December 19, 1897

I was caught off guard when I felt handcuffs tighten around my wrists. I hadn't even heard anyone come up behind me.

"Who's there? Am I under arrest? What did I do?" I asked.

The constable made no reply.

"You can't just come up to someone and arrest them for no reason!" I protested. "If this is about what happened last June, I've already stood trial for it!"

He continued to ignore me.

"Where's your holiday spirit? It's almost Christmas! I don't want to spend Christmas in jail! Why are you doing this to me?"

He kept silent and continued to lead me away.

"Hey! Where are we going? This isn't the way to jail! Where are you taking me?"

He knocked on the door of someone's home. I was surprised when Basil of Baker Street answered.

The constable began, "Detective, this is hardly the way to invite guests to visit you. Furthermore, you are supposed to find evidence, and I am supposed to escort prisoners to jail. Arresting someone for no reason and bringing them to your home is not…"

"There now. It's quite alright," Basil interrupted. "You can release him."

The constable removed my handcuffs. "You'd better have a good reason for asking me to bring him here like this, Basil."

"But of course, my good fellow!"

The sleuth told me to come inside, and I did.

"I suppose you're wondering why you're here," he stated.

I nodded.

"My associate would like a word with you," Basil explained. "He's not here at the moment, but he should return shortly."

"That ugly, plump idiot?"

"Precisely!" He lit his pipe and added in a dangerously quiet tone. "Mark my words, Fidget. If you give him any trouble, I shall find enough evidence to see you imprisoned for life, even if I must invent false charges! Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

I gasped. "You wouldn't!"

He glared at me. "I most certainly would."

I kept silent. Even though I was sure he was bluffing, I decided not to press the matter.

"Do you understand me, Fidget?"

"Yes, sir," I replied.

The door opened, and Basil's companion stepped in. His arms were filled with boxes, and he was gasping for air.

"Did you enjoy your errand, Dawson?" Basil asked casually.

Dawson set the boxes on the floor. "I must say it's rather tiring shopping for Yuletide gifts!"

"You should have avoided the holiday rush," advised Basil. "I always do."

"How?""

"Elementary, my dear Dawson! I make my purchases earlier in the year!"

"How early, Basil?"

"September."

"September?"

"Indeed! September is simply ideal for preparing for the holiday season! I once bought Christmas presents in August, but I found it far too long to conceal items without anyone detecting them. I next tried October, but I'm afraid the gift selection in stores wasn't as desirable as it is in September."

Dawson shook his head. "Only you would perfect holiday shopping to a science!"

"To an art, Doctor," Basil corrected.

"We've known each other since June. Why didn't you advise me to do my shopping in September?"

"I did. You laughed and dismissed the idea as a joke. Don't you remember?" After a pause, he added, "Cheer up, old chap! I got you something too!"

"Did you now?"

"I surely did! I bought you a special pair of shoes to wear the next time you're tempted to dance with the ladies at the Rat Trap. The shoes are extremely comfortable, ideal for bar dancing!"

Dawson crossed his arms. "I wasn't the only one to make a mistake that evening, Basil!"

The great mouse detective changed the subject. "As you can see, I had Fidget brought here. He's ready to speak with you!"

Basil's partner turned to me and smiled. "Do you know what I do for a living?"

"You're a surgeon," I answered.

"The finest surgeon in Mousedom!" Basil added. "I've seen him save lives when I thought surely it was too late for the hapless souls!"

"Elementary, my dear Basil," Dawson nonchalantly replied.

Basil rolled his eyes. "Hardly humorous, Dawson."

The detective's assistant addressed me again. "Do you know I've operated on some patients who were in a worse condition than you are, and they regained full use of their previously injured limbs?"

"You're saying you think you could fix my wing?" I asked.

"I'm sure of it," he responded.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Fidget, I'd like to help you fly again. Will you let me?"

"Surprise!" Basil exclaimed. "Now you know why I had you brought here! This is our gift to you! Merry Christmas!"

I scowled. "You're both pitiless! Even Ratigan would never have played a joke this cruel!"

"I'm not joking," Basil argued. "Are you, Dawson?"

"Not at all!" the doctor replied.

"You don't mean it! You wouldn't really…!" I couldn't finish

They nodded.

"When do you want to do the surgery?" I asked.

"If we did it today, you'd have enough time to recover that you could be home by Christmas," Dawson pointed out. "You'd just have to take it easy for a while, and of course I'd visit you from time to time so I could make sure of your complete recovery."

"What have you got to lose?" Basil asked. "Do you give him consent to take care of you?"

My voice was barely above a whisper. "Yes."

"Excellent!" The detective rested his hand on my shoulder. "You won't be sorry, Fidget! I guarantee it!"

"Why are you doing this?"

"One of the queen's guards put in a good word for you last Christmas," Basil explained.

I remembered it all too well. Christmas of 1896 had been quite an adventure. More accurately, it had been quite a misadventure. No one could ever guess what Ratigan was plotting next, but that year he did something that surprised even his most loyal henchmen.