long years. He had worked so hard to plan out the Queen's demise and finally manage to take over Mousedom and for Basil to come out of nowhere, after having made sure to cover his tracks well, he had lost all control and had wanted to kill him for daring to cross him.

Death was too kind, in his opinion; especially a death Basil would have met on Big Ben had things gone different. Simply dying took the fun out of it and if Ratigan was truly honest with himself, he would never know what to do with himself if Basil was ever taken from the world.

Basil of Baker Street was the only mouse ever to oppose him; ever to be of any true threat to him….and it fascinated him! He didn't understand how such a pitiful excuse for a mouse could have such a quick wit and daring boldness to stand up to him! To have sophistication and knowledge that matched his own. Not having Basil there trying to catch his shadow everywhere he went would be unbearable. Especially after once getting to have the pleasure of tasting what the brilliant detective tasted like. In that first moment of unhinged madness, the lack of control he had showed Basil long before the events on Big Ben, Ratigan had been able to feel the other rodent's lips on his own and it had been pure nirvana to him. There had been other brief encounters between them. Touches, sparks, gestures, strokes. All of which came from Ratigan and his moments of uncontrollable want.

It was now an ache he occasionally felt within him whenever he was in Basil's presence, though it was one he was sure to keep to himself; heavily locked inside him. It was a secret the two of them shared, something only they knew about; something that they would forever share. A bond, of sorts; yet not in the sentimental way. Ratigan could not be sure, but he had concluded that Basil kept it to himself as well. Not only for the awkward and disgusting acceptance of it, but for the acknowledgement that Basil also had a wicked side. Once, after having been claimed roughly by the lips, Basil had pushed him away in the best way he could since he was so much physically weaker than the rat. He had brought out his claws; the same claws the mouse refuses to use since he didn't believe in using violence, and struck him straight across the chest, slashing him bloody and managing to worm his way out. The large rat still carried those scars on his chest, though they were deeply hidden by fur and the classy suits he always wore.

It had been so unlike Basil, so uncharacteristic. Then again, he always had been able to bring out the worst in Basil. The detective always squirmed in his presence after that first kiss. Oh, the hatred that poured off that mouse's frame. He made Basil uncomfortable, though one could easily say any sort of social meeting made him that way, and Ratigan almost had to laugh at the idea of it. Basil of Baker Street would forever be his treasure; his opponent in the game, his constant reminder that there was one other individual out there who was clever enough to keep Ratigan on his toes.

The rain continued to pour down harder than ever on the rat and yet the seething rodent ignored the elements of the weather, never stopping his walk until he was once again in the familiar decay of the sewers belong the Rat Trap.

The sewers were in full operation due to the storm that was forcefully making its way through, leaving the sewers more disgusting and grimy than usual. Puddles littered the stone floor as Ratigan walked closer to the wine barrels that created his living quarters. Ratigan's body continued to heave and his breathing never ceased being clouded with fury and aggression as stepped before the pitiful sight that were his henchmen.

Apparently, after having left the Queen's Palace, his henchman made themselves comfortable by cowering back into the sewers and cracking open whatever bottles of alcohol they could pour down their throats.

Ratigan scowled down at the thieves and crooks he considered his henchman as they lay scattered on the cement floor half asleep and drunken out of their minds. He followed the trail of henchman into the wine barrel that had been painted with a large 'R' and was even more displeased to find more of his henchman lying about on the floor and along the fountain of champagne.

One of them hiccupped themselves into a more wakened state and the male mouse's eyes landed on Ratigan, whose wake was enough to shatter anyone's nerves. Ratigan looked like he had just been dragged to Hell and then spat back out. He was dripping wet with more than just river water. A thin line of red liquid was dripping down into the floor along with the rest of the water falling from him. By this time, Ratigan had regained a bit more of his breath and lost a slight fraction of his initially haggard breath, though his chest still rose and fell violently.

Ratigan's face was contorted into a vicious snarl, his sharp teeth no longer being hidden by his usual smug or quirky smile. His nose flared, his stared down at the male mouse who was yet sober enough to take note of his presence.

