Disclaimer – I own nothing! Nothing!
Hermione Holmes – You're the first person to have reviewed this story. Congratulations! And thank you.
Miz Perfect – I've done my research since receiving your comment. Turns out there have been not only comic books but comic strips and radio shows imagining a meeting between Sherlock Holmes and Batman. In the different stories, Sherlock Holmes has been alive, dead, fictional, and non-fictional. Also, a children's book I skimmed through about Batman and Crime Detection included a photograph of Basil Rathbone in deerstalker and cloak. The caption underneath said something to the effect of Batman and Sherlock Holmes being the world's two greatest detectives.
And here I thought I'd stumbled onto an idea for the one Sherlock Holmes crossover that had never been done before!
Dreamsprite 5 - Sherlock does seem to have mellowed out in his old age here, doesn't he? Don't worry. He'll still have his characteristic periods of moodiness.
Wanderer1 - Short, sweet, and to the point. I sincerely consider your one word review to be high praise, indeed.
Bruce Wayne sat in silence and ate yet another breakfast consisting of a cup of tea and a slice of toast covered in honey. The sparse breakfast seemed to be all Holmes would eat. Once when Bruce asked his host why he ate such a scanty meal, Holmes replied that he rarely ate breakfast at all, and that he was just now forming the habit in an attempt to further prolong his lifespan.
During the course of other meals, Bruce had attempted to start a conversation with his host about crime and the science of deduction. Holmes' answer was usually short and noncommittal. The conversations never lasted. This morning, Bruce had decided not to even attempt another one.
It had been a little over a week since Bruce had arrived at Holmes' cottage. He was bored. He'd washed the dishes, polished the china, swept the cottage floor, done the laundry, and kept himself occupied with every demeaning task Holmes handed down to him. All he had to show for it was dishpan hands and at least a dozen bee stings.
Holmes dabbed his mouth with a napkin and pushed his plate and cup towards Bruce.
"Are you going to tend to your bees this morning?" asked Bruce.
"As always," replied Holmes coldly. "You're to help me."
"When are we going to start our lessons?" Bruce asked.
"We've already started."
"What do you mean we've already started?" demanded Bruce, nearly snarling. Holmes frowned.
"Lessons in patience. Lessons in discipline. Lessons in taking pride in your work. These lessons are the basis of all skills."
"I have no time for those," insisted Bruce. "I came to learn to hunt down criminals. If you're not going to help me…"
"See what I mean?" said Holmes. "You have no patience. But you can't leave. If you didn't really want my teaching you wouldn't have gone through all of this trouble of seeking me out."
There was a hard silence. Holmes looked at Bruce. Bruce looked at Holmes. Finally, Holmes' tense face loosened up ever so slightly.
"Very well, Master Wayne," said Holmes. "If you wish to learn the science of deduction, you shall begin your studies."
Sherlock Holmes led Bruce Wayne into his study. Bruce looked around the room. A chart on the wall displayed a strange array of dancing men. On another wall, pieces of junk mail were held up by the point of a sharp jack knife. There was a small chemistry set on a table against another wall. A strand of red hair was mounted on a slide beneath a microscope.
Around the room were eight plaster busts. Seven were of Napoleon Bonaparte and seemed to have been roughly glued together. The other was of Sigmund Freud.
Bruce looked up and noticed a tall coat rack. A cloak was hanging from one peg, and a deerstalker sat atop.
Bruce gawked at the coat rack and moved towards it slowly and religiously, as if it was a sacred idol.
"I didn't think the outfit really existed."
"It didn't," said Holmes. "Not at first. After my former roommate began selling accounts of my investigations to the Strand, an illustrator invented it. I had to start wearing the deerstalker and cape to be recognized and respected."
Holmes paused and looked Bruce in the eyes.
"It became an image. Sometimes in this business, an image is a powerful asset. This is a hunting outfit, usually worn in the outdoors. It symbolizes the hunt for criminal masterminds and evildoers everywhere. I think the cloak and deerstalker strike fear into the hearts of criminals more than my deductive abilities alone ever could. The image is what makes criminals tremble, slip up, and give themselves away."
Holmes looked from Bruce to the coat rack and sighed. He looked wistfully at the deerstalker. "I haven't worn that since the adventure of the retired colorman."
The great detective moved to a small table nearby and lifted a pinewood container. He opened it to reveal a calabash pipe.
"This was another of the illustrator's ideas," said Holmes.
He then lifted a Persian slipper off the floor. Reaching into the toe, Holmes pulled out an amount of tobacco and placed it in the pipe. Bruce removed a match from his pocket and struck it, lighting the master detective's pipe.
Holmes removed a small glass key from the pocket of his robe. He placed the lock in the keyhole on a glass cabinet door. The door swung open with a soft creaking sound.
Holmes removed two heavy piles of paper from the cabinet.
"My monograms," he said as he handed the first heavy pile to Bruce. "Essays I have written on the science of deduction. Shoe print analysis, smoking ash analysis, height analysis. All covered in full."
He handed the next pile to Bruce. The young man's knees buckled under the weight.
"My personal accounts of all of my investigations," said Holmes. "I explain in great detail the scientific analysis and thought processes that led me from first collecting the details of the case to finally deducing the guilty party. Until now, I have kept them strictly for my own analysis."
Bruce grunted and placed the heavy pile onto the mahogany desk that sat in the center of the room.
"As I have before told you, criminal detection is an exact science. Scientific research is performed by analyzing the facts and absorbing all of the data possible. You must make your own inferences and connections. You must study and learn all of the basic laws and theorems."
Bruce stifled a yawn. Holmes looked at him haughtily.
"I assume this will satiate your desire for knowledge?"
"Sure," Bruce said with a sigh. He then looked back at the glass cabinet. There was another stack of papers inside. Holmes followed Bruce's glance. He then walked over to the cabinet and removed the final stack.
"These are other accounts of my investigations," said Holmes.
"There's more?" said Bruce incredulously, eying the tall pile in front of him.
"These aren't my own accounts," explained Holmes. His face fell and sadness filled his eyes. "These were written by my old friend, Dr. John Watson. He took a much less scientific approach to his accounts. He dramatized my work quite a bit. Sold most of the accounts as mere detective stories to magazines. These were his rough drafts."
"Why do you keep them?" Bruce asked.
"Sentimental value," said Holmes, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. "You may look at these as well if you'd like."
After Bruce had accepted the final stack and placed it next to the other, Holmes placed the glass key down on the desk.
"You may lock up when you're finished with your studies," said Holmes. "I'm going to tend to my bees."
After Holmes closed the door of the study, Bruce turned to the pile. He decided to start by reading one of Holmes' personal accounts.
"I was finishing my experiments on hemoglobin when Stanford interrupted. He introduced me to a man who was with him. I immediately recognized the man as being a Dr. John Watson, and I perceived that he had been in Afghanistan. I deduced this, firstly, from the coloring of his skin, and secondly…"