I have yet to see that this idea has already been done in an actual story. I have seen fanart related to this general idea, and a short story, but not into a great deal of depth.

I watched 'The Great Mouse Detective' one day, and, being a huge Sherlock fan (all versions, including BBC), decided to start this. It'll be a mixture of the original story and the BBC's 'Sherlock' episode on the Hound, but will be in the general plot's area. So, as this is my first GMD story, please tell me if I did anything wrong in a review!

. . . . . Because, believe it or not, it's actually pretty hard to write a whole story based off of characters that have been in one single movie (that didn't explain them very well…). Yes, I am well aware Basil of Baker Street was based off of a book series, and there have been comics, but I don't have any of the books, and I have read only a few of the comics in my research for Basil's character.

This did not help.

But I did learn that Basil's last name is Rathbone. No. No I did NOT know that. Did they ever say that in the movie? The name will be said several times through this story, but I feel more comfortable just using 'Basil.' Any tips on characterization?

So, forgive me if I use a little bit of imagination on the characters. Nothing belongs to me except for the Mouskervilles, but not really. Even they have pretty much the same names as the original people...anyway, read and review!

…Prologue…

The mice all laughed at her savagely, the gleam in their eyes equaling the power of the knives in their hands. She could do nothing against the power of Sir Hugo Mousekerville, who held her arms behind her back.

The farm mouse was tall and white, and strong from the work she and her father, her only living relative, had to do to survive on the farmland. But the mouse holding her in front of this crowd was strong as stone, and she was lucky enough to be able to even move around enough to struggle. At the end of the crowd was her poor father, his cries drowned out by vicious laughter.

"Charlie!" Hugo barked out; a small, light brown mouse scrambled up to the front of the crowd of male mice. "Show the girl her room!" He shoved her onto Charlie, and he began to escort her up the flight of marble stairs.

The farmer could stand it no longer, and punched the lizard that was holding him. He ran up through the crowd to Hugo Mousekerville with pleading eyes. "Please suh, I beg of ya! Not my daughta!' She still 'as a whole life aheada' her, and our farm—!"

He towered over the farmer in height, but his face made it seem like he was twice as tall as any mouse. "You should have chosen your friends more wisely, Kinkly." With a slight move of the wrist, several of the mice grabbed poor Kinkly and threw him out the window.

He landed with a large splash into the moat, and everybody including Sir Hugo gazed out the window, laughing at him.

"The old chap knows how to fly yet! And look how he swims, like a drunk fish!"

Drunk he was not. The farmer had made a grave error to cross Sir Hugo, and earn a spot in his hunting league if they could use his land. Walter Kinkly's farm, technically within a human farm, was infested with weasels and other vermin the humans were trying to rid of themselves. It had been a win-win situation (Sir Hugo had paid Kinkly well for the fur and meat of assorted animals they had hunted), until his eye caught the farmer's young daughter.

They all laughed again, and came back inside. Charlie joined them. "She's all cozy, she is," he crooned.

Sir Hugo chuckled. "Her father has just been taught a lesson from trying to stop the Master's sport! Shall we see if he roasts as well as he swims?"

Two mice went out to fetch the beaten farmer, still in the water. "C'mon, then." One said. "Getter up!" They practically carried him back inside.

"Ah, here he is now, Master!" A drunk mouse said.

"Bring him here to the fire, then."

They did, and the "Master" grabbed him by the shirt, holding him over the fireplace.

"Please Masta,' anyun' but my own daughter!"

Hugo squeezed his throat. "You should be lucky the Mousekervilles even look upon that old broom!" He squeezed harder.

From upstairs, the girl heard screaming . . . laughter . . . cheering. She held back a sob that would most likely find its way to the ears of those—those fiends if released. Oh, if she were not a lady she would curse out loud!

But she had to escape. Get help, find rescue. Downstairs, though she could not hear well, there were series of loud protesting and a softer, but rougher, voice telling them something.

The very thought of what they would do to her, the look in their cruel eyes as they gazed at her. Oh God, what he would do to her as they all watched! Watch, laugh, possibly even join in . . .

Panicked and desperate for escape, she looked around the room they had locked her in—a window. She looked out. There were ivy vines attached to the wall outside. That would do. They were still downstairs, and she could make out their arguments, so she knew she had at least a few seconds. Two minutes tops.

"So where is the girl now?"

