AN: HELLO EVERYONE! I'm so, so, so, so very sorry that it took me so long to finish this chapter! I was going through a lot of stuff you really don't need to know about, but I think I've finally reached the balance necessary to continue. I'll be working on Chapter 12, the final chapter, in the meantime, while I skip around in my projects. I hope this makes up for the wait! Thank you everyone for reading and reviewing and supporting and everything! Your encouragement is what keeps me going!

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

Chapter 11 – A Beast Shall Fall...

Standing on a cliff-face, staring down at the torrent of water pouring over the edge, a pale man with a shock of dark hair takes a deep breath and moves his seafoam eyes back to the horizon. A beautiful woman, equally as tall and dark as he, slides her hands up and over the man's proud shoulders, bringing her mouth close to his ear. With her supple mouth twisting into a smug smile, she purrs to him, "We shall watch the world burn at our feet, you and I."

He answers, in a voice dark and toneless, "Not this time."

"Foolish boy," her voice is both fierce and possessive, "I own you."

His mouth twists in a mockery of a grin, "Such a philosophical notion, ownership."

Chuckling wickedly, she purrs again, "Oh yes, and philosophy is lost on a scientist like you. However, once you finally succumb to the pleasure my magic can bring, you will forget such notions of logic and reasoning in favor of the feelings I shall awaken in you."

"Your magic is nothing but an illusion." Reaching up, he takes hold of her both her thin wrists in one large hand. "I have studied it all my life, and I have finally figured out, in my scientific way, the two things which you cannot manipulate to your will."

Her nails bite into his flesh, even beneath his woolen coat, sinking into his shoulders until it is as if she has become a part of him. "And what is that, my fair one?"

"Iron," he smiles as he snaps the metal cuffs around her wrists, "and gravity."

Tightening his hold on her, he tips his body forwards until it begins to plummet down, down, down over the rushing water and jagged rocks of the falls. Closing his eyes against the wind, he turns his mind back to the last night he shared with his best friend.

One week ago

It had taken Sherlock nearly a month to work through all the evidence of the Moran trial, which culminated in a dishonorable discharge and a 30-year prison sentence. He hadn't needed that much time to memorize everything, but he couldn't help how long he spent repeatedly watching and studying every moment that Dr John H Watson appeared on his laptop screen. It was fascinating to him, especially whenever he managed to match up the doctor's human body language with the movements of his canine roommate.

Speaking of John, the small dog was currently limping about the flat, tidying up as he grumbled in discontentment. Sherlock popped up off the sofa and scooped him up, then deposited the wriggling, growling canine on the old leather armchair. Ignoring the blue-steel stare-of-doom focused on his back, the detective took it upon himself to clean up the mess of papers he had made on the floor. Behind him, John made a confused noise, but did not move from his seat.

Once the floor had been cleared to less of a trip hazard, the detective re-tied his dressing gown and flopped into his armchair and sent off a rapid text message. Regarding his companion with a smile, he said, "Well, John, I believe that I may have finally figured out where I can locate Ms Moriarty and take her down once and for all."

John's ears and head perked up, and he focused all his attention on the man seated across from him. Sherlock leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands beneath his chin. "I mapped out all of mine and your movements as best I could, and I have discovered that she has been more focused on myself than you. The pattern of her appearances coincides more with my own travels than yours. Perhaps you might indulge in listening to how I first met her, since you cannot tell me how you did."

With a nod of his golden head, John settled more firmly into his armchair and fixed Sherlock with his most attentive gaze. The detective moved his seat a bit closer, and then placed his hands palm-to-palm before his lips. "When I was a young boy, I was sent to a private school in Belgium. I became the favorite of my chemistry teacher, Professor Moriarty, who began to admire my impressive intellect as the years went by. She tried a number of times to persuade me into joining her 'private study group'." He smiled when John sat up even straighter, his little ears straining forward and his eyes burning with an intense focus. "Needless to say, I refused her advances. Rather rudely, as I recall."

Huffing sarcastically, John rolled his cobalt eyes, as if to say 'I'm not surprised'.

Sherlock flapped a hand at him and continued speaking, "She was fired from the school when I was 12, and I never expected to see her again." Popping up from his chair, Sherlock yanked a fat manilla folder off the top of a pile of papers, which fell to the ground like autumn leaves. "She fled to Aldershot, Hampshire, for a time, which is where I can infer she met with you, considering your accent in the videos."

Even though he didn't need to respond, John still widened his eyes in surprise and nodded.

Flashing his canine companion a swift smile, Sherlock continued, "From what I can gather from the evidence available to me, she lost track of you when you enlisted in the army. Once you were no longer in her scope of influence, she sought me out again. Her discovery that you were in Afghanistan seems to be no more than a fluke of fate. I don't have enough data to be sure if she began cultivating Moran before or after learning that you had been deployed." He flipped open the folder in his hands, "I believe she cursed you because, firstly, you refused her advances and managed to elude her. Secondly, you were the largest contributor to Moran's incarceration, which cost her a very strong arrow in her disreputable quiver. The final nail in your proverbial coffin was when you refused her again, which cost her another soldier until Moran's release."

John looked thoughtful, his storm-cloud gaze focusing on the sky outside the window behind his friend in contemplation.

"I believe that she is planning something on a global scale. Something heinous, something that will bring the world to its knees before her." Sherlock examined his hands in thought. "I am going to Germany to stop her. Alone."

With a startled, complaining growl John popped to his feet and launched himself across the gap between their chairs. He landed hard with his forepaws braced against Sherlock's broad shoulders, and snapped his jaws peevishly in the detective's face. Every line of John's bestial form proclaimed the sentiment, 'you're not going without me'. Shoving at the heavy, furry body that was now crushing his lungs, Sherlock sputtered and flailed ineffectually.

"It's the only way, John!" The detective insisted. Grabbing his little friend by the ears, Sherlock forced their eyes to meet. "You still haven't fully recovered from fighting Moran! Besides, from what I can gather, I am still her main focus! As long as I go willingly, she'll leave you alone!"

With a gruff whine, John rubbed his furry head against the detective's cheek, nuzzling against the detective's neck. Sherlock threw his arms around his small friend and hugged him fiercely. "I'll be fine, John. I promise. I've already texted Mycroft for assistance." John's hoarse whining tugged viciously at the detective's heart. "I leave tomorrow morning. I'm sorry."

John snorted and made a few snuffling noises before he finally seemed to settle down in defeat. The look in his eyes told the detective that John understood he was in no condition to go galavanting through Germany after an insane sorceress. Grumbling, John reluctantly flopped down onto the floor, then trudged his way up to his bedroom.

Sherlock sighed heavily, sending an additional message to his brother requesting someone come to the flat to watch over John. When the dog returned with a blanket thrown over his back and a book in his jaws, Sherlock smiled sadly. "You're right, John. Let's make the most of things. Just in case."

The Present

In the heart of London, as the world's only consulting detective disappears from view on a flickering television screen, a golden-haired dog raises its nose to the ceiling of a paper-strewn flat, and howls its anguish to the heavens, before collapsing in a heap. An older gentleman seated nearby rests his umbrella on the floor and lays a large hand to the quivering beast's head. He ignores the sting behind his eyes at the sight of the proud creature flopped like an unstrung marionette on the rug before him.