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Chapter Text

“Will you go?” Dawson asked with some uncertainty.

He looked over the letter that had been delivered to Baker Street, eyes scanning over the details in worry. It had been over a year since the incident on Big Ben but upon having to deal with Basil’s wounds himself, any interaction with the criminal in question was ladened with fear from the Doctor, not for himself, but for his friend.

“It is his final request it would be wrong to deny a dead man that,” Basil stated, going to sit in his large red chair, lifting his pipe to his lips, his face screwed up in thought.

Dawson frowned, scouring over the letter himself before sitting in his own opposing chair. “Would you want me to join you?”

“If you so wish,” Basil responded, not acknowledging the doctor, merely puffing heavily on his pipe whilst thinking.

The doctor knew he would not be getting through to his friend any time soon, he recognised that look all too well and so said nothing, instead, going to sit at his own chair opposite Basil’s, scanning over the letter once more.

It had been sent from the Prison where none other than the most dangerous criminal London had ever seen was being kept. It had been little over a year since the great battle atop of Big Ben between the Great Basil of Baker Street and the notorious Professor Ratigan and now the world was without the Professor terrorising London and the world, however, it had come at a cost, as Dawson soon came to realise.

Without Ratigan free and on the streets there had not been a case worthy of Basil’s genius since the rat’s capture. Thinking back to the event, Dawson recalled how the criminal supposedly fell to his death but Basil knew better. The body had not been found and only a mere day later the rat himself had been captured. It seemed that he had used his torn up cape as a parachute but had landed with a start, breaking his ankle upon landing, that combined with the scattering and arrest of his followers and made it remarkably easy to find and arrest him.

It was a surprise to all that the giant rodent had not received the death penalty straight away, however, it had been well over a year and still there had been no sentence. Basil had taken it upon himself to keep a close ear to the decisions made by the Yard, Government and Court regarding his nemesis and it seemed many were in ridiculous disagreement. Some wished Ratigan to suffer as his victims had, put in a labour camp, thrown in the mines, tortured to death or even just left to rot in his cell… but there were others wished to just hang him and be done with it, others even stated that hanging was not enough and were in dispute over how to kill the criminal.

Basil himself was at an impasse, duty and logic stated that he needn’t say nor do anything, his job had been done, he had captured Ratigan, arrested him like he always said he would. But his head screamed and objected to the inevitable boredom that would surely follow the Professor’s death. The thought of never having another mind being good enough for him to compete with put a strain on the Detective. Ratigan had stoked the fire of his intelligence, drove him to his edge and even higher in order to match his genius.

Dawson had watched as Basil declined case after case, or solved them in an instant, going back to sit at his chemistry set and conduct little experiments, locking himself away in order to find something that would entertain his unchallenged intellect. He worried for Basil and his mental state, he could only imagine having so much knowledge as Basil’s and not being able to use it correctly… It must be stifling.

But the date of finally deciding what to DO with the rat was drawing near and so here they were. Just over the year of the anniversary of Ratigan’s capture with a letter in hand from the prison itself claiming that Ratigan’s final request would be that of seeing one Basil of Baker Street.

It wasn’t until the next day the two departed to meet the Warden at Clerkenwell prison, Dawson looked over to Basil as they started the journey. Since the news of both the request and the inevitable death of the criminal the Detective had been silent, his face screwed up in thought and his pipe to his lips. Dawson could only think of what things Basil was rummaging through in his brain, the doctor had not known Basil for too long, but he knew enough and he knew that he held the criminal in high regard. The portrait of Ratigan still stood over the fireplace and Dawson could not quite work out why, his only conclusion is that Basil held it as a sort of trophy, after all, Ratigan’s bell ALSO rested upon the mantel, along with other objects of the criminal’s capers.

He continued to keep an eye on his friend up until they reached the prison.

Clerkenwell was a huge human jail first and foremost, huge and imposing where it stood, surrounded by high walls and gave off an aura of fear and despair. Its mouse sized reflection was built into the stone walls and beneath the building, in the darker crevices of the area, the gate to the main entrance within the pillar to the left of the human main gates and there awaited a couple of guards alongside a much more well dressed man who straightened up as the pair approached.

“Detective Basil and Doctor Dawson, is it?” The man spoke with meaning and authority, but it seemed a little shaky and perhaps intimidated by their presence. He was short, dark brown, speckled with black and grey fur, a drooping moustache above his lip.

“Of course, I take it you are the Warden?” Basil’s eyebrow rose.

“Indeed, Warden Joesph Mayhew, Mr Basil, pleasure to finally meet you, sir!” He held out his hand but Basil merely stared and stepped past the Warden.

“I don’t have much time here, Warden, much to do, cases to solve, you know the drill, where is the man?” He strode ahead, leaving Mayhew with his arm still outstretched and blinking in surprise.Dawson frowned, he knew for a fact that Basil didn’t HAVE any current cases. He took the Warden’s hand instead and gave it a hearty shake. “Doctor Dawson, Mr Mayhew, pleasure… Did Ratigan truly wish to see Basil?”

“Hm? Oh yes, indeed,” Mayhew shook the hand in return and gestured Dawson to follow, quickly striding ahead to match Basil’s pace. “He was quite specific about it actually, he had requested it a while back, it had been denied at first but I suppose one cannot deny a man his las-“

“Is he held in maximum security?” Basil interrupted, hands folded behind his back.“W-Why, yes! Indeed!” The Warden was taken aback by the interruption but quickly recovered, explaining as they went. “We had a few hiccups, bare in mind, but the Yard and even the Queen has lent forces in order to hold the man, he’s in his own separate wing and cell, no contact with any other mice, nor the outside world, we don’t keep him in a schedule, completely random times when feeding him, we’ve had to make specialist cuffs for him to wear, they cover the entire hand, to stop him from attempting to pickpocket anyone or break out.”

Dawson nodded, impressed with the measures taken in order for the rat to be held here, no doubt anyone as clever as Ratigan may quite easily attempt to escape otherwise. he glanced to his side at Basil, who was now tapping his chin with the tip of his pipe.

“I shall make sure that we have gunmen on him at all times whilst you complete your visit.”

“That won’t be nesicarry,” Basil stated.

“Won’t be-?! But Sir! This is Professor Ratigan!”

“I am well aware who he is, I have fought him for many years after all,”

“I don’t think you quite know how-“

“How much he’s capable of? Oh, I’m well aware, Mr Mayhew, but unlike any of you, I KNOW Ratigan and I should say that if he is to call me here it shall not mean he will escape, I for one will not allow him to do so…. more than likely he has called me here in an attempts to either use me for his own gain, or throw one last shake in confidence my way before it ends.” Basil halted by a set of locked up doors awaiting for it to be opened. “I assure you, I shall have it entirely under control.”The warden fumbled with the keys, a little flustered by Basil’s words, opening the way to the next part of the building. “I must insist though Sir, it is my DUTY to keep Ratigan under lock and key, no matter who it is he sees.”

“And I say that having more people in that room will mean you playing into his hands! You are practically INVITING him to get a hold of one of those very weapons and he may not even need that, something as simple as a BUTTON could put an aid to his escape!” Basil’s face was scrunched up in an impatient frown, staring at the Warden seriously.

Mayhew held his breath as Basil glared at him and his gaze turned over to Dawson next who nodded in agreement. He had heard many a tale of the rat from Basil and learnt a great deal about what he could do.

“Very well,” He nodded in reply, letting out a frustrated sigh. The three stepped through into the new hallway and Mayhew locked the doors behind them. “But if anything happens, Detective, it shall be YOUR head and NOT mine!”

“Naturally,” Basil nodded and the trio continued their march through the cold prison hallways.

There had been no other prisoners in this half of the building, merely a guard or two stood at each set of doors they came too, unlocked by only the Warden. As they reached their end goal, the guards became more elite, Basil recognised them as guards from the palace, probably the ones lent by the Queen herself.

They continued onward until they finally reached the last door, heavily reinforced, with more locks upon it than the others and not two, but four guards standing alongside it.

“Are you quite sure about this, Basil?” Dawson asked, concern ringing in his voice.

“I’m very certain, Dawson,” he responded, hands going behind his back and he glanced down to his friend, features softening. “I would appreciate it if you also waited outside.”

“But Basil!-“

“Please, Dawson.”

Looking at the desperation on Basil’s face, the Doctor could see that this was more than just following out a man’s final request for the Detective. Dawson sighed, patting Basil on the arm. “…. Fine, do be careful old boy.”

“Am I not always?”

Dawson rolled his eyes, stepping back as Mayhew went to unlock the door.

“Knock on the door thrice to let me know that you are done,” Mayhew stated as he fumbled with his keys.

Several locks later… The door swung open and Basil stepped inside.

The room was bare, no windows, no light, save a solitary lamp on one opposing wall, lit with a candle. It took a long moment for Basil’s eyes to adjust to the terrible lighting and the enveloping darkness.

His nose scrunched up over the damp and mouldy smell inside the room, stepping forward to look at the only eye catching area within the room which was in fact the large cell in the centre. Basil squinted to see inside, making out a simple bed with not even a blanket to keep warm, thankfully, the air in here was heavy and humid so perhaps there was no need for one.

He stood and waited, hearing a shuffling in the shadows of the iron barred cell and the clanking of chains…. His eyes flickered to a pair of yellowed eyes that shone out from between the bars and a crooked snout, lifting above a twisted, toothy smile. It peeked through the bars curiously and the prisoner tilted his head at the visitor, tail flicking excitedly behind him.

“Good to see you, Basil~” Ratigan purred.

Chapter Text

Ratigan’s face was gaunt and dark, his hair was longer as was his steadily growing beard. His fur was scruffy and patchy, unkept and damp, it almost looked like he had been caught in a downpour for days on end. Heavy bags hung under large, ever watchful eyes that burned with reignited interest at his visitor.

Basil squinted at the rat, standing a fair distance away from the bars, even with Ratigan’s hands bound in iron casts and chains he didn’t trust that it was enough. He looked over the cuffs in question, the casts being attached to heavy chains that were melded to the centre of the cell floor, restricting the rat’s movement. Basil could see multiple scratches around both the cuffs and the centre of the floor, some feeble attempt perhaps to break free.

Ratigan’s clothes were filthy and merely consisted of a stained, battered white shirt and torn trousers. He was also barefoot, the rat’s clawed toes on show, blistered and cut in places, most of his examination of the rodent were near impossible due to the bad case in lighting but going on what he COULD see… Ratigan looked terrible.

Yet he still pressed his face to the bars, a grin on his face. Even under the circumstances Ratigan seemed to be able to keep hold of that smirk and it made Basil sick.

“How are you, Basil?” Ratigan continued, nose twitching towards the Detective. “Doing well I hope? Busy being famous and popular amongst the elite? Ohhh, I can only IMAGINE the attention you got after FOILING ME!”

His voice rose for a moment and chains clanked against the bars angrily and Basil briefly felt himself tense up, recalling that brutal attack on Big Ben… The wound still occasionally burned at the memory.

But Ratigan recovered from the outburst, taking deep breath and his smile returned, quickly returning to his ‘polite’ gentlemanly self.

“I am very well, which is more than I can say for you,” Basil replied, his voice plain against Ratigan’s more hoarse tone, attempting to remain unfazed by the rat.

“Ah yes, well, one cannot really groom nor take good care of himself whilst locked away in this abysmal place.” Ratigan’s eyes wandered around the room, gesturing to his surroundings.

“I can imagine,” Basil smiled slightly, for someone such as Ratigan who held his appearance in high regard, it must be torturous to not have neither cloth, bath nor razor to attend to his features. It was slightly amusing.

Ratigan squinted at Basil through the bars, noting the coy smile and speaking up in a rather dramatic way. “If you are merely here to gloat rather than fill out a POOR man’s final request then I must bid you adieu, I haven’t the time.”

“Oh yes!” Basil scoffed, lifting his pipe up from behind his back. “I can see you are VERY busy! Tell me Ratigan, how bored are you in your little box? Hm?”

Normally Basil was not one to gloat in such a way, but considering what the fiend had put him through he felt like he could afford to be at least a little petty.

For a moment, Ratigan looked annoyed but then he went to smooth back his scraggy hair, huffing proudly. “Actually, quite the opposite, I have never had quite so much time to myself to just THINK! So much peace and quiet and time to clear my head! I have been plotting out physics and theoretical lines of the origins of our universe and space. The mystery of dark matter and multiple elements, the trajectory of stars and the cosmos, the dimension of mathematics and numbers… I’ve found it rather good to theorise on such things… And, of course, a way to escape this infernal place!”

Basil’s eyebrow rose and Ratigan snickered, pressing his snout between the bars again and chuckling darkly.

“Oh come now, SURELY you must know that I shall escape at some point? I can imagine you have been sitting so PATIENTLY waiting for them to come to you, BEGGING for help! Ahhh but judging by the way you’re dressed and holding that little pipe of yours it seems that you maybe have become too comfortable without me being around to keep you in check, hm?” He giggled, pulling away and starting to pace back and forth in his little cage.

“Merely enjoying some time off, old boy,” Basil responded to the observations, lowering his pipe once more. “I think I deserve it after everything and in regards to your ‘escape’, I am counting on it.”

Basil took a little bit more of a braver step forward, still well out of reach from the rat, but still close enough to smell his wrecked stench from months in prison. “And you may try and try and try but rest assured, I will be here to catch you and put you right back where you belong!”

Ratigan grinned widely, halting in his tracks to stare darkly at the Detective and inhaled that sweet scent of cigarette smoke… Oh how dearly he missed his tobacco and he followed up by giving Basil a LOOK and the mouse had an inkling of a feeling that Ratigan knew something that he didn’t.

“Ooooh, not THIS time, Basil~” He purred, going to take a seat on his bed, leaning over to rest his arms on his knees. “Try, by all means, but THIS time, you shan’t be able to put me back behind bars, I will be free of this wretched place and you won’t be able to do anything but be at a sheer loss as to at what to say…”

“You seem so sure in that,” Basil said, eyes quickly darting around the room, looking for any means for Ratigan to attempt to escape. “I already suspected you may be planning something, you were never one to lie down a ROT like you should.”

“Oh indeed, but I do not intend on rotting away in HERE,” the Professor stated, pausing for dramatic effect, before rising to his feet, shuffling closer to the bars again, chains rattling menacingly as he went. “I am incredibly certain and you will not be able to do a thing about it… Oh it pains me to know that I will not be able to see the look on your face, but alas, by then I shall be gone…. Unless you would like to let me out NOW and I can show you what I mean.”

“Let you out?” Basil’s eyes narrowed before letting out a scoffing laugh, turning his head to the side to give the rodent a side-eye. “Perhaps you have already started to rot, Ratigan, why would you think I shall give in to such a ludicrous request?”