Charlie slurred, "I put her in the Master's quarters, sir. Twas' the closest room to us, an' she put up a bit of a fight, she did!" He hiccupped.

"Quite alright, dear Charles. Quite alright indeed." The room went silent as Sir Hugo stood from his seat at the end of a long table, where the men, in red hunting uniforms, were all sitting and eating and drinking. He clapped his hands together. "Shall we see what sort of prize she is?" He hissed with a grin, earning cheers. "A girl, he says! Why, I caught no girl for our game, fellows." His eyes glowed with the hunt ahead.

First, he would let her run a bit. Give her a chance. A minute later (possibly sooner), he and the men and the riding jackrabbits would go after her.

But in the end, she would be his.

He marched upstairs alone with a candelabra, telling the mice to wait for him down here and that he would bring her down. He unlocked the girl's door, and went inside.

No one was there.

He checked beneath the bed, behind all curtains, in the closet, nothing. A knocking noise drew Sir Hugo from his search. The window was open, and thunder threatened rain.

Rain threatened the end of his hunt, loss of her scent.

Blasted Charlie! There is IVY growing on the—oh?

A piece of cloth was caught on a vine. He grabbed it, looked outside once more, and returned downstairs. The mice all grew silent when lightning flashed, revealing Mouskerville's vile face, full of hate.

He only said one sentence, holding up the piece of cloth so all could see: "Release the pack."

The girl stumbled, got up, and fell again. It was rocky terrain, and the lightning flashes were her only source of light on this moonless night. She knew then that this must be Mouskerville's only source of light as well, and therefore the only thing he had against her was the pack of rabbits he had leading the rest of the men right to her.

She stopped to listen to the night. There was so much thunder, her footsteps would not be heard . . . but the pack was getting closer and closer. She could hear them thumping against the ground like horses.

The girl continued running.

And then finally, in the flash of lightning, she saw the shadows of a rock formation. She ran again, hoping to hide somewhere inside, be safe.

A dog howled in the not-so-distant distance. Sir Hugo watched in madness as the jackrabbits stopped in their tracks, and fled in the opposite direction of the howl despite their master's protests.

Probably one of Baskerville's own hunting parties. He has those often. The rabbits never flee when they hear the dogs, though. Nevertheless, this will not slow me down!

"Go back to the castle! I shall meet you there - with her!" He continued riding his own rabbit, Herald (fearless and tough; his favorite) to the old rock formations. They were like castle ruins; if Hugo were so sure they were not, he would think it was one of the Baskerville's old castles. Surely she had run to there for safety, that was the general direction the rabbits had led them to!

But when he got to the formation, the old creature would not move forward.

"Blast it, Herald! What's the matter with you? Move! Forward!"

But it would not budge. He looked up to the rocks again; sunrise was due soon. He saw her shadow moving behind a boulder, and grinned.

Hugo stepped off of the creature, moving on his own account. Herald stayed put, but did not move any further.

The girl had seen him, yes. But did he see her? Did he know of her presence here? Probably so. She ran to the shadows of rock walls now, hoping to conceal herself until he went away. This led her behind two boulders, that formed an archway of dark shadows, as she heard his footfalls over the terrain. She stayed put, trying not to gasp for breath as her lungs earned for.

She turned, and there was another opening behind that. The mouse slipped through, and saw a branch sticking out directly to her left, against one of the rocks.

She hid behind that as Sir Hugo drew near.

He was at a clearing. Dangerous, he knew she now knew of his presence here. But, she was trapped and would not dare to move with him being there.

He went over to a crack in a rock first, and looked inside.

The girl peeked out from behind the branch, no longer hearing his footsteps. The storm had mostly passed over now, no rain having come. But it was very misty, and deadly silent.

She checked both ways slowly, and outstretched her arm to the right of her, hoping to make her way in that general direction.

Hugo grabbed her hand, and she screamed. They fought their way to a large, flat stone that had fallen, but stuck up off of the ground (like a hand bending backwards, it was the hand, and the ground your wrist). He shoved her back onto it, overpowering her, and took out a knife.

Her scream was quickly cut off.

The dog howled again, and Sir Hugo looked up. Again it howled, coming from all around him.

He heard growling directly behind him. Hugo clutched the knife, eyes wide with terror. He slowly shook his head, backing away. This was not one of Baskerville's hunting hounds.

"No…NO!" He screamed as it lunged at him.

The knife fell beside the farm girl.

