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February 12th, 1936.
A sign lettered with ugly green paint read "Sherman's Pet Store" and hung above a small shack made of uneven boards of wood in an even uglier shade of green. Another sign hung in a filthy black window with simple black block letters. This sign said "Closed for business."
Holmes knocked, and in answer the door flew backwards and the business end of a shotgun was shoved into Holmes angular nose. Holding the shotgun was a short man, about in his late thirties or early forties, with shaggy ginger hair and a chin-strap beard like an old sailor's.
"Easy, Sherman!" Holmes said.
The shotgun was slowly lowered.
"Oh, it's you, Sherlock!" Sherman said.
"You know him?" said Bruce, stepping forward.
"Of course he knows me," said Sherman. "He also knew my father, and my grandfather."
Bruce leaned close to Holmes.
"Were his father and his grandfather this strange?" he whispered.
"Even stranger," whispered Holmes. Louder, he said: "Sherman, what's the meaning of this?"
"Can't be too careful, with that lunatic striking out at shops like this one."
"You need no longer be worried about that," said Holmes. "I can assure you I personally took care of that matter just last month."
Holmes continued to talk with Sherman, but Bruce didn't hear what they were saying. He was still digesting what Holmes had just said. Holmes was so quick to take credit for that case, that case that had caused Bruce so much guilt and torment. Bruce remembered playing a more than substantial role in that victory.
"And who's your friend?"
Holmes looked puzzled momentarily. Then he turned to Bruce, seeming to remember him for the first time.
"This is Wayne, my personal assistant," said Holmes.
Bruce had caught on to a pattern by this time. Whenever Holmes needed to fit comfortably into a high-society scenario, he was sure to introduce Bruce as "Bruce Wayne, of the Gotham City Waynes." But whenever Holmes was in a situation with people he knew, people who respected him, Bruce was simply Bruce Wayne, the errand boy or apprentice or companion or whatever demeaning label Holmes chose to saddle him with.
Holmes and Sherman continued to talk, but Bruce only saw moving lips. He was consciously ignoring everything they were saying as Sherman led him into the ugly pet shop.
The three passed several cages in which animals hissed and growled and squawked and barked at Bruce. Finally, Sherman pulled back a small curtain, a slightly more aesthetically pleasing shade of green, into a rather spacious room. A small desk stood in the corner of the room. Next to the desk was a small rug, and on the rug was one of the mangiest mutts Bruce had ever seen.
At Holmes' entrance, the dog immediately awakened, writhed in the air until it's paws hit the concrete floor, and then slowly straightened itself before trotting to Holmes. As the mutt was doing this, Holmes dropped to his knees. The dog jumped up, placing its paws on Holmes' shoulder and licking Holmes' face. Holmes laughed before gently pushing the dog down and then lifting the beast's rather low-hanging ears and studying them.
"Mr. Wayne, allow me to introduce you to the greatest detective in all of London: Toby."
"Really?"
"Actually, he's Tobias V," said Holmes. "He's my pet, but as it's hard for a man my age to care for such an active young pup, Sherman takes care of him for me."
Holmes was grinning like a school boy as he tied a leash to Toby's collar.
"Toby's great grandfather assisted me in the singular adventure of the Sign of Four," said Holmes. "I believe Toby V can be of great use to us now."
Holmes thanked Sherman and then walked Toby back out through the pet shop.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Holmes and Bruce walked Toby V all the way back to the cottage in Sussex. Bruce held one end of the leash, but Toby seemed to be the one pulling it, much to Bruce's aggravation. Many times, Bruce had to stop to fix the leash, which Toby managed to continually tangle himself in. Still, the two detectives and their canine companion were able to reach the cottage hours before sunset.
Holmes and Bruce both had to take hold of the leash to stop Toby from terrorizing the heated hutch in which Holmes' beehives were being kept. Bruce and Holmes made it to the door, and when they opened it, they found Jamie Watson inside.
Bruce's jaw dropped. Dr. Watson was dressed more informally then he had ever seen before. She was wearing a thin white blouse with a low-cut and wide-open collar and a pair of khaki green men's trousers. A heavy brown men's jacket was unzipped over the blouse.
Her eyes lit up when the men entered.
"Uncle Sherlock!" she exclaimed. "I was in the area and stopped by to see how you were doing."
Bruce's grip lessened and the leash began to slide from his palm. He quickly clenched his fist again, but Toby burst forward, the leash flew from Bruce's hand, and Toby knocked the blonde doctor to the ground.
Dr. Watson just laughed as she pushed the dog away and crawled back to her feet.
"Hello, Toby!" she said, in the soothing voice a new mother uses on her infant child. "Hello, precious! I haven't seen you in such a long time."
