As requested by the readers, here is an update. I must apologize, there isn't a whole lot of action in this story. The next two will have more, I promise.

AN: The plot for the next few chapters is taken from "The Final Problem", although the dates have been fudged. I am aware of the time discrepency, and I just ask for no flames or flying fruit. I don't own Holmes or Moriarty or Watson. I'm just borrowing them and I promise to return them in the same condition they were in before. I don't own Professor Higgins either. Daria, the Tau'ka, and the Hawks are mine.

Read on, my freaky darlings.

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Chapter Eleven: The Gryphon in Winter

The winter of 1898 passed, in most respects, like any other winter for the greater number of London's residents. They went about their daily lives- they went to work, to church, children played in the snow, politicians argued with one another. The sole Tau'ka among their number went about her work, becoming more frustrated by the day.

It wasn't merely the icy weather that put her in such a mood- although she was not overly fond of the cold. Nights and early mornings found Daria Noclaf huddled under an immense pile of blankets with only the tip of her narrow-bladed nose showing under the covers, while the jokingly-called 'daylight hours' prompted her to wear as many layers as possible to keep away the chill. More and more often she daydreamed about Verris- a hot, dry world with none of London's creeping dampness.

Her superiors had received the report of Terref's betrayal and subsequent death with an ill humor. Master Agent Felis, head of the Tau'ka Intelligence forces, spent hours cross-examining her agent on Earth in an effort to determine what might have caused Terref to join forces with the Hawks. Daria eventually managed to convince her commander that she had had no idea why events had turned out as they had.

Even after the Council was satisfied (somewhat), Daria still had to deal with the supposed disappearance of Terrence Nelson. With the help of Holmes and Watson, she eventually concocted a story that society at large seemed to accept. Terrence Nelson, it was said, had suddenly decided to take a tour of the Continent. She had even managed to forge several documents to that effect that were accepted as genuine by some rather nosy London police.

In addition to dealing with her superiors, the weather- which had turned from merely icy to snowy about six weeks after the mishap at the Museum- and the police, Daria was still hunting the Hawks. She spent a great deal of her nighttime hours- when she wasn't cursing the cold from under a mountain of blankets- in one disguise or another, seeking information in London's many pubs and taverns. Any information she gathered was compiled with what Holmes himself was learning, despite Watson's continued protests. Together, they were beginning to form a picture of Moriarty's crime web, and the secondary web that was growing alongside it. This smaller web was attributed to the Hawks, although Moriarty's hand was, as the detective put it 'leaving its fingerprints all over it'.

More than a few evenings had passed with the two humans and Daria- disguised as a male client and called 'Darian' in lieu of her other alibi- cloistered in the rooms of 221B Baker Street. There they put together the information that had been collected- at least Daria and Holmes did. Watson was usually involved in some writing project or another on these occasions, leaving his companions to their work. An odd camaraderie had sprung up between the three- the Tau'ka found herself accepted- albeit somewhat distantly- by Holmes as a fellow investigator of sorts, one more competent than the Scotland Yard investigators. Neither pretended that she was anywhere near Holmes's caliber, but she wasn't entirely useless. She rather liked the change. Watson, as usual, wasn't entirely thrilled with the arrangement, but fortunately held his tongue. He was simply pleased that the double case was occupying his friend to the point that Holmes was not falling into any of his lethargic black moods.

Despite the efforts of Holmes and Daria, the Hawks continued to be annoyingly elusive. Only the barest traces of them could be found, no matter where the Tau'ka searched. The few traces they did find linked the aliens even more closely to Moriarty than ever before, and even indicated that Moriarty might now be occasionally moving on the orders of the Hawks.

"A most unusual reversal of roles," Holmes said when they'd reached that conclusion. "Were the evidence not before me, I would never have conjectured such an occurrence."

Holmes began preparing a trap for Moriarty's criminal ring intending to catch all of the major players in one fell coup. He carefully laid it out over the course of the winter with a delicate efficiency that made Daria practically green with envy at his talent. Master Agent Felis could learn a thing or two from Sherlock Holmes.

So passed the winter of 1898, and the first month of 1899. Events began to pick up late in February.

Watson looked up from his desk as Sherlock Holmes walked into his consulting room one evening, looking paler and thinner than usual. With scarcely a word to his friend, the detective edged his way around the walls, flung the shutters together, and bolted them securely.

"You are afraid of something?" Watson asked.

Holmes flung himself into an armchair. "Well," he said at last, "I am."

"Of what?"

"An air gun."

Watson blinked at this incongruous statement. "My dear Holmes, what do you mean?"

The detective smiled. "The air gun is no airy nothing in the hands of Colonel Sebastian Moran. But tell me, is Mrs. Watson in?"

Watson shook his head. "She is away upon a visit," he said. "I am quite alone."

"Then it makes it easier for me to propose that you should come away with me on a visit to the Continent."

