Fight for Survival

A Great Mouse Detective Story

by Paula Mendez

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Eve Titus and the Walt Disney Corporation. This has only been written for entertainment, not for profit.

A/N: I wrote this for another contest on deviantART, but I chose to post it here as well. This is another rendition of what I think happened after the Big Ben scene.

"I've won!" Ratigan shouted, cackling in sync with the booming thunder.

"On the contrary!" a voice shouted from below. The villainous fiend glance down, shocked to see the detective dangling for his very life on the broken dirigible. "The game's not over yet!" In his hand was Ratigan's death bell. The rat wondered how Basil had obtained his precious weapon; but as he was distracted, the loud tolls of Big Ben rang loud and clear, knocking the vial creature off the hour hand.

With just a bit of fight left in him, Ratigan managed to grab hold of Basil's torn Inverness, hoping to take him down with him. The detective watched in horror as the piece of the dirigible snapped, allowing them both to plunder to their deaths. Basil always knew sooner or later his time would come. He understood no one could live forever. However, he never knew that falling from a great height would be his way to go. So many thoughts zoomed through his mind that he failed to see that one thing that could save his life. Finally wondering what he had grabbed onto.

At first he couldn't seem to move for the fear of it being too late overcame him. But that soon vanished when he remember just who was waiting and hoping for him to appear just above. Finding the what strength he had left, Basil managed to plant himself on the broken piece, peddling his way up to the makeshift balloon that his friends were still one, grieving over him.

Breaking through the clouds, he glanced down for a brief second before looking up, smiling as his friends cheered for his survival. This gave him more power to peddle the rest of the way. With the help of Dawson and Mr. Flaversham, Basil stumbled onto the platform, gripping onto both mice with his very life.

"Thank you, Dawson," Basil managed to say before sighed deeply.

"Basil?" Dawson said when he felt the detective go limp. "Damn. Lay him down." Doing so, the doctor dropped to the ground, placing his ear close to the mouse's mouth while he held his wrist. "He's still breathing, but his pulse is low. We need to get him back to Baker Street fast." Springing to his feet, the doctor rushed to undo one of the many balloons that kept them in the air.

While her focus was on Dawson at first, Olivia looked away from him and glanced downward at her hero. Never in her eight years of her life had she seen so much blood. Where Basil lay, a small pool of the red sticky liquid began to form around him.

"Will Mr. Basil be all right, Daddy?" she asked, the look of worry and fright on her face.

"He will be just fine, my bairn," Mr. Flaversham assured her, attempting a cheerful smile, if not for him, but for her at least. Glancing down at the unconscious detective, he suddenly feared that he had just given his own daughter false hope—probably for all of them. They all watched as Basil fought to get away from Ratigan's evil rage. But no matter how hard he tried, he was blocked of his own escape. They heard his cries of pain and agony with each strike that maniacal creature made, his long sharp claws ripping through his enemy's flesh. Hiram had no idea how deep the wounds were, but seeing the blood on his and the doctor's clothes and hands when they helped Basil aboard, as well as where he was placed told him just how injured he was.


221½ felt like a ghost town while the Flavershams and Mrs. Judson waited patiently in the sitting room to await any news from Dawson. It had been almost two hours since the four returned to Baker Street and they feared the worst would be bestowed upon the great detective. All three pairs of weary eyes suddenly focused on the staircase when they heard the door from upstairs close. In a matter of seconds, Dr. Dawson appeared carrying a grieve expression.

"He's still unconscious, but at least I was able to stop the bleeding," the doctor announced tiredly.

"Will he make it?" asked Mrs. Judson worriedly, her eyes glistening with fresh tears.

"More likely, but due to the extent of his injures, he will be on bed rest for about a week or so."

"If he will remain in bed for that long," the landlady commented. "He's never one to remain still for too long, doctor. I've seen him in some horrible conditions and every time, he has forced himself to work even when was not supposed to. There have been times that he has been on the very brink of death, much worse than this, and he has only given himself a day or two's rest before throwing himself into another case."

"Well since I have nowhere to be at the moment, if it is all right by you-"

"Oh, of course you may stay for as long as you wish," Mrs. Judson had told him with a deep sign of relief. She even offered for Hiram and his daughter to stay as well since they themselves had no home to turn to.

"I thank you, but just long enough to make sure Basil follows my instructions. I have seen more stubborn mice than he while in Afghanistan. I am sure I can handle whatever complaints Basil throws my way…"


And complaints he did have. After being far too weak for the next couple of days, Basil's strength had slowly begun to improve since then. Along with that, so did his crude temper. One morning, an elderly gentleman had called upon Basil for assistance, a situation he found quite intriguing. Instead of being able to accept it, the poor mouse was forced to be turned away for Basil was nowhere close to being able to work without causing more harm to himself. He thought it was irritating enough when his landlady fought with him to remain in bed whenever he suffered from terribly wounds; but now that Dawson was around, it now seemed like complete hell for the detective as he checked up on him every hour or so.

"Do you ever become tired of this?" Basil asked rudely while Dawson was changing his old, bloody bandages from the wound across his back.