“Why, to save you from what is about to come~” He loomed over the mouse now, his huge form standing over him, even behind those bars it made the Detective nervous. Basil lifted his pipe to his lips again, biting down hard to its tip, a growing anxiety in his stomach as Ratigan continued. “Perhaps you shan’t feel as LONELY if you allowed me to escape now? But you are a man of the law aren’t you dear fellow?”

“I am not lonely,” Basil scowled, hating the insinuation that Ratigan proposed.

Ratigan shook his head in amusement, turning and retreating once more back to his bed, sitting upon it cross legged and closing his eyes, as if readying himself for meditation. “You cannot stop what is about to come, Basil, so perhaps, this may be your final visit to me, maybe the very last time we converse. Farewell, you might see me on the other side.”

The Detective frowned, annoyed to be dismissed by a CRIMINAL of all things, but he supposed he could not get anything more out of this conversation than what had already occurred and he was too tired as to argue further with the rat.

Basil huffed, turning to the door and knocked three times, turning his head briefly to look at Ratigan one last time. He had made no other move, didn’t open his eyes to see him go, in a way, Basil was annoyed and angry that Ratigan had not said anything further but it filled his head once more with cogwheels and the machine of mystery, feeling like he had been given a case before it had even started.

The door opened and Basil quickly retreated out of the room, chewing on the tip of his pipe, and Mayhew went to lock the door behind him, eyes darting up to the Detective to observe his face and the expression was one that Dawson knew all too well, the look of him solving something, thinking about a puzzle or a test.

“What did he say?” The doctor asked, curiously and the hallway was silent, Mayhew finished clicking the last of the locks shut, rising to full height to await an answer too.

“…..” Basil paused for a moment, pretending to think further over what had been said before turning to the Warden and his friend. “Absolutely nothing of interest really, merely a rabble of how he shall kill me and get his revenge… All of that LOVELY poetry, but we needn’t worry about that, right Warden?”

“Oh! No Sir! Watch is on clock, all the time! Everything in order to keep him locked up till his excursion or otherwise!”

“Good man… Come now Dawson, there’s nothing more to do here.”

Dawson paused a moment, watching as Basil marched onwards, joined by Mayhew who opened the way. He had a terrible feeling that there was something that Basil was not telling them.

Chapter Text

The days that followed were remarkably slow and loathsome for Basil, it was so boring and yet he waited with some anticipation, expecting a telegram, a letter, a panicked officer at his door dramatically explaining that the fiend they had worked so hard to keep imprisoned had broken free.

Yet a week came and went and still there was no word, maybe Ratigan HAD just been toying with him? Was this an elaborate scheme to drive him insane with his own over thinking and desperate need for a challenge?

Dawson, of course, noticed his friend’s skittish behaviour, it was almost as if he was WAITING for something and no doubt it had something to do with Ratigan. The doctor had insisted on Basil telling him what had occurred back at the prison but Basil had a rather annoying habit of keeping things locked away and merely stated that Ratigan was desperate to be set free and was going crazy behind bars… Dawson wasn’t sure if it was the truth or not. Maybe it was partially true?

In the meantime, the good doctor had attempted to take Basil’s mind away from the criminal and instead handed him letters, cases and requests, all of which Basil declined. It was not worth his time.

One more week passed and the Detective had slowly started to believe that the rat HAD been messing with him, trying to make him delusional and ignore perhaps the new threats of the criminal world that had been thrown into chaos during Ratigan’s incarceration.

But on one day nearer the the end of the second week, there was a knock on the door.

At first they both assumed it must be another fan or some boorish person asking Basil to recover a lost piece of jewellery or another terrible case but when Mrs Judson came back from answering it, she returned with a very important telegram in hand.

Basil’s grin returned, it was the first time Dawson had seen him so giddy in a LONG time and upon examination himself, it seemed Basil was called urgently to the prison once more and he could only guess what may have potentially happened.

“Do you think he’s escaped?” The doctor asked.

“Most defiantly!” Basil replied with an overjoyed tone, Dawson frowned at his reaction, though it was to be expected, Basil had been CRAVING this for a long time, he only hoped that those involved wouldn’t take such a reaction as an excuse to suggest BASIL had any assistance in the escape.

The two departed with quick haste, Dawson barely had time to gather his coat before Basil had shot out the door, calling for Toby to make good time in reaching the prison, “Each second dallying means another minute lost in the chase!” He had said as the poor doctor held on for dear life.

Arriving at the prison was a bit of a shock to the guards at the door, mostly for how FAST they had arrived and Basil was left tapping his foot furiously, impatiently waiting for the warden to appear at the doors to allow them to enter, apparently everything was rather ‘hush hush’.

“Mr Basil!” Mayhew came out the doors to greet them, looking a little disheveled to say the least, as if he had been dragged through hell and back, the poor man looked like he had barely had any sleep.

“Come, come now, Warden, show me what it is you so DIRELY need me for!” Basil huffed, striding forward without much glance to the gentleman and in response, Mayhew spluttered, nodding and scrambling to get ahead of Basil’s steps to lead the way.

“Forgive my tardiness, Sir! It’s been hectic, so much has happened!” He straightened out his jacket and tugged at his tie nervously.

“I assume we are talking about Ratigan?” Dawson asked, struggling to keep pace with Basil’s quick steps.

“I… Well it is rather a DELICATE matter, I’m afraid, I had to keep it quiet in the telegram in case it was stopped, we’ve had to keep it under wraps and avoid panic… This way please…” He turned a corner and both Basil and Dawson glanced at each other, this was the complete opposite way than they had gone before.

“I assume he’s managed to break out and leave a calling card of some sort then,” Basil sighed, as if bored with the idea, despite having been so excited before. “What was it then? An explosion or some carefully executed plan?”

“I… Ah…. Well it isn’t quite so simple as that, Sir,” Mayhew gulped, taking another corner. “I wouldn’t say that he’s exactly ESCAPED…”

Basil’s brows rose towards the warden, a slight look of concern sketching onto his face. “You shall have to elaborate on that.”

What was it? Had the rat had a row with another prisoner? A guard perhaps? Maybe he’d managed to kill someone, it wouldn’t surprise the mouse and yet with how edgy the Warden and passing guards seemed the Detective suspected something else must have gone awry.

“We had to confirm it with you first and foremost, before any word got out, hence the silence,” Mayhew spoke and they rounded the corner to a large set of doors, cold and dark with four guards standing watch outside, it was as if they were outside Ratigan’s cell room again but they were in a completely separate part of the building.

Dawson looked up to Basil, who seemed to have gone stiff, as if he KNEW where they were and what lay on the other side of the doors. The man’s eyes were wide and pull of panic, his fur standing on end.

“You are acting rather worrisome…” Dawson noted, both to Basil and the Warden alike.

“Worried? No, sir, perhaps more excited if it is to be true,” Mayhew replied with a nervous smile, stepping towards the doors and swinging them open.

It took no longer than a second for Dawson to realise where they were and he realised just why Basil had been so fearful of those doors.

It was a dark and damp room, it smelt like decay and embalming fluid, old blood and chemicals. Long metallic tables lined the room with boxes across the wall from them, storing something more sinister. Two of these tables were vacated, both with sheets over the top, hiding what lay beneath, one with an obvious silhouette of a mouse whilst the other was larger and all too familiar…

“No,” Basil finally said, his voice shaking slightly. “He can’t be DEAD.”

His head shot around to face the warden, a darker and more sinister look on his face. “I don’t believe it, did you have someone check his condition before you brought him here?!”

“Y-Yes Sir!” Mayhew rose his hands in defence, taken aback by Basil’s raised voice. “I had TWO separate doctors come and make sure! Both came to the same conclusion!”

“Where were they hired? Were they private or part of a an organisation or hospital? Tell me!”

“Basil-“ Dawson muttered to him in concern but his voice was drowned out by the reply.

“One was a private hire! From a part of town where he is very much respected, perfect record of care! The other a hospital doctor, at the King Edwards VII’s Hospital! Very prestigious and trusted, I assure you!” He gulped fearfully, tugging at his tie even further. “Its why I called you here, Mr Basil! To make sure! You knew him so well, you’d recognise if he was a fake or if it were some cunning trick!”

Basil paused, he still didn’t believe it. He turned his head towards the body, ears folded back worriedly, he couldn’t be, he tapped his chin in thought, striding towards the sheet whilst Dawson looked over to the warden.

“What did they conclude?” Dawson asked.

“That he was dead and most likely died of a heart attack of all things!” The warden exclaimed, stepping up to the table beside the Detective. “One of the boys went to take him his food just yesterday, he wouldn’t move from his bed apparently so they just left it there for him to take, they assumed he was in one of his MOODS, however, in the middle of the night, another came to feed him and the previous meal lay untouched and Ratigan unmoved so one of the guards went in to check and he was stone cold!”

The room went silent and the three stood and stared at the covered body for a long moment until finally Basil flourished his hand to the sheet, gesturing for it to be removed.

“Let me see.”

Mayhew nervously went to grab the cover and dragged it off the body, rolling the cloth up in his hands and revealing the once greatest criminal mind in London.

Basil felt himself tense up at the body, grabbing his chin harshly. Upon first glance the man LOOKED dead as a doornail, still wearing the messy shirt and trousers from the last visit. Basil could note the darker blue and purple twinges to Ratigan’s fingertips and toes, indicating that rigour mortis had started to set in. He saw all of the rat’s visible scars, all familiar, all the same, the whiskered, ears, scraggly hair and although he no longer looked rich nor extravagant, this WAS one Padraic Ratigan.

“Doctor, your prognosis?” Basil asked Dawson, continuing to stare at Ratigan’s face, gaunt and pale, eyes only slightly opened and staring into nothingness. Empty and devoid of life.

Dawson stepped forward and began his own examination, checking for a pulse, for a heartbeat, even a breath, Basil watched with great interest and worry, though he was sure the doctor would come up with the same conclusion as he had, Dawson even did the same examination twice to make sure and he shook his head in disbelief, stepping back with a heavy sigh.

“Well… Is it him?” The warden asked, waiting for the silence to be broken.

“It can’t be… Its quite impossible, a mind such as his and just to be ended by a HEART ATTACK…. and yet…” Basil let his arms droop to his sides. “That is one Padraic Ratigan.”

“And a dead one at that,” Dawson finished with a nod, in just as much in shock as his friend.

Mayhew on the other hand, let his smile spread wide and he clasped his hands together in joy, letting out a little squeak of amazement. “Oh this is SPLENDID news! I was so hesitant as to start preparations for his burial but now-HAH! We may finally say goodbye to this terrorist and London can rest easy again!”

“Yes… Indeed it can…” Basil said absentmindedly, unable to tear his gaze away from the resting form of his greatest enemy.

“It seems that Ratigan could not escape in life,” Dawson said poetically. “But it happens, I suppose, even to world class criminals.”

Basil grunted in reply, it DID happen yes… But not to HIM, not to RATIGAN, surely? There was no grand exit, not spectacular demise or last word, he was just… Gone.

Dawson and Mayhew began to discuss the burial, what were the next steps and how to let the people of London know of the rats demise and mere days before a decision was made about his fate.

The detective dimmed out their talk, stopping to think back to his last meeting with the rat and what they had conversed about.

‘THIS time, you shan’t be able to put me back behind bars, I will be free of this wretched place and you won’t be able to do anything but be at a sheer loss as to at what to say’

‘I do not intend on rotting away in HERE’

Thinking back, it almost seemed as if Ratigan had KNOWN what would happen, had he perhaps had one heart attack whilst in jail already and was awaiting the second, more deadly one? Or maybe it WAS just some elaborate plan to arise once more and cause chaos… But he was right here, he was dead, gone and Basil was… Alone.

He had been so sure that Ratigan was to escape, that they would once more play their little game again, to be back in the chase and to outwit and outsmart one another. But no longer… Ratigan was gone.

Ratigan had been the only other mind that Basil could meet with almost at an equal level, never again would he be matched with someone on such an intellectual level, never meet anyone as smart or cunning and evilly conniving as he.

As preparations were made and he and the Dawson bid the prison adieu, Basil couldn’t help but recall one last thing that Ratigan had said to him.

‘Perhaps you shan’t feel as LONELY if you allowed me to escape now?’

Chapter Text

The days that followed the discovery of Ratigan’s death, Dawson observed something peculiar in Basil and the only way he could describe it was a form of GRIEVING. The Detective locked himself up in his room for hours on end, playing his violin with a sad, melancholy tune.

The funeral took place a mere day after the announcement was officially made to the public and of course, the headlines rejoiced in the rat’s death and Dawson silently joined in. Basil however, quietly mourned the loss of a great mind, trying to come to terms with the whole ordeal.

Neither him nor anybody else seemed to attend the funeral, a mere paupers grave within the grounds of a human churchyard, under the shrubbery and bushes containing the mouse equivalent of the gravesite.

Although, the partying and celebrations for the rat’s death did not last.

The day after the funeral, there came furious and demanding knocks upon 221b at some ungodly time of the morning when the sun had barely broke over the foggy rooftops. Dawson had tiredly thrown on his robe having just beat their exhausted housekeeper to the door and opening it to find a small crowd of terrified looking mice who were calling out all sorts of nonsense and demanding to see Basil.

“Dawson!” The Detective in question emerged from his room, rubbing the dust from his eyes. “What is that RACKET? Did Mrs Judson topple over… my….”

His eyes caught the Londoners over Dawson’s shoulder and there was a moment of silence before all at once they started to shout and call out to him and Basil was suddenly rather anxious at the panicked mob, overwhelmed by the amount of people YELLING at him.“Now, now!” Mrs Judson stepped in, switching on her angry housekeeper role and barred the way for any more of them to shove forward. “What on EARTH is this about?! Do you all know what time it is!? One at a time, one at a time!”

“Please Mista’ Detective Basil Sir!” One man shouted out from the middle of the group. “Is it true?!”

“People are sayin’ its witchcraft! Dark magic!!!”

“Is he comin’ back in get his revenge on us all?!”

“We’re gonna die!!!”

More shouting broke out amongst them all and Basil’s concern and fear suddenly switched straight to curiosity and the eagerness to solve a mystery, he stepped forth, holding up his hands to shush the mice before him.

“Now, now, now, I haven’t the faintest idea what you are all talking about but if SOMEONE could gain a little decorum and explain to me PROPERLY-“

“I may be able to help with that, Detective,” Out from the crowd, a familiar face stepped forward, well dressed with hands behind his back, nervous sweat clinging to his brow and a great purpose in his stride, parting the mob with assistance from a police escort.

Inspector Lawless was an older gentleman, perhaps a little older than Basil but the stress of the job had greyed some of his features, save his dark moustache. A small round pair of glasses rested upon his face, with a black bowler hat adorning his head, red coat and checkered ascot hugging his neck.

Basil’s brow furrowed, he knew they only sent in Lawless when things were truly dire and either involved himself or…. He paused, eyebrows raising as suddenly all the dots connected and he quickly turned away and retreated into 221b again.

