Disclaimer - I own no legal rights to Sherlock Holmes or Batman/Bruce Wayne, nor to any other related characters and materials.
L Moonshade – I'm glad you say I have a way with mysteries, since some day, I hope to move beyond fanfics and make a living writing them.
Dreamsprite5 – Thank you for your review. I'm having fun figuring out how Holmes and Bruce are alike, and how they're different, as I write.
A/N – I've also had a lot of reviewers compliment me on the way I portray the relationship between Holmes and Bruce. Thank you, very much. I'm glad to know I'm doing something right, because the relationship is definitely the most important part of this fanfic.
I saw "Batman Begins" for the second time about a week ago. It reminded me of the feelings I want to (attempt to) evoke and directions I want to take with this effort. I hope to give my stories a little bit of a harder edge and a darker tone as I go, but I can't promise too much. I don't know if you can tell, but I like to write with my tongue firmly in my cheek.
I got the idea for this specific case from one of those Internet profile websites. I was surprised to learn that there are several people who create fictional profiles for famous people. There are several profiles made by people claiming to be celebrities, historical figures, and even fictional characters. Some of these "famous people" like attention are more than happy to take comments and messages from fans, while others will only consort with other "famous people." The information found in the profiles can be found on any fan site. But, while it seems impossible to believe someone famous would take the time to set up an online profile, you can never be absolutely positive it isn't really them.
If you've created such a site, no offense. In fact, thanks for the idea.
I was able to find plenty of profiles for Batman, his friends and foes, and even, as pertains to our story, Sherlock Holmes himself. With this inspiration, all that was left was avoiding resembling certain episodes of "CSI" and "Murder, She Wrote"
"This isn't easy for me," said Dr. Watson as she finished bandaging Holmes' shoulder. "Do you know how long it's been since I've been called to practice on a live human being?"
Holmes looked up with glazed eyes halfway between sleep and awake.
"How come you looked at his shoulder so much longer than mine?" asked Bruce.
"Yours was barely even sprained," said Jamie. "Stop being a little girl."
Bruce looked at the table nearby Holmes. The arrow that had been impaled through his shoulder was lying there. Next to it was a much smaller object. Bruce studied it and found it to be a small, round, brown button.
"It was caught by a thread to the shaft of the arrow," explained Jamie.
She looked at the bloodied bandages.
"Who did this?"
"I don't know," said Bruce. "But I'm going to find out."
He grabbed his coat and moved towards the door.
"Stay with him," he said to Jamie. "I don't think he's safe alone."
"I'm a babysitter now?" complained Dr. Watson.
"You're a doctor, aren't you?" said Bruce. "So was my father. If I remember correctly, your creed it to help people."
Jamie sighed in defeat.
"I knew it," said Bruce. "I never forget."
"Shouldn't you let the police handle this," said Jamie. "Do you really think you can handle yourself as an amateur detective?"
"It can't be that hard," said Bruce. He pointed at Holmes. "He does it."
At this, Holmes stirred and lifted his head.
"I'm not an amateur," he said. "I'm a professional, and this is my case."
Jamie pressed his unharmed shoulder back down.
"You're in no condition to go anywhere," she said. "Not with that shoulder."
"And not with a maniac who's already shot three arrows at you," added Bruce.
"A guy who thinks he's Sherlock Holmes killed by a guy who thinks he's Robin Hood," Jamie remarked.
"He makes a pretty crappy Robin Hood," said Bruce. "He's only hit one time out of three, and it wasn't fatal."
"Pencil and paper!" Holmes screamed, waving his arms madly in the air. Jamie quickly pulled a pad and pencil from a nearby desk. Holmes began scribbling furiously.
"If you're going out," said Holmes, "collect the plasters we made. Take them and the fingerprints, along with these instructions, to the address I give you."
Bruce walked to Holmes and collected the sheet Holmes tore from the pad.
Bruce turned to Jamie.
"You're a doctor," he said. "You know things. Something's been bugging me about this case. Can you tell me what makes a man dress up like something he's not?"
"I'm not a doctor of psychology," said Jamie. "But if I had to guess, I'd say the man feels his life lacks excitement. Or purpose. Or both. Rather than finding those things for himself, he pretends to be someone that already has them. Do you understand me?"
Bruce just looked into her brown eyes and nodded.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
When Bruce came back to the Gates property, he found Cathy sitting in front, her eyes still red and moist. She was obviously still grieving. Bruce didn't blame her.
