Still could use more opinions (see author's note at the end of the last chapter) so please leave yours in a review if you haven't already. I got two go-aheads but I want enjoyment for the maximum readership, so if too much would squick you I want to know. Enjoy the new chapter. ^^


Big Game

A Study In Pride part 3


Sebastian placed one paw in front of the other, creeping closer to the zebra herd. The growing wind brought their scent to him in intoxicating waves. The tall grass concealed him from them, but he knew there was a group of giraffes close by, and their long legs and necks lent a very advantageous view to their large, foolish-looking eyes. If the giraffes spotted him, the zebras would scatter.

It was a challenge, to be sure. Sebastian had never hunted near giraffes before he came so far south. But the challenge was the fun, after all. He spent nearly an hour moving forward a dozen feet, watching each zebra in turn, trying to determine which would be possible to catch but also a satisfying kill.

When one of the half-grown youngsters wandered a bit closer to him, he saw his opportunity and sprang forward. As he sailed toward his quarry, the young zebra halted in its tracks, crouched and leaped in the other direction. Sebastian hit the ground close behind it and took off again. The zebra's next stride took it sharply to the side, but Sebastian reached out one long foreleg and raked his claws over its hindquarters. The scent of blood honed his focus. In two more strides he crashed down on the zebra's neck, snapping it and driving the black and white creature into the ground.

Immediately, he tore out the zebra's throat and lapped up the blood as it ran out. So warm and thick and sharp. Thunder rumbled faintly overhead and Sebastian paused a moment to look at the sky. The storm was far off yet, but he would want to find cover soon. When the flow of blood slowed, he clamped his jaws around the zebra's torn neck and dragged it toward the hills.

He wasn't too surprised to see Jim coming toward him a few minutes later. He didn't pause.

"May I help you with that?" Jim asked pleasantly.

"You're offering to work?" Sebastian asked, slurring in mock incredulity around the zebra's neck.

Jim only smiled and caught hold of one of the zebra's forelegs. It was easier going after that; they got under an outcropping of rock well before the rain started.

"Hunting by day is an added challenge," Sebastian remarked. "But then, there's an added satisfaction in success." He sat back and eyed the leopard, knowing what was expected of him. "Have you eaten today?"

"Not today, no..." Jim answered carelessly. "I was of course offered a large helping of baboon, but... having had too much of that yesterday, it didn't appeal to me."

"Well, help yourself to zebra; there's plenty here."

"Don't mind if I do." Jim slashed the zebra's belly open and began tugging at the tender insides. "By the way," he said in the pauses when his mouth wasn't occupied, "I'm a bit disappointed you're not taking part in the game. I'd wager you could win single-paw."

"I don't need the prize," Sebastian said with a shrug.

"The feast won't just be meat, you know. It'll be local fruits as well as a few imported goods, and a nice shady spot to lie in afterwards without a care... that doesn't appeal to you?"

"It might be pleasant. But baboon hunting becomes dull quickly, I've found."

"I heard that last night our visiting jaguar took out a small troop all on her own. I can't imagine that was dull."

"You mean that spotted female cat who seemed so keen at the council?"

"That's the one. Striking, isn't she?"

"Indeed."

"I think I might make advances to her."

Interesting, the things Jim says so casually. "As a jaguar, she might be used to males rather larger than you."

"She is a lot to love, isn't she?" Jim smiled and licked a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. "Do you think I'd be wasting my time?"

Sebastian considered. "Well, she is a long way from home and on your territory. I don't think she is in a position to refuse you."

Jim smiled. "Come on, eat. When we're full we'll watch the storm together. We get some fantastic lightning in these parts."


Sherlock's coat was wet through when he got back to the cave, but he was in a good mood. "John? Mrs. Hudson?" he called. "I hope you saved me some dinner."

"Dinner?" John asked, confused.

"Don't tell me you lost the baboon."

"I thought you wanted that to study."

"Well... I'll keep the head for study, but saying that was mainly a ruse to get Lestrade to let us have a free meal."

"Oh."

"Come on everyone, tuck in."

Sherlock munched happily at first, but then he gave John a puzzled look. "Smells slightly of warthog."

"Oh, yes... well..." John explained his strange misadventure on the way home.