Sherlock Holmes himself had gone to the Baskerville Mansion, but that was before my time with Basil of Baker Street. When they had returned, he and Mrs. Judson overheard Mr. Homes and Dr. Watson talking in private about the case, what they had witnessed. That was in 1889, earlier in Basil's detective years.

I had not known one sliver of the case, for the mere reason that it had not been brought up. Sure, Basil talked widely about Sherlock's cases, from Irene Addler to James Moriarty, but only when we would overhear the humans talking about the cases, and I would ask.

Ten years later (and two years after the Flaversham case), we were to follow in the humans' footsteps, all the way up to that dreary castle. Not of the Baskervilles, no, but of the Mouskerville name and castle, out in the desert where no human would ever travel. Unheard of for a mouse, to be able to build our own home instead of taking residence with humans. But, it happened, and we were to go. It all started when a Sir Henry Mouskerville entered our office one late evening, explaining the long line of Mouskervilles before him right after a case we had just finished, at The Rat Trap . . .

"And so he poisoned the poor lad's brandy," Basil dipped a finger into the glass, tracing the cup, and put it against the tip of his tongue. "With…ah-ha!" He spit the taste out. "The poisonous plant, Daphne! He extracted the berry's juices into Jim's drink, and the poor mouse suffered indeed."

"But how did you know it was Peter," Dawson asked, "if he left nothing of himself behind?"

"Ah, but he did! He left paw prints on the…here you go!" He revealed the paw prints Peter had left on the bottle of Daphne berries that had been left behind the bar.

Dawson put on his glasses, looking at the prints of Peter and the glass. "Why, it's a perfect match!"

"Officer, arrest this mouse!"

We had just gotten home, when Mrs. Judson came running straight to us…

"He just barged right on in here, Mr. Rathbone, with hardly a word to me! Saying something about a curse and whatnot. He's sitting in your seat right now, Doctor."

The mouse she spoke of stood up from Dawson's seat, across Basil's favorite chair, wringing his hands. "I-I'm desperate, sir."

Basil nodded, taking a seat in his chair by the fireplace. "Mrs. Judson, do I smell some of your infamous cheese crumpets? Do fetch them for us, we have a guest, Mr. . . ?"

"Sir Henry Mouskerville of the estate."

His eyes lit up. "You don't mean—the Mouskerville name? On the," a special gleam appeared in his eyes, "Baskerville estate, of which Sherlock Holmes himself visited?"

Dawson perked up as well. "If I may interrupt, aren't the Mouskervilles the first mice who were able to build their own castle without human detection?"

He nodded. "The very, and I have come for your help! Sherlock Holmes rid the humans of their own problems, but the curse has remained on my family name!"

Henry was a well-built mouse; tall and young with red-clay fur, and read the Mouskerville story to Dawson and Basil with half-moon glasses over his eyes on the table. "—And so the hound of the Mouskervilles, as well as Baskervilles, took form to the hound from Hell, forever to haunt the family names." He looked up, finishing the story.

Dawson glanced at Basil, who was smoking a pipe in his chair by the fireplace. He took it out of his mouth, blowing a puff of smoke in the air above him. "A hound, you say? Why bring this all the way to London, Sir Henry? Especially with how the fish and chips on your train ride made you so ill, you should find lodging and rest. I'm sure it's simply one of the Baskerville hounds, you know how much they like to hunt over there. I'm positive Mr. Holmes solved your cases with one stone, and—"

"No, no no!" He shook his head, getting up. "I know for myself that it is the curse! I saw it for myself! But, eh—how-how did you know I had bad fish?"

"I don't know, I notice. There are two fish scales on the cuff of your sleeve, which is an obvious notion that it was hardly well done. I merely assumed it came with chips as that is the only side order that even comes with fish, that's the best trains can do. I knew it was bad because of your green face (and the scales, of course), but that could also be from the event that has brought you here. You also had a rough night, seeing the bags beneath your eyes and how your coat isn't buttoned properly. Your trousers have sand along the bottoms, but the shoes are clean, suggesting you packed and traveled to London in a hurry. Now, back to the case. What did you see?"

Bewildered, he shook his head and began talking. "My-my father…Sir Charles Mouskerville…has been murdered in a most brutal fashion."

A darkness spread through the room like a breeze. Most crimes consisted of theft or kidnapping, and not often was murder brought to Basil. But not never. It was just on a rare occasion that murder passed through the fingers of Inspector Lawless, who was almost jealous of Basil's success as a detective.

