Disclaimer: None of the titles, trademarks, or characters (with the exception of OC's) are mine.
"Did we smooth everything out okay?" asked Bruce, looking at Holmes from the latter's comfortable armchair at the Sussex cottage.
"It wasn't easy," said Holmes. "Prof. Davenport wasn't pleased with our trespassing. He says it's only by the grace of God we weren't shot down on the spot. Still, I assured him it would do no good to press charges against us when we can still help him. He agreed, of course."
Bruce put down his notes, placing his papers against the charred ones he had found in the government lab. Various plant names and botanical terms were scribbled across everything.
"I've prepared my table, if you're ready to assist me."
Bruce rose from the chair and followed Holmes to his chemistry table. Holmes explained what had he had done, and Bruce was impressed by the wide variety of chemicals Holmes had at his disposal, and by the variety of things he knew how to do with them.
The two began to analyze the plant remains Bruce had found in the lab. He also used a special technique to make the charred papers Bruce had found slightly more readable. At several points during their experiments, Holmes would leave the room to answer or make a phone call. Bruce's notes expanded as he compared his speculations to the outcome of the chemical analyses.
"I don't like this," said Bruce. "Not at all. There's too many mistakes with the formula."
"How so?" asked Holmes.
"Apparently the government was working on some sort of serum for human consumption," said Bruce. "A medicine, if you will. It looks like McBane was working on a way of incorporating organic and synthetic elements to make this medicine. Several of the roots and plants he used are known to have strength and energy enhancing qualities. What worries me is the cotidie root. It was said at one point to act as a strong pain killer. Unfortunately, it can also cause distortion of senses, panic attacks, and even hallucinations. Most people try to avoid it now."
"Apparently McBane wasn't like most people," said Holmes. "What bothers me is traces of blood found with the plant matter and on McBane's papers. Now, let's take a look at that other item you found."
After careful analysis, Bruce and Holmes found the substance inside the coffee can to be made of the same elements as those they had studied before.
"The contents of this can…" started Bruce excitedly.
"Nerve gas," finished Holmes. "A substance designed to render anyone who inhales it unconscious."
"Which is why the guards were found passed out at the lab," said Bruce.
"But they were found outside," said Holmes. "They must have lost consciousness in the lab and then been dragged out."
"Whoever made them inhale that gas must also have rescued them from the fire."
"And may have started it himself."
A loud jangling was heard, and Holmes left to answer the phone once again. He returned to the chemistry table a moment later.
"That was Wiggins," he said. "His connections have finally come through. It seems McBane owns a piece of property on the coast not too far from here. He often goes there when he needs a rest. This certainly warrants our attention."
Holmes grabbed his cloak and deerstalker and Bruce followed him out the door.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
The beach, covered in a thick layer of snow, was deserted. The water was frozen. Holmes and Bruce met little interruption on their way to McBane's beach house, the only one within quite a few yards.
Bruce thought he saw someone moving behind the beach house. Holmes slowly crept beside the wall to investigate. He saw a man in his late forties, looking at something on the ground and clutching his thin trench coat close to his body. Another group of men were huddled nearby.
"Inspector Hopkins, isn't it?" said Holmes, stepping out into the open.
"Why, Mr. Holmes!" said the man. "You do have a knack for showing up at the most convenient times."
Holmes motioned for Bruce to join them.
"Inspector Hopkins, this is my protégé, Bruce Wayne," said Holmes.
"Inspector Stanley Hopkins," said the other man, shaking Bruce's hand.
"How is your family?" asked Holmes.
"Surviving," said Hopkins. "You know how it is. Been stuck in this career for so long. And here you saw such promise for me."
"Don't fret," said Holmes. "In a few years you'll have Gregson's job. I guarantee it. Now, what's going on here?"
Hopkins stepped to the side. Another man was laying on the ground behind him.
"It's Alastir McBane!" cried Bruce. "He's dead."
"Hasn't been like that long," said Hopkins. "Amorous couple were lying in his backyard when he washed up behind them. He appears to have drowned himself."
"You're sure it's him?" said Holmes, looking not at Hopkins but at Bruce.
"I think so," said Bruce. "I mean, why would it be anyone else?"
The face was just barely recognizable. It had been discolored and bloated and warped by the freezing water.
"We think it's a suicide," said Hopkins. "Makes sense. Apparently, he was missing from some sort of government project. Must have made him deathly nervous."
Holmes was studying the body keenly.
"If it was a suicide, there was a witness," muttered Holmes.
"What do you mean?" asked Hopkins.