“Dawson! Get dressed, quickly!”

The doctor blinked towards Basil as the Detective shot into his room to change and he was left just as baffled as before and he turned to the Inspector. “Do tell me what I have missed, Inspector.”

“Its Professor Ratigan, Sir,” Lawless said with a tightness in his voice. “He’s arisen from the dead.”

~~

They arrived at the graveyard in record time, police surrounding the area, stopping anyone who tried to enter and the Inspector lead the way. Basil marching on close behind, a compelling look on his face, his mind racing at 1000 miles an hour, Dawson observed his anxious little ticks that Basil tended to do when he was particularly stuck and he had not even seen the scene yet.

“Forgive intruding on you both so early, Doctor,” Lawless spoke to Dawson, knowing that Basil would not care nor appreciate an apology from himself. “But it was important we got the two of you here as quickly as possible, people have already started to panic.”

“And you think that inviting us will help ease the tension?” Basil said, smirking slightly at the Inspector.

He scoffed in reply. “Not my idea, I assure you, it was the Chief’s, but I will say this, Basil, I shall not be putting up with your shenanigans on this case! It is imperative that we work together to solve this! I for one suspect that you-“

“Oh look, it’s the crime scene!” Basil interrupted and took some heavy strides forward and away from Lawless, who scowled at the mouse’s attitude.

They stood before the grave, the earth dug up and tossed aside, the hole where the coffin lay now empty with the small, simple gravestone cracked in half. The coffin itself had been tossed to one side, torn apart in areas, it was noticeable that the claw marks seemed to have come from WITHIN the box.

“It seems as if the nails were driven out from inside the coffin, there are claw marks too, obviously,” Inspector Lawless explained, watching as Basil circled the scene, drawing out his magnifying glass and inspected the splinters and soil. “There were also some remnants of a dead creature in there, bones, though not belonging to that of a fellow rodent thankfully… Some people are referring to it as WITCHCRAFT-“

“Preposterous of course, Inspector, you should know that,” Basil butted in again, kneeling by the coffin and looking at some of the claw marks.

“Hm, indeed! The only witness we have is the groundskeeper, though he is a little out of sorts at the moment, as one should be after supposedly seeing a man rise from the grave.”

“Hm…” Basil responded, distracted and picked up some of the upturned soil, running it through his fingers thoughtfully.

After a moment, the Inspector frowned and spoke up again. “You examined the body before the burial, did you not? What did you conclude?”

“That he was dead, Inspector,” Basil said bluntly, licking one of his fingers where the soil had been, causing those who witnessed to recoil in disgust.

“Elaborate, what was the cause of death?”

“Elaborate, sir?” Basil scoffed and rose to his feet. “How does one elaborate on death? I examined him, as did my trusted friend Doctor Dawson here and two other medical professionals which I’m sure you know or are you and your men too dim witted to even look into the simplest of matters?”

“Now see here Basil-“

“He WAS dead, Inspector!” Dawson spoke up, flashing Basil a disapproving look before turning back to the Inspector honestly. “Upon my examination, he was dead as a doornail, to bluntly put it, it seemed as if rigour mortis had started to set in, he was cold to the touch, no pulse, no breath, lifeless, I assure you.”

“Hm… Then either this IS some elaborate prank and some of Ratigan’s followers are attempting to throw London into FURTHER chaos, or we DO have a walking corpse somewhere.”

“Both are quite ludicrous really,” Basil huffed, rocking back on his heels for a moment and the two looked at him, awaiting for him to continue.

“As I have said, witchcraft and voodoo are quite ridiculous conclusions, it is impossible to have one rise from the dead, but it is not quite so simple as someone DIGGING him up either!” Basil explained, wandering around the scene and gesturing as he talked. “No such digging came from the outside of the grave, all from within and those claw marks are quite real, though the nails seem to have been warped and smashed too, indicating that they had been hit by something from the inside, which would explain the presence of the bones, they were used to hit the nails out in order to secure freedom! And even if it WAS dug up by Ratigan’s men, there would be more evidence of such a thing, I doubt that even us three and the current officers on scene would be able to MOVE a body such as Ratigan’s without being noticed! Now then!-“

Basil rounded the coffin and gestured to the area surrounding it. “Do explain to me why there are no footprints, gentlemen?”

The Inspector and Doctor’s ears perked up at this and Dawson looked around expectantly. He saw footprints from their own feet and that of the shoes that the officers wore but none quite so large as say belonging to a RAT.

“There were no footprints on the scene,” Lawless huffed, looking rather angrily flustered. “The only footprints found were those from the groundskeeper and ourselves upon entering.”

“Hm, well, we can assume that the man did NOT leave the grave by traditional means then, unless your men contaminated the scene so harshly you were not able to collect the evidence needed!”

“N-No footprints Sir!” They all turned, suddenly facing a young man, covered in dirt and with a face so pale it could send the moon into jealousy. The young groundskeeper was shaking and wild eyed, haunched over as if fearful of rising to full height. The poor lad spoke with such a shaken and terrified voice. “He arose from the dead I tell you! He didn’t walk, he stood for a moment and floated up into the darkness, DISAPPEARED! GONE! HE’S COME TO TAKE REVENGE ON US ALL!”

“Now, now, old chap, that is quite impossible,” Basil stated, stepping up to the man. “What EXACTLY did you see?”

“He is not in the right state of mind, Basil-“ Dawson tried to interject but was silenced by Basil’s hand.

“I was making my rounds Sir, just before heading home, just dug a new grave on the other side of the shrubbery Sir! I came towards the gates and there, in the distance, I saw a figure rise from the earth!” He started to quiver more violently. “I held up my lamp, dreading what it may be! He was HUGE, monstrous! Breath so heavy it sounded like he was about to breathe hellfire upon me! And just like that, I saw him rise up into the air! He flew! Like a GHOST and then was gone! GONE! WE’RE GOING TO DIE!”

“Dawson?” Basil gestured his hand back to his friend. “I do believe this man is in need of medical assistance.”

The doctor quickly stepped forward, taking the poor man by the arm and leading him somewhere to sit and examine him properly. Basil remained, tapping his chin with his magnifying glass, staring off into the distance in search of some answers.

“What do you make of it?” Lawless finally asked.

“… That somehow, I have missed something dreadfully important,” Basil admitted, pocketing the glass and staring over the grave. “Most certainly for this to happen, Ratigan would not be dead.”

“But you said so yourself, you and the good doctor, you pronounced him dead!”

“Indeed I did… But that is the genius of it! How did Ratigan possibly manage to make himself seem as though he WAS when he clearly still had breath in his body? Quite astounding!” Basil praised and it caused the Inspector’s frown to deepen and eyes narrow suspiciously.

“I shall have to do further research on the matter! I don’t suppose I could take one of those bones to examine along with the hair?”

“I don’t believe I- WHAT hair?”

Basil lifted up a long strand of white hair, filthy and thick, as if it had been buried into the dirt. The Detective’s face showed pride and smugness before drawing it away from the Inspector before he could take it.

“A bone, Inspector?”

Lawless growled in annoyance, folding his hands angrily behind his back. “I shall have one sent to you AFTER we’ve done our own inspection upon them.”

The Detective rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically. “I suppose that shall have to do… I will return to Baker Street now and attend to my own research, do keep me informed, won’t you?”

“And I take it you shall NOT be doing the same?”

“Oh you know me TOO WELL, Inspector!” Basil smirked, stepping away and holding the hair up to examine as he walked, almost forgetting about Dawson who jogged in order to catch up with his friend.

“B-Basil!” He called out, panting for breath as he worked to keep stride with the Detective. “What is it that you’ve found out? This truly is dreadful business!”

“It is indeed, Doctor!” Basil exclaimed and Dawson watched, a little sickened as a large and excited smile started to stretch upon his friend’s face. “But what a THRILL! The game is ON, Dawson! And what a compelling game it is!”

Chapter Text

“Now then, Doctor, there was nothing inherently wrong with the soil at the scene of the crime, it was quite literally the same soil that buried the man dug back up again!” Basil explained with Dawson in tow, stepping forth with new vigour, Dawson had not seen him so happy in a LONG time.

“What of the bones and the hair?”

“Quite obvious, it it not? The bones are from a much larger creature, a human to be exact, quite easy to find and locate for mice and small creatures, of course it could not have been a LARGE human bone, it was in fact the Distal Phalanges bone and as one knows, a bone belonging to a huge creature such as a human takes a lot of force to break, therefore, the perfect device to be used for hammering out those nails from the coffin!”

“But how did they manage to get bones in there without it being noticed, Basil?” Dawson asked, panting for breath as Basil’s pace quickened. “And why bones? Why not a hammer, or a wrench? Or some other tool?”

“For the purpose of PANIC, Dawson!” Basil rose a finger with a grin. “Is it not frightful enough to have a supposedly dead man rise from the grave? Throw some foreign bones into the mix and the appearance of ‘flying like a ghost’ you have the perfect layout for fear and panic on the streets!”

“So Ratigan wanted the city to be in a panic? What purpose would that serve?”

“To throw everyone into chaos, panic causes mobs to form and riots shall follow and with Ratigan arising like this, even the criminal underworld will be set further into the tide,” Basil lifted his pipe to his lips, puffing on it and thinking as his paced slowed. “Perhaps he DID intend it to be like witchcraft, it’s so easy to convince the weak minded of such things.”

“And the hair?” Dawson huffed, happy now that Basil had started to slow his pace.

“Ah yes! Quite obvious, is it not?” Basil raised a brow and coyly grinned down to his friend. “Can you not guess, Dawson, dear fellow? Think of what the groundskeeper had said to us!”

“Hmm… That Ratigan rose from the grave, breathing heavily and he flew off into the sky…”

“Indeed! And combine that with the fact there were NO footprints within the gravesite?”

“He… Didn’t WALK out of the graveyard? You can’t be implying that he actually FLEW?”

“Of course not Dawson! Now think man! THINK! Combine all of what you know!

Dawson hummed in thought, rubbing his chin and racking his brain for the answer, there were no footprints, which meant that Ratigan didn’t MOVE from the spot. The groundskeeper said he had risen upwards and left behind was a single hair… He squinted before a lightbulb moment came and he shot his head up to Basil upon realising.
Basil nodded with a pleased grin on his face. “There you have it!”

“So the flying was not flying at all! That combined with the dark of the night and the panic of the groundskeeper made it seem like he was seeing a ghost!”

“Very good, Dawson! We shall make a detective out of you yet! Now then, all we need now is to find any information about where he may have gone and how he managed to plan this whilst behind bars!” Basil stepped around the corner, staring at the prison in the distance.

“Ah! So THAT’S where we’re going!”

“Quite right, now, pick up the pace, Dawson! We’ve a lot to do!”

To Dawson’s dismay, Basil did just that and the smaller mouse struggled to keep up with the Detective’s excited stride, marching straight up to the gates of the prison and asking for the warden, who came down looking just as worried as the first last time Basil came to the doorstep.

“I don’t know what else to say, Sir of what I haven’t already told the police!” Mayhew explained as he led the way through towards the offices. “We attempted to keep him locked up dead and tight, I assure you the doctors I hired had no contact at all with Ratigan!”

“Before, you had mentioned you had had a few ‘hiccups’ whilst keeping Ratigan contained?” Basil completely bypassed the warden’s words and he nodded in reply.

“Well, indeed, but it is sure to happen when holding a clever and conniving mind like Ratigan’s!” Mayhew said. “He attempted to escape at least 4 times, of course each time was a failure and that is thanks to the extra security given to by the queen herself in order to keep him locked up.”

“How did he attempt these escapes?

“I can’t quite recall of them sir, we’ve made notes on them though which are in my office, I remember the first one, he was back in a cell with a window, he managed to pry the bars to the outside open and used the bedsheets to climb down, he was caught as soon as he stepped foot in the grounds though! He also managed to pick the lock of a cell somehow and sneak his way through the building till he was caught. He’s attempted to escape through all different parts of the prison!”

“Hmm…” Basil tapped his chin with the tip of his pipe, processing the information given.

Finally, they reached the offices, lined with several desks of which only four were filled, the occupants lifted their heads briefly to their ‘guests’ before promptly getting back to work.

Warden Mayhew took them into a separate room, his office, his desk in the centre with papers newspapers depicting Ratigan’s grand ‘reappearance’ scattering the top of it. The man proceeded to dig into some cabinets and produced some papers for Basil to take before going to search for more.

“That is the record of escape attempts and what we put in place to assure it wouldn’t happen again, we listed some of his requests too, of course, none of them were fulfilled though for the very reason it may aid in his escape.”

“…. He requested me more than once?” Basil noted, eyes scanning over the papers and Dawson’s eyebrows rose in surprise, taking the reports from Basil and looking over them himself. “Why did you not send for me?”

“W-Well… Orders from above you see Sir, strictly no visitors, including yourself, given your history the Inspector thought it best-“

“To keep me well out of the way… God DAMMIT Lawless you fool!” Basil started to pace back and forth, grumbling under his breath. “Think of the ANSWERS we could have retrieved from him! Think of what we could have learned about the criminal underbelly of the city! That narrow minded-Stupid-Dim witted!-“

“Basil,” Dawson frowned up to his friend and Basil paused taking a deep breath and straightening himself up, smoothing his clothes down, gaining his composure again.

“Well, it matters not now!” He huffed, still audibly annoyed. “AHEM! Anyway! I suppose these are the reasons why his hands were cuffed into iron casts? Not to mention the lack of clothing and blankets along with no windows?”

Mayhew nodded. “That and more, Sir. His schedule was never the same either, the men basically fed him whenever they felt like, it is so that he wouldn’t know the same routine daily and couldn’t plan around it.”

“Hm…” He leaned over Dawson’s shoulder to get another look at the papers.

“He’s tried to escape through the offices, hospital wing, the other jail cells, lavatories- Everywhere! It seems completely random!” The doctor observed.

“With Ratigan, nothing is random!” Basil frowned. “It all has a purpose! It is just a matter of discovering what that purpose is!”

Mayhew stepped back beside the Detective, holding out some more letters and papers. “These are the arrangements for his funeral and the correspondents between us and all those involved, including the police… They have their own copies back at the yard…”

“Hm, straight to the coroner, paupers grave… They hadn’t even changed his clothes?” Basil frowned a the warden.

“Not my decision, Sir, but he of course owned NONE of the money that he had, the ones discovered were in multiple accounts under different names and no doubt he has more…so we assumed he had no honest money to his name, they placed in in a paupers grave, the cheapest there was to offer, its a wonder he even GOT a coffin! Not that he deserved it for all he’s done, mind. He hadn’t any immediate family either, so no one to pay for the funeral.”