"My greatest enemy?" Sherlock asked. "Well, that could be anyone! Are you sure he wasn't any more specific?"

"He didn't give any name. Just said he wanted me to spy on you."

"Did he offer you payment?"

"Yes. But I told him I'd never do it."

"We could have got an easy meal or two out of him. Think it through next time."

"I was just a bit concerned for my life," John said defensively. "I wasn't at my best for scheming. I suppose you're right, though... I haven't been much help since I moved in."

Seeing John's forlorn look, Sherlock said, "Never mind; we'll take you to the Leonine hospital tomorrow and you can apply there."

"Leonine this, Leonine that," Mrs. Hudson sighed. "Soon no one will be able to have a respectable job if it's not connected with the lions."

"A temporary necessity. Once the drought sets in, no one else will be able to afford to pay John for his services. That's why Molly works there in the off-season."

"I know... but it seems like they're taking up the causes they fought against in the dust battle—all those snow leopards and Indian leopards and lynxes trying to rid the world of all predators that weren't feline... now it's as if the lions won't be satisfied until they're the only ones with any freedom."

"We won't get anywhere by running from them. Better to turn their own system against them. You'll see," Sherlock assured her. "It'll change again one day."

"No doubt you're right. But whether I'll live to see it is another matter. You young things can afford to wait."


When dinner was over, Sherlock dragged his blanket near to the mouth of the cave so he and John could comfortably watch the storm outside. Sherlock licked his paws which were still damp from being outside. John curled up against his belly, which had mostly remained dry.

"So, how far did the trail lead you?" John asked.

"A couple of miles. Once it started raining in earnest, the tracks and scent were washed away. But I was able to determine that there were six jackals. They paused to feed on the smaller baboon they took away with them. They left nothing but the bones. No tail. Then they dragged the other three on. They were heading south, as I thought they would."

"It's got to do with that leopard, hasn't it?"

"If it is a leopard. Yes, I think it has."

"Do you think... I might have met him today?"

"I doubt it. You might remember your way back to his den, and he'd never want me able to find him."

"You don't seem to think it's a leopard."

"I find it doubtful... but I rather hope that it is. A rogue lion or a tiger far from home seems much more likely able to control so many creatures. But if it is a leopard, that means that he has an exceptional intellect."

"And that's good?"

"Oh, yes. Wouldn't be any fun if he were just another mindless brute." Sherlock reached up with the paw he had gotten nearly dry and swiped at his cold ears.

"Would you like some help?" John offered. He knew what a nuisance it was trying to dry or scratch a spot that was awkward to reach, and he had tended many wounded creatures during the dust battle.

Sherlock paused. "All right," he said. "I'd appreciate it." He lowered his head so John could clear off the moisture with his rough tongue.

"So, er... Molly," John said, dragging his tongue across Sherlock's head and over one ear and then the other. "She a... girl friend?"

"Hardly. She makes a useful associate because she readies predator bodies for burial. Sometimes she is able to help me study carcase decay; other times she's lets me have a body that won't be missed for my own study. She's even gotten teeth and claws for me to use in off-the-books weapons making. She keeps her mouth shut."

"She's not a lion, though?"

"No; she's a caracal."

"And... have you got a girl friend, then?"

"No."

John put one paw on Sherlock's back to steady himself. "A boy friend? Which is fine, by the way," he said quickly, not sure whether he might have sounded nosy or accusatory.

"I know it's fine," Sherlock replied stiffly.

"So you do?"

"No."

"Oh. Good. Er... I mean, okay. It's all good."

Sherlock arched his spotted eyebrow up at his companion. "John... you should probably know that tracking elusive predators is my passion. I can't be bothered with social rituals and mating seasons and—"

"It-it's okay," John interrupted. "Whatever you choose. It's fine. It's all fine."

Sherlock thought he sounded like he was trying to convince himself. He also thought he could feel heat radiating off John as he continued grooming a little more awkwardly than before. He decided the best way to put his friend at ease was to act that way himself. He stretched his limbs out and let his head droop.

When he finished, Sherlock thanked John for the grooming.

"No trouble," John said, sounding more relaxed. He curled up against Sherlock again and stared out at the dark, cold rain.