"Surely you must have noticed it," said Holmes. "Certainly before this herd of elephants marched through disturbing the scene. I've spotted one set of footprints here that isn't accounted for by any of those present, McBane included. It leads to the ocean."
"What else can you tell us about this other person, Mr. Holmes?"
"Only that he is about the same weight, height, and build as this man lying here," said Holmes. "Beyond that, I can tell you nothing."
"By the way, if you don't mind my asking, sir," said Hopkins, "what's brought you here?"
"I'm afraid I can't tell you, Inspector," said Holmes. "Highly confidential. But I wish you luck with your investigation. Do you mind if Young Wayne and I look around inside?"
"Not at all, Mr. Holmes," said the Inspector. "In fact, I insist that you do."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Bruce and Holmes carefully examined each room of McBane's beach house. All they found was a small business card, similar to the one Bruce had uncovered at the secret laboratory.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Holmes said nothing on the way back to the cottage. When he and Bruce stepped through the door, he immediately grabbed for his pipe. As he smoked, Bruce went upstairs to toss himself across the bed and muse on the answers to the puzzle himself.
When Bruce came down the stairs, he found Holmes on the telephone. Holmes turned to him.
"I called Wiggins' Agency again," said Holmes. "He's having some of his top operatives look into Reinschdorf's Pharmaceuticals." He dropped down into his favorite chair. "There's nothing left for us to do but wait."
A week went by. During these seven days, Holmes would often receive phone calls from Wiggins, but nothing substantial was ever turned up. The expenses for the small detective agency were mounting. Holmes also spent an unusually large portion of his time at his chemistry set, toying with one substance or another. At the end of the week, Wiggins called Holmes with dread in his voice. He had completely lost contact with one of his top operatives, whom he had assigned to Holmes' case.
"It's time we take matters into our own hands," Holmes told Bruce.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
The Reinschdorf's Pharmaceuticals building was surrounded by an unusually large amount of guards, and it was separated from the outside by an unusually high barbed wire fence. Holmes spotted a cliff above that would provide a much better vantage point into the factory, and he and Bruce began their long, strenuous hike through the dark woods.
Once on the cliff, Holmes removed a pair of binoculars from the folds of his cloak and focused on the building below, now illuminated by electric lamps.
"The guards are armed very fully for pharmaceutical workers," said Holmes. "And the windows are tinted. Somehow we'll have to get a closer look."
Then he felt something pressed to the back of his head and heard swearing in German. He and Bruce slowly raised their arms.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Bruce and Holmes were led inside the building and thrown into a cage. A heavy wooden door was slammed and locked. Some sort of holding facility.
Another man, face covered in hairy bristles, hair greasy and disheveled, was sitting slouched in the corner of the cell. He looked up at Holmes and Bruce. His mouth moved but no sound was coming out. He began to pant and wheeze.
Bruce quickly handed the man a canteen he always carried on his person. The man began to swallow greedily. He choked and spit and wheezed. Then he drank some more. Finally, he sighed and wiped his mouth.
"Rhine!" he said. "He's a Nazi!"
Bruce's blood went cold as a low moan filled the air. He spotted a bulky figure in an adjacent cage. Then he stumbled back.
"M-m-monster!" he stuttered. "The same monster I saw back at the lab!"
"Not a monster, Young Master," said Holmes. "Look again."
Bruce steadied himself, only to once again recoil.
"My God!" he exclaimed. "It's Alastir McBane. But how…? But what…? But who…?"
"This is the story as I imagine it," said Holmes. "I'll start from the beginning. McBane was one of three scientists approached to work on a top secret project for the British government. The project involved creating a formula, both organic and synthetic, that could increase the strength and endurance of the human body. A super steroid for creating super soldiers.
"McBane was frequently approached by a man who claimed to be a representative of a pharmaceutical company. This man claimed he wanted to buy McBane's research in order to fight diseases and heal injuries. McBane was very suspicious and continually refused the man.
"Then the accident happened. While studying the materials he was working with, McBane cut himself. The substances entered his blood stream and began to slowly take effect. One of the side effects was an advanced case of paranoia. McBane decided he had no choice but to destroy his research. He asked to stay late at the laboratory and then released a nerve gas he had created on the guards. Then he started a fire that he hoped would consume the laboratory along with most of his research, and all of what remained of the formula. It was he who also dragged the guards out of the burning building, at that time wanting only to destroy items, not human life.