Basil huffed, staring back down at the papers. He had been a criminal, the most nefarious and cruel of them all, but Ratigan had been a mighty adversary, a great mind, a GENIUS of their time! It was a shame to have him use his great talent and gifts for something so evil and it somehow HURT Basil to know that none had appreciated the challenge and creativity he brought and had buried him in a simple grave with merely a small stone to mark it.

“Hm, it says here that the coffin maker’s name was made by a company called Phillips and Sons?” Dawson looked up to the Warden.

“They make all of the coffins for the prisoners who die here.”

“Then that is where we must go next!” Basil boomed and shoved the papers back into Mayhew’s chest who wheezed as it nearly knocked the air out of him.

“Mister Basil do you-!?”

The door was shut behind them before Mayhew could even finish.

The two took their investigation to that of the coffin makers, ran by an elderly mouse by the name of Jeremy Phillips, as stated in the title. It was a quaint little establishment located in a disheveled part of an old work shed beside a human carpenters. Mr Phillips was a kindly old man, extremely humble and soft spoken, strangely cheery for one who dealt with the building of coffins all day.

“Do you recall the coffin you made for the Professor?” Basil asked after initially introducing themselves.

“Oh yes, Sir, how could one forget? One of the biggest I’ve made so far! Not many rats particularly GET a coffin you know!” The greying mouse replied.

“And yet you had a request for one?”

“Indeed, I received two letters from the prison, one from the warden and one from another member of staff, the first from the warden asked if I would be interested in making such a coffin,” He began rustling about for the letters in various drawers, finally drawing them out and handing them over. “The other from one of the gentlemen he works with, who sent part of the payment in advance in the form of a cheque.”

Basil took the letters and examined them closely, the penmanship, the curvature of the lines, the kind of ink used, fingers brushed over the paper and he went to taste the top of the letter, dabbing it into his mouth.

“Hm, interesting…” Basil mused.

“Whats so interesting?” Dawson asked, reaching up onto his tiptoes to try and look at the letters.

“It is interesting to know that both paper, pen and ink came from the prison, undoubtedly the offices of which we visited and yet the penmanship of the second one is by no means the hand of an office worker!” Basil stated with a cheery voice.

“You’re saying this was not sent by the prison?” The doctor asked, brows rising and Basil promptly shoved the letters into Dawson’s hands.

“Quite so, the ink is splattered in several places, it indicates whoever wrote it was in a hurry and quite possibly in fear of being spotted, there is also a slight twang to the paper, the taste of dampness, some form of filth, I’m sure…” Dawson and Mr Philips recoiled at the thought.

“Mr Philips!” The detective addressed the man. “You are the one to have built the coffin, correct?”

“Yes, Sir, I’ve made all the coffins here!”

“Did you receive any special requests over this particular coffin? Any strange questions, any suspicious folks about your shop?”

“None that I know of Sir, it is always just me and my sons, I build the coffins, my lads focus on other such orders, such as furniture and building materials and the only ask I had was of the size, listed in that letter there.”

“Indeed…” Basil scratched his chin. “The measurements seem a little off though, judging from my previous encounters with Ratigan I would say that he is approximately 5.5 inches tall and his width is say 2.5 inches across his chest… The coffin’s measurements sent by this mysterious sender is perhaps two inches bigger than both of these sizes, giving him extra room inside. It is common to perhaps leave at least half of one inch more for the body to fit in snugly, I assume it is not common practice to leave a gap like this, am I correct, Mr Philips?”

The carpenter blinked in surprise and suddenly flustered he nodded dumbly in agreement, spluttering a little to get his words out. “Oh yes, most certainly, I had only assumed-Since he was a rat and all…”

“That his coffin would be bigger! Yes! Ratigan is not THAT big of a rat and this fact would be overlooked by many others! Mr Philips! Are you QUITE sure you are the ONLY person to have worked on this coffin?”

“Y-Yes detective! My lads often vacate this part of the workshop but they do not specialise in such things as this, Frederick works on the building side of things and Thomas is in the furniture making department,”Jeremy insisted and yet felt nervous with the narrowed eyes Basil was giving him.

“Hmm… And where are these sons of yours now?” He asked with a questioning look.

“Fred is handling a delivery at the docks and Tom is… Well, I have not seen him since yesterday Sir, though he left a note saying he had gone to visit a woman he had taken a liking to, about time I say! Aha!”

“Perhaps you ought to file a missing person report for you son, Mr Philips,” Basil stated and both Dawson and Phillips went silent, staring at Basil in both confusion and shock. “Or better yet, inform the police of his escape, I do believe your son helped in the installation of a hidden drawer within the coffin, probably from a separate letter he has kept hidden or has since destroyed.”

“W-Wh- But he would NEVER!-”

“The cheque that was sent to you,” Basil replied both seriously and solemnly. “Has it been cashed in?”

“What? No… No it hasn’t, I kept it in the cash box to be cashed in later today!” Automatically the gentleman went over to the box in question, producing a key and unlocking it only to be met with despair and a shattered heart. Both cheque and cash were missing from the box.

“I should think you ought inform the police now, Sir,” Basil stated and tipped his hat to the older man before turning on his heels and exiting the building.

Dawson was stood on the spot, confused as to HOW Basil knew of the drawer and the son, he flashed a sympathetic look to the betrayed father and hurried after his friend.

“How did you know?” Dawson asked as they headed down the street.

“Elementary, Dawson,” Basil chimed. “I had made careful analysis of the coffin at the scene and it was broken much more harshly than the lid just being pried off, it looked as though Ratigan had attempted to destroy evidence and I noticed a particular pattern along one of the broken pieces which looked mighty similar to that of a drawer slide, I could only conclude therefore that whomever had made the coffin would have installed it. Upon meeting Mr Philips though, I noticed growing arthritis in his hands, impossible to have made anything quite so delicate and fiddly unlike the simplicity of a coffin. The only answer is that someone else who is handy in woodwork and carpentry could had added the device to the coffin without it being noticed and that would have to be one of the sons… Thomas was the correct choice as he specialised in furniture, the rest of the story is quite obvious.”

Dawson’s mouth hung open in awe and he shook his head in disbelief. “That poor man, his son betraying him like that…”

“No doubt he was promised something much more valuable than a dwindling business to live in for the rest of his life,” Basil nodded, taking out his pipe to puff again. “Running has only sealed the fact he is guilty, unfortunately the third letter that would have been sent is long gone… We shall have to assume it is from Ratigan… We will need to decipher the second of the three and the peculiar name that came with it.”

The detective drew out the letter in question, the one suspected of being someone else and handed it back to Dawson, who squinted at the signed name at the bottom.

“Jamie Mortar?” He read aloud, looking up to Basil.

“Jamie Morter,” He repeated back, taking a long drag from his pipe and blowing out the smoke. “A peculiar name do you not think?”

“In the way it is spelled, yes…. Its spelled with a Y after the A.”

“And what does that tell you?”

“That the man who wrote it is semi-illiterate?”

“Perhaps, but it may also mean it is a fake name created in haste.”

Dawson hummed and looked down at the scrawled handwriting. “So you believe that whomever wrote this letter wrote it under an alias?”

“Correct doctor, your own guess is not bad though, just misguided, as there are no other spelling mistakes within the letter, save the name.”

“That there isn’t.. ” The doctor observed, glancing up to Basil questioningly. “So what now? We know that someone may have infiltrated the prison to write a letter and they had sent another to have a drawer to be installed to hide the bones and perhaps other items within the coffin. They used a fake name so we don’t know who it is and SOMEHOW Ratigan managed to fake his own death…”

The two were silent for a moment, Dawson watched Basil closely for a moment, seeing his face furrow into deep thought, chewing on his pipe as they walked.

“That name, Jaymie Mortar, is hiding a truth somewhere within it…” The Detective finally said. “Back to Baker Street, Dawson! I must think further on this matter.”

Chapter Text

Dawson had watched Basil closely once they returned home, watching as he once more examined and analysed the hair and bones found at the scene of the grave, muttering under his breath the name that had been left on the letter over and over again.

Jaymie Mortar.

Whilst Basil was attempting to figure things out himself, the doctor had taken up one of his notebooks and was scrawling out possible words of which it may actually mean. A fake name made up, or a real name with bad grammar?

Basil seemed to think that it was more than this, maybe it was an anagram of something else? So that’s where Dawson started, muddling up the letters and rearranging them to try and make new words and names, though he didn’t get very far.

Eventually Basil had noticed his friend’s screwed up face, puzzling away with fixated concentration and stepped over, looking over Dawson’s shoulder at his scribbles with a raised brow. “You are along the right tracks, my friend.”

The doctor jumped and looked up to Basil, staring down at the paper once more. “Do you really think so?”

“Indeed, perhaps closer with a few of the NAMES you have written out rather than random words, which do not have meaning by the way…” The Detective went to take a seat on his chair, drawing out his violin and plucked its strings lazily.

Dawson raised a brow. “You sound as if you already KNOW what it means.”

“Of course I do! It took a few minutes, of course, but it was fairly easy to decipher!”

“By JOVE, Basil! Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“You did not ask, dear fellow and you seemed to be working on your own deduction, who am I to stop you if you were getting close?” Basil didn’t take his gaze off his strings, twanging a few notes again.

“HOW close was I then?” Dawson huffed, crossing his arms, frowning, expecting Basil to go off and explain how he’d come to a conclusion anyway.

“Quite, you were right to rid the first name of the Y and make it ‘Jamie’ once more, however, it is not quite right, with someone who writes with such curvature to the letters, it means they are of a higher learning, made to write in a more calligraphic sort of manner. The mistake was on purpose, but the fact that it was still written in a rush is still evident considering the splatters of ink and the smudges… Therefore, it must have been a name that the writer already knew of and quickly made an anagram of it, when you rearrange the letters, you can find more IRISH origins within its meaning,” Basil took a breath, lowering the violin to smooth his hand over the wood. “Thinking more along the lines of traditional Irish names you may find that the letters in ‘Jaymie Mortar’ are quite common within them. However, arrange the letters around a little more you can come up with one very clear name.”

Dawson rose a brow, waiting for one of Basil’s ‘dramatic pauses’ to end.

Basil rolled his eyes, coming to the conclusion that Dawson couldn’t figure it out. “James Moriarty, dear boy! James Moriarty!”

“Moriarty?” Dawson repeated, staring down at his notes again, perhaps he HAD been close to the name. “Who is he?”

“Haven’t the foggiest!” Basil chuckled, giving one string a hearty tug. “All we simply know is that one James Moriarty EXISTS and is somehow connected to the man that left the letter and had it sent to the carpenters.”

“Perhaps we ought to contact the yard-“

“Already done, doctor,” Basil finished, waving his hand in dismissal and rose to his feet, violin and bow in hand.“As much as I detest our dear friend the inspector, I am aware of the vast amount of information the Yard possess in order to track down this man, I sent a telegram alongside my findings of the bones and hair and no doubt he shall be on the way here to discuss the matter.”

With that, Basil began to play his violin and Dawson knew he would be dead to the world until the Inspector actually arrived. For a long moment, he watched his friend play, in a much more cheerful and eager tune than his previous pieces when Ratigan had seemingly been ‘dead.’

The doctor took up the newspaper to read whilst they waited and yet he couldn’t seem to absorb any of the words. In actual fact he was deeply concerned for Basil… How miserable he had been and how BORED during Ratigan’s incarceration and how much worse he seemed after his ‘death’ and now… it was another extreme… He could see the joy and excitement on Basil’s face once more, the same buzz and eagerness there had been when they met.

Dawson couldn’t help but think perhaps Basil had WANTED Ratigan to escape, perhaps he’d even expected it. He looked up to Basil whilst he played… No, Basil couldn’t POSSIBLY have helped Ratigan escape, he couldn’t have… But then again, he knew the Detective had refused to talk about their ‘conversation’ within the prison.

Before Dawson could think on the matter further however, there was a loud knock on the door.

Basil made no move towards the door however, continuing to play his music and Dawson rolled his eyes, forcing himself up from his chair and to the door, yelling out to the kitchen. “Don’t worry yourself Mrs Judson! I’ll get it!”

As soon as Dawson opened the door, in came the inspector, barging past the Doctor without so much as a greeting, imminently spewing ill intent towards Basil in a sarcastic tone. “It took you long enough! Trouble figuring it out, oh great Basil of Baker street?”

Basil ignored him, playing a louder tune that made the older gentleman wince.

“Forgive him, Inspector,” Dawson frowned over towards Basil giving him a look of disapproval. “He’s been working endlessly since this morning.”

“As we all have, Doctor,” Lawless huffed, folding his hands behind his back and spat narcissistically. “It was pretty obvious however about the hair you analysed, Detective.”

Hearing this, Basil finally stopped playing and gave Lawless an unimpressed and annoyed looking sneer. “Of course and if it were SO obvious you would be checking the last known location of its owner, would you not? And quite possibly attempting to learn any information of their whereabouts as well as finding any human intelligence on the matter, correct?”

Lawless’s face scrunched up, making it clear that he had NOT thought of any of these things and it caused Basil to smirk, placing his violin back beside his chair and clasping his hands together.

“Now then!” He boomed, a little more chipper now. “You have information for me, do you not?”

Grumbling under his breath, the inspector stepped forth, digging into his inner pocket and drawing out a couple of folded papers, handing them over to the Detective, attempting to withhold any insult or annoyance.

“James Moriarty,” he started. “Not an incredibly common name in London of all places but OF COURSE it being an Irish name, it cannot be said otherwise…” Lawless cleared his throat, attempting to sound smarter than he actually was. “There ARE a couple of people under that name however, that being an Abram Moriarty, unfortunately not in this country, Ambrose Moriarty, though I highly doubt he is involved being a man of the church and there is also-“

“A baseball player, surgeon…. TSK!” Basil flicked through the list that had been handed to him, seemingly disappointed with the selection and tossed them in the air. “A load of TISH TOSH, Inspector! None of which are in correlation to our man who wrote the letter, some of these men are not even OF this country! What kind of workers do you have there at the yard?!”

Lawless scowled angrily.

“P-Perhaps we should take a different angle on this!” Dawson quickly interjected before things turned sour. “Surely if this man is connected to the one who wrote the letter they would have covered their tracks?”

“Of COURSE! Obvious really!” Lawless jumped in and this caused Basil to toss his head back to the Inspector with a look that could cut flesh.

“Oh, OBVIOUS is it Inspector?” He snorted. “I suppose if you do believe it to be so OBVIOUS and EASY to figure out you should perhaps do the case all by yourself, hm? Deal with the dead rising? Voodoo magic and other nonsense being spread around? Oh I’m SURE the whole of London would be very happy you tossed Basil of Baker Street off the case! What FUN that would be to see the crowds and press bombard you for months to come!”

“Well I never- I- How dare-!” The Inspector spluttered to try and find the right words to insult the Detective further, but of course Basil had a point. He could not rightly take Basil off the case as it seemed to be the only thing that kept the public a tad bit calmer what with the most notorious criminal back from the dead and at large again.

