You're probably going to think I'm crazy for this but I was reading a MorMor fic and this wild idea suddenly came to me. Complete acid trip. So... here goes nothing.
Big Game
A Study In Pride part 1
Sherlock stalked forward carefully, a few steps at a time. This was to be a matter of sheer skill. He knew his quarry knew he was nearby—several large pairs of eyes were glancing furtively his way. Looking and pretending not to look. He took a few more steps, being careful to keep his head down...
Suddenly the tall one leaped away from him and Sherlock realized that in keeping his head low he had neglected to pay attention to his rear anatomy.
Damn tail! Sherlock sprang forward after the gazelle, but he targeted a smaller specimen that looked easier to catch. No sense wasting all his energy at once. It would be more tender anyway.
In six strides he'd caught up to his quarry and tripped it up with one long dewclaw. The creature tried to rise, but he was on it again in an instant, and then the work was done.
He wanted to begin his meal right away, but he knew he had an audience, so he waited for the little ocelot to join him.
"So, what do you think, John?" asked Sherlock.
"That was amazing," the ocelot replied, choking on the dust the gazelles had raised. "It was slick, it was quick, it was impressive... it was, quite simply... incredible."
A smirk covered Sherlock's spotted face. "That's not what most people say."
"Why, what do most people say?"
"'Show-off.'"
John laughed. "Do you mind if I...?"
"Not at all. Help yourself."
They ate in silence for a while, knowing that if they were not quick, someone would come and steal their meal.
When they were nearly full, John said, "So, I heard a rumor that the lions had their hands full with a certain leopard. They say he's got half the predators for miles paying him tribute."
"Absolutely true. Well, true that someone is taking a very demanding role of leadership in the realm of predators. He resides somewhere south of here, but where exactly I don't know. I intend to track him down, though."
"A cheetah tracking a leopard?" John said skeptically. "There's no denying you could outrun him, but if you ever got close he'd break your spine."
"Well, keep this close to the fur, but I've been weapons training."
"Weapons are for hyenas," John said scornfully. "No one respectable's used weapons since the humans died out. Well, ever, really... because the humans weren't respectable."
"Only those who are afraid of weapons condemn them," Sherlock rejoined. "Anyway, you can't blame the hyenas too much... their hunting abilities are severely lacking. Besides, you were in the great dust battle yourself..."
"As a healer! There's a difference."
"You mean to say you never fought?"
"Well..."
"And didn't they train you?"
"Well..."
"And don't you keep a crossbow in the little crevice by the stream?"
"How did you know that?"
Sherlock grinned and bent back to the gazelle carcase. Oh, I'm going to enjoy this little companion.
Jim stretched his long limbs, sunning himself on his favorite ledge. What a boring day.
His ennui was soon alleviated however, when a hawk swooped down to settle on a sparse bush nearby, which could scarcely bear its weight.
"Your kingly catness," the hawk addressed him.
"How many times must I tell you—it's Professor," Jim snapped.
"Very well, Professor. There's a new predator in your dominion. A tiger from up north."
"Everyone's from up north," Jim said, stifling a yawn. "We're about as far south as anyone interesting cares to go."
"From India up north."
"Very well. What about him?"
"He's not very accepting of our ways—of your laws. Shall I bring him to see you?"
"I suppose so." Jim sat up and stretched his front legs, extending the claws and twisting his neck from side to side. "Send Clem or someone along with him, just for insurance." Tigers are the largest cats, after all. Can't be too careful.
In a few minutes the tiger was ambling toward him, flanked by Clem the hyena and overshadowed by Jason, Jim's secretary bird.
"Good afternoon, Professor," said Jason. "This is Moran. He's new in these parts."
"So I've heard." Jim looked the tiger over. His fur was matted and dirty, but there was no overlooking his regal features and daunting size. A long knife hung in a sheath around his neck. "Moran isn't an Indian name," he observed.
"No. Western influence. But then, Moriarty isn't African, either."
"True." One side of Jim's mouth had begun to pull upward in a small smile.
"But now that the continents are back together and everyone's mixing, I say who gives an elephant's shit about all that?"
Jim's smile grew. He liked the tiger's attitude. "I hear you don't like the way I run things around here."
"Bad news travels fast—and loses shape as it goes. It's true that I'm not used to sharing my kill with anyone; not since my family died."
"Aw," said Clem. "His family died."
"Shut up, Clem," Jim warned. Hyenas could be so stupid.
"How'd they die?" Clem asked, apparently oblivious to the warning.
"I killed them," the tiger answered.