"B-B-B-Boss!" he squeaked fretfully. He was wearing a red knitted sweater with a navy blue hat, which toppled off his head due to his incessant trembling. He turned his head ever so slightly, his eyes never leaving Ratigan, to call over to the others. "L-L-Look boys! It's the boss! H-He's returned!" He said this loudly, hoping that everyone would pay attention for fear of angering Ratigan. Two of the mice who had been dressed in soldier uniforms snapped their eyes open at the revelation that Ratigan was back. They knew very well that Basil had managed to break free from their trap and ruin Ratigan's plans, yet they had lost track of their boss after he had run off with the girl. Judging by Ratigan's reappearance, things did not go according to plan.

The two mice quickly stood, swaggering greatly as they did so. They saluted to him, their dulled minds working slower than usual. "Boss!" they cried out in unison. They too began to tremble, clutching onto each other after Ratigan pushed past them, slowly walking like a dead corpse until he stood before the hearth that rested on the left side of the room. He disregarded them, his eyes flashing over the small limp doll that was meant to be a voodoo doll of sorts in the shape of Basil.

Ratigan picked up the door and handled it tenderly between his claws, staring at it with an impassive expression. Several needles had been struck through the tiny doll's soft material in a vain hope that Basil would feel the pain in real life at one time. That didn't matter now. Ratigan slowly started removing the needles while his henchman anxiously stood around him; having awaken from their drunken stupors enough to know they should pay attention in case he beckoned any of them.

After several long, agonizing minutes of watching their boss play with the doll of his arch-nemesis, one of the gulped loudly in fear; wringing his hat in his hands, and took a step toward Ratigan. "Oi….B-Boss, eh….So….what happened-Rumors had it you fell and Basil—"

The poor mouse never had a chance to finish, for Ratigan's arm jutted out as quick as a flash, his claw wrapping around his fat neck instantly and draining all the air out of the rodent's lungs. The thug's eyes widened and his mouth gaped in mid scream as he grasped at Ratigan's hand to try to get away. Ratigan twisted his wrist ever so slightly, his eyes never leaving the doll, and henchman's body went limp after a sickening snap echoed throughout the room.

Terror spread throughout the other rodent's in the room, some of them close to tears, others having to look away in hopes they didn't get sick. Ratigan finally turned to them, scowling. "No one is ever to say that mouse's name in my presence…" he snarled behind gritted teeth, his voice deep with ire. "Only I am allowed to say his name. Understand?!"

The other mice nodded and mumbled their agreement as they stumbled backwards in their attempt to move closer to the exit. Something obviously had happened that night; something none of them would ever comprehend. The last they had heard was that Ratigan had disappeared and that Basil of Baker Street had successfully saved the queen and chased Ratigan away. The details were clearly lacking; though surely within the days' time, everything will be figured out in time for the morning paper. They knew Ratigan had always had a strange, fascination or obsession over the clever detective, though none of them had ever thought the great rat would ever ask such a request.

Ratigan could simply do nothing but stare at the doll in his hands. He had lost. His victory had been false. He had let his guard down too quickly. Blast that clock to Hell! It was such a disgrace to know one had been beaten in such a way. Oh, yes. Basil would be his soon enough. He was not going to make any more mistakes. With a bloody claw, Ratigan traced a line of red across the little doll's face, a devilish smile appearing on his face.


Outside the storm still continued to rage, the streets of Baker Street quickly flooding. No human dared be outside at this time of night, especially in this nasty of a storm. This allowed the two male mice to run even quicker to the safe walls of 221 ½ Baker Street. Their feet splashing in the puddles under them, Dawson and Mr. Flaversham carried the despondent mouse between them, each holding him up by an arm pit.

Dr. Dawson no longer cared about his appearance as he previously had hours ago and feared for the live of his new friend, Basil the Great Mouse Detective. Having been overjoyed at the sight of the detective still alive thanks to the refuge of the dirigible, they had reached out and brought him aboard their make-shift air craft. Basil had smiled weakly at them, trembling terribly and after receiving hugs from everyone; most especially little Olivia, Basil passed out, much to their dismay. Fearing for their friend's life, they landed the match box and gave freedom to the balloons before rushing their friend to safety.