"But the chemicals in his blood stream began to take more effect. His muscles rapidly grew, throwing his body out of shape and morphing him into something monstrous and inhuman. Also, the chemicals slowly destroyed the scientist's mind. He became even more paranoid, now psychotic.
"McBane fled to his beach house to avoid people. He found that men claiming to be from the pharmaceutical company still sought him, snooping around the house. He needed to die. He needed a body. He prowled the beach and the streets until he found a defenseless old man who almost looked like him. He drowned the man, certain word would get out he had committed suicide."
"But McBain wouldn't…!" Bruce began.
"He's no longer the same McBane," said Holmes. "The chemicals have altered his mind. He's more animal than man."
"Did you always know the man on the beach…?"
"As soon as I examined the body," said Holmes. "There was no sign of a recent cut or scratch on his body, yet McBane had left a substantial amount of blood all over his desk. This body was obviously a decoy."
"It always amazes me how you put it all together, Mr. Holmes," said the man in the corner. Holmes looked at him more closely.
"I know you, don't I? Of course! Ernie Stappleton!"
"Once a Baker Street Irregular, always an Irregular, sir."
Holmes turned to face the clatter of approaching footsteps. A guard unlocked the door of the cell and opened it. Several of the guards formed a thick mass behind a single man in a khaki uniform. His hair was a radiant golden blonde, every strand kept neatly out of his face, so as not to conceal his eyes. They were blue, the same shade of blue as an innocent babies. But their innocent appearance contrasted with a malevolent face, a pair of thin lips twisted into a smirk, and a jaw that was definitely squared. A swastika spread like a spider across the sleeve of his uniform.
"Allow me to introduce myself," he said in a cool, calm, and subtly menacing German voice. "My name is Colonel Aldous Rhine."
"A member of Hitler's National Socialist Party, of course," said Holmes. "And why is the fuehrer so concerned with matters in London?"
"I shall ask the questions here," said Rhine. "What are you doing here? How did you find this place?"
"This place did pose as a legitimate place of business after all," said Holmes. "Reinschdorf's Pharmaceuticals, of course, is just a front for a laboratory at which you can prepare for chemical warfare."
"Chemical warfare?" said Rhine. "Those aren't the words for it at all. We are manufacturing your government's brilliant formula. Since my spies have already put enough of the good professor's formula together to start production, we are on the verge of creating a new, better race! Every National Socialist shall be übermensch!"
Rhine's boyish face twisted in psychotic glee. He rubbed his hands together rapidly as the devilish smile consumed his face.
"The tanks behind me are filled with the ingredients of the formula already," he said. "It's just a matter of combining them correctly. And now you, my new friends will die."
Rhine moved aside. As the men in the front row cocked their weapons, Holmes reached into the folds of his cloak. He removed a test tube and uncorked the stop, then threw the contents forward. The men began to wobble in front of him. Holmes quickly threw the cloak across his face. Following his example, Stappleton pulled a handkerchief across his mouth and nose and Bruce bundled his face in his scarve.
While the men still lurched and shook, Holmes threw his legs into two of their chests, knocking them to the ground. He then performed a roundhouse kick, knocking two more off of their feet.
Bruce grabbed the nearest guard and threw him into the cell bars.
Excited by the commotion, McBane grabbed on the bars of his cell and began to bend them apart. The guards began to fire their weapons at McBane. Holmes grabbed Bruce by the collar and pulled him through a wave of the guards. Bruce broke free from his grip and ran to the professor. The beast was moaning and waving after bullet after bullet struck his flesh. Streams of blood began to roll from McBane's body as he fell to the ground, convulsing and groaning.
Holmes found Bruce and again grabbed and pulled. Now the guards turned towards them. Holmes let go and began punching. Bruce turned to another guard and kicked. The man twisted Bruce's foot. Bruce howled in pain. When the guard let go, Bruce threw a quick left hook and then a right, followed by a jab, knocking the man out. He ducked as another man threw a fist toward him. When he came back up, the man's fist caught him. Bruce staggered back and tried to limp away. The man moved toward him.
Holmes stepped in and threw out his fist, rapidly knocking the guard out.
"Come on!" he yelled to Bruce.
Bruce followed after Holmes. He could see Stappleton punching and kicking up ahead.
Bruce and Holmes stopped in their tracks as a man with a flame thrower stepped out in front of them. At the same time, Bruce and Holmes leapt to avoid the flames. Holmes rolled over and kicked the man with the flamethrower. The man fell into a table covered in test tubes. There was a small explosion and smoke began to fill the air. Flames were spreading all around.
