Disclaimer: None of the titles, trademarks, or characters (with the exception of OC's) are mine.
A/N – It's been a little while since my last update, and it will probably be a while until my next one (That is, if you all let me know that you still want a next one), but I thought I'd deliver the conclusion to "The Adventure of the Golden Fox." I had only planned on doing one story that required three parts (That would be our "BirdMan" epic, involving the origins of Oswald Cobblepot, a.k.a. The Penguin), but the story of the Golden Fox needed to be another epic. This conclusion is longer and more involved than previous denouements, so much so that the previous two chapters now seem little more than set-up for this following chapter. In fact, I've been leading up to this, not just for the last two chapters, but through all of Holmes' and Bruce's adventures.
So, with no further ado…
Bruce Wayne didn't care about what was or what wasn't the vedy English thing to do. He wasn't ready to leave England and he wasn't about to go crawling back to Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Sabrina Smith's offer to allow Bruce to live in sin with her for a while was more than acceptable.
Bruce had to go without sleep the night after he deserted Holmes, wandering the streets of London and trying to keep in public places, but the next morning Sabrina allowed him to move into her place. Bruce couldn't understand why Sabrina had been so ashamed to invite him over sooner. The house wasn't Buckingham Palace by any means, but it wasn't a shack, either. Sabrina's dwellings were in a townhouse similar to the one in which Bob Smith, the man who had thought he was Sherlock Holmes, lived and died in. Only this townhouse was decorated with a very plush and lavish touch. Bruce couldn't help gawking at the chandelier hanging high above the foyer as he passed through it.
"It's not much, but it's home," Sabrina said modestly.
"How much does your acting pay?" Bruce asked.
Sabrina just giggled coquettishly and batted her eyelashes at Bruce.
"Well, it looks like we're finally going to be spending all the time we want together," she purred.
Bruce said nothing. He just used the back of his hand to wipe the beads of perspiration off of his forehead.
"So," Sabrina continued, "to what do I owe that pleasure?"
"The living arrangement the great detective made didn't exactly work for me."
"Oh?"
"It was a disagreement on a case that made me realize it, but that wasn't the start. He just thinks so differently than a normal human being does. We have nothing in common."
Sabrina sat at a table. She leaned over and began drawing invisible circles on the tabletop with a long finger nail. Deep cleavage spilled from her black blouse and brown eyes focused intensely on Bruce.
"What was the case about?" she asked casually.
"Well, it's been in the papers for a while. Have you heard of…?" Bruce stopped suddenly. "Actually, I'm not at liberty to discuss it."
"Apparently you still feel some loyalty to Holmes."
"What makes you say that?"
"Why else would you still protect the confidentiality of one of his ongoing investigations?"
"Because it's my investigation, too."
"You're not going to be leaving me all alone in this big house to go do some of your snooping, are you?" Sabrina asked, turning her beautiful lips into a prominent pout.
"No," Bruce said, a goofy grin automatically covering his face. "I'd better get moved in."
"Then the day is all ours," Sabrina said. "And the night."
Then she laughed huskily, and Bruce joined in.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
The guest room was covered in red satin and lace, but the furnishings were more comfortable than in Holmes' cottage, so Bruce was willing to overlook the feminine decorations. He stripped to his underwear and put on his bathrobe when Sabrina entered. She was wearing a frilly pink negligee and a perfume that scented the entire room with a robust but womanly aroma. Bruce's jaw fell.
"Just came in to wish you a good night," Sabrina said as she shut the door behind her.
Bruce looked up her long, slender, shapely, bare legs to the bottle of champagne by the sharp curve of her right thigh, to her exposed abdomen and cleavage where the negligee was unbuttoned, and to the lips and eyes that appeared more playful than usual.
"I'm sure it will be," Bruce said.
He rose from his bed and walked to her. Sabrina pushed a hand against his chest, smiling as she held him at bay, and then leaned in and kissed his mouth.
"I've been waiting to do this since we met at Lord Edward's reception," Sabrina said, running her hands down Bruce's neck and then grabbing the collar of his robe by both sides and pulling them apart. The robe folded back and Sabrina ran her hands down Bruce's chest.