Little Olivia had tears in her eyes as she ran alongside her father and Dr. Dawson, fussing over the detective's health. With a hand held tightly over her hat, she ran, hoping for the best. The guilt that was currently running through her was something the small child had never before experienced and it scared her even more. Although Basil had not been the friendliest of sorts to her when they first met, she couldn't help but feel attached to him; looking up to him a great deal. Having heard great stories about the wondrous mysteries Basil had solved, she had grown to idolize him. She would hate to be the reason for the great investigator's downfall.

"Hurry! Hurry!" she ushered her father and the doctor after having run a ways ahead of them. The door to 221 ½ Baker Street was only a few yards away.

Panting from having run most of the way, Flaversham and Dawson were grateful to see the front door and pushed themselves inside after Olivia had knocked on the door and had Mrs. Judson open the door.

To say the landlady's cry of despair at the sight of her dear tenant was heart breaking would have been an understatement. "Oh, my! Oh—Oh, my goodness!" she wailed. She pushed away form the stray hairs coming down into her face as she quickly bustled into the other room in search of proper first aid.

Basil's head lolled back and forth as they walked him over to the green couch that was in front room, deciding it would be more proper to place him somewhere he could lie down rather than his favorite red chair in front of the fire. Dawson immediately started looking over the other mouse, his frown deepening by the minute. Ratigan had certainly done a right job thrashing and slicing Basil up. His legs seemed to be the least affected. It was mainly Basil's arms, back, and torso that had received the most amount of damage.

After having placed Basil on the couch, Flaversham didn't quite know what to do with himself and simply took several feet back to allow the doctor more space. He was out of his element; he didn't know how to handle these types of situations. It was a miracle David Q. Dawson was a military doctor and therefore knew precisely what he had to do. Flaversham flinched, having been staring at Basil on the couch, when Olivia grabbed hold of her father's hand and wrapped her small arms around his waist. "Daddy?"

"Yes, my precious?"

Olivia sniffed, clearly on the verge of tears. "I-Is—Mr. Basil going to be alright?"

Flaversham sighed and pulled her closer. He wish he knew the answer, but for the time being he knew they would all just have to be hopeful. "I don't know, dearest…..But hopefully he will be…"

Dawson opened his mouth to speak comforting words to them, having heard their brief conversation, when Basil let out a low moan from where he was lying. The detective shuddered before shifting slightly on the couch, his tail twitching in agony as his wounds stung and he was reminded of the bloody scratches that were covering his upper body. "Ooh…" he groaned with a wince. His blearily opened his eyes, noting that everything was blurry and that he was seeing double of everything. His breath came in uneven breaths. "D-Dawson-?"

Dawson stepped forward so that he was in Basil's line of sight. "Yes, Basil. It's me. Try not to move overly much, my dear boy. I say you've had a nasty plight with that Ratigan this night and I must quickly tend to your wounds."

"Ratigan-?" gasped Basil anxiously.

"He's gone. He fell off Big Ben. Don't you remember?"

"Vaguely…" muttered Basil miserably, placing a hand over his eyes.

Mrs. Judson chose this moment to come back with some first aid supplies; something the doctor was most happy to see, but he had another idea. "Uh, Mrs. Judson…perhaps before we go straight to bandaging dear Basil up, we should first give him a proper bath."

Mrs. Judson thought it over for a moment before nodding her head. "Yes, perhaps that would be best." She glanced down at Basil and saw the wretched state her favorite tenant was in. "I dare say he needs one…"

Basil, who was fighting to keep himself conscious, pulled his hand away from his eyes. "Do what you want…" he sighed desolately and dramatically. "Just make the pain stop…" Everyone stared at Basil. This was certainly a rare sight, to see Basil in such a vulnerable state. Basil could hear as the others continued to speak, but his mind was on different matters; particular the scoundrel he had been trying to catch and place behind bars for years now.

He had stopped him; he had finally gotten the upper hand and halted Ratigan from getting away with his evil plot. He couldn't help but smile ever so slightly as he felt Mr. Flaversham and Dr. Dawson gently pick him up once more and start dragging him into the bathroom where Mrs. Judson had obviously prepared some nice hot bath water. His body felt so devoid of energy as they carried him under his arms into the bathtub.

