Disclaimer: I do not own Basil of Baker Street, or Dawson, or Professor Ratigan…for the life of me I can't remember the author of the books and Disney made the movie. What I'm trying to say is, they aren't mine. Oh, and I've never actually read the books, but I've read some information about them that I may wish to include in this story. And I'm applying a lot of what I learned from Holmes into Basil's personality. Oh yes…there is SLASH in this story. To GUY mice in LOVE.

From the diary of Dr. Dawson

Basil has become almost unrecognizable since the death of Professor Ratigan almost six months ago. He has lost his fervor and dedication for his work, and I fear, for life, that had once given him his peculiar charm. The two of us have been sitting in this room for several hours and he hasn't said one thing to me.

He doesn't sleep much anymore. At first I had contributed it to the fact that he would have nightmares after such a trying event. Nightmares, perhaps, of free falling until he eventually met the hard ground many meters from the face of Big Ben. However, it would seem as if sleep still hasn't found him if the bags under his eyes are any indication.

His eating habits have also changed. He eats noticeably less and only when his stomach starts to growl loud enough for me to hear from across the room. I'll admit that he probably doesn't eat or sleep much when on a case, but that is the biggest clue that makes me believe he has sunk into a heavy depression.

He doesn't take many cases anymore. The only ones he will take are murders and even then I notice that he finds no joy in it. I'm going to confront him about it. I'm going to do it tonight…as soon as I figure out how to approach the matter.

Dawson looked up from his writing to stare at Basil as he sat slouched and staring into the fire. He took a deep breath and choked on his words. The strange noise caused the detectives ears to twitch slightly and for him to glance at the doctor.

"Feeling all right, Dawson?" He asked, observant eyes quickly scanning his companion for any sign of illness.

"I'm fine Basil. I was actually wondering the same about you." With that said, the older mouse leaned forward in his chair and waited for an answer.

Basil's sighed and turned to stare into the fire again. His mind told him that Dawson was still waiting patiently for an answer. He would never be able to get the doctor to drop the question. He could be very stubborn at times.

He turned to his friend once more. "I must admit Dawson…I am quite bored."

That was not the answer he had been expecting. Dr. Dawson was positive that much shown clearly on his features as he stared at the mouse in front of him.

"What do you mean 'you're bored'?"

Basil sighed with the beginnings of irritation. "Bored. Used as an adjective in my case, correct me if I'm wrong. Bored implies that I am tired of the world!" He really didn't know why his voice was starting to rise and his tone becoming sharp.

"Then why don't you do something to cure your boredom? You've been "bored" for six months Basil, and you have turned down many opportunities to occupy yourself!"

Then Basil did something he didn't expect. He had expected the mouse to start shouting at him. Instead, he stared for a moment, only to burst into a fit of bitter laughter.

"You don't get it, do you Dawson? No, of course you wouldn't. Try and see things from my point of view for a moment. I am bored. Now think for a moment. What could I possibly do to relieve myself of this plague?"

Dawson's thoughts raced to one conclusion. He felt his face flush and watched as Basil stared at him with an amount of intensity and liveliness that hadn't been displayed in months. Surely he couldn't possibly mean…but the way he emphasized the word bored? And why was he staring at him like that? Now his thoughts were entirely indecent and he was sure he was going to faint very soon if he couldn't calm himself down.

"Dawson? Are you all right? You don't look so well?" Basil's voice was quickly processed through his mind, but they were much to jumbled for him understand.

"Why didn't you tell me you were a…a…deviant?!"

Basil's expression changed to confusion for the briefest of moments. Then he started to laugh. "Dear, Doctor! I should have known you would have misunderstood entirely what I meant. You see…" He began to sober. "The problem is that there is no one to challenge me anymore. I have no purpose now. I don't even have to leave the house to solve a case anymore. The only person I have met that could even hope to meet my skills is dead. Do you see now Dawson? I am bored and as of yet, there is no cure."

Dawson stared at him in indignation. "I beg your pardon? I'm sorry if I'm not as intelligent as you are Basil, that I can't entertain you or present a proper challenge." He was now standing nearly nose-to-nose with the detective now. "Why have you even bothered to keep me around if I'm so dull?"

Basil managed to look taken aback before his expression became impatient. "Doctor! I do not keep you around because you are dull. I keep you around because you want to be here," Dawson was about to speak but was promptly shushed by a quick finger to his lips and Basil continued. "I too, want you to be here."

"But why Basil, if I am such a nuisance to you, do you still want me here?!"

The detective gave him a tired, patient smile. It was a look Dawson had received often. "Dawson…I trust you can figure this one out." That being said, the detective began his trek to his room. He stopped suddenly which grabbed Dawson's attention and their eyes met.

"It appears I was wrong Doctor. There is still one person to challenge me and I have no clue how I managed to overlook him."