Author's Notes

Hello everyone! Wow, has it been a few years since I've posted something! Oh, the nostalgia… in any case, I bring you a work of fanfiction! I personally call it a retelling of the movie we all adore, with a Disney romantic twist because I simply cannot STAND that Basil never had a love interest::cries hysterically:: Basil was waayyy too dynamic a character NOT to have one! But that may be my own hopeless-romantic self shining through. A quick comment, I skipped the very opening scene with Hiram's kidnapping. Everybody knows it happened anyway, yah? -.-0 (Okay I confess it was utter laziness that prompted it).

In any case I present this with the utmost respects to our dearest author Mouselady, aka Ethel M. Grimes, who wrote the most plausible, wonderful Basil x OC story on the net, "In Memory of Elizabeth". If you haven't read it, GO READ IT!!! Also, I pay my respects to Roxie Zephyr Jocelyn, who wrote "Friend", the most comprehensive story on Basil's personality and character EVER. It helped me get a better understanding of Basil so I could write him better. She simply NAILED phrases and descriptions of him, and I confess to borrowing a few of her words. This does not mean I plagurized her! Simply that some of her adjectives and descriptions were borrowed and modified. My hat is off to her, so go read "Friend" and review it too!

I don't own The Great Mouse Detective---he and the wonderful cast belongs to Disney Enterprises and Eve Titus. I do own several OCs that appear in the story, however I did try in earnest to use canon-characters. I'll probably give an official list later.

And with that, I hope everybody enjoys. Please leave some feedback, and I don't care if it's nasty or nice. I put a lot of effort, time, and research into this project so feedback of any sort will be deeply appreciated. You may even get a fanart dedicated to you… ::is slapped for her attempt at bribery::

London, 1904

I must admit that in the ten years I have been acquainted with Detective Sherringford Basil, I have never noticed the sheer number of journals I have used to document the cases we have solved together. It is almost ironic that I spend my first night of retirement marveling at the bookcase containing these precious memoirs and realize that they aren't organized enough to make sense to anyone else. The task of putting them right seems almost Herculean, but perhaps they will help ease me into my new, peaceful existence. When I look back on my life I find it almost surreal that I spent nearly a decade as a private investigator. It was such a far cry from the surgeon's life I had led since my emergence from university all those years ago, and I treasure the memories of the experience.

It's difficult to believe that ten years have passed since I first met Basil. Having been in the Queen's service in Afghanistan for so many years I had never heard of the person dubbed 'the Great Mouse Detective' by an admiring public before the description in the newspaper clipping that was handed to me that dreary night so long ago. In fact, in the beginning I was even skeptical about Basil's reputation until I witnessed his skills firsthand!

I had even more trouble coming to grips with the fact that Basil of Baker Street was only twenty seven years old when I arrived on his doorstep! It would be several months into our partnership before I began to ponder how old he was. The question had never really occurred to me because Basil seemed to be ageless, handsome with striking deep green eyes and sharp features. However, when Mrs. Judson confided in me that she wished to make a special dinner for his approaching twenty-eighth birthday, I was astounded and unable to believe that Sherringford Basil, who was so admired by society and law enforcement officers, was just a few years out of his mouselinghood!

I must admit that it's taken me much of the ten years I've known him to come to understand him. It is difficult to think of ways to describe my comrade's personality in adjectives. Mercurial, charismatic, unpredictable, eccentric, and socially awkward are words that only brush the surface of Basil's complicated character. My first impression of him was expressed perfectly in the words of the young lady who eventually became his wife: "He's barking mad!"

I would learn that his outward coldness and unconventional behaviors didn't quite hide his deep-rooted sense of justice and the passion he had for his work. He was even ignorant of his own charisma and poise that left every person who met him with a strong opinion of him, either regarding him with heroic worship or despising him with black vengeance.

Ah, here is a journal of particular interest and perhaps my most crucial, if not my favorite. The red binding is worn and faded and the paper is yellowed, but the words are as clear as my personal memories. This chapter depicts the story of my introduction to Sherringford Basil, the Great Mouse Detective, and the greatest case he has ever solved.

London, 1897

Thick, impenetrable black clouds covered the London night sky, streaked with occasional flashes of lightning and producing endless torrents of wind-slanted sheets of icy cold water. The late evening hour and the weather had driven most of the population, both human and mice, into shelter so the streets seemed unusually desolate. Clutching the skirts of her dress through her long midnight blue woolen coat, Lillian Dodie ran down a shadowy ally that led into Treesbury Lane, careful to keep herself as hidden and inconspicuous as possible. Even though she'd left London's Cheapside far behind, she didn't know how far that horrid creature's influence reached or how many of his minions roamed outside his territory.

