AN: Hey guys. I'm going to be really evil and leave you with a cliffie for the weekend. Sorry its kind of short. ducks flying fruit and rotten veggies Thanks for your continuing support and reviews. You guys are awesome. Now, without further ado...

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Chapter Thirteen: Death of a Detective

For a week Holmes and Watson wandered up the Valley of the Rhône, through the Gemmi Pass, and eventually to a small village called Meiringen, always followed at a discrete distance by the little tabby cat with the glittering eyes.

Daria reflected briefly on the never-ending teasing she would receive if anyone back at the Verris base knew she was following a pair of humans around- and male ones at that- and laughed to herself. It wasn't exactly by the book, but Holmes had been of too much help for her to let him run off and get himself killed- she owed him that much. Moriarty had proved himself to be just as dangerous as Koor and K'Wah.

Following in cat shape wasn't always feasible during their travel. On those occasions, she adopted the form of the pharaoh eagle-owl in order to tail the pair at a greater distance. If either man noticed a large bird following them whenever 'their' cat wasn't in sight, well, they gave no sign of it.

The detour Holmes and Watson made to Reichenbach Falls was one such occasion.

The Falls were a remarkable sight, Daria thought as she took up a position on the cliff overlooking a narrow, winding trail that led to the great waterfall itself. Water sprayed up as it tumbled down the cliff, making the path slick with moisture and forcing the two men to take great care with their footing. She craned her neck, trying to see into the depths of the chasm that the water plunged into. It was too deep for her to see the bottom from her current position, but the water roared as it fell into the depths. The roar also covered most of the sounds that Holmes and Watson were making as they climbed up to the observation ledge. The Tau'ka sighed mentally and shifted again, this time becoming the bronze gryphon in order to take advantage of a gryphon's sharper ears.

Flattening herself to the ground, she crawled on her belly to the edge of the cliff and cautiously peered over the edge. She settled herself in time to here Watson speak.

"This is a fearful place," he said, looking at the long sweep of water roaring down, and at the curtain of spray it kicked up as it did so.

"The path ends here," Holmes replied. "Let us return as we came."

Daria felt a little disappointed. They had climbed all that way, to a spot nearly two hours' hike from the village, just to turn around? She ruffled her feathers, feeling cheated.

Holmes and Watson had turned to leave when a boy, about twelve or so, came running along the path with a letter in his hand. Panting, he handed it to Watson.

"What is it?" she heard Holmes ask.

"An English lady at the hotel," the doctor answered. "She has been taken with a sudden hemorrhage, and wishes to see an English doctor."

"You must return to Meiringen," his friend said. "I will walk over the hill to Rosenlaui, where you can rejoin me this evening." He sat with his back against a rock and his arms folded, gazing down at the rush of water below him.

Watson and nodded and left. Daria raised her head slightly. She had a bad feeling about this. It was too neat, too… coincidental. What, exactly, where the odds of an English woman falling ill at the Swiss hotel where Holmes and Watson were saying? The two men hadn't exactly been broadcasting the fact that Watson was a doctor, although they hadn't been trying particularly hard to conceal it either. And why was Holmes, previously so paranoid about staying under the radar that it had nearly bordered on psychotic, allowing Watson to go off on a trip that would leave each man alone for four hours or more? There was something wrong here.

All of Daria's instincts were screaming at her now, and they were screaming one word.

Trap.

She forced herself to remain still. If there was a trap to be sprung, it would be best for her to remain where she was, motionless, an unknown and unexpected variable.

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It didn't take long for the trap to be sprung. Less than half an hour after Watson left to attend to the alleged "hemorrhaging English lady", a new figure came striding up the path at a quick walk. Daria looked the newcomer over. He was tall, and thin like Holmes, with cold gray eyes, dressed in black. Out of some overstated need for drama, he wore a red-lined black cloak that flapped dramatically in the wind

"Good afternoon, Sherlock Holmes," he said. He positioned himself directly in the path that led downslope as Holmes looked up at him. "A somber spot. A fitting spot for our last meeting."

