Disclaimer- I do not own GMD/The Great Mouse Detective and all characters and places related belong to Walt Disney Pictures

-Epilogue

"- I win and that's the end, my dear Bandon... the end of you "

BANG

...

Basil awoke with a gasp, sweating and shaking on an unfamiliar bed in a room he didn't recognize. His head was pounding. There wasn't an inch of his body that didn't hurt, like he had been tossed from a moving wagon or stepped on by a horse,

Or manhandled for nearly fifteen hours?

Right...

UGH Right. He remembered bits and pieces, mostly sounds more than anything. The sound of a gunshot was still bouncing off the walls in his head, but for the life of him he couldn't recall why.

He was safe now at least, tucked away in this little bed, hand pressing to his aching side, and fire burning in a tiny cove by the armoire.

The room he'd found himself in was high-end; decent money, but by no means the trappings of a wealthy mouse. "Well off" was more like it. Not huge, but not small. He was sure his own room was only slightly smaller. If this was a guest room, and it didn't take a genius to see that it was by the lack of anything distinctly personal, it was probably the smallest room in the house... a house of at least four bedrooms if the sound of screaming children were any indication.

"Ah, You're awake!"

By the time Inspector LeGrate showed his face, Basil had already deduced who the house belonged to. Apparently, he had wound up on Legrate's doorstep some hours before. He had been unconscious, wrapped in an old blanket, and left with a note in his pocket like some unwanted orphan child.

Humiliating

A doctor had since come and gone, recommending he remain where he was until the morning.

"It was our maid Ethel who'd opened the door. You were wrapped in a blanket. We kept it downstairs in the hall. I know you well enough- "

"Yes, I'd like it." The young detective rubbed at his eyes. Frustrating. This was all so frustrating "What else?"

"We were in the dining room. All of us heard three heavy knocks, but not a soul was out there aside from you."

"-said your maid." he added crossly. Legrate gave him a weary look.

"She's old and reliable, I assure you. It was dinner time, too dark to see a great distance-"

"But there was no sign of anyone?" He pushed himself off his pillows, leaning forward, hands clawing at the quilt in his lap. "No tracks in the snow? Nothing?"

Odd. It was all so messy and strange. He was confused and sick and afraid and at the mercy of an official he'd only interacted with a handful of times, each of those times having been to reprimand the detective for stepping over the line while on a case. He felt hot and claustrophobic. The last thing he remembered was struggling with a stranger in the dark... that had been at 10pm the night before, it was now 8pm the next day! Where had he been and how did he end up here?

"I live on a very busy street, Mr. Basil, and it has not snowed since this morning. There were plenty of tracks, but none that stood out in particular."

"Unbelievable!"

"Stay calm, boy." The inspector's voice rose a fraction and he pressed the nervous detective back onto the mattress. It was a no-nonsense kind of stern that reminded Basil of his older brother. He couldn't help but bristle at being called "boy". What age, he wondered, would he finally be considered an adult in their eyes?

"I AM calm!" He shouted and flopped back onto the pillows in a huff. The impact irritated his ribs and made him hiss. "You're sure all that was on my person was this note?"

He reached out for the small slip of paper that had been set on the nightstand. Legrate plucked it off the wood and put it in Basil's outstretched hand.

"Yes, I went through your pockets. The note was tucked into your shirt."

"It's from Ratigan."

"I know, I read it."

"It looks like it had been ripped from an address book, possibly his personal one. You can still see the indents from a previous notation... 23... 238 Fagin Hall. It's a classroom."

"Unplanned then. It was scribbled down in a hurry. Very unlike the professor..."

"It doesn't make sense!" The mouse sat up again, only to be gingerly pushed back down. "And the note is all the more suspicious. Why kidnap me and then let me go? Why leave a note?"

"Perhaps," the grey mouse rubbed a spot on his face, shrugging a bit to show uncertainty. "Perhaps it was not his doing at all... Perhaps he was saddled with you by chance?"

"I've thought of that, yes." Basil ran a hand over his light brown hair, yanking before dropping the hand over his eyes. "But then why turn me over to you?"

"That I don't know." The inspector rose from his chair. "But enough of this for now. Try to rest."

"I've done quite enough of that, thank you." was his curt reply. The other mouse sighed, hand squeezing the young detective's shoulder.

"It's easy to let things like this drive you mad with paranoia. Just be grateful you're safe, eh?" Legrate let go and headed for the door. "However you ended up here, whether purposely or happenstance, be grateful you're alive, Mr. Basil."

The detective's expression was stromy as he watched Legrate leave, sinking further back onto the pillows as soon as the older mouse was out of sight.

"Be grateful." He hissed. Sure, he was grateful... he supposed. Now, who was it he was to be grateful too? Was it truly Ratigan of all creatures?

Strange. The whole mess was strange. Someone had drugged him and taken him from his bedroom, that was clear. Very frightening too that someone would go as far as to break in to his house and go after him while he slept. Nothing could be confirmed until he got home to investigate, but he was almost certain it had not been Ratigan's idea. The rat was dastardly, but to target him so unfairly? That simply wasn't the villain's style. He vividly remembered one of their first conversations together, if they could be called conversations. In the abandoned dinner house, the night before the papers released Ratigan's true identity to the public, the rat had threatened Basil's life- told him that his death would be some intricate thing...

Well, sneaking into his bedroom and drugging him useless was not intricate. For heaven's sake, he would go as far as to call it downright cowardly.

No, his kidnapping had not been the work of Professor Ratigan.

But then how had he ended up in the villain's hands? And why had Ratgian gone through the trouble of depositing him off at the residence of Inspector LeGrate?

His palm opened, eyes staring at the crinkled slip of paper from his enemy's private address book. Taking it with both hands, he gently smoothed it out over his thigh...

Beautiful cursive read:

Tut-tut, Basil
You disappoint me. Do be more careful

- R