AN: About that Sherlock finale...if they ever frighten me like that again, I will kill them. Or at least maim them a little. My health is delicate-I can't take any more scares like that! :p And I'll be handling comments, due to outside circumstances. (Read: Jonathan can be an idiot.) -Kitty

Voodoo-Mutant-Child-Jonathan's spending some time in solitary-long story. I won't mention the glomp. This one time. Because I will have a headache and won't want to hear him complain.

Jasmine Scarthing-Oh, god, please tell me you didn't piss him off...you didn't...hug him, did you? Or yell at him? Or do anything but cower in fear and cry a little?

Just-Me-and-My-Brain-Oh, joy, another one. He'll be so pleased. You're not stalking us, are you? Because there's a ninja-rodent that does the EXACT same thing.

SwordStitcher-I don't think I'll mention this one, either. Even though we all know it's the truth. As for Scarecrow...never mind. As long as he doesn't say anything, I'll let it slide. Excellent blackmail material.

As tempting as it was, Jonathan left Zsasz alone. He had the nasty feeling that Falcone was getting suspicious of him, and he didn't want to have to get rid of him. Well, he did, but he had to wait for Dawes to be gone first. Speaking of Dawes…

The woman was not dead. Either Falcone was lazy or she was a tenacious bitch. Probably both.

Should've done it ourselves.

I'm beginning to believe you.

He rested his head on his desk and wished everything would sort itself out. He had a shipment to pick up tomorrow night. They'd promised him rabbits. Rabbits. Humph. Better than Barbie dolls, but still.

The intercom buzzed.

"Doctor Crane, Mr. Schiff is ready for you."

Ah, Schiff, the paranoid schizophrenic. Useless as a test subject and showing no signs of recovery whatsoever.

"Send him in."

He had a minute to straighten up and fix his glasses before Schiff was escorted in.

"Good afternoon, Thomas."

No answer. This was going to be a long afternoon.

It was late. He should have gone home, but the work…he had to take notes. And then the phone rang.

"Doctor Crane."

"Speaking."

"How is the toxin coming along?"

"Swimmingly." He hated his benefactor sometimes, the way he spoke down to him. And that ridiculous name…oh, yes, the man on the other line was not Henri Ducard. His name was Ra's al Ghul, no matter how much he insisted otherwise. Jonathan's brief meeting with him and the alleged Ra's al Ghul had proven it. 'Head of the demon'…indeed.

"Good."

"Did you need something, sir?"

"How soon will it be ready?"

"We started putting it in the water supply last night."

"Good."

There was a click and Jonathan frowned. Mannerless cretin.

We should gas him.

No. We'll regret it.

Aw, come on!

No.

He turned back to his notes, intending to pick up where he left off, and sighed. He'd lost his concentration now. It was time to go home.