Deeming it safe enough to pause and catch her breath, the young lady mouse wandered behind an old wine crate, finding a drafty but temporary relief from the drenching rain. She wrapped her arms around herself, sighing as water dripped out of her saturated clothing. Thoroughly chilled and feeling as if she were wandering a mist-laden maze, her craftily veiled imprisonment had dulled her sense of London's streets. Her paws were shaking with nervousness and cold as she forced herself away from her hiding place and continued down the narrow street. She couldn't give up her search for Baker Street yet—Thomas was counting on her, and if she returned and somebody had noticed her absence at the bar that evening… she'd be food for that horrid feline that monster kept as a pet!

Lillian started, jumping backwards when a couple of old glass milk bottles crashed onto the ground a few feet ahead of her. Looking around for signs of movement, she heaved a sigh of relief when a small girl-mouse stumbled out into the middle of the ally. She stopped, watching the little one. What was she doing outside on the streets at this hour, and all by herself? She couldn't have been more than eight years old, wearing a pale blue coat and a beret with a brilliant red tuft on top. Realizing that the girl was crying Lillian's heart thumped in deep sympathy—she was obviously lost and alone, no different than her. Against her better judgment and the terrible hurry she was in, maternal instincts prompted her into calling out to the child with a warm smile.

"Hello there," Lillian said as she approached, lowering herself down on her haunches. The girl came up to her reluctantly, wiping her eyes and nose on her sleeve. "What's wrong? What are you doing out here all by yourself?"

The girl whimpered before another emotional wave of tears obstructed any words she would have attempted to say, and she sobbed loudly into the sleeve of her coat. Looking around frantically, Lillian spotted an abandoned black rubber rain boot close to an old pinstriped mattress and a sack of old newspapers. "Come over hear dear, we can talk in a relatively dry place, if you like."

The little girl nodded jerkily and allowed Lillian to guide her by the hand towards the rain boot. Inside there was a small box of Gaston's Liver-Pills, and the two female mice made themselves as comfortable as possible. Lillian did her best to calm the hysterical girl, wiping her tears and runny nose with her hands, as she had no handkerchief in her pockets.

"It's all right, darling. Take a few deep breaths and calm down. You're safe."

As the horse-drawn carriage rolled down the paved avenue, the smallest passenger had almost forgotten how dreary English weather could become. However, after two years of military service in the dry heat of Afghanistan, Dr. David Q. Dawson welcomed the cool, wet atmosphere. He sat on the iron step of the small stagecoach, looking over a copy of the Illustrated Mousedom Times. Refreshment bubbled warmly in his chest despite the chilly weather, too content to finally hold an English-printed newspaper on the day it was published.

The horse whinnied as the coach pulled to a stop, and the large fellow Dawson had caught a ride with stepped heavily onto the sidewalk. Seeing that they had stopped on Treesbury Lane, the middle aged doctor gathered his suitcase and leapt down from the step-stair. Watching the carriage pull away and vanish into the fog, Dawson returned to the newspaper, specifically the Community section and the rooms-to-let listings. He'd already circled several possible living spaces to be inspected the following day, remembering that there was a pleasant bed-and-breakfast a few short blocks away.

Heavy raindrops were preceded by a clap of thunder. Feeling the water drizzle onto his outstretched hand and newspaper, Dawson quickly pulled off his half-moon reading spectacles and tucked them safely into the inner-breast pocket of his coat. Exchanging the newspaper for the umbrella in his suitcase, the good doctor opened the black canvas and turned towards the small ally behind him. Though dark and heavily clutter of the humans that lived in the buildings surrounding it, he had no fear of a lurking cat—surely they had all scurried to find shelter from the water.

Dawson smiled, a lovely image of evening tea and crumpets at the bed-and-breakfast coming to mind as a distraction from the terrible weather. The vision however, was interrupted when his round ears perked at the sound of a crying child and a young lady.

"It's all right, Olivia, I'm certain we can find Baker Street and that Mr. Basil will be happy to help us both!"

Listening closely, he noticed the sounds were coming from a black, discarded rain boot. Stepping up to it, the doctor peered inside and murmured to himself in astonishment. Inside were two female mice, their coats soaked with rainwater and clearly distraught about something. After all, it was hardly normal for a small girl and her older sister to be outside in the rain at night and unaccompanied! The young lady was desperately trying to comfort the girl, kneeling in front of her and brushing away the steady falling of tears.