Sherlock shifted position slightly so he could drape his head protectively over the ocelot. I hope John stays. I really hope I get to keep this one.


Sebastian was full and content. He folded his limbs under him beneath the rock wall and watched the rain pummel the ground. Jim came after him, licking his chops in satisfaction.

"Did I get it all?" Jim asked.

Sebastian was tempted to say yes and not let Jim know about the large red spot near his eye, but he decided now was not the time to play pranks on his new alpha. He shook his head. "Come nearer and I'll get it."

Jim lowered his face toward the tiger without hesitation. Sebastian licked at the sticky mess, resting his upper teeth against Jim's skin, licking the fur in the wrong direction and then smoothing it down again when he finished.

"Thanks," said Jim. "Do you want to save your leftovers for tomorrow? Because I can get it up a tree for you if you like."

"Generous offer, but I wouldn't want to put you out. Can't have you getting your paws dirty." He lay one paw over both Jim's forepaws, showcasing their difference in size.

Jim smiled the crooked little smile that had annoyed Sebastian when he first saw it, but which was now becoming something he looked forward to. "All right then." He turned to lie in front of Sebastian, leaning back into his soft coat. His pale gray-green eyes sparkled with each flash of lightning. When he finally settled his head on his paws to catch a little sleep, the tiger placed his head over the back of Jim's neck, guarding his most vulnerable area.

If I'm going to be a bodyguard now, Sebastian thought, I'm going to be a good one. The best. Everywhere he'd ever lived he had gained an impressive reputation. In the great dust battle he had been scorned for not choosing a side, but also greatly feared, if not respected. It was common knowledge that he'd killed his own father over territory in India and then his mother when she confronted him for the betrayal. To erase all possibility of recompense he had slain his younger brother and sister who were mere cubs at the time. When he heard of a small group of humans still surviving in the Mediterranean he had migrated there and tracked the very last of them down into their tunnels in the earth and emerged again, leaving none alive behind him. After that he had gone south, ever south.

As he traversed what had once been known as Africa he gained the reputation of a solitary traveler that no prey could escape and no predator could challenge. Various groups referred to him as "Lone Tiger," "Phantom Cat," and even "The Striped Lion" by some who had never heard of tigers. He had the feeling that "The Professor's Hitcat" might be his most fearsome title yet. Jim's presence would be felt most, his laws feared and obeyed. But in the quiet of the night, when there should be the noises of insects and night birds but there is only silence, it would be the striped face of the tiger that creatures saw in their haunting dreams, his breath that sent chills up their fragile spines.


Early that morning after the rain stopped, a secretary bird brought Sherlock a message.

"Wake up, John—it's Christmas!" Sherlock said gleefully.

"What? What's Christmas?" John blinked, only half awake.

"There's been another killing, this one a lion, seemingly completely unrelated to the baboon massacre. Isn't that lovely?"

"All right, all right," Mrs. Hudson's voice came from the back of the cave. "No need to wake the entire savannah."

John sat up and stretched very slowly. "Not... enough... sleep," he grumbled.

"Oh, pull yourself together! Come on."

Sherlock led the way out of the cave and across the grassland and followed a little trail John had never been on before. At last they came to an old human dwelling which had been taken over by the lions.

"This is the Leonine hospital, John," Sherlock told him.

"Oh. Cheers," John said sleepily. "Molly here?"

"I expect so. Ah, here she is."

"Sherlock!" the caracal exclaimed, bounding forward and rising slightly on her hind legs to nuzzle him.

"Er... hello, Molly. This is my new companion, John Watson."

Sensing a lack of reception to her affectionate greeting, Molly backed off and turned to John. "Oh, what lovely markings," she said.

"Thanks, you too," John said awkwardly.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. John clearly wasn't thinking. Caracals had very few of anything that could be called "markings." No doubt the young doctor liked the look of her—probably something about the ear tufts—and had temporarily taken leave of his senses. He could only hope that he would snap out of it soon.

"I hear there's been a lion killed," Sherlock prompted.

"Yes... yes, this way," Molly said. She led them to the back room where a young lioness was laid out on the dirt floor. "Snake bite," she reported. "Not a common death for a lion, but not unheard of. Funny thing is, there was another case just like this a few days ago."