Growling in anger, Lawless buttoned his mouth shut, his upper lip twitching stressfully, causing his moustache and wobble in place.

“Dawson!” Basil suddenly snapped and the small mouse stood to attention.. “You are right in thinking that they have most likely covered their tracks! I myself have attempted to look into the name of this ‘James Moriarty’ and yet it has bared little to no fruition, I was HOPING the yard could help elaborate on such a problem but alas, they are as stupid as they always have been!”

Lawless grumbled in response but dared to reply with a low, rumbling voice. “Perhaps you ought to consider not faffing around and looking up to a daft human then Basil! Spending too much time studying one has probably idled your brain, no wonder you cannot find anything on your man!”

Basil huffed, opening his mouth to speak back but froze in place, closing his mouth shut and instead going to rub his chin, lost in thought.

“Nono… It can’t possibly be… Pure coincidence… Can’t be…” He started mumbling under his breath, pacing back and forth whilst both Lawless and Dawson watched with curiosity and confusion.

“BY JOVE!” The Detective suddenly yelled, causing everyone else in the room the jump and even Mrs Judson popped her head out from the kitchen, shouting back “What on earth is going on?!”

But Basil was not paying heed to them, he rushed about the room, removing his robe and replacing it with his coat and hat and everyone watched, completely bewildered.

“What is it Basil?! Good lord man, TELL US!” Lawless complained, attempting to stop Basil in his tracks by raising his hands in front of his path.

“Oh my stupid, clueless inspector! Surely you must KNOW since you are oh so ‘clever!’” Basil chortled, smacking the hands out of the way, laughing further at the blank expression Lawless gave him. “Are you quite aware of how name giving works within certain parts of Mousedom society?”

Lawless squinted, completely lost.

“In certain places in the country, mice adopt certain names of people they live with- or should I say live UNDER!”

Dawson’s eyes flashed and a grin spread across his face as he realised, clicking his fingers, he praised Basil’s success. “Brilliant Basil! Of course!”

“Would one of you PLEASE use your words!”

“For your dim mind, Inspector, I shall dumb it down just for you!” Basil spoke in a patronising manner. “Within certain places in mouse society, our fellow rodent has often adopted the names of the HUMANS they live under, for example, Baker Street is a shared name for both human and mouse!”

Basil tugged at his coat, tightening it around himself as he prepped to head out the door, Dawson close behind. “I have heard the name Moriarty once before, though I merely thought it a coincidence until my memory was just jogged! The human who lives above me has mentioned the name of another human he knows, perhaps it may JUST be a coincidence but if this human had a mouse counterpart with the same name, I should quite easily be able to search through the apartment above for knowledge of this man’s whereabouts! Therego, OUR James Moriarty.”

Inspector Lawless blinked in surprise, shaking his head and actually chuckled at the reply. “This is preposterous, Basil! What are the chances they are connected?! You’re a fool to have clung onto this human for so long! What if you are wrong, hm?!”

“Then I’m sure you shall have something very amusing to laugh at later, Inspector!” Basil swung the door open, ushering the Doctor out. “Do see yourself out won’t you? We’re incredibly busy as you know, doing your job for you… TA-TA!”

And the door slammed shut.

Chapter Text

Both Dawson and Basil had searched the human home before, often to find things to aid in their cases, which was helpful considering both Basil and his human counterpart both shared the same profession.

As such, Basil knew exactly where to look for information on the human’s own cases. The pair scrambled up to one of the large desks.

Dawson went to one side of the desk whilst Basil flitted about the other, pushing around papers and letters, muttering to himself under his breath. It was a wonder it didn’t take too long, but after hopping into one of the drawers, Watson discovered a symbol that resembled the initials of a James Moriarty.

“Excellent work, old boy!!!” Basil laughed as he joined his friend in the desk and clasped his hands together eagerly, examining the papers and shuffling them about. “Do light a match, won’t you, Dawson? It’s a little dull in here.”

The doctor did just that and watched as the Detective went about reading the papers, rubbing his chin and examining each piece with a big grin on his face and Dawson couldn’t help but feel… Uneasy with how joyful his friend seemed to be given the situation.

“Basil…?” Dawson finally braved to break the silence, Basil didn’t respond but giving the twitch of his ear, he assumed he’d be listening. “You… Don’t know how Ratigan happened to escape, did you?”

“Of course, Doctor! I’ve figured it out! Very simple really!” Basil didn’t turn to face him.

“Oh?... Oh yes, of course, but what I mean to say is-“

“You wonder if I had anything to do with Ratigan’s escape?”

There was a heavy silence for a moment, Basil slowly rose and turned to Dawson, a look of hurt in his face and the doctor felt himself slowly deflate. No, of course not, how could he think such a thing? Basil stood for justice and truth, he wouldn’t do such a thing…

“Dawson,” Basil said, interrupting his thoughts. “I did not in any way aid the Professor in such a feat, though I admit that he mentioned something along the lines of an escape in our last conversation.”

“Basil?!-“

“No, I did not say anything,” He folded his hands behind his back, looking very serious. “I was confident that his escape was near impossible and I also saw his body, I was convinced he was dead, just as you were… But….”

He faltered and averted his eyes from Dawson’s, perhaps the doctor could already fit two and two together and he already had. Basil ENJOYED this, he loved the games they played, to be challenged and to have his brain and skill put to the test constantly… He recalled how Basil seemed to MOURN upon the ‘passing’ of the criminal, how he had locked himself up and regarded all other cases as ‘pathetic and not worth his time.’

Basil MISSED, Ratigan and he was not ready to let their game go yet.

“Anyway!” Basil suddenly perked up and threw his arms in the air, waving away the heavy air that surrounded them. “I have discovered an address amongst these papers and as I recall, it seems to be the address of a school, come Dawson! Let us pay them a visit!”

Dawson watched as Basil crawled out of the drawer and briefly, he looked over the papers one more time, sighing guiltily, turning to take Basil’s outstretched hand to help him out.

—

The old schoolhouse was practically falling apart, it seemed in ill shape, even for a human. Basil’s eyebrows rose as they strode through the bars of the human fence into the schoolyard before them, checking his pocket watch, he took note on the time, the human children were still in class, therefore, less chance of being stepped on.

“Come Dawson,” He beckoned and hurried forward at quick pace, looking ahead, he saw the mouse entrance under the steps leading into the human building and quickly came forward, dragging Dawson through the mouse-sized door that resided there.

Inside, the reception seemed just as rickety as the outside, the two looked around and Basil noted the many school certificates and trophy cases, noticing how the dates were issued out MANY years ago. It seemed this school was not doing so well as of late.

“Gentleman,” a creaky looking woman glared that them, dressed with purpose and with STRICT meaning. “How may I help you?”

“Ah!” Basil strode forward, removing his deerstalker hat politely. “Forgive the intrusion, Madam, but we are currently on a case issued by Scotland Yard, myself and my associate here have drawn a few clues that led us here and we were wondering if there is anyone in particular we could speak to regarding a Professor Moriarty?”

“….” The woman raised a brow, looking far from impressed by the statements.

“If I may, Madam, it is of utmost importance,” Dawson insisted, holding his own little bowler hat in front of his chest.

Rolling her eyes, the woman grumbled and rose from her chair. Smoothing down her frock, she stepped out from behind the desk and spoke in a rickety voice, as if tired from talking to people. “I suppose I must take your to the Headmaster for this, do follow me Gentlemen and PLEASE refrain from touching the glass cases on the way.”

She gave a particular glare towards Basil who was leaning perhaps too closely to one of the said trophy cases, in response, the Detective grinned and straightened himself up, tucking his hat under his arm and clearing his throat.

“Of course, Madam, lead the way.”

Dawson gave an amused shake of his head, to which Basil huffed out a silent laugh through his nose, striding with pride after the woman.

“Do you believe that this is where Moriarty attended?” The doctor finally spoke up quietly to his friend as they walked.

“Attended? Hm, perhaps, but I believe it be more than likely that he worked at this school, I have no doubts however that he is connected to here in some way, though the LOVELY lady here doesn’t seem to recognise the name.”

Dawson nodded in agreement, examining the doors to the classrooms as they walked past. “The place seems to have seen better days…” He noted, a little more quietly as not to offended the scary looking receptionist.

“Indeed… Most curious…” Basil nodded.

“If you are quite done whispering!” The woman barked back to them, causing the two of them to straighten up dramatically. “This is the headmaster’s office.”

She gestured with a hand before knocked a few times onto it. “Mr Donahew? I have two gentlemen detectives here to see you.”

There was a pause behind the door, before the sound of scuffling was heard, both Basil and Dawson glanced at each other suspiciously, before a gruff voice called from the other side. “Bring them in, Mary-Anne.”

Sighing, the receptionist opened the door with little to no enthusiasm, gesturing the two inside before slamming it shut behind them.

“What a charming woman…” Basil muttered sarcastically.

Together the two friends faced an overly cluttered office, many bookcases lined the walls with overflowing files, books and papers filling them to the brim. Old frames with certificates planted the walls, all but covered by notes, posters, reminders whilst the floor was coated with stacks of more paperwork and books.

Mr Donahew, the headmaster, looked incredibly tired and stressed for someone who merely was in charge of a schoolhouse. Basil noted the slight tremble in his hands and the early signs of ageing on his face and fur, squinting, the detective observed the desk in silence.

And that silence continued for a moment before Dawson cleared his throat, gaining Basil’s attention again, but not before the Headmaster spoke.

“So… You are… Detectives?”

“Correction my good Sir, I am the Detective, doctor Dawson here is my associate and advisor.” Basil turned on the charm and patted Dawson on the back and strode forward to take a seat opposite the desk. “I am here in regards to an old Professor that worked here if you would be so inclined to share? It’s regarding a highly important case that the yard has me on.”

“O-Oh… Right…” Donahew looked nervous again, folding his hands together, giving the pair a rather unnerving looking smile. “Ah… What… What Professor is it, Detective? We have had many at this school.”

Basil raised a brow at the reaction and folded his hands on his lap. “One by the name of Professor James Moriarty, my good sir.”

The headmaster sat in prolonged silence for a moment before clearing his throat and dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief. “Ah, well, I don’t believe we have anybody working her by that name.”

“Oh no, not at all, Headmaster,” Basil insisted, leaning forward in his chair. “This Professor worked here MANY years ago, perhaps at the very least 20 years ago.”

“Ah well, in that case, I don’t see how I may help you.”

“Surely you must have a record of your previous employees, Mr Donahew?” Dawson spoke up before Basil, sounding just as suspicious of his dodging as Basil was.

“Oh! Well-AHEM-Why yes, of course, right-OOF!” He tripped over a stack of papers as he rose from his desk and stumble awkwardly, regaining his composure before going to a shelf and running his hand along the books there, pulling out a large one and placing it on the desk before them. “Y-Yes! Right here, but I can ASSURE you that there is nobody of that name in there! You may check the other records if you like! Nothing will be there!”

He sounded more confident in himself stating that and both the Doctor and Detective looked at one another before turning through the pages of the book. Basil muttered under his breath to Dawson how many years they ought to look back and as they checked, it became apparent to Basil that SOMETHING was missing and finally he glared up to the headmaster, giving him a look of accusation.

“This book has been tampered with, Sir.”

Donahew swallowed. “I-I assure you that it has no-“

“Headmaster,” Dawson spoke up this time, tapping a finger on the book crossly. “It doesn’t take a genius nor a detective to know that you are hiding something, what is it about this Professor that you do not wish us to know?! It is of the UTMOST importance that we follow this up! London could be in great danger if not! I’m sure you’re aware of whom is back roaming these streets again!”

The headmaster’s face paled and his hands trembled, fiddling with his fingertips as his horrors were realised. “So… You are Detective BASIL of Baker Street?” He turned to Basil with fear, but with barely any surprise, as if he had expected this visit one day.

“The very same.”

“Oh please, Detective, you mustn’t pry into this school!”

“And why would I not if you are clearly hiding the truth from me?”

“Sir, this school had fallen on hard times, ever since the time of Professor Moriarty and that-That RAT.”

Basil almost jolted upon hearing it, so it was true, Moriarty was connected somehow to Ratigan. Desperate to gain more information, the Detective rose to his feet suddenly and slammed his hands on the desk, a look of dire WANT on his face.

“They are connected! I KNEW IT! Tell me what you know! What has Moriarty done to this school?! Where is he now?!”

“No! No!” Donahew looked angered, pained and fearful, shaking his head. “You cannot go prying into this! It could mean danger for this whole school! My father before me and I have worked TOO HARD to get this school back on its feet and we are still struggling, I will NOT let it be tarnished by terrible people once more!”

“Mr Donahew-“ Dawson attempted to sound reasonable but was interrupted by the man again.

“No! I refuse to tell you anything! As you can CLEARLY SEE in the records!” He slammed the book shut. “There has been nobody of that name that has worked here! Now!- Leave my office!”

What followed was a silence and tension so thick that you could cut it with a knife and Dawson swallowed, looking up to his friend who glared with such SPITE towards the man before him. Basil straightened out his jacket, huffing angrily.

“Very well. Good day to you, Sir!” He proceeded to march out the office. Dawson paused, waiting for a moment, looking between the Headmaster and Detective before clumsily getting up to follow after Basil, looking rather worried with his little hat in his hands, whilst Basil shoved his own back onto his head, each step he took filled with annoyance and rage.

“Basil?”

“He thinks he can keep the truth hidden?! Well he CANNOT! We shall have to return!”

“Basil! We cannot BREAK into a school!”

“And who says we cannot?”

“The LAW for a start!”

“The law! HA! Well, I thought I saw someone suspicious lurking about in the shadows earlier, perhaps we ought to investigate THAT!”

“Basil!” Dawson grabbed hold of Basil’s sleeve, glaring up to him desperately. “We cannot go and break into this school! The Headmaster is SCARED, do you not see that? Angry, yes, indeed, but would it not seem foolish to try and find something that clearly is not here?”

Basil paused, looking down at Dawson for a moment before humming in thought, pulling his arm away to rub his chin.

“Indeed…. There seems to be no evidence of Moriarty ever being here, no paperwork, no books, no records…. Not even an INKLING and there seems to be a connection with Ratigan too… And yet nothing that warrants that connection to HRERE, save the very name.” Basil started to walk slower now, hand on his chin as he thought with Dawson, now relieved, following behind.

“Perhaps BECAUSE of that connection the Headmaster is scared and reluctant to share?” He suggested. “Ratigan is a very dangerous man, Basil, if he has connections here would it not make sense to erase it and threaten anyone who states otherwise?”

“Yes… I suppose…. But it all seems very odd, does it not? Its almost as if this Moriarty fellow has been all but forgotten…”

Dawson nodded slowly in agreement and the two stopped by the main doors, the receptionist back at her perch, she glanced up briefly to the two of them, tutting in annoyance before going back to her work.