Jim couldn't keep the surprise off his face. A tiger was not easy to kill, even for another tiger. And to kill one's own blood was not natural. "Moran, how would you like to stay here with me? You wouldn't have to hunt at all; I would give you a cut of the tribute I receive from other predators. In return, you would be my personal guard. You're the only tiger in these parts—a valuable commodity."
"I'm not a commodity. And I'm no one's pet. I enjoy killing for myself. The hunt is my entertainment; the kill is my passion."
"In that case, if you agree to ally yourself to me, I'll grant you first choice of whatever hunting ground you choose. You won't receive a better offer than that." While the tiger considered, Jim added, "And of course, if you refuse I'll have to have you run off my territory. It's a long run. I have a large territory."
"It's a good offer," Jason put in.
"A very good offer," Clem agreed.
"Shut up," Jim growled.
"May I have some time to consider?" the tiger inquired.
"Very well. I'm feeling generous. I'll give you until this time tomorrow. In the meantime, Jason, have something fresh brought up for us. Our guest is tired. Clem, you stay. But keep your sill mouth shut."
"Okay," Clem said with a nervous laugh.
Why must they laugh when they're nervous? Jim silently lamented. Hyena laughter put him on edge. But then, most things the hyenas did put him on edge. If the tiger stayed, it would be a welcome change. "Is Moran a surname?" he asked the tiger.
"Yes. My first name is Sebastian."
"Sebastian." Jim said the name slowly, enunciating it as if it were something tasty to chew on. "It suits you. Mine is Jim. Well, James, but no one calls me that. Ever. You may call me sir."
Sebastian blinked slowly and did not answer.
"That's quite a knife you have."
"It makes for better skinning if time isn't short. It can open green coconuts as well."
"Coconuts? I've heard of them, but I've never tasted them. Ever use the knife for fighting other predators?"
"Yes; it's useful there as well. Can give an advantage. But I rarely meet a predator that would dare challenge me. Your arrangement here is... very different from what I'm used to."
"Have you used any other weapons?"
"I can use any weapon you can supply. Although... guns are tricky."
"Yes," Jim agreed. Cats were further along than most animals, but even their paws still had trouble grasping and maneuvering certain things. The apes had the advantage in the hand department, but most of them had dreadful eyesight, so their aim was rarely dangerous. Besides the lack of dexterity, bullets were incredibly awkward to carry and to load into the firearms.
"Still, I can manage better than most."
"You must have excellent paw skills for a cat of your size to handle something so intricate."
"I'm well known for it in my homeland."
Jason returned then, he and the hawk carrying a wildebeest leg between them.
"Fresh off the plains, compliments of the immigrant dingos," the hawk reported.
"Thanks, Desmond. About time those dogs started pulling their weight. I was afraid I'd have to have their leader brought in again, and I can't stand that Australian accent. So irritating." Jim dipped his head toward the fresh meat. "There you are, Sebastian. Have as much as you like."
The tiger had surprisingly good table manners, grasping and tearing the flesh away rather than diving in and gnawing away like so many of the lions did, getting their faces all gory in the process. Jim liked watching the way those powerful jaws tugged the meat from the bones, and the giant tongue flicking out from time to time to wipe blood from his black lips.
"It's sunset," Jason observed. "Will you require a leopardess tonight, Professor?"
"No," Jim replied, not even giving it any thought. Why would I want female company tonight, when I've got this tiger here, you idiot bird? Not about to mate in front of him, am I? And I'm not letting him out of my sight. "No, you and Desmond may go. And Clem, you can go to the lower ledge, but be ready if I call you."
"Yes, sir," the minions chorused.
When they were gone, Jim smiled at Sebastian apologetically. "Good help is so hard to find."
"Indeed. That's why I prefer to be on my own. I thought leopards were the same way."
"Most are. But most are not as intelligent as I. I've risen above my instincts to exploit the creatures around me. Life is both pleasant and easy for me, while it is a struggle for everyone else."
"You sound like a human."
Jim laughed. "Well, after all... now that they're gone, it's time for a new creature to dominate. And I'll be damned before I let it be the lions."
"The lions are starting to become quite pushy," Sebastian agreed. "They've spread all over, some even up near the arctic. Some of the males have started adding tigresses to their collections."
"It's the obscene way they breed. A dozen females for each leading male, the surplus males trained as a regiment, scores of cubs all the time... there's no way the tiger or leopard population could work that way. Bloody Mormons."
It was Sebastian's turn to laugh. He knew that few animals held religious beliefs, but that the structure of a lion pride was laughably comparable to a Mormon family. "Did you want any of this?" he asked.
"No thank you; I ate earlier. Twice, in fact. You go ahead."
Sebastian finished all but the least scraps, and Jim enjoyed nudging the bones down onto the lower ledge where they landed behind Clem, who yelped in a laugh of fright before turning around, grinning at his treat and calling "Thanks, boss!"
