Disclaimer: I own no rights whatsoever to the titles and trademarks herein.

J – I'm glad you enjoyed my portrayal of Wiggins. I plan on involving him in a few more of the adventures of Bruce and Holmes.

Dreamsprite5 – Bruce: 2, Holmes: 1? Tell me, how do you figure? You must let me in on your scoring system.

As for Allen Gates, the typewriter tycoon… I had only a vague idea of who the killer would be when I started the story. When it came time to introduce my murderer, I decided to portray him as an early twentieth-century Bill Gates, thus the name.

A/N – And I am back. I know it has been months since my last update. I assure you, this has been for reasons far beyond my control. You would not believe what I've been through these last few months. And when I say that, I mean most of you would literally not believe what I've been through.

Suffice it to say just recently I've had the chance to begin updating. I will continue to update as originally planned. The story you are about to read is set in late November, since I would have either updated in October or November. I still planning on having a separate December story for Christmas.

Either way, I hope I haven't kept you waiting too long, and I hope you'll find this next chapter worth the wait. Another one well not be far behind. Not if I have any say in the matter.

Sherlock Holmes & Bruce Wayne

in

"The Adventure of the Secret Serum"

November 28, 1935.

Bruce enjoyed the sound of leaves crunching beneath his feet as he walked through the open fields of Sussex. He let the cold air chill his face and fill his lungs as he took in the Autumn colors.

He was at a peaceful time in his life and he was enjoying nature. There wasn't much else to enjoy.

Bruce had experienced a small amount of excitement since he began to live at Sherlock Holmes' cottage. He had helped catch an art forger and capture a murderer. But it had actually been months between then and now, and nothing terribly exciting had happened during those months.

October had come and gone, and November was almost through. Even Holmes had grown bored, actually leaving his secluded cottage, and never telling Bruce where he was going. Bruce, in turn, had begun to slack on his studies and venture outside of the cottage as well.

How much had he learned from Holmes so far? He'd already aided in the capture of two criminals. Maybe Holmes had taught Bruce all he could. Maybe it was time for Bruce to find a new teacher. Bruce decided he would at least wait until the New Year, and then he would leave.

Bruce shivered as a blast of Winter cold filled the November air. He walked briskly to the cabin, wiped his shoes in front of the door, and stepped inside.

Holmes was dressed in a formal outfit, complete with an ascot displaying an ornate pearl, and was anxiously tidying up the dining room. He looked at Bruce and snorted.

"You're dressed well enough, I suppose," said Holmes. "Here. Help me clean."

"What's going on?" asked Bruce.

"I've decided it's time for you to perform more practical studies," said Holmes. "Some hands-on experiences, as it were."

"I thought I'd already done that," said Bruce. "At the navy guy's reception and with that man who killed that other man who dressed like you."

"Those were just convenient study opportunities," said Holmes. "Unplanned lessons springing from favors I've performed for Gregson. This is different. I have announced that I am coming out of retirement, and that I will take a few select cases, only for your benefit."

"Thanks," said Bruce unenthusiastically.

"That attitude doesn't suit you," said Holmes. "I suggest you change it before my new client arrives. Ahh! That would be him now."

As he finished speaking, a knock sounded at the door. Bruce began to move to get it, but Holmes held a hand out to stop him. There was another knock. Finally, there was the sound of the door opening. A voice called out "Mr. Holmes?" Holmes remained silent. The voice sounded again, more firm this time.

Footprints could be heard stepping through the doorway.

"Mr. Holmes. Mr. Holmes!"

Holmes still said nothing. Finally, a slender man with dark gray entered the dining room.

"Prof. Davenport," said Holmes. "I'm sorry I was unable to get the door. My companion and I had our hands full. Good thing you let yourself in, though if you'd not been invited it would be rather rude of you."

Davenport looked at Bruce disapprovingly.

"My protégé'," said Holmes. "He will entertain you while I get dinner. Do have a seat, professor."

Holmes left the room. Bruce and Davenport took their seats in the dining room, continuing their silent appraisal of each other. Neither seemed pleased. A minute passed in total silence before Holmes entered, a modest but healthy turkey mounted on a silver server in his hand.

"I'll carve," said Bruce.

"Would you?" said Holmes. He took a seat while Bruce rose from his. Davenport eyed Bruce nervously as the young man raised the carving knife.

"What I have to say is of crucial importance," said Davenport. "I am to speak only with Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

"You are speaking with him," said Holmes. "And of course you are here on a matter of crucial importance. And one of utmost secrecy. Only fitting of a member of His Majesty's government."