"We're not in America, you know," Bruce said. "This kind of thing's frowned upon here."
"I won't tell if you won't," Sabrina said.
Bruce put his hand on the back of her soft neck and gently pushed her head forward, and then he leaned in and kissed her. Sabrina pushed her tongue through his lips. Bruce forgot all about Screamer or any other woman he had kissed.
Sabrina pulled away and sat on the corner of the bed. Bruce sat down beside her, stroked her cheek, and then they kissed again. Bruce stroked the shoulders beneath Sabrina's negligee. Then Sabrina forcefully grabbed his wrists and pulled the hands away. At the same time, her lips left Bruce's and she leaned back. She wagged a finger at him while grinning wickedly.
"Let's have a nightcap first."
She uncorked the champagne bottle, spilling a stream of liquid onto the floor, and then poured the bubbly into two glasses sitting on a stand beside the bed.
Bruce kissed her as she picked up the glasses and she pulled away again.
"Careful, Bruce," she said out of breath. "You'll make me spill."
She handed Bruce a glass and raised hers.
"Here's to tonight," she said.
"Cheers."
Bruce quickly downed the alcohol. Sabrina took a few sips and then put the glass down, returning her tongue to the inside of Bruce's mouth.
When she pulled away Bruce felt sick to his stomach. Was he ashamed? No. He was more than willing to kiss her again. Then his head began to hurt.
"Something wrong, darling?" Sabrina asked.
"No. No. Evewything… Every…ting… Evwy… thing's al-wigh…"
The room was spinning and Sabrina was blurring before his eyes. She leaned forward and kissed him again. Then his eyelids closed on him and he fell asleep.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
A blindfold was removed from over a pair of beautiful brown eyes, eyes which were already partly concealed by a black masquerade mask. The Golden Fox looked distastefully at the man in the khaki uniform who put the folded blindfold in his pocket and pushed open the door in front of her. The man ran a hand down her thigh and across her shapely buttocks as she passed him into the room. He grabbed the tail sewed onto her cat suit and held on tight, laughing as she struggled to continued walking through the door.
"Hey, kitty, kitty," the man said in a thick German accent.
The Golden Fox turned towards him and growled. The German only laughed as he dropped her tail and let her walk into the room.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
The light was incredibly dim in the room as the door cre-ee-ked closed behind the woman in the red-brown cat suit. Her sharp eyes could make out the blonde men in khaki uniforms and swastikas standing in front of a desk in the back of the room. She couldn't make out the face of the man who sat at the desk and leaned back into the darkness.
"Fräulein Golden Fox," said a cool, calm, and subtly menacing German voice. "I'm sorry our meetings are so reluctantly attended on your part."
"I'm here, aren't I?" the Golden Fox replied.
"You have the merchandise?" The voice held a slightly gravely quality that was very disheartening.
"I do."
An opened hand reached out of the darkness.
"Let's have it, then."
"I said I had it. I didn't say it was here."
"And why isn't it here, Fräulein?"
"I'm not happy with our arrangement. My price has gone up."
The hand formed a fist and pounded the desk. The Nazis standing in front of it were clearly shaken, but the Golden Fox didn't flinch, at least not visibly.
"We had an agreement," the disembodied voice boomed. "And I don't like dealing with people who wear masks."
"And I don't like relationships with men without faces," the Golden Fox retorted.
The room was filled with a heavy, palpable silence. Then the cool, calm, slightly gravelly German voice continued.
"Many men would desire you. I have you within my reach, but I don't ask for your body. I desire your other offerings."
"I've given you the things you ask for. Secrets, instructions, parts and equipment."
"No good without the blueprints."
"Exactly. Which is why you're giving me another thousand dollars, American, now and then another once I deliver them."
"What makes you think you're in a position to make these demands? My men and I outnumber you. We could follow you to the blueprints, kill you, and take them for ourselves."
"Or I could head straight home and torch everything before you can get your dirty hands on them."