"Pardon me, ladies, but are you all right?" he asked gently, slowly entering the boot and setting his suitcase and umbrella down.

Lillian and Olivia looked up as a plump, middle-aged mouse approached them, producing a handkerchief from his coat's vest pocket and offered it gallantly to Olivia.

"Come, come now, my dear. Here, dry your eyes."

Lillian stood up and put her paws on Olivia's shoulders protectively as she observed the strange mouse. Like her he was dressed for travel, his clothing neat, clean, and perfectly in place. His features were kind and warm with sympathy and a gentleman's manners--clearly not an associate of the criminal she was running from. Convinced when he glanced at her passively, she let go of the little girl and sat down beside her as Olivia took the cream-colored handkerchief and blew her tiny nose.

Olivia breathed deeply, feeling overwhelmed. Her daddy had taught her that she shouldn't speak to strangers and to use her marbles to find a police-mouse to help her find her way back to him. But she'd been wandering the streets for hours and it seemed that there were no police-mice out that night! The pretty lady that had called out to her was so kind, and she seemed to genuinely want to help her—like a mother, or a big sister almost. And she had said she needed to see Mr. Basil too! The man that had just come up to them was just like Miss Lillian, and she recognized the gentleness in his eyes that her daddy had so often shown her. Sniffling, she looked up at the man and waited for him to speak.

"Ah yes, that's much better," Dawson said, tucking his linen cloth back into his pocket. "Now tell me, Miss, what seems to be the trouble?"

"We're a bit lost, sir," Lillian replied politely. "We both sort of ran into each other a few minutes ago looking for the same person."

"May I inquire whom it is that drives a young lady and a child into a desperate search at such a late hour?"

"B-Basil of Baker Street," Olivia said with a sigh as she tugged a newspaper clipping out of her little coat pocket and handed it to the old mouse.

"Let me see here," Dawson said, placing his glasses neatly on his nose and skimming the article. It must have been several days old for he didn't remember this particular police report "Famous detective solves baffling disappearance… ah, but where are your families? Your mother and father?"

"T-that's why I m-must find Basil!" Olivia exclaimed as fresh tears gushed out of her eyes and she buried her little face in her wet scarf, the sound of her crying slightly muffled by the fabric. Lillian wrapped her arms around the little girl and hugged her tightly, looking helplessly at Dawson as he sputtered in mild panic at Olivia's renewed hysteria.

"Her father was kidnapped earlier this evening and she's been searching for Baker Street all night. My fiancé and I have been forced to work for someone for two years, and I need Mr. Basil's help to free him."

"I'm afraid that I don't know any Basil." Dawson watched Olivia raise her head from her scarf and look up at him, and he marveled at the anguish and hopelessness he found in the child's eyes. He could feel his kind old heart melting instantly, and he smiled reassuringly down at her. "But I do remember where Baker Street is."

"Oh sir!" Lillian gasped as Olivia beamed widely, wiping the remains of her tears away with her paw. "Would you please be so kind and to tell us how to get there?"

"If you'll permit me Miss, I shall accompany you. It'll be safer for you both and give me peace at heart knowing that you arrived there safely."

"I don't want to be a burden to you, sir," she said as he opened his umbrella and picked up his suitcase.

"Nonsense, Baker Street isn't so far out of the way to my own destination. Now, come with me. We'll all find this Basil chap together."

The rain and gloom of the night had lifted by the time Dawson, Olivia, and Lillian reached Baker Street. As Lillian had anticipated, Baker Street was located in one of the nicer districts of London and was a clean, brightly lit avenue with a golden street plate and fine brick homes. The lovely, spry music of a violin drifted on the breeze, and they could see a human silhouetted through a window shade in the upper story of the corner house. With a bit of exploring, they soon discovered 221B was located just behind the leafy plants beside the stone step way that led to the front door. Setting his suitcase on the ground, Dawson rapped on the door.

A moment later it creaked open and the three mice were greeted by a portly lady-mouse in a blue dress and a large white bonnet. Her arms were filled with an assortment of odd trinkets—a cushion, blanket, two books, an iron mace, a roll of parchment, and a teacup—but she smiled tiredly nonetheless.

"Good evening, madam," Dawson said, taking off his hat and nodding his head respectfully. "Is this the residence of Basil of Baker Street?"