"What are you talking about?"

At that moment there was a knock at the door of the practice. Holmes, who had been slumping in his borrowed armchair, started in what could only be described as panic and scrambled over the side in an attempt to conceal his lanky frame behind it.

"Watson," he hissed from his woefully inadequate cover, "I am not here."

Watson raised an eyebrow at his friend's antics and went to open the door. Miss Nelson stood there, looking a little frazzled.

"May I come in, Doctor Watson?" she asked. "Mr. Holmes sent a telegram saying he wished me to meet the pair of you here."

Watson glanced over at the place where Holmes had been trying to hide. He wasn't now; instead the detective stood and began brushing off his coat. "Very well, Miss Nelson," he said, feeling very much as if matters had been taken out of his hands. "Please, come in."

She nodded and walked in, looking rather cross. The doctor noticed. "My dear, is there something wrong?"

"She has just recently escaped a harrowing and unwelcoming conversation," Holmes put in, straightening his deerstalker cap.

Miss Nelson nodded again and tugged off her gloves. "Correct as usual, Mr. Holmes," she said. "I was on my way to meet both of you when I stopped to have a conversation with a friend of mine. When I left her, I found myself being followed by a gentleman carrying a pad of paper and a pen. I stopped him and asked why he was following me. He said that he was, and I quote, 'trying to place that most unusual accent' of mine." She made a most unladylike noise of derision.

"Where are you from, Miss Nelson?" Watson asked. It had become something of a game between the two of them, with Watson asking her of her place of origin at random intervals in an attempt to startle her into actually revealing it.

The young woman smiled ironically. "Now is not the time, Dr. Watson," she said.

Holmes smiled as well. "I see you have had the fortune to run across Professor Higgins," he said. "He's harmless enough, even if he is obsessed with those phonetics of his. I have made use of his expertise myself on occasion."

"I see," she replied. "Well, I managed to lose him without too much difficulty and then I finished making my way here. And, out of curiosity, Mr. Holmes, what were you doing on the floor behind the armchair?"

"Nothing whatsoever." Holmes cleared his throat. "Now that you are here, Miss Nelson-"

"Yes, Holmes, what are you doing here?" Watson added, looking from his friend to Miss Nelson and back again.

The detective looked grave. "You know how Miss Nelson and I have been working to capture Moriarty and his criminal gang." When Watson nodded, he continued. "In three days, matters will be ripe, and the professor, with all the principal members of his gang, should be in the hands of the police. Then will come the greatest criminal trial of the century, the clearing up of over forty mysteries, and the rope for all of them- but if we move prematurely, you understand, they may slip out of our hands at the last moment. Now, if I could have done this without the knowledge of Professor Moriarty, all would have been well. But he was far too wily for that. He saw every step which I took to draw my toils around him. Again and again he strove to break away, but as often I headed him off. I tell you, my friend, that if a detailed account of that silent contest could be written, it would take its place as the most brilliant piece of thrust-and-parry work in the history of detection. Never have I risen to such a height, and never have I been so hard-pressed by an opponent. He cut deep, and yet I just undercut him. This morning the last steps were taken, and only three days were wanted to complete the business. I was sitting in my room thinking the manner over, when the door opened and Professor Moriarty stood before me, flanked by two others. From the descriptions you have given me, Miss Nelson, I knew at once that his companions were the Black Hawks that you are seeking."

Miss Nelson clenched her jaw. "How arrogant of them to show up like that," she growled.

"Moriarty and I spoke. He tried to persuade me to stop, and naturally I refused. Since I left to come here tonight, I have been attacked three times."

"What?" Watson exclaimed. "Holmes, you must do something!" Holmes held for silence.

"I have already. The police can do nothing- Moriarty has covered his tracks too well, as I knew he would."

"You must spend the night here," Watson said firmly.

Holmes shook his head. "No, my friend," he said, "You would find me a dangerous guest. I have my plans laid, and all will be well. Matters have gone so far now that they can move without my help as far as the arrest goes. It is obvious, therefore, that I cannot do better than to get away for the few days which remain before the police are at liberty to act. It would be a great pleasure to me, therefore, if you would come to the Continent with me."

Watson nodded. "I have a neighbor doctor who will be happy to take care of my practice for a week or so," he said. "I would be happy to come."

"What of me?" Miss Nelson inquired. "Surely I cannot go haring off to the Continent as well?"

Holmes shook his head. "Certainly not," he said. "I needed to inform you that I would be disappearing for a while, and of this latest Hawk sighting, as you put it."

She frowned. "I see. Well then, Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, I wish you well in your excursion. The young woman stood, gave the two men a small curtsy, then went for the door.

"Be careful," Holmes said. "Moriarty may not hesitate to attack you, despite the fact that you are a woman."

Miss Nelson smiled grimly. "I'm afraid it's not the Professor that I am worried about."