He still cried for his loved ones.
"We've met before," said Bruce. "I'm Bruce Wayne. I work for Sherlock Holmes, the detective."
Cathy tilted her head weakly.
"You must miss him a lot," said Bruce.
"Every second," said Cathy. "I just can't see why anyone would kill Robert. Everyone loved him. Even my husband's upset that Robert's gone, and my brother annoyed him more than anyone else."
"Your brother invited your husband over to his home on the day he was killed," said Bruce. "Quarter past twelve. Any idea why?"
"It wasn't quarter past twelve."
"No," said Bruce. "I'm sure your husband said…"
"Bob asked Allan to meet him at twelve exactly," said Cathy. "I took the call."
Bruce offered more condolences and then made his way to the backyard of the murder house.
Bruce was immediately met by the gardener. He didn't look happy to see Bruce. Needless to say, Bruce wasn't any happier to see him.
"I'm investigating a murder," said Bruce. "And I'm trying to figure out who hurt my teacher. What's your name?"
"Bug off!" said the gardener.
"I want answers!" said Bruce.
"But I don't wanna give 'em out to you. One good reason why I should?"
Bruce raised his fists.
"I want a fair fight after what you did to my shoulder."
The gardener snickered.
"You don't give up, do you?"
"I'm kind of used to getting what I want," said Bruce.
The gardener snickered.
"Name's Denton Rogers," he said. "And Sherlock 'Olmes is no friend of mine."
"What do you have against him?"
"Put me in the pen, he did. Right behind bars. Just for some petty thievin'. Luckily, they let me off for good behavior, and I got a job here."
"From Gates?"
"From Smith," said Denton. "Or from 'Olmes, as 'e made me call 'im. Said 'e's put me away and now 'e wanted to 'elp me on to the straight and narrow path."
"But he hadn't put you away," said Bruce.
"Of course 'e 'adn't," said Denton. "But 'e wanted me to pretend like 'e was the real Sherlock 'Olmes. O' course I only pretended to, 'cause if I'd really believe it, 'e would 'ave 'ad a broken nose and I'd be out of a job and back in the pen."
"Someone shot an arrow at the real Holmes last time we were here."
"Well, it wasn't me," said Denton. "I'm fully rehabilitated now. On the straight and narrow path."
Another man came from the back door of the murder house. Bruce looked on in shock.
"Who are you?" he demanded as the man came forward.
"I'm the new tenant," said the man. "My name is Jefferson Hope."
Bruce was too stunned to do anything but offer the man his hand. As they shook, Bruce got a look at the cuffs of the other man's sleeve. One button, one small, round, brown button, was missing.
"I've heard your name before," said Bruce. "In the newspaper, I think."
"You're probably thinking of my uncle," said Jefferson. "The black sheep of the family. He was arrested for murder and died tragically in prison."
"You're aware that there was a murder committed in your new home only a few days ago?"
Jefferson shook his head.
"Mr. Gates never told me that," he said. "He just said he had a house for sale."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Bruce bid farewell to Denton and Jefferson, telling them he must be going, and collected the plasters from the ground. He then caught a train to London.
The address Holmes had given Bruce was for a small building at the end of Baker Street in London. There was no sign of life inside. The doors were locked and a sign read "Closed."
Bruce found an open window and carefully placed his parcel inside.
He took one last look at the building as he stepped back from it.
"William Wiggins Detective Agency."
Bruce took a cab from there to Scotland Yard. He told Chief Inspector Gregson about his encounter with the young Jefferson Hope. He declared with total conviction that Jefferson Hope had killed Bob Smith. Gregson told Bruce that his theory was an interesting one but that he could not get a warrant for arrest on such scanty evidence.
Bruce's cab was gone when he came out of Scotland Yard. He couldn't find a new one so he began to walk.
At the end of the street, Bruce noticed an old beggar with long, stringy hair and a tattered black and yellow blanket wrapped around him. The man was looking right at Bruce. Bruce began to walk a little faster.
The old man seemed to be keeping a steady pace. Maybe Bruce was just feeling a little nervous. When he turned the corner, the old man followed.
Bruce began to walk faster. He twisted and turned down corner after corner. The old man stayed at his heel.
Bruce ran as fast as he could down an alleyway. He squeezed between two buildings and grabbed an empty bottle he found lying on the ground nearby.
Bruce raised the bottle when he saw the old man enter the alleyway.
"Put that glass down!" ordered a familiar voice.
