A/N: Can someone please stop sending mommy rabbits to my doorstep? They keep giving birth to annoying but ohsocute plotbunnies that I just can't let go. I was making a PB&J when one crawled up my pant leg and refused to let go until I'd written this. Originally this was just going to be a really long one shot, but then I decided that it would be more effective if I split it up into chapters. So that's why the chappies are a bit short. Also, a big round of applause to my beta, blueheronz, for putting up with my neverending supply of unfinished stories and emails at 2:30 in the morning. Go read her story A Vast Indifference of the Sky. It's very good, and I'll give you all cookies. Homemade! This is just a silly little story, and I own nothing but the idea. I do hold stock in House's cane, but unfortunately, that doesn't really mean anything. That said, if you steal my stuff, I break yo face. I'm protective of my bunnies. Please read, review and enjoy!

Who Kidnapped Steve McQueen?

Chapter 1: The Crime & Suspect: Dr Eric Foreman

There were three things House did when he woke up in the morning. One, he took his Vicodin. Two, he rolled back over and closed his eyes. Three, after the alarm started screaming again, he checked on Steve McQueen. A little cheese on rye and a scratch on the tummy, and both mammals were ready to face the world.

So, on the morning of March Seventeenth, 2007, when House discovered the latch to Steve's cage unlocked and squeaky and the aforementioned rat missing and signs of a struggle, the diagnostician immediately suspected foul play.

He had to solve the mystery. The life of his beloved pet hung in the balance.

Allison Cameron, Robert Chase and Eric Foreman sat around the table, each nursing a mug of caffeinated Columbian coffee. All three wore flat-bottomed shoes, optimal for sneaking into an apartment without being heard. House observed his fellows through the glass and across the hall. He tapped his chin before limping into the room. Instantly, three pairs of eyebrows disappeared into the wrinkles of three foreheads.

"Uh, House?" Foreman said. "What's with the outfit?"

Indeed, it seemed their boss had gone even crazier than normal. On top of his graying hair, a deerstalker hat straight out of a Sherlock Holmes novel; a plaid coat adorned his shoulders; a play pipe that emitted bubbles every time House breathed completed the comical image.

"Elementary, my dear Foreman," he replied. "We have a new mystery."

Chase brightened. "A new case? Thank God!"

House tutted. "No, dear Robert. A new mystery. One much more important than a dying person."

The doctors stared blankly at their boss. He sighed.

"In simpleton's terms, my dear ducklings, the-."

"Could you stop calling people 'dear,'" Cameron interrupted.

"Why, Dr Cameron, I'd think you'd be jumping for joy at my sudden niceties." She just huffed and sat back.

"As I was saying, the new mystery far surpasses any case you could possibly give me. Because this time, it's personal."

"One of your parents is sick?" Chase offered.

"Worse." House paused dramatically. "Steve McQueen has been kidnapped."

"When I awoke this morning, I found several things that alerted me to the fact that something illegal had transpired the previous night," the Detective stated, pacing the floor of the room. "First and foremost, Steve McQueen was missing from his cage. I know he did not escape because I keep the cage locked, and said lock had been picked. Only I have a key."

"You keep your pet rat in a jail cell?" Cameron asked. "Don't you think you're taking this 'over-protective pet owner' shtick a bit far?"

"Obviously not far enough," House countered. "Anyway, I also found several drops of blood on the woodchips inside Steve's cage. Upon further investigation, I found a smudged footprint on my couch, several cushions and a broken glass containing approximately a third of scotch shattered on the floor. There was also a scrap of paper near the crime scene with the words "rat suit eggs" printed almost illegibly on one side. This is my evidence."

Chase decided to humor his boss. It was better than clinic duty. "Do you have any suspects?"

"I have narrowed the extensive list of people with grudges against me or Steve down to five," House was saying as he scribbled the names onto the whiteboard. "First suspect: Dr Eric Foreman." He held up a hand when the predictable protest came from the neurologist. "You had the motive and the opportunity." House finished his chicken scratches and turned to face the people in the room.

"Care to explain your logic, O Detective House?" Wilson asked sarcastically.

"If I must," he acquiesced.

