Disclaimer: I don't own any of the League, Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson, or the villain; they all belong to their respective creators, and I'm just borrowing the characters for a bit

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The Adventure of the Seven Legends

The next day, Holmes and I were in a hansom cab heading for the Diogenes Club, where Mycroft had arranged for the two of us to meet with the leaders of the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen to discuss this affair. I had already attempted to inquire as to Holmes' opinion as to who the League's members could be, but Holmes had steadfastedly resisted my best efforts to do so; like with his cases, Holmes refused to start theorising without data.

Eventually, the two of us pulled up outside the British Museum- the building which, according to Mycroft, concealed the secret location where the League commonly met with Mycroft in their communications with the British Government. As we stepped out of the cab, I gave the driver the necessary money while Holmes walked up to the main entrance of the museum, to be greeted by a small man in a business suit with a small handlebar moustache.

"Mr Sherlock Holmes?" the man asked, looking at my friend inquiringly.

"Indeed," Holmes replied, before indicating me as I stepped up to join my friend. "And this is my friend and colleague Doctor Watson. I hope that my brother did not call you away from your ship solely for the purpose of this meeting."

"No, I'd been meaning to come back- hey!" the man said, stopping as he looked at Holmes in confusion. "How did you know that?"

"Never mind," Holmes said dismissively, as he indicated the main door of the museum. "Let us be off now, if you please; this 'League' of Mycroft's would doubtless rather not be kept waiting."

Knowing my friend's methods as I did by now, I found it a relatively easy task to identify the deduction as being based on the roughness of the man's hands coupled with the faint trace of a scar on his face that almost resembled a rope; evidently, this man had at some point had an accident with rigging that had badly burned his face.

As we walked through a door at the end of the museum, Holmes and I found ourselves at the top of a long flight of stairs, that seemed to descend downwards and then keep on going until they vanished from view.

"A effective means of concealment, Watson," Holmes remarked to me, as our guide led the way down the stairs. "At this depth, this meeting area would be inaccessible to all but the most determined of diggers unless one was willing to dig from the sewers, and the stone walls would make it doubly secure. Evidently, whoever designed this place knew well what they were doing."

Eventually, Holmes I had reached a door at the bottom of the stairs. Our guide stepped back and indicated the door.

"Your brother and his colleagues are just through here," he said to Holmes. "I'll be at the top of the stairs making sure you're not disturbed."

"Thank you, my good man," Holmes replied, as he opened the door and the two of us stepped into the room.

As we entered, I could not contain a brief gasp at the sight that lay before us. It was filled with books, almost every inch on the walls being taken up by bookshelves. The only exceptions were a few portraits that hung on the walls, showing various groups of men (One picture even had two women in it) from different eras in history. Around the room were various glass cases, each one containing something that I recognised from the portraits; indeed, I would not have been surprised to learn that the items were the same ones that were to be seen in the portraits.

It was the table in the middle of the room that caught the attention of Holmes and myself, however- or, to be more precise, one of the people sitting at it. This is not to say that the table itself was not an impressive sight, however; on the contrary, it was the longest table I have ever seen, seemingly capable of easily holding at least twenty people.

Right now, it only had three people sitting at it when Holmes and I entered. One figure at the opposite end from the door was easily identified as Mycroft Holmes from his great bulk. The other two figures were a man and a woman, sitting a slight way down from Mycroft as though trying to ignore him, who had turned to look at us as we entered the room.

The man appeared to be in his middle to late twenties, dressed in dark trousers, an off-white shirt, and a dark waistcoat, with an equally dark long coat draped over the back of his chair. He had long, scraggy fair hair and a handsome face, and I noticed a pair of twin Colt pistols holstered under his arms.

However, it was the woman who had instantly attracted our attention. This was not because of her beauty, although beautiful she undoubtedly was; flawless skin that was almost the colour of milk, dazzling blue eyes and dark red hair. She was dressed in a tightly buttoned black jacket and long black dress, with a blood-red scarf around her neck.

