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Basil of Baker Street scrutinized the exterior of the property; it was unassuming at first glance, a large and emptied wine barrel along the Thames, near the pier and sewer pipes. In fact, it wasn’t too far from ‘The Rat Trap’, where Basil and his companion Dawson had visited in search of Ratigan many years back. Unlike the rambunctious tavern though, the establishment they surveyed in question was much quieter. At least, on the outside. Had Basil and Dawson not spoken with multiple sources across London, or dismissed the address given to them by their latest (royal?) client, the pair of small mice would have been right to assume that the wine barrel did not, in fact, happen to be one of the city’s most popular male brothels. “Remember, Dawson,” Basil muttered as he finished readying his disguise. “If I’m not returned to you within three hours, assume the worst and contact Scotland Yard.” “But Basil,” Dawson quietly protested, “our client demanded full discretion. The last thing that we need is Scotland Yard discovering the photos before we do.” “Which is why I said three hours instead of one, my good man.” Basil smirked. “That should give me enough time to search the premises, brick by brick. Now, I best be going. Wish me luck!” Basil slinked out of the alleyway and discreetly navigated through the small crowd of mice and rodents along the pier. Of course, he didn’t take the obvious route of walking up to the front entrance of the establishment. The front doors were too obvious; grand wooden steps in front of double doors and a plaque above them that read in fancy cursive script: Hyacinthus. The name of a male lover of Apollo, who died tragically in the middle of their sordid relationship. The perfect name for a brothel that catered exclusively to homosexuals. Technically, neither Basil nor Dawson knew the full identity of their latest client. Rather than coming to them directly to his home underneath 221B Baker Street, a prim and proper mouse who clearly worked for the Queen herself, arrived at their headquarters in a dilapidated carriage, wearing a heavy coat and warily making sure he had not been followed. The rodent didn’t give a name but proved himself to be a representative of The Crown by displaying a handwritten letter sealed with Her Majesty’s official wax seal. A close examination by Basil made it clear that the Queen did, in fact, write the contents of the letter and placed the nameless representative in her stead. By the time he had finished memorizing the letter, the liaison had quickly burnt it to cinders in the mouse detective’s fireplace, very much to Dawson’s reluctance, at least until everything was explained to him all at once by Basil and the liaison. The Queen of Mousedom required their services. Apparently, her eldest grandson had been caught up in a scandal that would threaten to greatly embarrass the royal family, and it involved the Hyacinthus brothel along the waterfront. The owners of the illegal establishment had come to possess ‘indecent and dangerous’ photographs of the playboy prince, and they threatened to release them to both the British and American mouse presses. Any time that none of their demands were met. Such demands included police overlooking the existence of Hyacinthus, of course, but further ridiculous demands included large sums of gold from the royal treasury on a monthly basis, as well as expensive items, such as jewelry. The Queen requested Basil to not only find the photographs but securely deliver them to Buckingham Palace through the liaison. The letter was careful not to explicitly state how or why the brothel owners came into possession of those photos, but Basil didn’t need to ponder why. Rumors often carried a hint of truth. Anyway, Basil of Baker Street traveled in his disguise to the brothel’s discreet entrance and knocked on the enforced door three times. A panel opened it to reveal accusatory eyes that bore into him with deep skepticism. “Password?” Basil cleared his throat. “Apollo,” he replied in a fake Welsh accent. The panel went closed and the door sprung open. A large and muscular rat that reminded Basil of his deceased arch-nemesis held it open and surveyed him. It wasn’t long before he stepped away from the door and came to a makeshift lobby. Basil wasn’t surprised to already catch signs of sodomy before he even encountered one of the owners; a Burleigh mouse in workers clothing leaned against the wall with his pants around his ankles, both paws grasping the large ears of a kneeling young man as he choked on his dick. Nearby, another mouse in his early twenties