"What brings on this sudden change in demands? Are you getting greedy, Fräulein?"
"I'm sticking my neck out further every day, and it's not even for a cause I believe in. It was bad enough when the government and Scotland Yard were after me, but now the world's greatest detective and his young boy toy are on my tail, no pun intended."
"Don't worry about Sherlock Holmes. He can easily be taken care of."
"I don't want anyone taken care of. I just want to know that I'm sticking my neck out for something worthwhile."
"You strike a hard bargain, Fräulein Fox. I cannot get you the money now, but I give you my word you will receive 2,000 upon delivery."
"Your word's no good."
"Then you have my permission to take whatever steps you think are necessary to avoid being screwed by my men and I."
The door opened behind the Golden Fox and she turned and began to slink towards it.
"One more thing," the German voice said. "I suggest you keep a close eye on your tail."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Bruce opened his eyes and tried to pull himself out of bed. Exhaustion pinned him to the bed as if a magnet was drawing the entire length of his back to the floor. He rolled to his side and looked around him. The ceiling lamp was still lit. The bottle of champagne was sitting uncorked on the stand next to the bed, two glasses beside it.
Bruce forced himself into a sitting position. The room spun and his head ached.
How much did I drink? Bruce tried to remember as he rubbed his eyes.
Sabrina's scent lingered heavily in the air, on the blankets, in Bruce's robe. Where was she?
Bruce grasped his head, stretched, and forced himself to plant his feet on the floor and stand. He walked to the bedroom door and opened it. Poking his head out, Bruce observed Sabrina walking down the hallway, still in her pink negligee.
"Hey, baby," Sabrina said.
"Hey?" Bruce said, his thoughts heavily clouded by the strange exhaustion which had gripped him.
"I was just up for a glass of water," Sabrina said. "Would you like one, dear?"
"No thanks. I think I'm just going back to bed."
"Good night, then."
Bruce began to turn, but then stopped and looked out as Sabrina was passing his doorway.
"One more thing," he said. "Did anything happen last night?"
Sabrina giggled.
"Silly," she said in her usual feminine purr. "If anything had, trust me, you'd remember."
Bruce just blinked, scratched his head, and stepped towards his mattress. He was unconscious before he made it.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Ernie Stappleton, top operative for the William Wiggins Detective Agency, yawned as he stood behind a tall tree and looked up at the terrace outside of Irene Adler's flat. He felt a tap on his shoulder and had to summon all of his willpower to keep from shrieking.
"Easy, old boy. It's just me."
Stappleton sighed with relief and turned to face the man in the deerstalker and Inverness cloak.
"I'll take it from here, Stappleton."
"She's all yours, Mr. Holmes. I have to admit I don't like this. I feel just a little bit like a peeping tom."
"Comes with the territory, young man."
Stappleton pocketed his binoculars and shook Holmes' hand.
"Good luck, sir."
"Good night, lad."
Holmes watched Stappleton walk away and then removed his own pair of binoculars from the inner folds of his cloak and gazed up towards Irene's window.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Bruce awoke the next day feeling incredibly rested and vibrant. No wonder. The grandfather clock in the hall announced it was already 11:00 in the morning. Bruce made his way down the hallway and found himself in the conservatory. He scratched his head and walked in the opposite direction. He didn't really know where he was going, but it didn't really matter. He could take his time getting oriented.
Eventually, Bruce stumbled into the dining room. A plate was set on the table covered in eggs, bacon, pancakes, and toast. A single carnation stood in a vase behind the plate. Bruce sniffed the flower and gently touched the white of the egg with a fingertip. Still warm. A piece of paper beside the plate carried Sabrina's robustly feminine scent.
Dearest, the note read, Got girl things to do today. Please don't mind. Make yourself at home. XOXOXOXO Sabrina.
Bruce shrugged and sat down to his breakfast.
While he ate, Bruce tried to remember what he was doing with Sabrina Smith instead of Sherlock Holmes, especially during an impending investigation. It was some kind of an argument. He remembered that. Then he remembered what the argument was about. Holmes was convinced that Sabrina was the Golden Fox. Bruce couldn't tolerate that. It was ridiculous.