To say Davenport appeared flustered would be to make an almost criminal understatement.

"H-h-how did you know? I merely said I was a scientist. I didn't say…"

"I suspected it before," said Holmes. "Your mannerisms. The way you carry yourself. Your behavior told me all I needed to know. You knocked, and when no one answered you invited yourself in. You called out, and still receiving no answer, you entered into the dining room. I suspect if you hadn't found me here you would continue to search the house, and you would not leave until you found something to help you with whatever you were seeking."

"And if the door had been locker?"

"It still wouldn't have stopped you," said Holmes. "Now, what does our King wish of me?"

Davenport looked at Bruce.

"Send him away," he said. "I'm to speak with you and you alone."

"But Bruce is my protégé," said Holmes. "He is to accompany me on whatever venture I am to undertake."

"I can not allow that," said Davenport. "This is a matter of the utmost secrecy. You must send him away."

"I will do no such thing," said Holmes.

"Then I will find someone else, and you will receive no payment."

"You need not worry about me financially. I've made quite a small fortune through my career, and I have been retired some years and have wanted nothing."

Davenport paused. He furrowed his brows.

"But this is for the government."

"I believe I've already proven my loyalty to my government and my country," said Holmes. "If you do not want my help, I am sure you can find someone else."

Davenport looked at Holmes. His eyes were blazing an intense fire, but they were extinguished by the intensity in Holmes' blue-gray eyes.

"The government wishes for your help, Mr. Holmes. There's no one else we can turn to." He eyed Bruce once again. "Can he be trusted?"

"Most assuredly."

"Very well."

"Light meat or dark, Mr. Holmes?" asked Bruce.

"Guests first, Wayne."

"Dark meat," said Davenport.

Bruce placed some meat on a plate and passed it to the professor. Holmes asked for light and Bruce served him some. Finally, Bruce heaped some of the light meat onto his own plate.

"I had you figured for more of a dark meat man, Wayne," said Holmes. "Now, Professor Davenport?"

"My name is Andrew Davenport," began the professor. "I am the head of a secret government project. It involves two other scientists."

"Their names?" queried Holmes.

"I don't feel comfortable saying."

"What sort of project?"

"That I am not at liberty to say," said Davenport. "The studies were conducted at a secret location. Still, security was somehow compromised. The project was sabotaged."

Bruce nibbled at a piece of the turkey meat. Holmes noted a look of dissatisfaction in his face, responding as if he was tasting quinine.

"Enjoying your dark meat?" Bruce asked Davenport with a frown.

"Quite," said Davenport, frowning in return.

"I'm going to need more details than that," said Holmes.

Davenport began to look anxiously over his shoulders.

"I can't tell you about it. Not here," said Davenport. "I'd much rather show you. There. If you see what I mean. Could you come now?"

"Hardly," said Holmes. "And leave this magnificent bird? Perhaps you could give young Wayne and I directions and we could meet you there at a more convenient time?"

"Out of the question," said Davenport. "I must escort you."

"Perhaps sometime after dinner?"

"I will return here for you at 5:00 tomorrow morning," said Davenport. "You are to be ready then. Thank you for the food, but I simply can afford to spend no more time here."

Holmes escorted Davenport to the doorway. When he returned, Bruce was shoveling dark meat onto his plate. Holmes smiled knowingly as he sat down.

"Enjoying your meal?"

"At least it's not bread and honey," said Bruce, finally cracking a smile.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The next morning, Holmes and Bruce were both reluctantly awakened from their L-tryptophan-induced sleep. Andrew Davenport securely blindfolded the two and led them outside into a car, in which a driver was snoozing at the wheel.

After an hour of riding, Davenport helped the blindfolded duo out of the car. When he removed the blindfolds, the three were standing in an empty, chilly building.

"There was a fire here," said Holmes.

Bruce was baffled for a moment, but then he opened his nostrils and inhaled the lingering scent of burnt sulfur.

"Where are we?" he asked.

"Of course, I'm not permitted to say," said Davenport. "Suffice it to know that you are in the laboratory in which a top secret formula was being created."

"What sort of formula?" asked Holmes.

"I can't say that either," said Davenport. "There are only three men that are privileged to that information. Myself, Prof. Damon Scott, and Prof. Alastir McBane. We were cooperating on the project."

Bruce heard a sound and turned towards a doorway. A man was standing there in military garb holding a rifle. Two other men, dressed similarly, were standing a few feet away.