Toby generously licked her face, and she repaid the slobbery kisses, pressing her pouty lips against the top of the dog's head, covering the tangled hair in shimmering lip gloss.
Dr. Watson looked up at Bruce with a beaming smile. Bruce refused to believe that the smile was for Toby V and not for him.
"I'm afraid Toby can't be bothered for long," said Holmes. "He has an important job to do."
"You're not going to work my puppy too hard, are you?" asked Jamie, scratching Toby's head and looking at Holmes with twinkling eyes, her lips poutier than ever.
"Nothing more than he can handle, I'm sure," said Holmes, responding with a fatherly smile.
Jamie kissed Toby again. The way she treated the animal was starting to make the mutt seem cuter to Bruce by every second.
Holmes ducked into his study. Meanwhile, Jamie continued to scratch and pet Toby V playfully. Bruce looked at her, fully intending to say something. Then he decided not to interrupt the moment, but to just take in the sight of the doctor and the dog playing happily together.
Holmes appeared in the doorway of his study, holding the plastic bag with the piece of torn, reddish-brown cloth.
"What's this job you have for Toby, anyway?" asked Jamie.
"A simple tracking job," said Holmes. He turned to Bruce. "Toby's olefactory senses are uncanny. If we give him a good whiff of this cloth sample you so skillfully collected, he should be able to lead us to a logical suspect."
"I'd hate for Toby to have to do all that walking through this frightful cold," said Jamie. The dog moaned contentedly while lying on his back and having Jamie scratch his belly.
"I'm afraid we've no other choice," said Holmes. "This is an undertaking of the highest magnitude, and we are in dire needs of Toby's unique skills."
"Let me walk him, please, Uncle Sherlock!" said Jamie, pouting at Holmes once again. "I haven't seen him in the longest time."
Holmes stroked his long chin.
"That would be most convenient, actually. I have some other business to take care of. There's a certain someone I must pay a call on. Wayne, you are to accompany Dr. Watson on her walk. I'd like you there to interpret Toby's results."
Bruce tried not to nod too enthusiastically. He hadn't seen Jamie in the longest time, and there was nothing he wanted to do more.
"Very well," said Holmes, tying on his Inverness cape and replacing his deerstalker. "Take good care of each other. And of Toby."
The great detective threw open the door as a heavy snow began to fall. A cold breeze swept the room, causing Bruce to shudder.
Jamie just smiled at him.
"This should be a nice brisk walk, shouldn't it?"
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Irene Adler answered the knock on the door of her third-floor flat.
"Why, Sherlock, what a pleasant surprise!"
"We've certainly been seeing very much of each other lately, Ms. Adler."
"I thought you'd be glad of it. Care for a cigarette?"
"I'll stick to my pipe, thank you," said Holmes, pulling the Calabash from his pocket, along with a bag of tobacco.
"Better that than your seven-percent solution, I suppose."
Irene moved to her cabinet and opened the rather ostentatious pearl cigarette case atop it. She removed a tiny cigarette and placed it between her ruby lips as Holmes struck a match. Irene brought her mouth close to the flame, but Holmes stepped back and used it to light his own pipe before shaking off the flame and dropping the match stick to the ground. He then crushed the stick with his heel.
Irene shrugged and lifted a match book from the cabinet top.
"I thought I made it clear that I never wanted to see you again," said Holmes.
"You did," said Irene, "but then you insisted on showing up at all of the parties I was invited to."
"Just one," said Holmes. "The birthday reception for Lord Edward Porter, the legendary naval commander."
"It was quite the affair. Lord Edward is a very handsome man."
"You became acquainted with him intimately?"
"Not nearly as intimately as I would have liked."
Irene struck her match, lit her cigarette, and took a long drag.
"What do you know about the Golden Fox?"
Irene exhaled a thick cloud of smoke and then laughed huskily.
"You don't suspect me, do you, Sherlock? I'd never be able to pull of such gymnastics at my age."
"That may very well be, but I find it highly suspicious that you've been finagling with naval officers and hanging out at pubs near military bases and dodgy old docks."
"I've always been intrigued by seamen," said Irene. "And I'm pretty sure that's not the appropriate use of the word finagling."
"I think you know more about this matter than you are telling."
Irene took another drag than exhaled slowly.
"I was hoping this visit would be more pleasant, Sherlock, but now I'm afraid I shall have to ask you to leave."
"Then I'll assume I'm correct."
"It's been a fun chase up 'till now, dearest, but I can't have you on my tail any longer. Stay away from this."
"This what?"
"This silly hunt for the Golden Fox. And stop bothering me. You have no idea just how serious this matter is."
"Are you threatening me, Ms. Adler?"