"I'm afraid it is," the old woman replied, her voice benevolent. Lillian and Olivia liked her immediately. "He's not here at the moment, but you're welcome to come in and wait."

Dawson smiled and chuckled thankfully at her invitation. She was such a lovely woman, lopsided bonnet and all! "Oh, dear madam, I don't want to impose. It's just the young ladies here."

"Good evening, mum," Lillian made a small curtsy and looked down, only to find empty space at her side where Olivia had been standing. Looking around and not seeing the little girl anywhere, the older mice peered inside the door to find her already sitting by the fireplace on a large red-velvet easy chair in the parlor. She was clutching a magnifying glass curiously, enlarging one of her big brown eyes to absurd proportions.

"Oh my!" Mrs. Judson exclaimed, shoving her armload into Dawson's hands and forgetting all about his and Lillian's presence as she rushed back into the house. The poor little thing was drenched! Quickly pulling off the little girl's hat and wringing the excess water out, Mrs. Judson also made short work of Olivia's scarf and coat. "You poor dear, you must be chilled to the bone! But I know just the thing," she said with a chuckle. "Let me fetch you a pot of tea and some of my fresh cheese crumpets!"

And in a blink she was gone, vanished behind a door into the kitchen. Looking at each other and shrugging, Lillian and Dawson walked into the house and closed the door. Hanging their coats on the dark oak rack beside the door, the two older mice wandered into the den, gradually taking in their surrounds. The flat was nothing grandiose, simply cozy with an uncomplicated layout but cluttered with a vast multitude of furniture and trinkets—this Basil character was obviously not the neatest chap living in Mousedom.

Surrounding the den was a small platform three steps high, which circled the room and lead to another closed door and a cushioned window seat. Dawson and Lillian marveled at the objects lining the pinstriped-paper walls, finding everything from maps to portraits to a dart board that served as a coat hanger for a deep crimson smoking robe.

On the other hand, Olivia was fixated on the chemistry set on the other side of the room. A large table was crammed with a small jungle of beakers, bottles, and curling glass tunnels. Numerous household knick-knacks interconnected to create a strange makeshift machine that puffed cigarettes while a wheel turned different boots through a paintbrush and printed their soles on scraps of paper. Notes, half-melted candles, and a steaming chipped teapot covered what little space remained, and a skull wearing a number-eight billiards ball created a macabre scene that seemed to breath, bubble, and pop with its own life.

Lillian sighed, relishing the feeling of warmth as she settled into the green easy-seat across from Olivia. Gazing sleepily at the fire, the young lady mouse wondered if her beloved Thomas had noticed she'd gone missing yet. Perhaps she should have told him her plans before she'd left so he'd have enough wits to not raise a fuss about her absence…

She stiffened, realizing that the mantelpiece was covered with newspaper clippings depicting a crime-lord's past skirmishes and a photograph of the nefarious cad who was the source of her misery and fear. Her brown eyes widened, finding it ironic that the detective also kept a small collection of keepsake reminders of his rival on his fireplace mantel.

Dawson had busied himself admiring a large African tribal mask leaning against an overflowing dresser. The thing was as tall as the ceiling, painted a deep purple and embellished with gold makeup and hoop earrings. This Detective Basil certainly had enough foreign valuables to furnish a museum exhibit! His large round ears perked upon hearing a loud, triumphant laugh approaching from outside, and the old mouse turned around in time to see a large, white Chinese mouse burst through the door.

"That villain slipped this time! I shall have him!"

The good doctor stiffened as a bolt of lightning dramatically silhouetted the shady character as he held up a pistol and grinned like a maniac. Hardly expecting to see such a hooligan come through the door, Dawson barely managed to stumble out of the creature's way as he raced through the room as a billowing wisp of red and gold.

"Out of my way! Out of my way!"

"I say!" Dr. Dawson exclaimed as the visitor's small red cap landed squarely on his head. "Who are you?" he demanded irritably, yanking the tiny thing off of his ears as the other mouse halted and whirled around as if astonished that he wasn't recognized.

Then, realizing his blunder, the mouse seized a handful of his hair and swiftly pulled his head clean off his shoulders with a soft pop, revealing another face beneath the mask. It was a devilishly good looking young man, smiling gleefully and bowing extravagantly as he introduced himself.

"Basil of Baker Street, my good fellow."

Author's Notes:

You like? I hope you did! Part two is already mostly completed, all I need is for the general public to show an interest in seeing more. I send much love to all and hope to see you guys again soon!