Holmes ran forward. As Bruce limped forward to catch up, he was caught by another guard's fist. He fell to the floor and wiped blood from his lips. He threw his foot forward and caught the guard in the chest. The guard fell into a flame, his suit catching fire. Bruce felt the intense heat of the searing flames smothering him, but the pain was too much for him to get up.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Meanwhile, Holmes was caught between two guards. He delivered a right hook to one man, pushing him to the side, then turned and delivered a left hook to the other. Both guards jabbed at him, but Holmes ducked out of the way. The two guards smashed each other's faces and fell to the ground.
Then Holmes heard a battle cry and saw Rhine thundering towards him. Holmes threw a hard punch into Rhine's face. Rhine took a step back, wiped the blood from his lip, licked it off of his hand, and then smiled and stepped forward. He threw a hard punch into the side of Holmes' face, causing the elderly detective to stumble to the ground.
Seeing this, Bruce forced himself to his feet and began to dodge flames on his way to his teacher's side.
Rhine laughed and kicked Holmes' in the face before he could get up. He moved towards Holmes and kicked again, only this time Holmes caught his foot. The detective pushed and the Nazi flew backwards, flying through a tall flame and igniting his clothes. As he screamed, Holmes jumped to his feet and threw a jab into Rhine's face.
Rhine threw himself to the ground and rolled back and forth. He rose with a thick plank of wood in his hand, one end shard and jagged and aimed towards Holmes. Holmes grabbed the board and tried to force it back. The board slipped from Rhine's hand. Holmes grabbed it and rotated it in his hands.
Rhine stepped forward and grabbed the board as Holmes had, pushing back. Bruce staggered to Holmes' side and grabbed the board. Pushing with all of their might, Holmes and Bruce rammed the board through the center of Rhine's chest. They continued pushing until the end of the board penetrated the side of a tank.
Chemicals began to pour through the crack, flowing down Rhine's back and forming puddles beneath him.
Holmes and Bruce ran as fast as they could. They flew down a flight of stairs and out the nearest fire exit.
Stappleton dropped from a terrace above.
The three limped as far as they could as the factory leapt into hideous flames behind them.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
"Of course, our government refuses to pay you in cash, Mr. Holmes," said Andrew Davenport. "You shouldn't expect payment for performing a service to your country."
Bruce snickered. Davenport frowned but refused to take his eyes from the disapproving Holmes.
"But in our original agreement…," Holmes began.
"Our agreement…," said Davenport slowly. "I don't remember the exact details of our agreement. I simply extended a plea from His Majesty…"
"You mean we should have got this in writing," said Bruce.
"Shut up, you…!"
Holmes cleared his throat loudly.
"Prof. Davenport, you misled me," he said.
"I'm sorry you feel that way, Mr. Holmes," said Davenport. "But this whole thing is bigger than you. Besides, we hardly got the results we expected. You were to bring us McBane alive. You merely gave us your word that he is dead."
"And that a major threat to the country, if not the world, died with him," said Bruce.
"We have no proof of such threat," said Davenport. He inched backwards towards the door. "However, His Majesty does offer a token of appreciation in return for your best efforts."
Two men entered and slowly lowered a parcel covered in brown paper.
"It was a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Holmes," said Davenport. He extended his hand. Holmes simply slipped his sinewy fingers into his pockets. Davenport just shrugged and walked away, followed by the two men.
Bruce watched the G-Men drive off.
"What do you suppose they gave us?" he asked.
"A portrait of my King," he said. "I'm sure we can find some room for His Majesty in the cellar."
Holmes sat down in his armchair and closed his eyes.
"That was McBane's nerve gas you used in there," said Bruce.
"A milder version of it, yes," said Holmes. "I figured we may have use for a substance to shock and stun."
"How many test tubes can you carry in that cloak of your?"
"What would you suggest instead? Some sort of utility belt?"
"And that fighting!" said Bruce. "I didn't think…"
"That a man in his seventies could hold his own in a brawl?" said Holmes. "You know a little bit of street fighting, but you've never learned to box, have you?"
"No," said Bruce.
"Boxing is a pretty elementary fighting style to learn," said Holmes. "When the weather turns warm, I shall have to teach you some moves."
A/N - Happy Belated Thanksgiving. Now, that I'm a little bit caught up, I hope to be able to give you a proper Holiday Greeting soon. I'll try to have a Christmas-themed update ready in time for the holidays. And, again, I'll try to make it short!
If I don't have an update ready by then, I'd like to wish all my readers a Merry Christmas right now, and a Happy New Year.