"Not threatening, Sherlock," said Irene. She placed a hand on Sherlock's chest. Sherlock stood frozen as if hypnotized. Then Irene applied pressure until Sherlock was pressed against her door. "Warning. As an old friend. And an old lover."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
"Come on, Toby!" said Dr. Jamie Watson. She was on her knees in the snow, rubbing Toby's hair, creating friction and melting snowflakes. "I know it's cold, baby, but you can do it!"
Toby moaned but then began to trudge forward through the oppressive snow fall. Jamie rose to her feet and slapped the snow off of her knees.
She and Bruce had walked in silence at first. Bruce was too nervous to speak. He wondered if Holmes had told Jamie about Screamer Wiggins, and the possibility made Bruce feel awkward. He thought about asking Jamie if Holmes had told her, but he realized that if he hadn't, Jamie would want to know now, and Bruce would have to tell her. He kept his mouth shut until Jamie began to make small talk.
The two found themselves laughing as Jamie told Bruce about her father, and about Sherlock Holmes, and about her earlier adventures in forensic medicine. Bruce would add a word or two to the conversation, but for the most part he was just satisfied to look into Jamie's sparkling, deep pools of eyes.
When it was Bruce's turn to speak, he told Jamie about Lord Edward Porter's birthday reception and about the BirdMan and the string of pet store robberies. Jamie seemed interested and impressed, and Bruce was glad someone was finally hearing his side of the story. The papers had only mentioned Holmes when reporting the details of the pet store robberies. The reports were vague, all stating basically that Holmes had uncovered the secret hiding place in which master criminal Kyle Kimmerick had stashed his ill-gotten gains and in which the animals used to pull off the pet store robberies had been kept, and that Holmes had been responsible for the downfall of Kimmerick and whoever was behind the pet store robberies. The articles made it sound like those separate culprits were actually one in the same.
After the last peel of laughter subsided, Bruce's voice took on a more gentle tone.
"Jamie, remember when we had that conversation at the theater in December?"
"Of course."
"There was something you said then that I'd like to ask you about."
Before he could go any further, Toby began to bark loudly. He tugged at Jamie's leash and pulled her down the street. When he stopped in his tracks, Sabrina Smith stood in front of him, looking amused.
The beautiful brunette was wearing a slightly reddish, brown, hooded parka. The hood was down and her beautiful hair was blowing in the wind. Her high cheekbones were flushed with a lovely red shade that was more natural than usual. Toby was barking at her frantically.
Sabrina laughed and bent down to pet Toby, but the mutt barked and nipped at her hand. Sabrina pulled her hand away quickly and rose to her feet without breaking her perfect smile. In fact, she laughed merrily.
"I'm usually so good with animals," she said. "Hello, Bruce. It's been a while since our last get-together, hasn't it?"
"It has," said Bruce, grinning stupidly. "Much too long of a while."
Toby continued to bark.
"Shut up, you stupid animal!" Bruce grumbled.
Jamie looked from Bruce to Sabrina nonplused.
"And if it isn't our friend the little doctor woman," said Sabrina. "How is life in obscurity? I don't think I'd ever give up my place in the spotlight to take yours."
"Of course not," said Jamie. "Why work in a profession where you can help people when you can just entertain them with nipples about to burst through your clothes?"
"Don't be jealous, dear. I'm sure you'll grow into a training brassiere soon."
"At least I'll be wearing a brassiere."
Now Bruce's cheeks were taking on a crimson flush.
"I'm terribly sorry about this," he said. "The doctor and I had better be going. Will we see each other again soon?"
"I certainly hope so," said Sabrina. "Let's make plans for Friday night, shall we?"
Toby tried to follow Sabrina as she sauntered away, but Jamie held firmly on the leash. Bruce and Jamie turned back towards the cottage, but their interaction with each other was now colder than the weather.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Sherlock Holmes walked the entire way from Irene Adler's flat to his Sussex cottage, smoking his pipe and wrapped so deeply in his thoughts he didn't even feel the cold.
When Holmes arrived he found Dr. Jamie Watson sitting on a settee and looking glum. She forced the corners of her lips slightly upwards when he entered.
"Hey, Uncle Sherlock."
"Hey yourself," said Holmes. "Where's Wayne?"
"Up in his quarters." Jamie's lips turned into a sour pucker. She then faked the smile again. "I took Toby back to Sherman's."
"Was your trek eventful?"
"We ran into Bruce's girlfriend. But that's about it."
Jamie rose from her seat and gave Holmes a cold peck on the cheek before sulking out the door. Holmes watched her leave with confused curiosity, biting down on the stem of his pipe.
Holmes opened the door to Bruce's room and gave Bruce a questioning glance. He then turned the same look towards Bruce's clock.
"This will never do," said Holmes. "It's wrong again."
Holmes bent down to adjust the clock again but then stopped.
"Hold on a moment," he said. "You always stop it at the same time. Why is that?"