The bottle crashed to pieces at Bruce's feet. Sherlock Holmes removed his disguise.
"I thought you were staying back at your home!" said Bruce. "Dr. Watson was supposed to watch you!"
"Dr. Watson was called away to work," said Holmes. "I assured her I'd be fine on my own."
"You're not safe out here!"
"But of course I am. You couldn't recognize me in this disguise. How do you expect my enemy to? Especially if he was daft enough to mistake Smith for me? Come. We'll discuss your efforts today back in Sussex."
Bruce told Holmes about his encounters with Hope and Gregson. Holmes chuckled the whole way through, guffawing at the end.
"Of course Gregson couldn't get a warrant," said Holmes. "That theory is hogwash."
"Why?"
"First, we must return to London and check at the detective agency. Then we'll have a talk with Gregson and Hope. I assume the latter will tell you why your theory is so absurd."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Holmes and Bruce returned to the tiny building on Baker Street. Holmes, wearing his deerstalker and cloak, knocked and a man in his late thirties or early forties stepped out. He had blonde hair and was extremely tall and skinny. He smiled heartily and pumped Holmes' hand.
"Always a pleasure to see you, Mr. Holmes."
"Wiggins, this is Bruce Wayne. Mr. Wayne, this is William Wiggins, the captain of the Baker Street Irregulars."
"Oh, we're quite regulars now, Mr. Holmes," said Wiggins. "Several of the boys work for my agency. We have you to thank for the inspiration. You taught us we could make a prettier penny catching crooks than picking pockets."
"Still, am I not right that your agency consults a set of Baker Street Irregulars of your own?" said Holmes. "A network of pint-sized spies and street urchins?"
"Quite correct, as always, Mr. Holmes," said Wiggins. "The two you're interested in are waiting inside."
Two young boys were anxiously fidgeting and tapping their tiny feet inside Wiggins' office.
"Meet Jack and Archie Anspaugh," said Wiggins.
"'Ow nice to see you, sir," said Jack. "Glad you ain't dead."
"You two boys were outside of the residence of one Robert Smith," said Holmes.
"Who's that?" asked Archie. "Jack and I ain't never 'eard of 'im."
"He often dressed like me," said Holmes. "With a cape and a deerstalker?"
The boys looked at him, clueless.
"A hat like this," said Holmes, removing the deerstalker from his head and showing it to the youngsters.
"Ohh!" Jack and Archie chorused.
""Ere's the thing, sir," said Archie. "We's gots to take care of ourselves and our family. 'Ow's we s'pposed to do that if we upset some crazed killer?"
"You needn't worry about that, boys," said Holmes. "If any question of your safety should arise, my friend Mr. Wayne will protect you."
Holmes looked at Bruce. In answer, Bruce stepped forward and flexed his biceps.
"He knows 127 ways of fighting," said Holmes.
Archie and Jack looked at each other and then around the room. Finally, Jack began to stammer.
"I thought I saw you, sir," said Jack. "I followed you – well, the man I thought was you – to the 'ouse. Then Archie suggested we climb that tree."
Archie hit Jack.
"Well, it's true!"
"It is, sir," said Archie. "We saw the man we were following. Then another fellow came in and 'it Sherlock 'Olmes – I mean…"
"Robert Smith," offered Holmes.
"'It Bob Smith over the head," said Archie. "Jack and I were too scared to stay there so we ran aw'y."
"Can you tell me what this man looked like?" asked Holmes.
"'E wasn't very distinctive, sir," said Jack.
"'E was thin and tall," said Archie. "And very finely dressed. Must 'ave been quite rich."
"Would you know this man if you saw him again?"
Both boys expressed that they weren't sure. Holmes showed the boys a newspaper. They eagerly began to point and nod and yell that they saw the man.
Holmes thanked Wiggins and the boys and left.
Archie and Jack were two young boys who would never forget the day they saw Sherlock Holmes.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
After leaving the detective's office, Holmes showed Bruce the newspaper. The headline ran, "Allan Gates: Typewriter Tycoon."
Bruce couldn't believe it. He tried to press Holmes for more details, but Holmes refused to speak until they'd met with Gregson and arrived at Allan Gate's property. They knocked on Jefferson Hope's door.
"What's this about?" Jefferson asked.
"Jefferson Hope, my name is Sherlock Holmes."
"It's an honor to meet you," said Jefferson, grinning and taking Holmes' hand. "I've read all of the stories about you in the paper. You've put a lot of criminals behind bars."