Jim sighed. "Simpleminded oaf." He turned back to Sebastian. Only a few faint traces of blood showed that he had just eaten. "You've got a little blood..." Jim said, lifting a paw to his own face to show where.
Sebastian flicked out his long, broad tongue on the wrong side, thinking Jim was acting as a reflection to him.
"No, other side. Here..." Jim leaned in and licked up the blood in two firm swipes. When he came away he saw that Sebastian had frozen perfectly still, only his eyes giving a tiny squint against the setting sun. It was a beautiful face, burnt orange edged with white and accented by black. My god, he could kill me right now if he chose. He did just eat, but I bet he could still shove me off the cliff without much trouble, or even break my neck. But he's just staring. What is he thinking?
"Thank you," Sebastian said. His piercing eyes regarded Jim a moment more. Then he said, "You're not what I expected."
"I'll take that as a compliment." Jim dared to move now, backing away a couple of steps before turning to go lie in his favorite spot. The rock was starting to wear to his shape. "It gets cool up here at night. You may lie against me if you like." It was a privilege he did not offer to many. But he couldn't pass up the opportunity for the perfect sleep, completely relaxed in the presence of the one creature no one would dare to challenge. If the tiger turned on him in the night, at least he could die peacefully.
Sebastian didn't move for some time, and Jim supposed that the tiger was probably not tired, most large cats preferring to sleep by day and hunt by night. Jim found himself awake much more of the time than most, however, since he did not have to expend any energy in hunting. He had decided it was better to sleep at night with someone guarding him and be awake during daylight when he could see better. Some other nocturnal animals were adjusting this way too, now that there were no humans to worry about.
When Jim was very sleepy he could just barely hear the tiger's paws padding over to him, the great body settling behind him. Then he felt the sheathed knife rest against his side as Sebastian settled his large head on Jim's back. Jim smiled and nestled his head in his paws. Tonight he would be warm and safe.
Sherlock dropped a gazelle foreleg at Mrs. Hudson's feet. "Sorry it's not much," he apologized. "John and I had to leave quickly; there was a pack of hyenas nearby."
"Oh, that's all right; it's a start," the elderly cheetah answered. "I had to get somebody in or else those wretched wild dogs were going to move in. They're not as bad as the jackals, but they don't share, and they have such ridiculously large litters of pups, you know. I can't abide that. This cave has been in my family for generations, and they'll not run me out now!"
"No indeed," Sherlock concurred. "John, this is Mrs. Hudson, as I'm sure you gathered."
"Hello," the ocelot said, politely dipping his head. "It's awfully nice of you to let us in your cave."
"Not at all, not at all. Just see that you keep to the one side over there—I'm not your mother, after all."
"Of course."
"Oh, have you got a limp, poor dear?"
"It's nothing," John said. And really, it was nothing. Just a habit. He'd been hurt in the great dust battle and begun limping then... he just sort of forgot to stop when it got better. It made hunting nearly impossible.
"John is a healer," Sherlock told her. "Experience in the battle."
"Really? Well, now. I don't know if I like the way the lions run things, but there is certainly more order now than there was back then, before all that... dear me, I was still young before the battle, and it's a good thing, too. The chaos, you wouldn't believe. I daresay you were still a kit when the fighting started."
"Not much more than one," John affirmed.
"Well, you two settle in; I'll be having my dinner now." She picked up Sherlock's offering and walked off into her side of the cave.
"You'll like it here," Sherlock told John. "I've even got a blanket from an old human dwelling. Pity new-made blankets are so expensive. If apes were smarter, they could work faster."
"That's slave labor," John said disapprovingly.
"Nonsense; they get paid. They do it willingly."
"They get underpaid."
"If they're too dense to know the difference, why should you or I complain? They're happy enough." Sherlock trotted over to his human-made blanket and flopped over on it, exhausted from his efforts in the hunt.
John hung back at first, not really sure if he was meant to share the blanket or not. But the way Sherlock had told him about it made it seem as if that was what he'd intended. So he crept over the uneven cave floor, careful to avoid a little pool made from dripping condensation, and curled up on the blanket's edge. "Pleasant sleep," he offered timidly.
"Pleasant sleep," Sherlock slurred in reply, half asleep already.
I know, I know... it's too bizarre, right? Should I just leave it as it is and get back to other, more... more legit fic? I just kept seeing Sebastian Moran getting called "Tiger" and it suddenly occurred to me that if he were a tiger, and Jim were a leopard, that would make Sherlock a cheetah, and wouldn't John be a really cute ocelot... Scotland Yard could be a pride of lions? Maybe I'm just nuts. What do you think?