"Tired of what?" the doctor replied with a question of his own. Taking some rubbing alcohol, he poured a bit onto a white cloth before dabbing it onto the wounds. Though, he had a bit of a high tolerance for pain, the detective hissed harshly.

"Of caring for others," he soon answered while he was told to raise his arms so Dawson could wrap a new bandage around his torso. "Why must you waste so much time caring for those who more than likely do not want it?"

"Like you at the moment?" Basil remained silent, refusing to make a rebuttal. "I did not become a doctor for the money. I chose this profession because I felt it was my calling. Much like how you chose to become a private detective-"

"The private detective," Basil corrected. "I am the only one in the world. In all of mousedom, that is."

"Oh? Why did you choose to such a profession? Surely, Scotland Yard is more than capable."

"Not necessarily, Dawson. When the police are out of their depth—which is always—they consult me."

"But you are just an amateur."

"Am I? I have been not only assisting Scotland Yard, but have also been taking my own cases for the past ten years. I would not think that 'amateur' is the proper word to be using."

"Where on earth did you gain the experience and the knowledge to be able to do this sort of thing independently?"

"From the very human I live under. Much like Mr. Holmes himself, I too am a graduate Chemist, but that did not seem like enough to challenge me. Seeing what he did, I became highly interested and began to carefully observe him while he and Dr. Watson where investigating a case. I learned how to be able to carefully look at something (or someone) and learn from my deductions. What ordinary humans or mice do not seem to understand is that even the slightest details are by far the most important. Since I first came to live on Baker Street in 1887, I have learned so much from him. It is this profession that has kept me sane…for the most part."

For a moment, Dawson questioned what the detective had meant by that, but seeing that it was probably no business to him, he let it slide. "Well, for the moment you need to rest."

The detective groaned as if he were a small child and carefully leaned back against the headboard. "You are not going to make this easy, are you?"

"If it is to keep you from doing more harm to yourself, then indeed I will not. If I have to, I will even strap you down."

"In other words, I am a prisoner…"

"If that is the way you want to see it as, then so be it." Huffing once more, the detective chose to simply give up on the matter entirely since he new Dawson would not back off. "I shall come back to check up on you in another hour or so."

"Seeing that I am to be stuck here, I shall be as you left me."

"Do something productive to occupy your mind," Dawson told him as he grabbed him medical bag and walked towards the door.

"What is there that will occupy my mind in my hour of boredom?"

"Read a book," the doctor suggested right as he stepped out.

"You read a book," Basil mumbled when the door closed, leaving him alone once more. Of course he did not know that Dawson had heard him and was chuckling softly as he made his way downstairs where the others were.


After another few days had came and went Basil's stubbornness began to lessen, not to say that he still became slightly agitated when a potential client would be turned away by either Mrs. Judson or Dawson. At this point, the detective was finally able to walk around, but still he was given some restrictions, taking cases and sneaking off to Scotland Yard being one of them. He would spend most of his day sitting in the sitting room and in his favorite chair looking at the flames. Worrying about this, Olivia would bravely walk up to him. At first, she would not say a word while she glanced at the detective and then look into the dancing flames herself. Probably curious is she could see what he was seeing.

"Is there something you want, child?" Basil finally asked, breaking her from her trance.

"A-are you all right, Mr. Basil?" she asked almost quietly, hesitating.

"I'm quite all right, dear; nothing for you to worry over, simply reminiscing."

"About Ratigan," Olivia said with great curiosity.

"Indeed so. It is still hard to imagine that he has finally been defeated."

"Were you afraid?"

"I was, but seeing that I had to get you to safety was what was the most important at the time."

"It was? But surely your safety was equally important as well."

"No, I would rather die knowing that I have done what I could, then allowing any harm to be brought upon you, Miss Flabbercham."

"Mr. Basil, will you ever get my surname right?" Olivia asked, chuckling. "It's Flaversham."

"Whatever," he replied before looking at her with a smile, winking to let her know that he was simply teasing. "I do want to thank you though."

"For what?"

"For never giving up on me, even when I myself did. Never in my years have I ever met such a brave little girl as you."

"Daddy always says that I am different from all the other children; he says that I get it from my mother. She was never afraid to stand up for what she believed it, even if it meant to go against the rules of society."

"That is a wonderful trait to have, and never lose it."

"I promise I won't." For a moment, Olivia remained silent as she looked up at the mantel where the picture of her hero's arch nemesis still sat. Looking back at him she asked, "Mr. Basil, what will you do now that Ratigan is gone for good?"

"There are plenty of other cases worth my time. I'm sure of it."

"But none that would live up to the rush as Ratigan?"

"I would not say that, my dear. Sure Ratigan was one of the trickiest fiends I had ever come up again, but surely there are others out there. Of course, I have to heal before I am allowed to go back to my usual routine."

"Perhaps one day I will be able to help you," she said with bright eyes. For a moment, Basil felt a slight pang of fear in that, but soon relaxed when realizing just how much this child looked up to him.

Chuckling lighting he agreed, "Perhaps one day you just might. It will be a serious challenge though."

"That is not a problem. I will have learned from the best."

"Maybe one day you will become quicker minded than I."

"Is that a challenge, Mr. Basil?"

"Indeed it is, my dear. Indeed it is."