"It's amazing how you do this," said Bruce. "Analyzing and calculating everything you see. I think your brain's like one of Allan Gates' fancy typewriters. Just insert the data and an answer sheets slides out."
"Criminal deduction isn't quite that simple, I'm afraid," said Holmes.
"About the Allan Gates case," said Bruce. "When we looked at the body of Bob Smith, you said he couldn't be you because there weren't any marks on his arms."
"Needle marks," Holmes corrected.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Holmes turned his gaze to the floor for a moment, his hawk like nose pointing at an angle towards Bruce's mattress. He slowly raised his head.
"In the beginning we agreed to keep our personal secrets our personal secrets," said Holmes.
"Then no more asking me about why I keep Jamie's clock the way I do."
"Very well. But I must ask you about Jamie. Why'd she leave in such a foul mood?"
"Do you understand women?"
Holmes thought of all of his experiences with Irene Adler and sighed.
"Afraid not."
"Well, neither do I."
"Dr. Watson informs me that you ran into Sabrina Smith during your walk."
Then Holmes began to chuckle.
"How interesting," he murmured, stroking his angular chin. "How very interesting. And quite possible."
"What is?"
"Why didn't we see it before?"
"See what?"
"Has it ever occurred to you that Sabrina Smith might be the Golden Fox?"
Bruce looked at Holmes in shock.
"Of course not! You're joking, right?"
"Certainly not. Think back to when you first met Sabrina Smith. It was at Lord Edward Porter's reception! The next time you saw her was at the theater during 'A Christmas Carol.' Several powerful people attend that theater. Also, she was romancing the late Sir William Moore at the time. Sir William is known for his powerful connections."
"You're suggesting that Sabrina is the Golden Fox?"
"Why not? Toby did."
"I'm not going to listen to this."
"Think it through, Wayne. Do you really know anything of her background? What was she like before she started her acting career? I suspected she was something other than what she appeared from the moment I saw her."
"You're saying she's not really an actress?"
"Oh, she's certainly an actress. She's even convinced you with her performance. As Sabrina Smith, the actress, she gets close to and seduces powerful men. As the Golden Fox, she prowls government facilities and steals top secret items and documents. She's the perfect spy. Even her name, Smith, suggests anonymity. It's probably an assumed identity."
Bruce jumped from the bed and took several thunderous steps to the door.
"You're wrong about her, Holmes! I think I've spent enough time around her to know what she's really like."
"Can't you see your being duped?"
"You smug, arrogant, limey twit!" screamed Bruce. "You're accusing her with almost no evidence."
"I'm making no accusations. I'm merely deriving a theory based on the facts on hand using the science of deduction and logic."
"I'm sick of all that twaddle."
"By twaddle are you referring to the systematic gathering of evidence and the series of logical deductions based therein?"
"By twaddle I am referring to twaddle!"
Holmes looked at Bruce as if he had been physically slapped.
"You come to me asking me to teach you to think in terms of logic and science. Meanwhile, you only think with your libido."
"What are you accusing me of?"
"You attempt to deflower the younger sibling of one of my closest allies. You find yourself drooling over every female suspect we encounter. You neglect your chores to spend an increasing amount of time with that brazen Miss Smith. You're a typical red-blooded American who thinks of nothing but sexual relations. You think of only pleasing your carnal needs. You're selfish."
"I'm selfish? All this time I've worked with you your name shows up in the papers and not mine. You're taking all the credit for my victories."
"Your victories? I am the master detective and you are merely the apprentice."
"Master detective? You're nothing more than a washed up old bat! You wouldn't have been able to close any of these cases without me! And all this time you've refused to put any trust in me or acknowledge my attributions!"
"Again, you're thinking with your passions instead of your logic."
"Don't get me started on passions! You pretend to be so immune to carnal needs, but I heard your conversations with Irene Adler. Despite your former meetings? A man ruled by his passions?"
"You're losing your head right now. But it was you who came to me for my teachingNow once you're calm again I'll telephone Professor Davenport to share my latest theory and we will resume your studies."
"I'm sick of your studies! I don't need you anymore! I know enough about this logic and deduction stuff to be a greater detective than you ever were! I'm out of here!"
Then Bruce stormed through the door, slammed it behind him, pounded down the stairs, and thundered through the main door of the cottage, slamming that one as well.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Sabrina Smith and Bruce Wayne met and Bruce presented her with a bouquet of poinsettias. Sabrina blushed and kissed his cheek.
"I'm so glad you decided to get together before Friday night."
"I need to talk to you," said Bruce. "I'm alone in England right now and I need a place to stay. I was hoping I could move in with you."
"The neighbors will talk," joked Sabrina. She smiled deliciously. "But I'm sure we can work something out."
A/N – To be continued…