was passively standing still as a male customer groped different parts of his body underneath unbuttoned clothes. The sound of orgasmic groans echoed from down an adjacent corridor. The scent of masculine sweat and spent seed filled Basil’s nose as he pretended to answer the questions of the receptionist asking what kind of boy he wanted. By the time that he was led to a room and left alone, Basil didn’t wait for his acquired prostitute. He waited for the corridor to be cleared and then ventured to the room where he believed the owner’s main office was, then picked the lock and slowly opened the door. He expected to find it empty, given the lack of noise inside. Instead, the infamous mouse detective discovered someone stuffing an envelope (he caught the words ‘Prince Edward Dirt’ written onto it in bold ink) inside the bra of their red dress. It was a woman, who stood up and stared directly at Basil with frightened eyes as wide as beautiful blue saucers. Neither said a word until they both heard the sound of footsteps traveling down the hallway. Basil quickly closed the door shut. He swore silently. “We’re trapped now,” he muttered. A strong paw grasped his wrist, and he turned towards the mouse in the red dress. “This way!” she(?) hissed. Basil was dragged over towards a section of wall in the claustrophobic office. Before he could ask anything or question about how or why the mouse thief was able to enter the office without being detected, he watched the thief in question pull off a large painting from the wall. Behind it was revealed to be a tunnel carved out of the wood the barrel was made from. As the loud footsteps grew ever closer, and the sound of jingling keys could be heard, Basil joined the mysterious thief inside the tunnel and hung the painting back up behind him. Relief filled the mouse detective as light could be seen at the end of the short tunnel. “Who are you?” Basil whispered in a low voice. “What were you doing back there?” the mouse asked in a high-pitched voice. “Getting those photographs you were stealing,” Basil murmured back. “And you didn’t answer my question.” “Forgive me,” the thief scoffed, “but I think I will be more comfortable with introductions once we are outside.” Basil nodded and reluctantly continued following the mouse, soon crawling out of the tunnel and onto a cobblestone street that appeared to be opposite the one he had entered from. No one had spotted the pair of mice, but the sounds of laughter and drunken fighting could be heard outside the mouth of the narrow corridor though. As the detective and his mysterious rescuer wiped dirt and a couple splinters from their clothing, the pair locked eyes on each other. “Thank you,” Basil spoke first. “For saving me from a rather awkward situation back there.” The mouse in the beautiful red dress nodded. “You’re welcome.” Despite the makeup and the dress, Basil could easily tell from such a short amount of time that the mouse in question was not a female. The flowing brown hair between his ears was clearly a wig. The crossdressing rodent did not spray enough perfume to cover his masculine sweat. He also couldn’t hide the Adam’s apple that bumped up and down nervously as he caught his breath. To top it all off, the mouse had been walking in a way that made it clear he possessed different genitalia. “What is your name?” Basil asked again. “And can I please have those photographs you took?” The mouse hesitated. “Irene,” he claimed after a moment. “Irene Adler. And no, you cannot.” “That is not your name,” Basil chuckled. “Everyone hides behind fake names to hide our true selves,” Irene giggled, “but some of us do it to reveal our true selves. Isn’t that correct Mr. Basil of Baker Street?” Basil’s posture went stiff. Surprise flickered across his expression before he settled into an amused smile, his tail wagging slightly at the realization of this fellow mouse likely matching his own remarkable intelligence. “I’ve read about your adventures in the newspaper,” Irene explained when Basil didn’t respond. “If you wanted a better disguise, I would’ve added splotches of white paint to your fur and maybe gotten a less trimmed fake mustache.” Basil let out an amused snort. “And here, I believed I was a master of disguise,” he chuckled, pulling off both the ridiculous mustache and tossing it to the cobblestones. “Well, what is it that you want with the photographs, Irene?” “I merely dress like one, thank you for asking, my dear Basil,” he teased. A momentary look of nostalgia and longing crossed the mysterious, androgynous mouse’s face. “And as for the photographs? Sentimental value and mainly to screw over