Wasn't it?
Of course Bruce trusted Sabrina. He wouldn't have spent the night in the same house with her if he didn't. Yet he felt uneasy as he placed his dishes in the kitchen sink and began to pace through the house.
Bruce was looking at the paintings and photographs in the hallway when his heart jumped into his throat. There was a black-and-white photograph hanging on the wall displaying a cute little ten year old girl. The American flag was unfurled behind her, and a towering trophy beside her was topped with the number one and engraved with the word "gymnast." Bruce recognized the little girl. It was Sabrina.
And Bruce remembered how the Golden Fox had moved. Like an expert gymnast. Sabrina could be the Golden Fox, and that would make Sherlock Holmes right, again. Bruce clenched his teeth and groaned. That would mean Sherlock Holmes was always right. It also meant that Bruce Wayne had been wrong, about everything.
Bruce shook his head. A lot of young women had been gymnasts. That didn't make them all spies. Then Bruce remembered his strange exhaustion the previous night. If the champagne Sabrina had given him was drugged, everything would make sense. It would allow Sabrina to slip out at night. The Golden Fox always struck at night.
But Bruce wasn't ready to admit defeat yet. He needed harder evidence. Quickly, he ran down the hall to Sabrina's room and threw open the closet door. Shoes. Dresses. Slacks. Shirts. But nothing out of the ordinary.
After all, what was Bruce expecting to find? If she was the Golden Fox, it's not like she'd leave her outfit in the closet. Not with a guest in the house.
But then Bruce saw red-brown in the corner. He grabbed red-brown fabric. It wasn't the outfit. It was raw fabric. But there was a hole cut out of it. A hole the shape and size of the rip Bruce had made in the Golden Fox's outfit! Which meant the missing fabric was probably a patch that would fit over such a hole!
Bruce took long, deep breaths to try to calm himself. Sherlock Holmes had been right again. Bruce had to follow the evidence, and his own instinct, which would make his paramour the woman everyone in the British government was after. What was Bruce going to do about it?
Bruce paced around the room pondering the question for a few minutes. Then he made his decision. Even if Holmes had been right, Bruce could still prove he was a perfectly competent detective by himself. All he needed was a plan. In a few more minutes, he had one.
Bruce found a pad of paper by Sabrina's telephone. He said a silent prayer and then dialed the number written on the front page.
"Hello."
Perfect. It was the same voice Bruce had heard every time he had called to make a date with Sabrina.
"Hello," the voice repeated. "Who is this?"
Bruce didn't have the plan fully worked out yet, but he had an idea of what to do, and this was the start of it.
"Hello, baby. Remember me?"
"I'm not sure."
"I remember you," Bruce said. "How could I forget? You were the angel. The angel on the other side of the room."
"What room?"
"Don't tell me you forgot last night already. You…," Bruce fumbled for a name. "You."
"Did we talk?"
"A little bit. But maybe it didn't mean as much to you as to me. Either way, I'm pretty sure you asked me to get in touch with you."
"Did you tell me your name?"
"I might not have," Bruce said. He fumbled for a name again. "It's Mitchell Malone. Junior."
"Mitchell?"
"Yes… you. How could you forget? Look, I really think we have something here. Could I see you again?"
She giggled merrily on the other end.
"How about tomorrow?" she said. "Just a lunch thing. One o'clock?"
"Can't wait. Just give me the address."
Bruce turned to an empty page of the pad and searched for a pen. But he didn't write anything down. He didn't have to. The address she gave him was the address he was already at. She would make arrangements to use the house with Sabrina. She'd be able to make those arrangements because it was her house to begin with.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
The door in front of the apartment building opened, and Holmes watched as Irene Adler stepped out. He walked through the bushes towards the door as he watched her walk away.
Irene turned, and Holmes quickly moved behind a tree. The move wasn't an easy one, though, and Holmes tried to muffle a whimper of pain as his over 70 year old ankle twisted.