No, what made her draw our attention was that the two of us knew her.

"Mrs Wilhemina Harker?" Holmes and I said simultaneously.

Mycroft looked between the three of us in confusion, while the other man just looked over at Mina with an inquiring look on his face.

"You know Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson?" he asked her. "And you didn't mention this?"

"It was only a brief meeting over a decade ago; I simply never thought it worth mentioning," Mrs Harker explained, before standing up and walking over to us. "Mr Holmes, Dr Watson; a pleasure to meet you again," she said, smiling and offering us a hand in turn for us to shake.

AN: To those who may be wondering, Mina met Holmes and Watson in 'Sherlock Holmes Vs. Dracula' by Loren D. Estleman while she was on the train down to London. Van Helsing had ordered Holmes and Watson to cease investigation into Dracula because he feared the publicity that may arise if Watson published the case, so Holmes and Watson boarded Mina's train mid-journey to find out more information about the Count before Mina could be warned not to tell them anything

"The same to you, Mrs Harker," Holmes said, as he shook her hand. "Tell me, how are your husband and his friends?"

It was evidently the wrong thing to say; Mrs Harker's smile faded and she turned away for a moment, as though trying to get herself under control, before looking back at us with a saddened expression.

"I do not know; I have not spoken to Professor Van Helsing, Lord Godalming or Doctor Seward since Jonathan died," she answered.

"Car accident, before you ask," the young man said, as he got out of his chair and stepped forward to shake our hands as well. "Special Agent Tom Sawyer, formerly of the American Secret Service."

"American?" Holmes asked, looking at Mr Sawyer inquiringly. "And yet you are here on a British matter?"

"The plans that have been stolen pose a danger to the world as well as to Britain, Mr Holmes," Mrs Harker said, looking at my friend. "Details such as nationality are hardly important when such large stakes are involved."

"True," Holmes said, nodding as he looked over at Sawyer. "If you do not mind me asking, Mr Sawyer, what abilities does your team possess that merits the title of 'extraordinary'?"

"Why would I mind?" Sawyer asked, shrugging as he indicated two chairs in which Holmes and I sat; Mr Sawyer and Mrs Harker sat opposite us. "I'm an expert marksman and general fighter; two of our other members are experts when it comes to inventing things (One of them's also pretty good at martial arts); two more are far stronger than the normal human being, albeit for different reasons, and we have a seventh member who is…"

He chuckled. "Well, the guy's totally invisible, but the catch is that his power only affects him-"

"So he must go into action naked should he wish to use his powers?" Holmes asked, chuckling slightly. I had to agree with my friend; somehow, although grossly inappropriate, the thought of a man having a power that necessitated him to be naked in order to use it was rather amusing.

Then Holmes stopped laughing and looked over at Mrs Harker.

"If you do not mind my asking, Mrs Harker, what is your talent that merits a place among these others?" he asked. "I do not deny that you are a remarkable woman, but there must have been other candidates apart from you."

Mrs Harker swallowed slightly, glanced over at Mr Sawyer as though for confirmation of something, and then looked over at Holmes and myself with a resolved expression.

"What I am about to show you may be shocking, gentlemen," she said to us. "I ask only that you hear me out before making any judgements, and remember that I have made every effort to escape the less… savoury sides of my nature."

She stood up, stepped back from the table, and then she- even writing it, I can scarcely credit it as being real- leapt up onto the ceiling of the room, her hands and feet clutching the smooth horizontal surface as though it with the straightest, must rugged cliff wall in history. As she turned her head to look at us, she opened her mouth and briefly displayed a pair of sharp fangs on her upper jaw, before dropping to the ground with the grace of a cat.