my previous employers, if I may be perfectly honest. But I am also hoping to keep this as insurance for my life one day.” “The royal family desperately wants those photographs,” Basil argued. “And if you have read about my exploits in the papers, then you’ll know how stubborn I can be.” “I know,” he acknowledged. “So am I.” “What is to stop me from taking you in right now?” Basil countered. Irene smirked. “I might be wearing a dress, but you would be surprised how fast I can run. I also doubt that Her Majesty will want me to brag about Eddy to the press and Yard.” “On a first-name basis with the Prince of Wales, are we?” Basil chuckled. “Among a few other frequent patrons,” Irene shrugged. “Yet more reason I need those photographs for my protection.” A moment passed between them. “What are we to do about it then?” Basil asked aloud. “Quid pro quo?” Irene perked an ear up. “Quid pro quo?” “What can I provide you that is just as valuable as those photographs? Within reason, of course,” Basil said. “If you are on a first-name basis with not only the Prince of Wales and other Hyacinthus patrons, you must already have enough blackmail material to protect yourself. What do you want then in exchange for giving me the photos?” Irene pretended to consider his words. What did the cross-dressing mouse desire? Finally, he looked directly into Basil’s deep, dark eyes and answered, “You.” Basil did his best not to blink hard at the crossdresser’s reply. “How about I have you for the photographs then?” Irene added. “I’ve always desired you from afar, if I may be so bold. I often dream about a dashing man like you sweeping me off my feet, and I can tell just by looking at you that you and I share one thing in common. We are both confirmed bachelors in the world that doesn’t understand us.” Basil wanted to deny it at first. Something about Irene’s eyes though, and the offer he’d presented to the mouse detective, kept him silent though. He just listened to Irene listing off a time later that night and an address for a nearby hotel, then watched as the cross-dressing mouse disappeared down an alleyway. By the time that rationality returned to the mouse, Basil started to kick himself for letting the photographs get away before pondering over the offer. It was the only option. Of course, Basil did not tell Dawson. He simply withheld the offer and question and didn’t mention the gender of the mouse in the dress that had taken the photographs, then told his trustworthy companion that he needed to go alone for this one. *** The hotel in question was actually a beautiful facade literally carved into an elegant building, completely different and exterior from the Hyacinthus brothel and the Rat Trap bar. Basil could easily recognize a few dignitaries and elite members of London’s mouse society checking in and out of the lobby. Under yet another disguise that neither led to people recognizing him nor took too long to apply, the mouse detective traveled through the lobby and up a flight of stairs to the hotel’s top floor. There, he walked to a specific door and knocked three times. He waited and waited and waited. The door was unlocked and revealed in ornate apartment suite illuminated with soft candlelight. Basil entered and closed the door behind him without letting his guard down. It wouldn’t have been the first time he walked willingly into an obvious trap. The mouse detective stepped inside the living room, covered head to toe in expensive furniture and decorations. Yet the most beautiful thing in question had to be the naked mouse, sprawled on top of a lounge chair with a bottle of wine sitting on a table beside it. The mouse gazed at him with a happy glint within those beautiful blue irises. He immediately stood up and approached Basil, an erection proud and pointed upward toward the ceiling. Without the dress, the wig, and the makeup from earlier that day, Irene was a beautiful male rodent with different splotches of brown, white, and tan fur all over his body. He possessed a flat stomach and feminine legs as well as slender arms. Specks of black dotted his snout, like droplets of ink. Dashes of brown and sandy hues covered different parts of his torso and rear end. Meanwhile, a string-like tail swayed seductively behind him, then wrapped around Basil’s waistline as he stood mere inches from the spellbound detective. “You wanted Basil,” he said. A lustful smile overtook his stoic gaze. “Well, here I am…” “Here you are,” Irene giggled. “And still wearing such a ridiculous disguise.” Basil pulled off his wig and mustache without looking away. “It’s like you said,” he said. “We sometimes require a