Lots of people have viewed this story, but only a couple have reviewed. I would like to hear from all of you! It keeps me eager to write more. And even if you read this when the story's been done a long time, I will still enjoy hearing your thoughts.

As you can see, now that I'm sure the story has a faithful following and I'm going to go on with it, I've gone back and added an individual story title for the parts I've done so far. If there's still interest when I get to the end of Pride, I'll most likely do another one. ^^

Big Game

A Study In Pride part 6

"John, wake up."

"I'm awake. Message from Lestrade?" John asked, keeping a paw over his eyes.

"Yes. We need to go right away. Wake Mrs. Hudson."

"What? Why? Let her sleep."

"We may be gone a long time and I don't want to leave her alone at night. She'll have to come with us."

"Oh..." John groaned and pulled himself to his feet with a long stretch. He reluctantly went to Mrs. Hudson's side of the cave and relayed Sherlock's message.

"Oh my, dear me," she said, anxiety and sleepiness both coming through in her voice. "Very well, just give me a moment."

"Where are we headed this time?" John asked Sherlock.

"To the Yard. They've just detected the missing radio. It can't be far from the Yard. The whole pride is awake; no one missing so far."

"Okay... good... um, you take Mrs. Hudson on ahead and I'll be right behind you."

"Are you sure? There are hyenas about. It's not safe at night to travel on your own."

"I'll be fine. I can climb better than any hyena. I'll get somewhere safe if I so much as smell one."

"All right." Sherlock sat by the cave mouth and waited for Mrs. Hudson. "By the way, have you been telling people about my work?"

"A bit." John ducked his head in embarrassment. "There were some interested parties... I just told them a little of what we'd been doing. I didn't give them any particulars of the case."

"I should hope not. And I hope you're sticking to the relevant facts and not romanticizing it; it's a serious scientific work, you know."

"Well yes, of course."

"All right, I'm ready," Mrs. Hudson announced, appearing with a threadbare shawl over her shoulders.

"Don't wait too long, John. We'll see you there."

"All right." John took a drink from the cave pool to stall until the others were out of sight and hearing. Then he crept from the cave and headed for the stream.

Mrs. Hudson made herself as comfortable as she could under a tree and among the half-grown lion cubs who already outweighed her.

"Lookie how skinny she is," one of them said.

"Is it a gazelle?"

"I'm a cheetah," she declared, a little shocked at their ignorance and lack of manners.

"Is cheetahs good for eating?" asked one of the youngest.

"Certainly not!"

Sherlock half-smiled and then turned his attention back to Lestrade. "You say the radio was within range; how close is that?"

"Within a mile, certainly. Probably closer."

"We should go find it," said one of the newer cadets.

"No," Sherlock said quickly. "Finding the radio doesn't necessarily mean finding the killer. He might leave the radio somewhere to lure you out and then creep into the Yard while it's unprotected. Remember, we still don't know how he communicated with his victims."

"We're keeping radio silence," said Lestrade. "I don't want anyone to miss something due to chatter. Anything routine goes by bird."

Sherlock nodded. He watched the pride's equipment, waiting for the signal to register again. Finally, it did.

"There it is," the pride leader said. "Southeast corner."

"He's just moved it there, so he can't be far from it," said Sherlock. "Send a group down to investigate. And be sure they stay together unless they hear directly from a superior."

Lestrade ordered out four cadets, relaying Sherlock's instructions to them. Then they waited. After a few minutes, the transmitter's red dot showing the radio's location went out.

"Either the battery died or he's taken it with him again," Sherlock muttered. He looked around at the pride—mothers with young cubs, older cubs playing, oblivious to what was going on, cadets pacing back and forth, Sally watching him with a disapproving stare, Lestrade looking anxious. Who are you? he wondered. How do you move so freely, and what do you have against the pride?

A sleepy egret flew down to Lestrade. "Captain," it said, "the cadets haven't found anything in the southeast corner."

"The signal's gone," Lestrade told it. "Have the detachment pull back."

"Yes, sir." It flew away again.

The little cubs were restless, wondering why their mothers were so quiet and serious. Jen's orphans, who might not even know of their mother's death yet, huddled around Mrs. Hudson. Everyone seemed so uneasy. Sherlock wished they'd all be silent and just keep calm so he could think. He stared out at the empty night, willing something to appear.