Holmes said nothing. Unseen up on the cliff, Daria bristled, not liking where the conversation was going. She didn't immediately recognize the stranger, but something in his stance told her that he was all bad news.

"You are not an easy man to trace," the man continued idly. "You must admit that having traced you is a tribute to the efficiency of my organization."

"An organization now ended," Holmes said at last, setting aside the alpenstock walking stick he carried with him. Daria didn't like his casual attitude. Then the comment about an 'organization' sunk in fully.

"Ended, temporarily, in England, perhaps," Professor James Moriarty said. "Thanks to your impertinent interference, Holmes. But here on the Continent I still have friends and valued allies. I shall perhaps remain here for a while. And then I shall return to a London made healthier by your absence."

The professor made a slow step forward.

Holmes sighed. "I may leave a note for my friend?" he asked.

Moriarty paused, then after a moment he nodded his agreement. "But make it, if you please, a short note, Mr. Holmes."

As Daria watched, Holmes tore a few sheets from his notebook and spent a few minutes writing a letter. She was at the wrong angle to see what it said, but presently the detective folded the papers, tucked them under a silver cigarette case on top of a rock that jutted into the path, then walked to the edge of the path. He turned to face Moriarty.

"Well, here we are then," Moriarty said, facing his nemesis. His red-lined black cape flapped dramatically in the cold, wet breezes from the waterfall.

Holmes nodded in agreement. "Indeed. As closing acts go, I'll allow the scenery is more than adequate."

"Why, sir, it is Olympian! We tread the very borders of mythology!"

"I think you flatter the both of us." Holmes shrugged. "You wouldn't happen to have any friends you would like to leave notes for, would you?" he inquired.

Moriarty stared at him, then laughed uproariously. "Friends?" he exclaimed. "Mr. Holmes, I think you need to get your head out of the clouds."

"Not even the Black Hawks?"

Moriarty stopped laughing abruptly. "I see you have learned about them," he said coldly. "From whom, exactly? Your little waifs on the streets of London, perhaps?"

Holmes smiled slowly. "No," he said. "One could say that… a little bird told me. A little owl, to be precise."

Daria frowned, convinced she could not have heard correctly.

The professor scoffed. "You must be touched, Holmes. Now you claim to be getting your information from birds!"

"Why don't you take the news of a pharaoh eagle-owl back to the Hawks, Professor? I'm sure they'd be thrilled to hear about it."

"The Hawks are a means to an end. Nothing more. They plan to assist me in certain… upcoming ventures."

"What is it that you want so badly?"

Moriarty's lips stretched in a thin, tight smile. "The world, my dear Mr. Holmes. I want the world."

Holmes did not seem to be impressed by the display. As usual, he cut to the chase. "I'm tired with talk, Professor. So, then. To the death?"

"Oh, yes. Yes, absolutely."

As Daria watched in horror, Moriarty launched himself at his nemesis, drawing a gold-plated dagger from a pocket in his cloak. They struggled, Holmes doing fairly well for himself even without the aid of a weapon. He'd once mentioned that he'd done some boxing in school.

The struggle was nothing like a similar fight would be among the Tau'ka. There were none of the lightning-quick punches, kicks, and strategic blocks that would be used among Daria's people. Instead, Holmes and Moriarty shoved against one another, feet scrambling for purchase on the slick stone as they fought for control of the dagger. And they were quiet- no furious yells punctuated the duel for supremacy. Time seemed to slow for their onlooker as they battled.

Then Holmes managed to get a grip on Moriarty's wrist and shoved harder. The criminal mastermind had his back to the falls as Holmes pushed him back.

Moriarty's foot slipped. He stumbled. Holmes pushed harder.

The two men fell over the edge of Reichenbach Falls.

Daria's world slowed further.

"No!"