"Do you think you can stand, Basil?" came Dawson's voice close to Basil's ear. The detective nearly flinched at the closeness from it. He glanced around his surroundings to find they were already in the bathroom and Mrs. Judson was busying herself with the tub and making sure all the soaps and herbal remedies were prepared for Dawson. It was a quaint bathroom that matched the rest of the flat, filled to the brim with frilly decorations; courtesy of the landlady's insistence.

Basil nodded and felt Mr. Flaversham and Dawson drop him to his feet, where he unsteadily wavered. He kept his arms on Flaversham's shoulder, ignoring the ineptness of the gesture; the two of them never had properly met after all. The toymaker, however, seemed ignorant of Basil's uneasiness and smiled warmly at him behind his red tinted mustache. "I know this might not be the best time….but I must thank you Mr. Basil…"

Basil wearily gave a wan smile at the toymaker before turning his attention to the bathtub. He didn't feel like speaking; his body hurt too much and his mind was currently going to top speed. He simply couldn't get over the fact that Ratigan had fallen. There was a part of him that believed him to still be alive. After so many years of trying to catch the fiend and now suddenly realizing deep in the vastness of his mind that Ratigan was gone was hard to grasp. He knew it was a case of denial but denial was often a person's way of dealing.

Dawson began helping Basil out of his clothes. As he was stripped of his clothing, a part of him felt the need to shoo everyone away. He was a private person, to say the least, and having so many in the room when he was in such a state was not something he cared for. Yet he said nothing as he held onto Flaversham and pulled off his trousers.

"Look at all that blood!" fretted Mrs. Judson as she looked down at the wood flooring. God bless that woman for a distraction from his bareness. It was true though: Basil was leaving behind a thin trail of his own blood. He had his deeper cuts to thank for that. The land lady's face was pale and she looked about ready to faint as she waved a hand in front of her face. "We'll have to clean this up immediately!"

Dawson, who had been guiding Basil over to the bathtub, turned his head back to look at her. "Now is not the time to worry about the floor, Mrs. Judson" he reprimanded her lightly. He blushed and quickly turned his voice to an apologetic one. "I am sorry, my dear. I know this is your flat—"

Basil tuned out the rest of the conversation as he slowly climbed into the bathtub, hissing in pain as the hot water touched his wounds. As he dipped himself further in, he cried out in pain. The scratches on his arms were even worse than the ones on his chest and back. Nonetheless, he sunk himself into the hot water until it nearly came to his shoulders. He curled himself up into a tight ball and closed his eyes tightly.

He could feel the pain from the rat's claws as though Ratigan was there before him still thrashing at him. Basil's ears fell flat against his head as he tried his best to ignore the pain.

"There is no escaping this time, Basil."

Ratigan's words rang through his mind as he was suddenly able to feel the pouring rain against his fur and the winds whipping around them. The fear that had clutched his heart after seeing how high up they were on the clock. He let out short, sharp cry and nearly upset the whole bathtub when he felt someone's hand upon his shoulder. His eyes shot open and he looked to find it was only Dawson.

"Basil, relax…" he said soothingly. Being a military doctor, Dawson had seen many patients tense up and re-live their horror so soon after it was over. "Now, don't be alarmed. I am only going to take some of this herbal soap and start cleaning up some of your cuts. Would you mind giving me your right arm? I will start there. You just relax and breathe. You have been through a horrible ordeal."

Basil raised his right arm for Dawson to inspect and he cringed as the herbal soap wiped away the dry and fresh blood from his wounds. Biting his bottom lip to avoid from screaming and scaring his new friends, Basil sank deep into the caresses of his mind. He thought back to all the crimes Ratigan had committed and all the times he had been so close to capture him before now. Yet before his mind could go too much further, the mouse couldn't help but think of the worst and filthiest crime Ratigan had committed.

Yes, he could still feel those ice cold hands on his body, clutching to him tightly so that he wouldn't manage to break free. He could feel those dark eyes meet with his own, those smirking lips cackle before leaning forward and snatching the innocence away from Basil in a rapt desire of a kiss. It was at that moment that Basil had realized just how low Ratigan was willing to lower himself, forcing him to use the claws he once wished never to use. He would never be able to forget the satisfaction he had felt when he heard Ratigan's gasp of disbelief and growl of anger as the blood from his new found scratches soaked through his suit. Never again has Basil ever used his claws; nor did he ever wish to. He was above violence and using it would only bring him down to the rat's level and cause him to forever hold an air of hypocrisy.