Holmes and I could only stare at this increasingly remarkable woman in awe, with no small degree of horror thrown in as well, while Mr Sawyer merely sat and stared; evidently, he was used to Mrs Harker's talents. I was pleased to see that Mycroft looked slightly shaken himself; evidently, knowing what to expect probably hadn't prepared him for a first-hand demonstration.

To his credit, Holmes contained his obvious surprise at Mrs Harker's actions, and merely looked inquiringly at Mrs Harker as she resumed her seat.

"I presume that your… abilities, for lack of a better term… can trace their origins to a certain count of our mutual acquaintance?" he asked her.

Mrs Harker nodded regretfully. "Oh yes," she said, regret evident in her voice. "He was killed before my transformation could complete itself, but there was enough of a contamination to give me most of the powers of the vampire. My humanity is unimpaired, but I constantly fear that my baser instincts may some day get the better of me, so I devote much of my spare time and energy towards seeking a cure for the thirst that plagues me."

"I see," I said, shaking my head regretfully at the tragic fate that had befallen this good woman.

"Gentlemen- and woman," Mycroft put in from the bottom of the table, "as much as I appreciate you two getting to know each other, we have other matters to attend to right now."

"Oh, yeah, right," Mr Sawyer said, as he looked back at Mycroft. "So, now that we're all here, baring the obvious details of the thefts, is there anything in particular that you've been keeping secret from us?"

Mycroft opened his mouth to speak, but Mr Sawyer just sighed as he looked back at the elder Holmes brother. "Let's start this again; you haven't told us something. Please tell us it now."

Mycroft sighed as he looked at the young man.

"I can see there is no point in deceiving you, Agent Sawyer," he said, as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. "You are correct; there is something I have concealed from you, and it is something that explains why I have requested the involvement of the League in this particular matter."

"I did wonder about that, really," Mr Sawyer commented, looking critically at the elder Holmes. "After all, detective work isn't normally our forte, and this does seem like more of a deductive thing than our last few jobs for you."

Mycroft sighed, and, reaching down beside his chair, he picked up a briefcase, placed it on the table before him, opened it, and took out several pieces of paper.

"These were left at the scene of the various crimes," he explained, as he walked over to the four of us, giving us each around three sheets of paper. "Often they were left in the place of the plans that were stolen, but some were just left lying around; we are unclear as to why."

I looked at the pieces of paper before me. All three had a simple message on them, no more than ten words long, and each piece of paper was written in different handwriting. One was written in a large and blocky hand, as though unused to the fine activity of putting pen to paper, and another was written in an elegant manner as though the writer had received the best education, while the third seemed like a mixture of the above two; not well educated, but still relatively small and perfectly legible.

WE WANT DOCTOR J.

GIVE HIM TO US.

THE BENEFITER

"How odd," I said, looking over at Mrs Harker. "I presume you know who this 'Doctor J.' might be?"

"Yes," she replied, nodding thoughtfully. "One of our members has those initials… and he certainly has the background to have made enemies with powerful grudges… but…"

She sighed. "I cannot be sure."

"Indeed," Holmes commented. "There is a distinct lack of information into those responsible for these thefts. I presume there is nothing else we have not been told?" he asked Mycroft, glancing over at his brother.

Mycroft shook his head. "Sadly not, Sherlock; you four now know as much as any of my staff are aware of, including myself."

"Well," Mr Sawyer said, as he stood up and looked over at Holmes and myself, "now that we've got the essential details out the way, shall we get started? You two should probably meet the other League members before we go any further, and we've got the sort out our strategy for this investigation."

Holmes nodded. "An excellent plan, Mr Sawyer," he said, as he stood up, followed by Mrs Harker and myself. "We must make haste; I presume there are still other plans that may be stolen?" he added, looking over at Mycroft. The elder Holmes merely nodded, but that was enough.

"Right then," Mr Sawyer said, as he looked over at Holmes and myself, "let's get going; the League's waiting for us. Mycroft, call the others and tell them about that note you just showed up; the sooner they can get started on forming an opinion, the better."