As his nerves began to fray at the ends, Mrs. Hudson approached him. "Sherlock... er, your secretary bird is here."

"I haven't got a secretary bird," he snapped.

"But... but it said..."

"For heaven's sake, be quiet!" Sherlock growled. "Everyone, just shut up! Let me think."

Mrs. Hudson scurried away with a little mew.

Suddenly, Sherlock froze. He turned and looked back at Mrs. Hudson, and then at the bird standing near her. He seemed unable to draw a full breath. God... I'm so stupid. He took a step... then another toward the bird. John said so... well, he said a hawk. But these birds. They fly in and out of the yard all the time, taking messages. No one would think anything of it. And one secretary bird looks much like another. They'd never notice a new one joining the ranks and pretending to be a long-time employee, especially if it took the place of one that was killed. He stepped up to the bird.

"I've been waiting with your message, Mr. Holmes," the bird said. "Won't you follow me, please?" It hopped away from the group of lions.

Sherlock followed without a word.

"Hey, where are you going?" Lestrade asked.

"Got to check something; I'll be back presently." Sherlock kept his eyes on the bird. When they were well away from the pride, it took flight and he began loping after it.

"Where are we going?" he asked, though he doubted he would get a straight answer.

"To someone who's been wanting to meet you."

"Is it the Egyptian viper? Or the viper's master?"

This time there was no answer at all. He followed on until he was so winded he was about to ask the bird to let him rest. Then he saw the great shape in the near pitch darkness and skidded to a halt.

The facts slid into place like tumblers in a lock. That large profile, a magnifying mane and two eyes catching the scarce light to gleam back at him.

"Hope," Sherlock said. "Sally's father. Former king of the Yard." They'd never found a scent trail... the bird flew into the heart of the pride, and if they ran across Hope's path further out, they wouldn't think much of it because his was the scent of a familiar lion.

"That's right," the old lion said. "And by now you understand how I got the others away from the pride, one by one."

"You sent in your secretary bird with some 'official message' telling them to go to some remote spot. And there you set a snake on them."

"Not quite. It's more clever than that. I fancy myself a bit of a genius."

Sherlock snorted involuntarily.

"Kept you guessing a while, didn't I?" Hope pointed out. "I wanted to take down that pride, to show the new leader that he couldn't keep what he'd taken from me. But I thought, if someone were as clever as me, I'd let them live. They could stay with me and start a new pride."

"But none of them wanted to?"

"None of them guessed right. No one passed the test." Hope leaned down to pick up a leather strap from which hung two baskets. He set them in front of Sherlock. "In one basket is an Egyptian cobra. It'll kill you inside ten minutes. In the other basket is a couple of mice. Nice little snack. You choose one basket. Choose the snake, you die. Choose the mice, you live."

"It's chance," Sherlock said scornfully.

"Not chance, Mr. Holmes. It's chess. And now I'll make my move." Hope reached out a paw and nudged one basket toward Sherlock. "Did I give you the snake basket, or the mouse basket? Is it a bluff? Or a double bluff? Or a triple..."

"This is ridiculous. I can outrun you. I'll just go back to the Yard now, and—"

Hope took up an object Sherlock hadn't seen lying beside the lion on the ground. "This is a Lionpaw thirty-pound crossbow. Fancy outrunning that?"

Sherlock looked him up and down. "An aged lion shooting a sprinting cheetah in the dark? I don't give much for your chances. And I can tell from the way you hold it that you haven't been trained to use that thing."

Hope grumbled out a sigh. "No one's picked up on that before."

"So, it's been entertaining, but I need to be running along." Sherlock crouched, ready to dash away.

"Wait—don't you want to work out the puzzle?"

"What puzzle? I know how you called the other lions out, I know your motive. Although..." he came out of his crouch. "Why target the young cadets, the hunting females... why not kill the leader and go reclaim your pride?"

"Ah, now that is a good question. It just so happens that another genius got interested in me before you. Got myself a sponsor."

"A sponsor?"

"As you pointed out, I'm not so young as I used to be. I can scarcely hunt and soon I won't be able to compete with my own pride-mates at meals. This sponsor promised for every lion I kill, he'll give me a month's protection in his territory, complete with food delivered to me. I'm building myself a retirement plan."

"But... what's in it for him? Does he have a grudge like yours?"