"The item we were working on was referred to always as the Super Soldier Serum," said Davenport. "Well, not always. Alastir came up with sort of a pet name for it. He simply referred to it as the Bane Formula."

Davenport turned on his heels and began to walk to a corner of the room.

"This way, please, gentlemen," he intoned.

Bruce, Holmes, and the two military men followed Davenport to a wooden desk, now darkly charred. Holmes stooped down and examined a now black waste basket filled with ashes.

"The fire was started in here," he said. "The papers in the wastebasket were lit on fire. A trail of gunpowder leading from the wastebasket to the further reaches of the warehouse caused the fire's spread."

Holmes moved towards the desk and peered into a drawer. Davenport quickly slammed it shut.

"We can't permit you to look in there, Mr. Holmes," he said. "Government property, you understand."

Holmes nodded.

"Mr. Holmes," Davenport continued, "one week ago today, this laboratory was started on fire, and one of our scientists disappeared. It was a common practice of McBane's to continue to work late into the night, after Scott and I had already gone home. The guards were still posted in and outside of the lab, as always. The next morning, Scott and I arrived and found the four guards all outside, lying unconscious. The fire was blazing. It must have been started only an hour or so earlier, or all would have been lost. We were able to extinguish everything quickly. But when we went inside, McBane was missing, along with all of his research."

Holmes said nothing, but merely stroked his jutting chin with his long, sinewy fingers.

"We have no reason to assume McBane perished in the blaze," continued Davenport. "We tried for the first days to come up with a reasonable solution on our own. By 'we' I refer to myself and the government. We decided the best solution would be to consult you. We need you to use your connections and your resources to find McBane without compromising national security. Will you?"

"I'll do what I can," said Holmes.

Davenport replaced the blindfolds and took Bruce and Holmes home.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

After hearingthe car's motor fade into the distance, Holmes removed his own blindfold. He then proceeded to untie Bruce's.

"I don't trust him," said Bruce immediately. "For someone wanting you to solve his problem, he sure held back plenty of details."

"I suspect he had no choice," said Holmes. "It's Davenport's job to be secretive. Also, you are right in not trusting him. For the duration of this case, we are to trust no one, with the possible exception of each other. At any rate, I shall ask Gregson and Wiggins to run a background check on McBane. They shouldn't be too inquisitive."

With that, Holmes went for the telephone.

When he came back in, Bruce looked uneasy, distracted. He struck his forehead several times. Holmes slowly approached him. He jumped back when Bruce sprang from his seat and shouted, "I've got it!"

"What have you got?" Holmes demanded.

"Prof. McBane," said Bruce. "I know where I've heard of him before. He's a world-famous botanist. I studied under one of his colleagues in South America."

"You're sure this botanist is the same McBane? Wait. It must be. I noticed some burnt plant matter on his desk. It would all make sense."

"I think I could get an idea about what the project was if we knew what plants he was working with," said Bruce.

"And we will," said Holmes. "First, we need to get back inside that laboratory. Without government accompaniment."

"Back in? How are we going to pull that off?"

Holmes just smiled.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The next morning, Holmes had Bruce call for a cab. When the cab arrived, Holmes had Bruce tie a blindfold tightly across his eyes.

"I'm not so sure about this," said Bruce.

"Take notes on this, Young Master Wayne," said Holmes. "A great detective must rely on all of his senses."

The cab driver looked on with confusion as Bruce helped Holmes into the car.

"Where to?" he asked.

"I'll direct you as we go, sir," said Holmes. "Just get started."

"We started heading east," said Holmes. "I'm quite sure of it."

The cab headed in that direction for only a moment before Holmes ordered the driver to make a sharp turn to the right.

"I felt the car swerve that way," said Holmes. "Then another right up ahead. We should be coming into some traffic."

Sure enough, the cab found its way to a particularly busy street. The driver looked back at Holmes in amazement.

"Keep driving, please," instructed Holmes.

The automobile kept traveling like this for several minutes, Holmes revealing directions from seemingly out of nowhere.

"This is good," said Holmes. "I can hear waves. We are near water." He paused. "The bad news is we are being followed."

"Followed?" said Bruce.

"I've heard that car behind us for more than a few minutes now. I had hoped it was just a coincidence, but now I am quite sure we are being stalked. Driver, lose them!"

The cab driver smiled.

"This is usually such a dull job."

The driver turned the car around and passed another vehicle. The vehicle performed the same maneuver.

"They're still following," said Holmes.

The driver turned down another street. The other vehicle continued to follow behind.

"They're kind of obvious now," said Bruce. He turned his body and kept his eyes fixated on the other car.