"Another lion?"

"Yes, one of the cadet males."

"Snakes don't go on killing sprees, do they?" asked John. "They only attack such large animals when threatened?"

"Ordinarily that is the case," Sherlock agreed. "They're rather a lower life form... their speech and understanding is considerably below that of most mammals. Still... deadly enough. Where was she bitten?" he asked Molly.

"Foreleg. The last one was bitten in the face."

"No sneak-attack, then. Very interesting." Sherlock leaned in close to look at the bite wound, then sniffed the lioness all over. "Nothing seems to be out of the ordinary. John?"

John moved in to take a look. "Definitely a pre-mortem snake bite," he agreed. He nudged the bitten limb with his paw. "Judging by stiffness, I'd say she's been dead a good six hours."

"That would figure," said the voice of Lestrade from behind them in the doorway. "She went missing about seven hours ago. We found her up on stony ground in the foothills. No idea what she was doing there."

"Where was the last victim found?" asked Sherlock.

"Across the grasslands in a wooded area. He had no reason for being there that we could tell."

"Have you determined the type of snake?"

"I've identified the venom," Molly reported. "It's an Egyptian cobra."

"They don't usually come this far south, do they?"

"Not usually," agreed Lestrade. "And considering how far apart the victims were, it's doubtful it was done by the same snake."

Sherlock swished his tail in thought. "Unless... unless it was acting on someone else's orders. Someone with a vendetta against the lions."

"Preposterous. Snakes aren't intelligent enough to carry out detailed plots."

"Perhaps, perhaps not. Any creature can be manipulated if one knows how. I think we're dealing with a very clever and malicious killer. Is it only your pride that's had snake killings lately?"

"I don't know; I'll send messengers to the prides nearby to find out."

"Do that. Let me know the moment you hear anything."

"I think..." John started.

"What is it?"

"Well, as you need to communicate so often, but the lions don't like to spare their radios, why don't you set up a telegraph wire from the Yard to our cave? You could send messages in Morse. Just an idea. We, uh... we used Morse in the battle."

"That's a capital idea."

"And who do you propose puts it up?" Lestrade demanded. "I suppose you expect us to give our time and effort while you civilians sit back and get a free communications system..."

"In the end it would save you resources," Sherlock cut in. "You wouldn't have to tip so many egrets and secretary birds."

Lestrade sighed. "I'll put it to the chief if I have opportunity, but don't count on it."


"He's got some notion that it would be worth our while to put up a telegraph line between the Yard and his den. I told him—"

"Do it."

Lestrade looked up in surprise. "But... but Chief..."

"You and the cadets have shown me in the last few days that brute force is all you're good for. That cheetah has a brain and we need to take advantage of it. Anything that makes us better able to do so, give him."

"Very well... you know best." It was difficult to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. The alpha lion was actually Lestrade's half brother, just as he was to Sally, and to add insult to injury, Lestrade was a month older. He'd had it suggested to him that he take over the pride when his father was gone, but he had liked his place with the cadets—then. Now, kowtowing to his little brother, Lestrade wasn't so sure he liked it anymore.

"As for this snake danger, I want all cadets outfitted with radios when they're on patrol, and advise all lionesses to stay with their cubs close to headquarters when they're not out hunting. Keep a lot of birds around as lookouts and messengers. We need to catch this snake in the act or find his lair. He must be stopped."

"Yes, chief."

"Any word about the baboon slaughter?"

"Holmes determined it was done by jackals, but he thinks they're working in organization for some unknown purpose. Still looking into it."

"Very well. Report with any updates." The pride leader went back to his shaded area and lay down to sleep.

For a moment Lestrade envied him: able to delegate responsibilities, rarely needed to defend their territory or help in a hunt... still, he believed in doing his job and doing it well, whether it was considered well done or not.


So yeah... the weird plot is thickening goopily... or something. Again, if you're weirded out by the possibility of animal sensuality please say so now. Otherwise I'll assume the readership is okay with it and not censor it very closely.

Incidentally, do you like certain elements from Sherlock getting translated into big-cat-ese? I find it funny... that's the crack-ness of it, particularly Sebastian being the Tiger. :p