"It's bigger than that. Much bigger. He's taken a special interest in you. But let me tell you the rest of the rules of this game. I said you choose a basket. But whichever one you don't pick, I open. We open them at the same time, and face what's inside together. I won't cheat, even though I know which is which."

"How do I know there isn't a snake in each, and they're trained not to bite you?" And as soon as he said it, Sherlock realized the answer. "That's why it had to be a secretary bird. They're renowned for snake-killing. If the snake were on your side, you'd have no trouble getting it back in its basket after each encounter. But you used the bird to control it."

"Well done. So now you know. And I'll change the game slightly, just for you: I'll let you open your basket first, and if it's the mice, I'll tell you who my sponsor is before I open mine and die. Have we got a deal?"

The radio's in the snake basket. Jen knew she was likely to die, so as the lid came up, she reached down into the basket and put the radio in—that's why she was bitten so high on her foreleg. If only some static would come over now, I'd know where it was coming from and he wouldn't. I'd know which basket was the right one. But he knew he couldn't just stall all night until he heard a sound from one basket. Hope wouldn't have patience for that. Sherlock tried to remember if one basket had seemed to swing more than the other when Hope moved them, if it tilted too far to one side... the heavier one was surely the snake basket. But he couldn't be sure.

It is chance. Pure chance. But part of him didn't believe it. There had to be a way that he could know his adversary well enough, that he could judge whether Hope was more likely to offer him the snake basket or the mouse basket. Some little detail... there must be something.

Once he had his crossbow, John hurried toward the Yard. I hope nothing important happens before I get there. He wasn't sure what the lions would think of his carrying the weapon, but he didn't like the idea of being in the middle of a very large lion pride with no protection. Besides, there was a killer out and about, and Sherlock might be fast but he wasn't terribly strong. Best to be safe.

In fact, when he got close, John decided it wasn't bright at all to just walk into the pride. He chose instead to climb a tree and settle himself on a branch where he could observe the lions and cheetahs in the lights of their machinery.

He couldn't hear much of what was said, but when Sherlock followed a secretary bird out of the dim circle of light, he knew something serious was afoot. He crept down from the tree and followed as quickly as he dared... and then as quickly as he could when Sherlock began to run.

I'll be left behind, he thought desperately. This damned leg... But then John gave himself a little growl and forced himself to dig into the ground. I'm not going to let this limp stop me tonight, he decided. He pushed himself harder and harder, but at last he was exhausted.

"Sherlock..." he panted as he slowed to a walk. If anything happens to him, I'll never forgive myself. He plodded on, desperately sucking in each breath. He could smell his companion faintly. If Sherlock had been going full speed, it would have been a great distance between his strides and his trail would have been terrible to try to follow at night, but fortunately the cheetah had been going at a measured lope.

John was beginning to think the sun would rise before he found his friend, but then he heard voices a little way off. Immediately, he looked around for a tree and scurried up it. He pulled the crossbow off his back and held it at the ready, just in case. Several yards away, he could just make out the forms of two large cats, one long and slender, the other thick and foreboding.

Between his panting breaths, he could hear just enough of the conversation to make out that there was a snake in one of the two baskets in front of Sherlock. At one point, Sherlock seemed ready to leave, and John relaxed a little. But then the lion recaptured his attention.

What's he saying? Sherlock looks ready to open one of the baskets. But what if there's a cobra inside? He'll be killed!

"Sherlock," he called desperately, but he was still so ragged after his run and climb that hardly anything came out. The wind didn't help matters either, a slight breeze blowing back in his direction, away from Sherlock. "Sherlock, don't!"

And hardly knowing what he was doing, John lifted his little crossbow. It was small indeed—Caracalpaw, eighteen pound. But the arrow tip was razor-sharp, and John knew just where to send it.

Sherlock couldn't understand what had happened for a moment. Then, as Hope's great form crashed to the ground and he leaped for cover, he began to understand. Someone had shot the old lion with an arrow. He looked around, trying to see where it had come from, but the darkness still hid all but large, vague shapes.

He turned back toward Hope and saw both baskets had broken open. The viper was already devouring one of the mice, and it was impossible to tell which one had been in front of him anymore. Giving the snake a wide berth even as the secretary bird swooped in to stomp at it, Sherlock went to Hope's side.

"Was I right? Did I choose the right basket?"

Hope made no answer. He was having obvious difficulty breathing as blood oozed from the wound. Sherlock knew the arrow must have pierced a lung at least, maybe both.