"Yes," said Holmes. "One of them was your uncle."
Jefferson was stunned. Like Jack and Archie, he began to stammer.
"I didn't know."
"Of course you didn't," said Holmes. "Because Jefferson Hope wasn't really your uncle."
The man sighed heavily.
"There's no fooling you," he said. "My name is Jeffery Pope."
"Why did you lie about who you were?" asked Bruce.
"Gates told me to," said Pope. "I didn't ask why. I needed a place to live, and he offered me this lovely house. He gave it to me for a very affordable price, too. He said the only condition was that, while here, I tell everyone that my name is Jefferson Hope, that I had an uncle of the same name who was a murderer, and that he died in jail. He said I could say anything else in public, but when talked to here I was to be who he said I was."
"You didn't find this strange?" said Gregson.
"Of course I did," said Pope. "But I didn't see any harm in it. I really wanted the house."
"And it was Allan Gates that instructed you to do this?"
"Yes, sir."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
The trio of detectives walked next door and pounded on the door. They then demanded to speak with Allan Gates.
"What's all of this about?" asked Gates.
"Murder," replied Holmes. He turned to Bruce. "This is why your theory was ridiculous. No one who wanted revenge on me that badly would kill Smith instead of me. He may have wanted to resemble me, but we were nowhere near alike. I eliminated Denton Rogers immediately. Not only would he know me from Smith, but he was on the lawn too shortly after the arrow was fired. The arrow obviously came from inside one of these two houses.
"That left a relative of someone who bore a grudge against me. He wouldn't recognize me. Still, I believe he would be pathetic to confuse me with Smith. As far as I knew Jefferson Hope had no relatives. It was very convenient for one to surface now.
"I then deduced that I was never the intended victim. In fact, I never believed I was the intended victim, except for maybe during a few brief moments. That was Mr. Wayne's theory. I assumed from the beginning that the murderer really meant to kill Smith."
"What does all of this have to do with me?" asked Gates.
"Everything," said Holmes. "You killed your brother-in-law. Then you panicked, and were desperate to find a way to cover it up. Robert Smith's greatest distinction was building his life to resemble mine as closely as possible. You decided the best way to avoid suspicion was to take advantage of that.
"You remembered reading the details of one of my cases. You dipped your finger in Smith's blood and scrawled that word on the wall. You also fired arrows from the room you killed Smith in at me to add to the illusion that I had been the killer's intended victim. Finally, you hired a stranger to pose as a relative of a man I had put in prison and tried to make it appear that he was the killer."
"Why would I do such a thing?" asked Gates.
"Smith found out you were having an affair," said Holmes. "He was going to tell his sister."
"That's absurd!"
"Not at all. I saw the hair on your collar when we first met."
"I told you, that hair was my wife's!"
"No. Your wife's hair is platinum. This hair was honey blonde."
"Aren't you a little old to be paying that much attention to a woman's hair?" asked Bruce.
"You should still be young enough to notice the hair color yourself," responded Holmes.
"Blonde is blonde."
"On the contrary, hair can be divided into over a hundred different shades and tones. I've produced a monogram on the subject. It would serve you well to study it."
"He can't prove any of this," said Gates, turning to Gregson.
"He doesn't need to," said Gregson. "We've got eye witnesses. We've also got the testimony of Mr. Jeffrey Pope. It would go well for you to confess now."
"I didn't mean to kill him!" said Gates frantically. "It was an accident. He had to play Sherlock Holmes and stick his nose into business that didn't concern him. He was giving me a huge lecture about morality and loyalty and threatening to tell my wife, saying I wasn't good enough for her. I lost my temper. Without thinking, I grabbed a vase…"
He turned his wide, sorrowful eyes to Holmes.
"I didn't mean to hit you either," he said. "I was trying to miss. Honest."
"That's enough, Mr. Gates," said Gregson. "You're coming with me."
"We must go as well," said Holmes. "My young friend has a lot of studying to do."
Bruce looked from Holmes to the spot where Smith's body had been. As Holmes left the room, Bruce leaned close to Gregson.
"I can understand why Gates killed him," he whispered. "He must have been impossible to live with."
A/N – That was another long chapter, I know. I hope as I continue to write and become more comfortable with the stories, I will be able to shorten them into much quicker reads.
Again, I'm afraid I can't guarantee another chapter anytime soon. Look for an update over the next couple of months. I think I'll post the next chapter under the Comics Batman category in an attempt to snare some more readers.