"I had been visiting him that week, as I have done once a month since the death of my mother three years ago. We were both taking a walk down-down *Jewer's Hollow. It's an ancient name for the Devil, see? It's on our land, we loved to walk down there so Father could exorcise his bad knee. Rocky terrain, but we've cleared out a path for him. It's through a large boulder field, like mountains and valleys."

Dawson looked around the room, seeing if it was just him who felt the foreboding mood. Mrs. Judson was standing in the doorway, listening with a grave face. Basil was in deep thought, his eyes shut and listening intently. Henry himself had his eyes shut in memory.

"It was late in the night when we were walking, and that was by Father's suggestion. He had wanted to take a walk because, he claimed, that his knee felt better than it had in a long while. So, he wanted to walk with me while the pain was away—because it hurt him to walk normally."

"What happened to his knee?" Basil asked.

"When I was a child, he pulled it while working on moving some rocks over a snake hole that had been eyeing our family. He got his leg caught under one of them, and it hadn't been the same since."

He nodded. "Go on. Even the slightest detail can be of the most importance."

He took a deep breath. "We were walking late at night, as I said, through Jewer's Hollow. My ancestor, Sir Hugo Mousekerville, as his reputation states, was not one to be proud of. His death, and the farm girl he had killed, had taken place at the very clearing we were at, I realized later on.

"The formation was like a series of mountains and valleys, the rocks being mountains, as you could imagine, and Father and I were on a boulder. We heard growling, and something shaking some bushes nearby. Not something shaking in the bushes, but as if it was supposed to make us look that way. But, we looked."

"And?" Basil had his eyes open now, leaning forward in his seat (as were the doctor and Mrs. Judson).

"And my father jumped in front of me as a large shadow lunged at him and attacked. It grabbed his throat," his voice broke. "Oh Lord, it's hand was gigantic! And it's eyes were red! Red, Mr. Rathbone, red!"

"Please, call me Basil."

"I could scant make out the rest of it's body in the darkness. They both fell off the rock and into the valley," he shifted his weight, "and I, of course, followed them down."

"My word…" Dawson breathed. "What happened?"

"I jumped down from the cliff, but there was nothing there. No sounds, no shadows, nothing."

"Did you check the ground for footprints?" Basil asked.

"Of course."

"And?"

"There wasn't anything. Nothing! But I know he and my father fell off the cliff, I heard their bodies hit the ground, heard my father grunt, but nothing!"

"Did you check everywhere in the area?" Dawson asked.

"Yes, but there were no footprints. Even mistook my own prints for my father's several times. But still, nothing."

Basil sat in silence for a few more seconds, and then got up, pacing. "When did this happen?"

"About a week ago, week and a half. The police were of no help to me, they said, and I quote the inspector, 'no body, no crime.' He had not been gone long enough for them to make a case. I had a flat here in London before going up to visit Father, and remembered seeing you in the papers. I now have to live in the castle to keep it up and running. Please, Mr.-"

"Just Basil," He interrupted.

"My apologies. Please Basil, Doctor. Won't you take the case?"

Mrs. Judson, having slipped out without notice, bustled in at that moment with a platter of cheese crumpets in one hand, and peach tea in the other. "Here we go," she said softly, pouring the tea into cups for each mouse. "Let's all take a breath now, shall we?"

Thunder growled in the distance, threatening heavy rain. The Mouskerville castle was on the edge of the Baskerville estate, where no human dared roam. Built from cut stone and marble, it resembled a large human dollhouse (except, of course, it was much bigger). Raised around five and a half feet in the air, it was the largest—and only—mouse-made castle that had not been discovered by humans. It had been built in the late 1700s to early 1800s, and now served as a mouse-tourist-attraction-hotel.

The grand hall took up a great deal of the castle, which would have been the first room you would enter upon arrival. It served as both dining hall and a quiet room where tourists could eat and do whatever in peace. Then followed by the kitchen in the left room of that, and a ballroom straight ahead. The library was on the second floor. And then there would be the circling staircase that went to the very top floor (the attic). The rest of the floors were either guest rooms or offices.

Henry explained this to the detectives, and a bit more of the staff members that were there now.

Basil and Dawson had taken the case.

*- I had been watching the BBC's Sherlock episode "The Hounds of Baskerville," and this was from Henry's description of where he and his father were when they were attacked. As I have said, I will be combining the two plots, and intertwine a bit of my own story into here.