"Fine. Never mind that—who's your sponsor? Tell me!"

Hope looked at Sherlock maliciously and shook his head.

Sherlock batted the little bit of arrow shaft protruding from Hope's side. "His name! Give me a name!"

"Moriarty!" Hope screamed. Then he seemed to melt into the ground, and he didn't move again.

Sherlock repeated the name softly to himself. A most unusual name... it's surely an alias. Still, it's a place to start.

The secretary bird had killed the snake. It gave Sherlock a cocky smile. "So long, tracker. I'll probably see more of you soon, unless I miss my guess." With that, he took off, flying south.

Sherlock nudged the baskets aside and found Jen's lost radio. "This is Sherlock Holmes calling Captain Lestrade. Lestrade, do you copy?"

"Hearing you loud and clear, Holmes. Where are you?"

Sherlock gave Lestrade his location and within an hour, a dozen lions had come out to the scene and a couple of them escorted him back to the Yard.

"Lestrade," Sherlock demanded when he saw the lion, "why is it your cadets keep trying to put this sheet of buffalo hide over me? Are they planning to roll me up in it and have me for dinner?"

"It's for shock, of course. You could very well have died, and then you saw that great old lion killed right in front of you, and the snake got loose... some animals shut down over stuff like that."

Sherlock grasped the edge of the hide with his teeth and pulled it off himself for the third time, but someone just came by and put it back on him a minute later.

"So, we solve one mystery just to get another dumped on us," Lestrade concluded. "We've no idea who shot Hope or why."

"Oh, you know more than you think," Sherlock contradicted. "From the angle, speed and distance, I'd say you're dealing with a smallish animal who can fly or climb trees and is expertly trained in weaponry. I'm guessing small cat predator type with a... Serval- or Caracalpaw..." Sherlock looked across the Yard in the early morning light and saw John standing sheepishly near Mrs. Hudson. "Uh, on second thought, forget what I just said. That's all wrong."

"What?" Lestrade asked, confused.

"It must be the shock talking. I'm in shock. Look at me, I've got a buffalo hide." Sherlock trotted off to his friends. "Come on, you two. We should get back to the cave."

John fell into step with him, and Mrs. Hudson came along behind them.

"I'll send over something to eat," Lestrade called after them. "For your help."

Sherlock nodded to him.

"They um... they were just telling me what happened," John said quietly. "It's really... hair-raising stuff."

Sherlock noted the dark riverbank silt staining John's paws. "Yes, someone just shot the old lion out of nowhere. It was quite surprising. But whoever it was, they might have saved my life. It was quite an impressive shot, too."

John glanced furtively at him.

Trying to see if I know. Sherlock returned his look with a solid stare.

Then suddenly John halted in his tracks. "Wait a minute. I can smell him... the strange cat I met that day with the baboons and the warthogs... your 'arch enemy.'"

Sherlock scanned the surrounding yellow-tan grasses until he saw a familiar spotted face and then made out the top of the crouching body. "I know that cat," he said with distaste. "I can deal with him." He jogged toward the other cat. "What are you doing here, Mycroft?"

"I heard my brother was in danger and I came to check on him," the other replied, standing to his full height, which was at least an inch taller than Sherlock at the shoulder.

"He... he's your brother?" John asked in disbelief. "So, when you said you were worried about him..."

"I was worried about him," Mycroft affirmed. "What did you think?"

"But you were so scary... er, so threatening."

"Mycroft doesn't know how to be remotely sociable," Sherlock said.

Mycroft blinked in disdain. "Isn't that the gorilla calling the buffalo black? And by the way, nice blanket. Well, since I see that you're all right, I shan't waste either of our time." He turned and ambled away.

"It's a shame you two can't get along," Mrs. Hudson said.

"No sense in moping over it now," Sherlock replied. "Come along. Today we'll have a nice long sleep and then dinner will be sent to us care of Lestrade. Things are good."

John smiled. He couldn't wait to tell his little listening group about Sherlock's exciting showdown with Hope. I think I'll call this adventure "A Study In Pride," he decided.

"Oh, John," Mrs. Hudson said warmly, "you're not limping anymore."

"That's right... I think I'm all done with that limp."

So ends the first story. I'm thinking you'll want more... there's plenty more I can do with this idea. But please drop a note to let me know and tell me what you liked about the chapter.