“What do we do now Basil? We’ve hit a dead end.”

“Perhaps not old boy…” Basil’s gaze lifted over his friend’s shoulder and down the corridor, clocking an old woman cleaning the halls. He squinted thoughtfully before patting the Doctor on the shoulder. “I suggest… We gather intel at the library, there should be archives there that may give us some information on our man… and perhaps we ought to look into old newspapers from around 20 years ago and thereafter.”

“Very good! Lets go!”

“Yes, I shall go to that and YOU may go give an update to our dear Inspector Lawless!”

“M-Me!?”

“Yes, he seems to like you more and I can’t say I’m ENTIRELY thrilled with having to speak to him again, so if you wouldn’t mind? That would be quite wonderful of you! Thank you old chap! See you later!” He patted Dawson on the head and marched outside, leaving the Doctor scrambled and perhaps a little annoyed to be left with Basil’s dirty work.

However, it was not the library that Basil went to… Instead, he lingered behind at the school, staying out of sight… Until the old woman had finished with her duties in the late hours of the evening.

Chapter Text

“It isn’t very often that I get visitors.”
The elderly lady had been working in the school for well over 25 years, Basil could tell by the way she held herself, by the way she had walked the halls and painstakingly wiped away the dust at the same glass cabinet for 15 minutes. He noted the worn hands from years of cleaning the same floors, the same uniform, broken and sewn back up in the same places, provided by the school years ago and who refused to replace it. He saw the look of blind and old loyalty for a place that may not even care if she died tomorrow.

From this he concluded that he needed to speak to the woman, knowing that she may know the connection between Ratigan and Moriarty and why this school was important to that connection.

He had started a pleasant conversation with the lady upon her exiting the building, explaining who he was and admiring her skills and asked if she would mind answering some questions for the yard and the woman had gladly obliged if he was to escort her home.

Basil had helped the elderly lady return to the slums of London, where the lowest of the working class lived and yet she seemed glad to be home, happy even to live in such squander. He could see why she had asked him to escort her back… The dark and foggy streets of London at night, especially closer to the slums were dangerous indeed.

“Is that so, ma’am?” He answered her as he awaited for her to unlock the door.

“Oh, well, look at the place! It’s not really the nicest place to drop in for tea!” She laughed, following it off with a shaking cough, gesturing him inside of her home, under the floorboards of an apartment building.

“Not that I even have tea mind you,” she giggled and Basil followed her inside, a simple abode, one room, with a small fire and a broken up stove, a pile of hay to make a bed and a single stool to sit at, one other change of clothing hanging up by the fire.

His heart went out to the poor woman, still the city had yet to care for its workers.

“Thank you for doing this, ma’am,” he nodded, taking his hat off politely.

“No need, young man! It’s always nice to have company! Do sit down!”

“I would rather stand, please, you take a seat.”

She looked up to him, her wrinkly eyes showing appreciation for his politeness and smiled softly, grunting as she took her seat by the fire which she started to poke with a stick to try and reignite the flames.

“Let me, ma’am,” Basil insisted and knelt down, going to help start the fire again, lighting a match and letting it burn the coals back to life.

“You’re such a nice man! And do call me Betty! Now then…” She coughed again and took a deep breath. “What can I help you with?”

Basil couldn’t help but smile fondly at the woman, despite her obvious years of torment she seemed kind and thankful for the polite company and she was just as polite to him. It was sweet.

“Well… Betty,” she smiled widely upon him calling her name. “I was wondering if you recalled someone who used to work in the school, someone by the name of James Moriarty?”

“Moriarty?....” She repeated the name, letting it linger on her tongue, even as she licked her dry lips. “Ah! Oh yes! Moriarty! I have not heard that name is a VERY long time!”

“You remember him then?”

“Oh quite clearly! He was a proper man, very strict but a very nice Master, he took care of us little folk.”

Basil’s smile widened and his ears perked eagerly, stepping a little closer to her and crouching so he could match her level. “If you wound’t mind telling me about him, as much as you care to remember.”

“Certainly! N-Now… Let me see… I… Hm….” She strained for a moment, attempting to remember a life long ago when he bones were not so brittle. “He was quite the tall man, with a little beard… He… I recall he had an accent, I forget what it was though…”

“Irish?”

“Ah yes! That must be it! Was a lovely man, he was first to employ me, at his house you see, paid us well he did and always gave us good Christmas holidays,” she sighed in remembrance of him and Basil felt relief over the kindness this lady was shown in her life.

“And what of the school? He was employed there?”

“Oh yes! The Professor was a very well respected member of the school, known by lots of other schools too, very clever!” Her smile of fondness turned upside down and she sounded sad as she continued. “Such a shame it all went downhill after the boy left, how sad.”

“The… Boy?”

“Oh, sorry! I mean to say the boy that studied at the school… He became quite the bad person I regret to say…”

Certainly she didn’t mean….? “Are you referring to Professor Padraic Ratigan, Ma’am?”

“The very same,” she sounded somber in her words and Basil’s tail swished eagerly. So, THIS was the school Ratigan had attended as a boy! The things he could have LEARNED! If only the information had still been THERE!

“He is not mentioned in any of the school records…” Basil said aloud, thinking. “I am assuming they erased him from the records after his climb into the criminal world?”

“I can only assume as such,” Betty nodded. “Such a lonely boy…”

He blinked. “Lonely?”

“The poor child spent a lot of time by himself, all he did was study, had no friends, though I don’t think he wanted any.”

Any previous questions about Moriarty were forgotten and Basil’s attention centred on that on learning more on his arch-nemesis. Information he had never thought he would come across.

“What can you tell me about Ratigan?”

“Young Master Padraic?” She tutted. “The poor boy didn’t own any toys as I recall… I… Can’t quite remember much, do forgive me… Hm… He was very quiet, but polite, well behaved… Oh but the Professor did help him so! That boy idolised that man! Oh… I cannot remember much you see… I was only employed after he was adopted you see… I am very glad I wasn’t hired during his transition to the home life, from what I heard his adjustment to it was… violent.”

Well behaved? Quiet? That didn’t sound like the Ratigan HE knew… But violent? A lot more fitting. But that wasn’t that got Basil’s attention. “Adopted? By whom?”

“Why, Professor Moriarty of course!” Betty exclaimed, rolling her eyes as if the man hadn’t been paying attention. “I think he found him… Wandering the streets as a child and took him in… Such a good man… Doing that… He was very clever apparently, young Padraic… I think that’s what he saw in him.”

Basil felt STUPID. Utterly STUPID! It made perfect sense now that he could connect it all! Ratigan had been ADOPTED by Moriarty! It solves the use of the name, but why had Ratigan decided to finally use a name from his past to aid in his escape? Was he feeling nostalgic? Or had he panicked in the moment and come up with the name from memory?

A RAT being adopted by a high class, prestigious and well respected mouse? That was another thing. How very strange, unheard of indeed! The Professor MUST have seen something in young Ratigan to have taken him in like that, in the face of such prejudice. Raising a wild rat to be a well mannered member of society… It must have gone wrong somewhere… But when? And HOW?

Ratigan must have been the only rat int he school… And in college and University…. How hard that must have been for both Moriarty and the child named Ratigan.

He was stuck in a trance for a moment, rubbing his chin, thinking hard.

“I… Don’t suppose you remember where Moriarty and Ratigan lived, do you, Betty?” He finally broke the silence, he was on the edge of his metaphorical seat. He NEEDED to know more, what’s more, if he knew the original address of his enemy- He could learn SO MUCH MORE!

“The address? Oh… I…. Well its been YEARS… Let me see…” She drummed her arthritis curved fingers on her lap, attempting to recall. “Its on….. Grosvenor Square if my memory is correct… Hm… Mount Street? The number… I’m afraid I have forgotten but I know it was built into the lower floors of a human house, a very posh and beautiful home it was… with rose bushes either side of the Master’s door… It was very beautiful in the warmer months of the year…”

Basil grinned widely and took the elderly mouse’s hands in his own thankfully. “Oh THANK you ma’am! I mean Betty! This has been grand!” He hadn’t expected it to be quite so easy!

“Oh! Well.. You are most welcome, Detective!” Her old, wrinkled smile brought warmth to Basil’s soul.

“If I have any other questions, may I visit again?” He asked, pulling away and placing his hat atop his head once more.

“Of course! You’d be most welcome, my dear! It’s very nice for an old mouse to have a good chat every once in a while!”

“Thank you again! Please, keep the matches!” He practically shoved the box into her hands with a small chuckle. “Keep yourself warm! Thank you!”

It caused the elderly mouse to laugh as Basil skittered back to the door, continuously throwing thanks to her as he bid her farewell and practically RAN through the streets of London, straight to the first home of Professor Ratigan.

Chapter Text

Grosvenor Square was part of a rich area in London, for both human and rodents alike, Basil, who had memorised just about every street, gutter and alleyway on a map, knew EXACTLY where to go.

The night had fully enveloped the city now and the street was shrouded in clouded moonlight, the fancy, well dressed homes standing tall on the street, proud like their owners and as Basil strode down the cobbles, he examined each one closely as he passed.

Ever examining eyes passed every wall, window and bush, noting the entrances for mouse homes and more until his gaze rested upon a lowly looking home for such an esteemed neighbourhood nearer to the end of the road. Picking up his pace he found himself standing before what looked almost like an abandoned human home, just as lavish looking as the others, but under kept and unloved. Cracks appearing in wood and stone, plants overgrown or dying, he squinted, noticing a for sale sign that seemed to have been standing there a while.

Cautiously, he edged closer to the bushes, seeing the thorns of a dying rose bush protruding from the darkness. He smirked, just as the elderly maid had said!

Eager to get inside, Basil forced himself through the gaps in the dense overgrowth and old branches, cursing as the corner of his coat was caught on a thorn and ripped off the edge. But no matter! There was the door!

The place seemed just as abandoned as the human abode…. He tried the handle, only to find it locked. Checking over his shoulder briefly, Basil took out a lock pick from his inner pocket, easily and smoothly picking the lock and stepping inside.

Imminently, he let his senses increase, taking in every sight, scent and mark of the building, learning from each torn corner of wallpaper, every creaky floorboard, even the old and worn markings on the wood.

The scent inside was damp, old and dusty, not lived in for a while, but within that Basil sensed a disturbance of some kind, automatically his gaze lowered to the floor, dust was cleared over the floorboards and scuffles could be seen across the uncleaned hallway. Someone had been here, perhaps recently… He put himself in high alert.

Looking upon the walls, square and circle markings remained, evidence of where paintings and pictures were taken down. There were no longer carpets or anything of comfort within, only scuff marks from years ago when furniture had been removed.

Basil narrowed his eyes, suspicious. There was nothing here… But evidence of persons being within. Why?

He started to make his way through the home, ears twitching for any unwelcome noise, only to find the place emptier still.

Rooms such as the drawing room only had an empty grand bookcase, perhaps too big to have moved previously. Cobwebs hanging from the top… The dining room had signs of broken pottery on the floor, the odd fragment left behind, though Basil saw no ill intent or a fight from the shattering.

He made his way to the upper level, nose twitching as he caught the scent of dying embers.

Clenching his fists, the mouse carefully and cautiously edged upwards and down the hallway, seeing a dim light at the end of the hallway. Someone was here? Frowning, Basil stepped forth, raising his arms ready to dispel any incoming attacks… Hand on the doorknob, he halted before quickly SWINGING it open and leaping into the room.

Nothing.

For a moment, the Detective was tense, fur standing on end, tail erect before relaxing. Nobody… Only the spits of a dying flame in the fireplace and the end of a candle resting on a small table, steadily getting closer to the end of its life.

The room was smaller than perhaps most, it was what Basil believed to be a nursery if it were ever used for such thing. Could this have been Ratigan’s room perhaps?

There was nothing that indicated it could have been, only what evidence he’d drawn from previous rooms… Save for two single features. A large armchair facing the fire and the table with the candle on it… that shared its spot with another item.

Basil’s hands rested over the top of the lavishly decorated box, a dulled crimson red with beautiful and intricate gold patterns painting its sides and lid. Trained fingers felt over the surface, testing how old it was, how long it had been here. It was old, yes, made many years ago, perhaps by a company that was no longer in existence, or privately made, yes. More than likely the latter.

But it had been put here recently, along with the table it was resting on and the chair by its side.

Excitedly, Basil removed the lid to reveal its contents. Though what lay within was not what he may have thought, no stolen goods, jewels or money… It was an entirely different kind of treasure and Basil felt RICH just by HOLDING it. Rich with knowledge he’d sought after for so long.

Hands trembling, the Detective lifted up a letter, addressed to Ratigan.

Breathing out an excited sigh and laugh, Basil felt as though his legs would cease to work. He took the letter up in both hands and skimmed over the words, the handwriting neat and proper, curved like the mark of a genius, signed at the bottom by one James Moriarty and dated back thirty-odd years ago.

‘My dear Padraic,

Perhaps one day you may join me in Ireland, it is a marvellous country, there is much more green here than in the city of London. I’m sure the air would do you good.

The manor house I stay in is familiar and warm and yet it is not home like the one we live in on Mount Street, I am missing our study together and hearing you recite your books. It pleases me however that you are still focusing on your studies and not lingering on thoughts such as home like I am.

I am sorry I cannot be home sooner but the crossing was rough coming over the channel and I’m afraid that a storm is holding the journey back. I’ve sent along some books on the history of my homeland for you, I hope you find them interesting and that they find you well.

Continue your studies, work hard and I shall be home with you soon.

Yours sincerely,

J. Moriarty’

His heart skipped a beat, it sounded like they were close. Were they? Was it even possible for Ratigan to EVER be close to anyone? How had Basil managed to miss all of this? How had Ratigan managed to keep it hidden from him for so long, this boy that his adoptive father wrote to? What happened to him? Why had Ratigan and erased the two of them from the memory of London?

Eagerly and with more vigour, Basil started to read through more papers, more letters. They were all similar. The letters from Moriarty to Ratigan were written from a business standpoint, the Professor being away for work, study or other such matters. There were reports on Ratigan’s progress in school, a few old and scrapped reports on various subjects that Ratigan had been made to write for his studies.

By all means, Basil could stand and read each and every one of them right now if he could, ponder them in greater detail but then-

Hands laid upon something he never thought to see in his life.

In awe, Basil’s eyes widened upon the sight of an old photograph, yellowed with age and yet still as clear as the day it was taken. A tall, well dressed and proud looking mouse, sitting smarty and stoic on chair, looking towards the camera with a serious tone, a greying moustache and beard on his face, heavy eyes worn with age and meaning.