'There is no evil scheme he wouldn't concoct! No depravity he wouldn't commit!'

Basil remembered the very words he had uttered to Dawson and Olivia only hours ago as he described Ratigan and his evilness. He could feel bile come up into his chest as he remembered the wicked sin the rat had made that night. Not entirely for the action of kissing Basil, a fellow male mouse, but for the reason that they were arch enemies. Basil never had a care for who loved who, male or female; for love was always a weak spot when it came to his brilliance. It was never something he would ever be able to fully understand in his logical mind, yet for Ratigan to treat him in such a way made his blood boil. How he wished he could rid himself of the incidences between them.

"Stop thinking so hard, Basil" came the caring voice of Dr. Dawson.

Ah, yes, that was right; he wasn't alone.

Basil opened his eyes and found that his sense of touch had left him momentarily in his time of deep thinking, for Dawson was now cleaning the wounds of his upper back. He grunted a bit. "Please, Dawson…..Attempt to be a bit gentler…" he spat. He immediately regretted it. The poor fellow was only trying to help him. Had it not been for him and Flaversham, he would still be out in the rain bleeding to death. He opened his mouth in hopes an apology would come out. He spoke in a softer tone, "Dawson—I'm—"

"It's alright, Basil" replied Dawson, failing to hide all the hurt from his voice. "I understand you're in pain. I will try my best to be more gentle." True to his words, he rubbed at Basil's back softer than before.

"I know but—You are helping me-It's not right of me to snap that way" conceded the detective as his ears bent down in embarrassment.

"Consider it forgotten, dear boy" responded Dawson in a more cheerful voice. He pulled the soapy wash cloth away from him and rinsed it out; not caring at all for all the blood coming out from it. He placed some more soap on the rag before continuing. This was truly a strange situation he had gotten himself into. It had not even be twelve hours after coming home from Afghanistan in hopes to find some peace and quiet and already he found himself using his doctoral skills for not just any mouse, but the world famous Basil of Baker Street.

Dawson openly admitted that he had never heard of Basil before coming to London just hours ago. If he was entirely honest with himself, though, he was grateful he had. He found the detective most intriguing and despite some of Basil's obvious social flaws, he found the other mouse to be quite good company. Though it certainly gave his heart a staggering jolt as he watched Basil's eccentric and dramatic antics, he found the mouse to be quite endearing.

Who would ever have guessed he would be found on Basil of Baker Street's bathroom tending to the detective's wounds while wearing an atrocious drunken pirate costume? Dawson couldn't help but chuckle at the revelation. Fate surely was a peculiar thing.

"Alright, Basil, I'll let you finish cleaning yourself up" announced the doctor after several long minutes of helping his friend wash up. He wrung the washcloth out and handed it to his friend who resignedly accepted it. "I'll just give you some privacy. Take your time and relax. I'll be in to check on you in a few minutes so we can put some salves and ointments on your cuts and bandage you up, alright?"

"Thank you, Dawson" mumbled the detective before taking the wash cloth. He waited until the doctor left before promptly washing himself.

Dawson shut the door behind him and gave a large sigh. When his eyes landed on the room before him he could see an anxious Olivia holding tightly to her father's hand. "Is Mr. Basil going to be alright?"

Dawson nodded as he smiled down at her. "He's going to be just fine, my dear." Olivia nodded though her little heart wouldn't fully believe him until she saw Basil up and walking again herself.

While Basil was finishing his bath, Dawson took this time to finally change out of the intolerable costume he had been forced to wear and back into his comfortable slacks and dress shirt. He didn't bother with his coat. Olivia was entertained by Flaversham and Mrs. Judson as they fed the girl some cheese crumpets and the land lady showed her some of her old photos of her family. Dawson was sitting quietly in the green chair in front of the fire, his mind elsewhere as they waited.

Unbeknownst to them, Basil was just now getting out of the tub, his sluggish movements from both pain and from his deep thoughts. He couldn't help but look down at his battered body as he dressed himself in his red robe and stare at all the fresh scars there would be no thanks to Ratigan. He pulled the robe close to himself, feeling the chill of the room since his fur was still damp. For so many years he has tried to capture that madman and it seemed all but surreal that he was suddenly….gone.