disguise to hide our true selves.” “Well then,” Irene hummed. “Would you mind showing me, my dearest Basil?” A wayward paw rested itself along Basil’s inner thigh. A jolt of betraying pleasure caused his erection to brush against the delicate fingers through his trousers. He smiled brighter. “Of course, Mr. Adler,” he replied. He leaned forward. “If you do the same…” Irene moaned, “Oh, but I already am…” The kiss was electric against Basil’s lips, just as much as any woman. However, none of his few alliances with women compared to the many he’d had with men ranging from experimentations in his youth to the occasional rendezvous with other like-minded homosexual mice. Fully confident that this was no longer a trap, Basil let his defenses down and indulged in the lad standing before him. His paws grasped Irene’s athletic hips, and he deepened the kiss, brushing their noses and pressing their erections tightly together. Irene helped with removing his clothes, first with his shirt and then his constricting trousers and undergarments. The detective remembered letting out a series of deep moans and gasps whenever Irene paused undressing him to grope the base of his tail. The lad had somehow deuced his sensitive spots already. At last, the pair of lithe mice stood naked together, without a barrier of fabric divided between them, and the two proceeded to let their lecherous fingers roam. Irene’s fingers caressed down the hero detective’s flanks while he pulled away from their kiss to nuzzle and kiss the lad’s exposed neck. The faint traces of sweet perfume had faded away, masculine vigor and scent replacing the aroma, and driving Basil wild. He grasped Irene’s ass and thrusted his shaft against his. Irene did the same whilst moaning softly. One paw massaged the base of his tail while the other stroked up and down his thigh. Basil was in Heaven. Was that sweat trickling down his back? He didn’t think his heart could race so quickly upon seeing a handsome man standing before him. Despite all of it though, it didn’t prevent the mouse detective from acknowledging how intelligent Mr. Irene Adler actually was. By having the entire apartment suite in candlelight, it obscured his vision and slowed his deduction. The same could be said by visiting him in the nude without a stitch of clothing on. If Basil was going to find the pornographic photographs, he needed to…needed to…to… His tail wrapped around him like temptation. His fingers were as soft as his velvet fur. His length pressed against his stomach and throbbed invitingly. He tasted like a drug as powerful as opium, kissing and moaning his name. “Basil! Oh, Basil! Yes, please! Basil, take me!” Giving in to lust, acknowledging that he didn’t need to immediately grab the photographs, Basil carried Mr. Adler to the lounge chair. *** Basil awoke the very next morning with a hangover from hell. God, that wine they drank between rounds had been powerful. The apartment had been vacant for hours, stripped bare, and without any evidence of where Irene had disappeared to, the only evidence of his presence being the bed they had slept on as well as an envelope resting on the floor. Stretching his sore arms, wiry tail, and walking naked over to the envelope in question, Basil picked it up and opened it, sighing with relief and later confusion. Within it contained all of the indecent and dangerous photographs of the Queen’s grandson, as well as one additional photograph that didn’t belong in the collection. The photograph depicted himself and Irene, cuddling atop of the bed. They were both completely naked and obviously erect, with himself appearing incredibly serene and relaxed as he held his fellow mouse in his arms. Meanwhile, Irene smiled in the direction of the flash, giving basil almost the sense of feeling like he was staring directly at the mouse detective. Cursive writing was found on the back. [i]A gift to my dearest Basil. This is one of two photographs. One for you and one for me. Consider this a token of my appreciation for the previous night. Should I ever return to London in the near future, I hope we can rendezvous for another magical evening together, and you can tell me more about your adventures. I’ll be sure to tell you about some of mine. Sincerely, Irene.[/i] Basil couldn’t help but laugh. “Clever man…” Once again, he had been bested by someone of equal intelligence. On top of having something over his head, Irene had also taken his clothes. Oh well. At the very least, Her Majesty would be very pleased to learn the photographs were safe and sound. “Now then,” Basil pondered aloud, “how do I return to Baker Street without my clothing?”