And beside him stood a small boy, though not a mouse. A rat, dressed in a small, rich suit, hair combed nearly, arms by his sides like a solider, face staring at the camera so hard that Basil could SWEAR he could see the photograph blink and stare into his soul. He could see those ever watchful eyes, the need to learn, to know how the camera worked, how photos are made… He could see Padraic as he was, a boy, a small and desperate boy who wanted to learn, who stood by his mentor’s side proudly. He could finally see the child that Ratigan had once been and not the monster and criminal he had become.

How had it come to this?

Shaking his head in disbelief Basil could barely catch his breath with the excitement and eagerness that was caught in his chest.

In fact, he had not been paying enough attention to anything else.

His ear twitched, suddenly noticing a shadow appear from the corner of his eye, looming over him.

He could barely toss his head to see who it was when something came hurtling down onto his head and the world went black.

Chapter Text

“Ya think….. Boss….. In trouble now!….”

Basil’s ears flicked slightly, voices coming in and out of focus as he struggled to regain consciousness. He blinked, blinded for a moment by lights that danced before his vision, he let his head hang and he listened again, trying to hear what was going on.

“Stupid! He’s not gonna be….. What about….”

Gritting his teeth, the mouse forced his head upright, feeling a sickly warmth on the back of his head and down his neck, probably blood from the blow he had received. Blinking again, his vision was starting to recover again, noticing three bleary shapes come to focus before him.

“Ya think he saw?” One of the gruff voices started to sound more clear.

“I know I did.”

“SHHHHH, if e’ knows ya seen it, ya gon be dead meat!”

“Whats so special ‘bout what’s in that box anyways, just some lil papers n’ stuff n’ a photo.”

“SHURRUP!” One smacked the other around the back of the head. “I ain’t hearin’ it! I ain’t gettin’ walloped for somethin’ YOU did!”

“Shush! Guys! Look, I think sleepin’ beauty ‘ere is awake!”

Basil groaned as he was noticed, blinking through the sickly haze to the group of four before him, all scruffy and savage looking individuals. One held a hammer in hand, hitting it softly and repeatedly into his other hand, no doubt what he’d been clobbered with.

“At least he ain’t dead,” one at the back said. “I know boss wouldn’t be too ‘appy if ya killed Basil of Baker Street!” He scoffed and elbowed the man holding the hammer who grunted in annoyance.

“I don’t really think I ‘it ‘im ‘ard ‘nuff!” The man with the hammer snarled, going to step closer to the Detective who flinched back where he sat.
“Oi! Ya wanna get your head blown off or somethin’, ‘Arry?!” The one closest to Basil pushed the bloke back.

“Ya remember ‘im don’t cha, Lar? ‘E’s the one who put yas in JAIL! Can’t I just off ‘im?!”

“Not unless ya want Boss to eat ya alive!”

“Then we use those papers n’ stuff against ‘im, yeah?! Sure the press would pay a pretty penny for a pic of a lil-“

“SHURRUP! WE AIN’T DOIN’ THAT! I AIN’T LISTENIN’”

Bickering and arguing broke out amongst the three of them and Basil couldn’t help but wince, his head and ears ringing at the onslaught of noise to his already shocked system. But he still had to ESCAPE.

He tugged at his wrists behind the chair, realising that he was tied down, both hands were tied together behind the old wooden seat and either ankle tied to the front legs of the chair. Groaning again, he tossed his head to examine the room, it seemed as if they were in the cellar, a wine cellar to be exact.

Barrels of old and expensive years were stacked up against the walls either side of them, a barrel rested to one side upright with a bottle of CHEAPER stuff resting beside some strewn playing cards. No doubt the owner of this place would NOT let these scum drink their private preserves.

“I say we just kill ‘im, dump the body and run for it! We’re in over our ‘eads anyway!”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you…” Basil finally replied, sounding almost drunk and out of breath. “If he knows that he wasn’t able to take the killing blow, your heads will roll, gentlemen…”

“HAH! An’ what ‘bout YOU, Mr Detective?” The man with the hammer scooped up the box from the arms of his ‘friend’ and started to open it. “Ya seen what’s in this ‘ere box! That means ya DEAD!”

“‘Arry! Put it away!”

“I wanna see proper what ‘e’s in a tizzy over, did ya see them pic-“

Suddenly there was a whoosh, followed by a sickening crack and squelch, Basil squinted, the man before him looked frozen with shock and then both the hammer and the box slipped from his grasp and the rodent fell, head landing in Basil’s lap, revealing a bolt embedded in the back of his skull.

The Detective squeaked, attempting to shuffle away from the body or toss him off.

A echoing and menacing laughter chimed through the cellar and Basil’s head shot up, recalling that very same laugh with terrible familiarity.

Out of the shadows strode Ratigan, once again to his full glory, clad in a new suit, the undershirt dappled in purple, more groomed and trimmed from the last time he saw him, it seemed Ratigan had taken to keeping the tuft of a beard he had grown in prison. In one hand rested a crossbow, empty of its ammo, having found its place in the skull of the mouse resting on Basil’s legs.

“I DO hope the REST of you did not see the contents of that box…” The rat referred to his ‘followers’ who furiously shook their heads in denial, stepping well away from their leader fearfully.

“Jolly good, jolly good!” His gaze finally landed on Basil and a large and happy smile spread across his face, greeting him as if greeting an old friend. “Ahhh, Basil! So good to see you again! I didn’t expect to see you so early, you’re always quite late, after all.”

Basil scowled, watching as the rat took out a pocket watch and examined it thoughtfully before tutting and tucking it away again, tossing the crossbow over his shoulder to the henchmen, who caught it between them, staggering at its sudden weight.

Ratigan stepped closer to the Detective, using a remaining bolt from the bow to lift the mouse’s chin and tilted it to one side, examining the head wound. “I see my ‘friends’ were hospitable.”

“A little too much so…” Basil replied, his confidence strained by the pain in his head. “The hammer wasn’t necessary.”

“Indeed…” Ratigan mused and removed the arrow from Basil’s face and went to harshly poke the dead body off and away from his nemesis. “However, it IS good to see you tied up and at my mercy!”

Ratigan chuckled, going down to collect the spilled papers and photograph before the blood got to them and tucked them back into the box where they belonged. Eyes flashed towards Basil, he had read them and seen the pictures, that much he was certain.

“I would very much like to know how you came to be here though…” The rodent walked over to one of the wine shelves, fingers running over the bottle tops, the box tucked in the crook of his other arm. “I’m sure you’re DYING to lay out an explanation portraying your GENIUS as you always do!”

Basil scowled at the rat, but it was true, he was practically SQUIRMING to explain how he had got here, how he could show up Ratigan once more. He couldn’t deny the beating of his excited heart, however, eyes darted to the remaining men who stood behind Ratigan and it seemed that Ratigan concurred with the Detective.

“BOYS!” He snapped over his shoulder and grasped a bottle from the shelf, examining it thoughtfully before grinning wickedly, as if knowing something that no one else did.

“Why not go back through the passage and enjoy a drink on me, hm? After all you have done a very good job at capturing Basil~ And NOT killing him~” He leaned over to hand the bottle over and all three men lit up at the expensive brand. Was their boss in a good mood? Was this their break?!

One of them snatched it from him, once after the other squeaking out thanks as they scrambled away before he changed his mind, running down the passageway that had been previously opened by Ratigan himself, their voices and arguments echoing down the chamber.

Until it was only the two of them and soon the silence at followed.

“Well, Basil?” Ratigan smiled smugly, awaiting the mouse to begin.

He paused a moment more, but he could not deny the rat what he wanted.

“It was all quite simple really,” Basil started, rolling his neck to try and ease the pain on his head. “When I attended the scene of your ‘resurrection’ I found it all very suspicious, the fact that the coffin was marked from the inside, the bones- Well ‘scary’ by the way, fooled half of London into thinking it was witchcraft but it was no such thing, the box had not buried deep enough, but then again, for such a large specimen such as yourself, how could they? I also don’t believe that even the grave digger cared much about giving you a proper burial.”

Ratigan rolled his eyes, but started to circle the tied up Basil, listening eagerly as the mouse explained.

“There box had a secret compartment on the inside, bones from a human, more precisely the Distal Phalanges bone, put there by the poor carpenters son whom is on the run as we speak, though I believe that by now the Inspector would have found him. Now then, there’s the matter of HOW you appeared to be dead and how it is that you ‘rose from the grave’, so to speak. At the scene, I discovered a single, long hair, no doubt it was a feline’s, I had assumed that your ‘darling Felicia’ had been killed by dogs at the palace, but perhaps I had been wrong as it was the very same hair as hers I had captured previously. Therefore, after waking up and breaking out the box, obviously breathing heavy and ragged as the groundskeeper described, though due to lack of oxygen and not by phantom breath, the cat was merely called over and then simply lifted you up and out of the graveyard by her mouth, giving you the indication of flying.”

“The way you had attempted to seem dead was that of a tonic made of puffer fish poison and the poison of a tree frog, making the drinker seem as though they are dead, only to arise later. It is undetectable by many modern day doctors and morticians on this country and also missed due to the quick decision of your burial. I believe the authorities wanted you to be buried and gone before anyone could start riots or defile your body, they sought out a quick one in order to keep the public thinking that you may still be alive.” Basil started to grin as he talked, enjoying his talk.

“As for your ‘escape attempts’, they were not attempts at all! Upon looking over the reports on your seemingly random breakouts, I came to the conclusion that you were testing the security of the building, finding certain places, I noticed that you had come across the medical wing where I believe you procured your poisons used on the inmates in particular death sentences, or even found a name of which you could procure them from, being able to send letters via the offices! Yes, professor, letters!”

“It was a surprise to me that your writing was so rushed and almost illegitimate for your own hand, though I suppose you WERE in a rush. It is here you send the letters to get your poisons and here where you sent the letters to order the coffin and the drawer for the inside, it is also here you used signed each letter with a name, a anagram of another, that being Jaymie Mortar, or in other words James Moriarty.”

Basil paused for dramatic affect, but it gained Ratigan’s unwanted attention and he paused, now standing in front of the detective and squinting angrily at him, but waited for him to continue.

“Now, I initially thought that the name was either a cover name of yourself, or perhaps an aid in your company, so I began my research, but alas, the name was barely mentioned in any records, I did however, realise a connection between that of humans and mice and what a coincidence that it was of a man the human I live beneath knows of. Of Irish decent the man was a Professor, I discovered the school of his employment, though again, no records of him remained, it was as if he had vanished from history… Along with any connections to him.”

Ratigan’s fists were balled at his sides now, gritting his teeth. Basil was striking a nerve.

“Thankfully I discovered… A source… A fairly reliable one and I discovered something remarkable… Professor Moriarty was indeed a teacher at this school for boys years and years ago and during his time there he had adopted a boy, a young boy rescued from the streets whom he saw as intelligent and eager to learn and yet it started to turn wr-“

“ENOUGH! You have had your fun and your little gloat!” Ratigan snapped loudly and tossed his body around, back facing the Detective, trying to calm his steadily growing rage.

“…. What happened to you, Padraic?”

There was a heavy moment of silence, only the drip drop of water somewhere in the distance and the rising and falling of Ratigan’s shoulders as he tried to ease his anger.

“You had been so good-”

“I was NEVER ‘good’” He interrupted and snapped back to Basil with a hiss. “I was not good no matter what I did.”

“Moriarty did not seem to think so.”

“HE BETRAYED ME!” Ratigan yelled and GRABBED the back of Basil’s chair, snarling at the mouse.

Trying to hold back his panic, Basil breathed out softly. “How?”

Their faces were mere inches apart, Basil terrified out of his wits over those claws he had felt so sharply once before and the teeth that bared so close to his face. He was sure that Ratigan could hear the loud beating of his heart.

Huffing, Ratigan shoved himself away from the chair, making it wobble back and forth for a moment and stood, staring down at the box in his possession once more, a hand running over its surface, almost sadly.

“He lied to me, about everything.”

Chapter Text

“How did he lie to you?” The question lingered, Ratigan drawing his nose up at the question and hissing as if he could TASTE it on his tongue.

“I shan’t be sharing such details to the likes of YOU, ‘Detective!’” Ratigan responded, dusting the top of the box absentmindedly.

“Why don-“

Basil’s words were cut off by distant, echoing screams coming from down the passageway, he felt himself sink backwards into his chair, his mouth suddenly going dry, whereas Ratigan’s face turned upwards into a sickly smile.

“It looks like my men received their gift rather well~” He chuckled.

“What did you do now, you monster?!”

“I suppose it must have been those who hadn’t ingested the poison I injected into the bottle, my darling Felicia was sent to ‘greet them’ at the end of the passage should they get away,” the rodent smirked down towards the passageway, the screaming coming to abrupt stop which made Basil’s stomach turn.

The Detective was starting to think this situation was not entirely good for him to be in, behind his back his wrists tugged further at the ropes, grumbling to himself out loud. “Well, I suppose I DID mention I would solve this case or die trying.”

“What makes you think I will simply just kill you, Basil, hm?” Ratigan’s attention turned back to the mouse. “OOOhhoho, don’t get me wrong, I would ADORE to see your head roll away from your little neck! But I would much prefer to watch you SUFFER for all the pain you’ve brought me!”

The rat lunged forward, grabbing the back of Basil’s chair with one hand and dragging it forward so their faces met, rage boiling in his skull. “Be thankful that you’re still standing after seeing the contents of this box.”

“I never struck you are the sentimental type, Ratigan,” Basil countered.

“Sentimental? No,” the criminal huffed and pushed the chair back, making Basil rock back and forth for a moment at the shove. “I had intended to keep them for the sole purpose of… Reflecting.”

Basil was not convinced, the only reason one was to keep items such as that was that they held some other value over them, whether Ratigan wished to believe that or not.
“If I were you, I would at least keep the photograph, its almost sweet,” he suggested, nodding to the box. “That is, if you hadn’t gone and become a criminal and betrayed his memory.”

Ratigan snarled in reply, placing the box down on the ground, rather roughly and pointing a finger at the Detective. “You may THINK you know him, know ME from a few measly papers, Basil, but I am here to inform you that you are incredibly incorrect!”

He dug into his pockets, drawing out a box of matches which made Basil inhale sharply. Oh dear.

“It is not I that betrayed him, HE betrayed ME! You could not possibly understand.”

“I might!” Basil spoke quickly, attempting to delay the inevitable, or perhaps have some hope of stopping whatever ‘suffering’ Ratigan currently had planned for him. “Or I might not? We won’t know unless you are to tell me. It shall not effect anything now, will it? I shall have no way to use this information against you anyway.”

Ratigan seemed far from impressed by Basil’s attempts to stall and he picked out a match from the box.

“Or!” He tried, gritting his teeth, suddenly coming up with a rather wonderfully risky idea. “A trade! One of your secrets, for one of mine.”

It was now that the Professor seemed interested, his ear twitching at the suggestion and he lowered the match from being lit, considering Basil’s proposal.

“And what information, may I ask, will you give that I do not already know?”

Basil smirks slightly. “And do you believe that you DO know me?”