'The horror of my every waking moment!'

Ratigan had certainly been that. Perhaps it was simply because Ratigan's death had just happened, but Basil found himself in doubt that he was truly gone. There was nagging in back of his brain that said he shouldn't let his guard down. Basil shook his head and dismissed all these thoughts and opened the door.

Hearing the door open, Dawson quickly snapped out of meditations and stood, walking to his friend's aid. "How are you feeling?"

Basil considered the question before answering. "As though I was run over by a carriage…"

Dawson winced as he guided his friend over to the couch. "Well, come this way and we'll bandage you up." Basil followed him back over to the couch and sat down, only to be interrogated by a distressed Olivia.

"Mr. Basil!" cried the child as she rushed over to the detective. She stopped before him, placing a hand on his knee. "Mr. Basil, I'm so sorry! Are you alright?!"

Basil, though he felt like shouting at her, smiled warmly down at her. "I've been better, my dear, but please; do not worry yourself over me. I was up against Ratigan and I was expecting no less from the sewer rat he is!"

"You say that as though you've been torn up by him before" commented Dawson as he sat down next to his friend and started placing ointments on some of the scratches on Basil's arm after pulling up his sleeve.

Basil hissed in pain as the ointment did its job, his tail going ramrod straight momentarily. "Well-Perhaps not to this extent—"

"Oh, he's been bullied and tormented by that ray ever since I've known him" huffed Mrs. Judson. "So many times he would come back from a case and be so worked up-" she paused as she noted everyone's expressions. "Not all wounds are visible, my dears…" She turned her gaze sharply at Basil, who met her gaze without hesitation. He stared hard at her and the landlady knew not to push her luck any further on the discussion.

As Dawson continued to work on Basil's wounds, the detective found himself becoming more and more drowsy by the minute. By the time the doctor was finished, Basil was practically asleep on the couch, having leaned back into its cushions.

He didn't want to think any more…..

Images of Ratigan continued to plague him and he just wanted it to stop. He heard Mrs. Judson take the Flavershams into the other room to sleep and mentioned something about where Dawson would be sleeping. Just as the land lady was about to reply, Basil's hand shot out to grasp Dawson's sleeve. "Dawson-!"


He pulled a bit at Dawson's sleeve. He enjoyed the doctor's presence; he had ever since he first laid eyes on him. There was something about the older doctor that put him at ease. He found himself subconsciously drawn to the doctor and even after only minutes of being with him, felt the need to have him accompany him wherever he went. "Stay here, would you, old chap?" His voice was weak and tired for he was hardly awake. All he knew was that he didn't wish to be alone.

Dawson contemplated his request, throwing Mrs. Judson a curious look before turning back to his worn friend. He shifted his weight on both feet before finally saying, "Well, I suppose that's something I could manage."

Basil smiled at that and let go of his sleeve. Mrs. Judson brought out some pillows and blankets and the two mice settled onto the couch. Basil ended up resting against Dawson, using him as a pillow. When Mrs. Judson opened her mouth to reprimand him, Dawson merely said, "Don't fuss over it. He's fine. I don't mind it."

Mrs. Judson just shook her head, finding another matter to fuss over. "Well, I would have more pillows for you had Mr. Basil not found it fitting to ruin them earlier today. Shooting a gun at my fine pillows, honestly!" She walked out of the room, still in a tizzy and leaving Dawson chuckling.

Basil hid his face in Dawson's arm. "What a thing to fret over…" he muttered darkly. It seemed Basil was finally able to get some proper rest, his wounds finally taking its last toll on his body. It was a relief to know Ratigan was gone, though he wished that nagging feeling in the back of his mind would go away. He wanted to move on. To what he wasn't quite sure- What do you do after you accomplish a goal you've dedicated so many years on? He didn't want to think about it now. Instead he buried himself further into Dawson's side and slowly fell asleep.


Author's Note: Well, here is the prologue to my very first GMD fanfiction. I certainly hope it was good and that everyone was in character. This will be a multi-chapter story, though when the next chapter will be up I have no idea. Hopefully soon. Please review and let me know what you all think! -EricaX