The driver turned left at a crossroad. When the other car began to follow, the driver jerked around and began moving in the opposite direction. Bruce was sent forward into the back of the car.

"Ow!"

The other car attempted to make a sharp turn and drove off the road.

"That should buy us a few minutes," said the driver.

"We haven't shaken them yet," said Holmes.

"Can you go any faster?" demanded Bruce.

"I don't know what fancy sort of vehicle you're used to driving," said the cabbie. "But this isn't a Porsche."

He swerved quickly around again and began heading in a different direction at the crossroad. The cab then sped up, sending Bruce into the back wall of the vehicle again.

"Now, this is what I call defensive driving," said the cabby.

"They're gaining on us!" said Bruce.

The cabbie quickly spun the wheel and the car drove into the woods. The bump sent Bruce into the ceiling this time. Holmes looked as calm as ever, his hands folded in his lap and the blindfold still covering his eyes.

Turning to the side, Bruce could see the other vehicle speeding in a direct path to the side of the cab. The cabbie quickly spun the wheel again, putting the back of his vehicle parallel to the front of the other one.

He quickly swerved to avoid a clump of trees. As he passed them, the front wheels of his cab lurched over the side of an incline. Throwing the steering wheel to the side again, the tires grabbed the top of the hill. The side of the vehicle tilted precariously towards the bottom of the valley as the car crawled over the side of the hill. Bruce turned and watched the other vehicle pass the trees and then fly into the ravine below.

"Very good," said Holmes. "Take us back on to the road now."

"Do you still know where we are?"

"Yes. I think we'll manage."

The cab moved back towards the road.

"Stop!" yelled Holmes.

A young family passed by in a car.

"Didn't you see them coming?" asked the blindfolded detective. The cabbie just shrugged and pulled onto the road.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"You can let us off here," said Holmes, only a few moments later.

Bruce looked outside but couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. He helped Holmes out of the car and then untied his teacher's blindfold.

"We'll take it from here," said Holmes. He reached out to give the driver his payment, but the man just smiled and drove away.

"Are you sure this is the right place?" said Bruce. They were standing in front of a rather cozy looking house. Two young men sat on the porch swing outside.

"You distract them while I go inside and have a better look around," said Holmes. Bruce looked at him incredulously. "No. Perhaps I'd better distract them. You'd probably know better than I what to look for under these circumstances."

Bruce watched as Holmes stepped towards the house. The two men on the porch stood to attention. Holmes began talking and waving. The two men left the porch and followed Holmes down the street.

Bruce bolted to the door and threw himself through it. The parlor looked regular enough. Bruce opened another door and descended a flight of stairs.

Then he recognized the secret laboratory.

Bruce only dwelt on the shock for a couple of seconds. He then realized that his time was limited. He ran towards Prof. McBain's desk. Throwing the drawer open that Davenport had hastily slammed shut, Bruce removed several charred papers filled with mathematical equations. He then removed a handful of plant remains from the desk. Then he noticed a small card with the words "Reinschdorf's Pharmaceuticals." Bruce saw no significance behind the card, but he had no time to think. On an impulse, he shoved the card in his pocket.

As Bruce made his way back across the room,he found what appeared to be the bottom half of a charred coffee can. There was a strange blue substance inside. Bruce sniffed the rim and his head began to spin.

The he heard the sound guns being cocked. He saw two barrels pointed at him. Two men were aiming guns at his head.

A giant shape jumped from the shadows and threw the two men to the ground. Bruce stood stunned as the figure ran up the stairs. It was human and yet not human at the same time. A mammoth figure with bulging muscles and frightened eyes.

Bruce chased it up the stairs. He found shards of broken glass where a window had once been.

The two men that had been sitting on the porch swing stepped in, both carrying rifles. Holmes was standing behind them.

A/N - 3/13/09 - As you must realize, I wasn't very careful about anachronisms when writing this story. And while I let many slip through, I'd like to acknowledge the many reviewers who, since my completion of this fic, have pointed out some of the more glaring errors. First of all, HouAreYouToday pointed out, rightly so, that Jamie Watson, a woman doctor in the 30's, would not run around in slacks and use expressions like jet-setters. Many other reviewers also caught modern American colliquiolisms slipping into the 30's British dialogue.

Loneheart pointed out several errors I made, the most embarrasing of which was my mention of a Porsche in this chapter. While it turns out the Porsche automobile company has been around since the year 1930, their first original car didn't come out until 1939, four years after this story is set. Also, they didn't fully rise to prominence until the 40's and 50's.