“Hmph, I know that you previously lived alone on Baker Street with your annoying little Housekeeper for many years before you fat little friend turned up. Previous to this, your professional career as well as my introduction into your life I admit that I do have very little, you cover your tracks and origins well.”

The Detective’s smile widened and he tilted his head, everyone was already in the know of these points and Ratigan frowned at the response, continuing to speak with more confidence.

“However, I have gained intel based on my own observations of you and certain sources, for instance, I am aware that you are not an only child, possibly a middle child, or a younger sibling, you seem too rebellious to be the first, a lot of expectations set upon you by the first born, am I right? In saying that you seem to have come from a good background, rich perhaps? A wealthy upbringing does things to a person, though I have the innate feeling that you are not interested so much in wealth.” Ratigan looked over to Basil once more, who seemed a little ANNOYED with how right he had been so far.

“I suppose you have good observational skills,” Basil replied. “Though many people may already guess these things, it isn’t new.”

The rat’s nostrils flared angrily at the statement, insulting his intelligence, how RUDE!

“But, you seemed to have missed out the detail of my last name.”

Ratigan paused, ear flicking curiously.

Like a fly in a web, he was already interested.

“Do you not wonder why I have never released by last name to the public? Why I only go by ‘Basil of Baker Street?’ Even your sources can’t seem to dig that up, am I right?”

It was clear now that Ratigan was VERY interested and he rubbed his chin in great thought, face screwed up in concentration, pondering this information. It was interesting, interesting indeed. Of course he had noticed long ago that Basil didn’t seem to HAVE a last name and now he was further questioning as to WHY?

Was it scandalous? Was it merely a funny name? Embarrassing perhaps? It was so protected and hidden it must be something much more serious and CONNECTED somehow.

“If you were to reveal that to me….what little secret do I reveal of myself, hm?” He asked and rolled the match between his fingers, debating whether or not to just light it and let the room burn.

“You tell the truth,” Basil stated, as if it were that simple. “You explain to me your time with Moriarty and why you believe he betrayed you.”

There was another silence, of which Ratigan squinted suspiciously at Basil, considering his options. It would be so easy to just light a flame and watch the place burn with Basil inside and just walk away… But the rodent was too curious, always curious, especially if it involved Basil of Baker Street.

He was very much aware that Basil could lie, but he knew that for the mouse, his word was very much sound. Basil would not deny him this opportunity… The Detective must be fairly desperate to learn more about him to give away such a secret.

“Your name then, Basil.” He commanded, but Basil drew a look of annoyance in response.

“Not until you explain first… You have my word I will give to you, AFTER you’ve explained yourself.”

Frowning again, Ratigan gave another moment of hesitance.

“Moriarty… Was a proud man,” he started, avoiding eye contact with the mouse, who seemed to light up as soon as Ratigan spoke.

“As you know, he was a Professor, looked up to by his peers and students alike, a fairly rich man, very proper and he wished for me to be proper too… A true… Gentleman,” he said the word both fondly and as if it was poison on his tongue. “I very much wanted to be what he said I would be, he recognised my abilities and honed them and I studied, night and day to make that happen, it is all I wanted to be.”

Basil felt like he was holding his breath, stuck hard with knowledge he never thought he’d get. The implications of what Ratigan had just explained caused his mind to branch off into tangents, a rat adopted by a mouse of good standing? Not seen. A young rat trying to fit into mouse society and study like one of them? Unheard of. The detective stared up at Ratigan, patiently waiting for the rest.

“And I… Sacrificed so much for it, I missed out on a lot of my childhood, even more so when I was his ward,” Ratigan seemed lost in thought and memories as he spoke, continuing on as if he was only speaking an inner monologue. “No time for play, you see, always work, not that I minded, it was delicious, eating up all that knowledge, finding a snippet of information and wishing to learn more from it… I DEVOURED every book, every lecture, every lesson, at school I worked the hardest, surpassed the grades expected of me and every other boy there and yet…”

His hands balled into fists, crushing the matchstick in one of them.

“He lied to me, every tale and story he told, every PROMISE he made was incorrect, he betrayed me by feeding me LIES, giving me drive to something unattainable and left me alone to discover it years later! The idiotic fool KNEW, he DID, I heard him speak of it to others, I know and yet I continued to-“ He shook his head, gritting his teeth and baring them dangerously and flashed his gaze back to Basil. “THAT is how he betrayed me, THAT is what happened and I Shan’t say anymore!”
He had been stepping closer to the tied up mouse, looming over him, casting a dark and fearful shadow over the top of the Detective, who pressed himself further back into his bonds, tense as the rat leaned down and spat his demands.

“Your NAME, Basil.”

Basil’s lips pursed for a moment, arms trying to rip apart from the bonds, his eyes drew away from Ratigan’s, as if ashamed to speak his own name.

A large sigh and his head rose once more to meet Ratigan’s.

“Rathbone,” he spoke, heavy and hoarse, like the name brought bad luck to his lips. “Basil Rathbone.”

For a moment, Ratigan seemed lost and then it suddenly dawned on him and his eyes widened, his eyebrows rising. Noooo! Noooo! It couldn’t be?!

“RATHBONE?” Ratigan said again, repeating and giving Basil a look that prompted further proof, but the way Basil averted his eyes was evidence enough.

“HAHA!” Ratigan threw his head back, pressing a hand to his head in disbelief.

To those well versed in politics, one would know the name RATHBONE as a member of parliament, no, a well respected and strict man of parliament. Even without having met him, Ratigan knew that the man was very proper, traditional, well spoken and stood for all the rich, all the ways of the upper class and how he stood among them. Not only that, but he was a very powerful figure, clever and well spoken, even in every interview he had offered for the papers.

“No wonder you tossed the name aside, Basil, or was it simply your FAMILY that tossed you away…. A Detective is a far cry from a politicians son.”

Basil frowned, giving Ratigan an angry look, regretting his decision to share imminently. Ratigan could surely use this against him… Was it worth it for the scraps of information he had received from the Professor? Perhaps not, but those little nuggets stemmed into full mountains of gold for him, from just small words and the looks on Ratigan’s face he could pinpoint how his mind had started to twist, how those ‘promises’ had taken shape into this ugly, monster of a man.

He couldn’t wait to start his research and theories regarding it all. Basil made a mental note to be able to question Ratigan further at a later date… If at all possible.

“Heheheheee… I suppose you should have thought of a better question to ask me, Basil, was it as satisfactory as you hoped?”

“… Exceedingly so,” Basil responded quickly, which caused Ratigan to scowl as if in defeat, after all, he was fairly sure the name that Basil had given him was a lot JUICIER than what he had given him in return.

“Why? Do you have something even better to share?” The detective let his smile return, tilting his head with a wince, almost forgetting about his head wound. “If so, do tell.”

Ratigan scoffed. “Wouldn’t you simply LOVE to know!” He drew out a new match from the box and Basil tensed up once more. “I have plenty, though I do MUCH prefer the mystery of it all, don’t you?”

The match was lit and the single flame felt like it illuminated the room with a dangerous red.

“I have a feeling, that perhaps Scotland Yard may be catching up to you by now… Your chubby friend may be getting worried~” He spoke in a babyish voice and chuckled, tossing the match to one side where it swallowed up a puddle of alcohol by a set of barrels.

“See how you crawl out of THIS one… Rathbone,” he chuckled as he turned to leave down the passageway, hitting a switch on the other side. “Ta-Tah!”

The secret door slammed shut.

Chapter Text

The flames devoured the cellar quickly, the barrels of alcohol igniting its hunger, leaving Basil alone and struggling against his bonds, gasping for air as the room steadily started to fill with smoke.

Growling in frustration, Basil tugged as his bonds, rocking the chair, ANYTHING to help him break free, eyes glaring around the room for an escape. Then, he rocked the chair just a little too much and with a yelp he went toppling to the side, still attached to the furnishing. Wincing from his cheek hitting the ground, he opened his eyes, gaze alining with the discarded papers from the box on the floor.

Everything that Ratigan was, COULD HAVE BEEN was before him, all the knowledge and answers could still be at his fingertips. Basil NEEDED to rescue them. Eyes widened as the flames ebbed closer to the old papers and with gritted teeth, the Detective struggled further. Ratigan would not just LEAVE him here without a manner to escape, it didn’t sound as if the fiend was done with him yet.

Coughing violently as the smoke attacked his lungs, Basil tried to think. THINK. Think Basil! What could aid you?!

Gaze rested on the growing fire again and an idea struck him clean in the face, his demise may just be his saviour! It was going to hurt, wasn’t it? But there was no choice! Grunting, the mouse wiggled, shifting his body along with the chair closer to the flames, stretching out his bond hands from the back of the chair, gritting his teeth as the heat licked at his fur and flesh.

Holding back at squeak of pain, Basil allowed the flames to reach the rope, a little more… A little more…. And he YANKED his hands apart, tearing the binds that had held him and scrambling forward, coughing and spluttering as he reached out with shaking, burnt hands to save as much of the paperwork as possible, shoving it into the fire-scarred box.

Rising to his feet, Basil hugged the box close to his chest, lifting his loosened ascot to his mouth and nose, attempting to aid his breathing against the thick, harsh smoke. The stairs! He made a run for it, scrambling to avoid falling beams and broken shelving from the barrels, clambering up the stairs, met with the burning of Ratigan’s old home.

There was no time to check if there was anything else here, the mouse darted towards the door, he tried the handle - Locked! Coughing again, Basil cursed the confounded rat and his accomplices and started to slam himself into the door, trying to break it down, but the air was heavy and hot, he was not strong, he couldn’t break it down! Then suddenly-

The sound of splintering wood cracked beside his ear and Basil staggered back, having been inches away from an axe impaling the door.

“I’m in here!” He called out, finishing with heavy, sickly coughing.

There were voices and shouts on the other side and a flurry of more axes breaking their way into the house, Basil remained a little distance away, gasping for breath and finally spilling out onto the street and into the cold, fresh air of London as soon as the door broke free.

Overwhelmed by the air and knocked back by the adrenaline, the mouse staggered forward onto his knees, shaking as he clasped the box for dear life.

“ B-…..il!”

He blinked, stunned, staring up from the pavement, watery eyes trying to focus.

“Bas…! Sp…k….Me!”

Shaking his head, he blinked and squinted upwards, a pair of hands were resting firmly on his shoulders and the worried look of Dawson stared down upon him. The poor fellow looked horrified to say the least.

“Basil! Can you hear me?! Confound it! Speak, man!” The Doctor shouted desperately.

“Dawson…” He wheezed, offering a weak, yet grateful smile. “I’m quite alright, old chap.”

“Quite alright?! Dammit, Basil! You left me behind! You could have at LEAST have told me where you were going?! Do you know how hard it is to track you down! Oh for heaven’s sake, your HEAD! Your HANDS!”

Going straight into doctor mode, Dawson began to examine his friend’s head, mumbling in discontent over Basil’s actions, cursing his stubbornness and selfishness, battering on about how worried he was… Basil was almost touched.

“Can you not get through ANY part of London without chaos and destruction following in your wake, Detective?!” Basil looked up, Inspector Lawless’s mighty and disgusted gaze falling upon him.

Examining the area surrounding him, the Detective soon realised the fire brigade had been the ones to have rescued him, police and a whole manner of different observers had come to see what the fuss was about and of COURSE Lawless was upset over all of it.

“I have solved the case, Inspector, you’re welcome.”

Lawless’s face burned with anger. “You’re WELCOME?! Basil! You practically helped try and set ablaze one of the richest neighbourhoods in London! Did you even RECAPTURE, Ratigan?! Did he die in the flames?! FOR GOOD this time?!”

“Forgive me, I was far too busy being tied to a chair, nearly beaten to death and turned into a mouse rotisserie.” Basil said, wheezy, deadpan and oozing with sarcasm.

“Why I NEVER-“

“And he did NOT rise from the dead, Inspector, a clever concoction of pufferfish to allow the man to appear dead even to the most practiced of medical professionals, voodoo indeed!” He coughed as his voice began to falter, Lawless almost looking SMUG at seeing the annoying little Detective in pain.

“Do NOT speak, Basil!” Dawson insisted, stepping to one side and dragging the mouse to his feet. “You have inhaled far too much smoke, we must get you to a hospital.”

“I shan’t be going-!”

“Baker Street then!” The doctor huffed in annoyance and flicked his gaze back to the Inspector, smacking the smug look off his face. “I’ll have him make a report of his findings, Inspector, now if you don’t mind, my friend here needs to be seen to after nearly being killing doing YOUR job!”

Lawless’s whole face recoiled at being snapped at by the kind Doctor.

As the pair walked away, Basil’s hand reached under his sooty coat, clasping the box he had kept secret and safe away from prying eyes. He was going to discover the truth, discover more about Ratigan and no idiotic Inspector of the Yard such as Lawless was going to come between him and those secrets….

Lawless could only watch as Dawson led Basil away from the scene, a sour taste being left his his mouth as he did. Muttering curses under his breath, he could only look back at the destruction left in both Basil and Ratigan’s wake.

“Here we go again…” He sighed angrily.

—

Baker Street seemed to have a lot more… Life in it, strangely enough, after Basil had nearly lost his life after all. AGAIN.

As a Doctor, Dawson had sentenced Basil to bedrest, suffering from burns, shock and a concussion with a head wound that needed several stitches. Of course, none of this had stopped Basil, the Detective was back to his own lease of life…

But at what cost was this newfound energy? Ratigan had returned, did it really take that for his friend to become… HIM again? Dawson watched in worry as Basil toiled over the smuggled ‘evidence’ of Ratigan’s history. He had gotten very little from what he had seen, having been refused a proper look by Basil who insisted on keeping it a ‘one-man secret.’

It had taken every ounce of energy in the Doctor to try and convince Basil to mention it in his report to the yard, but to no avail. What was so important as for Basil to keep such valued information to himself? Dawson could not understand his mind, no matter how hard he tried.

“Basil?” he had said one night, having caught Basil in a moment of some ‘peace’, standing before the fire, the picture of Ratigan back on the mantle, pride of place whilst Basil played his violin. The slightly cheery yet melancholy tune echoing through the house.

“Basil, are you not worried?! Ratigan is back! He nearly killed you, AGAIN! The fiend needs to be stopped all over again! People are angry at you for letting him slip through your fingers and- “

“Your concern is appreciated, Dawson,” Basil lowered his bow, staring intently at the painting before him and Dawson worried over the ignited look in his eyes. “But there is no need to worry, for I have stopped him before, I shall do so again!”

The Detective turned, the fire illuminating his form, bow in one hand, violin in the other, bandages wrapped around fingers, palms and his wrists and perhaps one of the biggest, yet most unsettling of smiles on Basil’s face that the doctor had ever seen.

“I am closer to Ratigan than I ever have been before! A brand new game, Dawson, is afoot!”