Foreman winced as the wooden door squeaked on its hinges, breaking the silence of the night like a gunshot. His credit card had been an easy winner against the likes of the puny lock that guarded House's home against petty criminals like himself.

"Hey!" Foreman yelled. "I am not a 'petty criminal!'

"Who's telling this story, hmm?" the Detective demanded. The darker man grunted and sat back down. "Now, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted…"

Ever since that confrontation where House had admitted to faking cancer, something in his blood had been boiling. It had taken that incident to send him over the edge, the brink, the teetering cliff of his sanity. Now, he had to get revenge.

Of course, that wasn't his only motivation. The hell he'd received over the few weeks standing as House's boss had started it. The racist remarks added weight to the barrel. The final straw had been trivializing the teenager's case by turning it into a game. Though he hadn't shown it over the duration of the kid's treatment, inside he'd been pissed. It was like everything he was taught in med school was completely irrelevant in House's mind. He'd never read an ethics book, never gave a crap about the patient. Sure, he was an amazing, brilliant, handsome, cunning-.

"House…" Cuddy warned. "Get on with it." He coughed.

Sure, he was an amazing doctor, but it was like he deliberately set out to piss him off.

So now he was going to return the favor.

Foreman examined the floorboards, taking in the slightly warped panels and the absence of rugs. He'd initially wanted to bust in, guns blazing, because that was what his kind did, but he figured that approach might be counter-productive.

The plan was to kidnap the rat and hold him as a bargaining tool. House would get his pet back when Foreman got a raise and a guaranteed position as Head of Diagnostics when the current one inevitably croaked from a Vicodin overdose.

"That's my motive? I want to overthrow your regime?" the accused gaped. "You really are insane."

"Ah ah, Dr Foreman. Remember, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."

"This isn't a legal investigation, House. Unless he swallowed the Heart of the Sea, the law doesn't care about your rat. You've corralled us all in here so you can live out your childhood dream of being Sherlock Holmes incarnate," sighed Wilson. "I have a single mom with breast cancer in an hour, so hurry this up."

"All in good time, people, all in good time."

Foreman put his criminal skills to good use by picking the double lock that secured Steve McQueen's cage from intruders.

"YOU DO NOT KEEP YOUR RAT LOCKED UP WITH A DOUBLE LOCK!" Foreman yelled. House rounded on him.

"And how would you know that if you weren't the one who kidnapped him?"

There was no reply. The Detective smirked.

Foreman put his criminal skills to good use by picking the double lock that secured Steve McQueen's cage from intruders. He'd come prepared with a paper clip and a nail file. As the tumblers fell into place and a drop of sweat slid down his temple, the grandfather clock in by the piano chimed two A.M. House's snores could be heard all the way in the study, even over the distressed squeaks of his pet varmint.

"Shut up, you stupid rodent!" Foreman hissed, craning to listen for any signs that his dictatorial boss was beginning to stir. The locks clicked open; Eric Foreman reached into the cage to grab and stuff. His kidnapping attempt was thwarted when the rat took a swift chunk out of his finger.

Foreman guiltily slipped his left hand into the pocket of his lab coat, hoping House hadn't noticed the Band-Aid wrapped around the middle finger.

"Ow!" he yelped, before sticking the bitten finger in his mouth. The metallic taste of blood met his tongue. "Oh, you are in for it now, Rat." Snatching Steve McQueen by the tail and stuffing him violently into the paper bag, Foreman leapt up, grabbed his supplies and shuffled quickly and blindly towards the door. His knee bumped into a table and a crash stopped him in his tracks. That sounded like glass. Crap.

Foreman decided not to wait and see if House woke up. He jumped over the table, landed on couch, hopped over the arm and sprinted out the door.

"And what about the slip of paper? You haven't explained that yet," muttered Foreman. House glared at the man who'd interrupted his theorizing.

"Perhaps it fell out of your pocket as you made your escape. Perhaps you planted it to throw me off your scent. There are many scenarios that fit your pathology and the timeline."

Foreman groaned and sank into a chair.

"I didn't abduct your dumb rat, okay?"

"Everybody lies," House postulated. "And anyway, you can relax now. There are still four other suspects on my list. And my second one is…Dr Lisa Cuddy."

TBC...