Irene continued to walk into the distance. Holmes tiptoed in her direction, but then he heard the door open behind him. He spun around as two tall, muscular men stepped out behind him and grabbed him by the arm. They dragged him towards Irene as Irene turned and stepped towards him. She aimed a gun at Holmes' stomach.
"I'm sorry, Sherlock. But you wouldn't take my warning. Now you'll have to join us for a little walk."
Irene and her thugs led Holmes blindfolded through the streets of London for over two hours before they stopped and began to untie the fold.
"I'm sorry about the blindfold, darling," Irene said. "But it was necessary to…"
Holmes scoffed.
"It wasn't necessary at all. Do you really think making all those unnecessary turns and detours would make me forget the direction I travel to visit my own brother?"
Irene looked from Holmes to the corpulent, bald man sitting in the corner of the room. The corpulent man had the same angular features that Holmes did. She removed the blindfold.
"Of course," Mycroft Holmes said. "Welcome back to the Diogenes Club, brother."
"Don't tell me that my bringing here like this was your idea," Sherlock said. "And that you've been raised to a higher and more secretive position in the government."
"Not at all, Sherlock," said Mycroft. "The cloak and daggers business is his department."
Professor Andrew Davenport stepped from the corner and bowed slightly.
"I'm still a mere bean counter," Mycroft continued. "They just thought you'd prefer to hear this from me."
"I ordered Agent Adler to take any steps she deemed necessary to make sure this operation wasn't compromised in any way. I never though she'd bring you here," Davenport said.
"Agent Adler?"
"Quite," Mycroft said. "Irene Adler is a special agent of His Majesty's Secret Service. Don't look so surprised, Sherlock. You practically recommended her to us."
"So those two brutes who accosted me are government agents?"
"Hardly agents," Irene said. "Low men on the totem pole. Just my backup."
"Agent Adler has spent the last five months attempting to uncover and capture the elusive prowler known as the Golden Fox," Mycroft said. "We believe the Golden Fox specializes in government technology and secrets. Her existence poses a great threat to national security."
"I believe that much," Holmes said. "What I don't understand is my presence here."
"I'd like to know about that myself."
Holmes looked at Irene.
"What do you mean? You're the one who brought me here."
"Because you were sticking your nose into a government issue. My mission could not be compromised."
"But our mission was the same one. Professor Davenport hired me to aid in the capture of the Golden Fox."
"That's why we met at the pub. It looks like we were taking the same approach to the investigation." Irene turned to Davenport. "Why wasn't I informed that Holmes and I were both searching for the Golden Fox, by your orders?"
Prof. Davenport swallowed a lump in his throat and looked at Irene and Sherlock sheepishly.
"Such an important issue required His Majesty's government to take advantage of all possible resources."
"And apparently not to place any amount of confidence in any of those resources," Irene said bitterly.
"Enough squabbling," Mycroft said. "Now that we're all here, does anyone have any suggestions on how we're going to deal with this problem?"
"I take it that since this is now a government operation, I can no longer expect payment in gold?" Sherlock said. Prof. Davenport shook his head. "Damn! Well, I do have one suggestion."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Bruce saw Sabrina the next morning, but she quickly made some excuse to leave the house. Bruce knew it was a made-up excuse because he knew why she was really leaving. She also left Bruce with a list of things to do. Not around the house. In the most subtle way she could muster, she was making it clear to him that he shouldn't hang around the house, either. She even had Bruce follow her outside and drive to the nearest market.
Bruce excused himself and slowly made his way towards Sabrina's house. Or the house of the girl he had spoken to on the phone. He made it to the door with a bouquet of flowers five minutes past twelve.
The girl opened the door.
"Hey," Bruce said. "…You."
"Morgan," the girl said. "Morgan Barnswallow."
"Do you think I would forget?"
Actually, Sabrina's friend Morgan was quite forgettable. She wasn't ugly. She was just plain. She wore a loose fitting, ruffled gray dress. Raven black hair was drawn into a tight bun behind her egg-shaped head. Her teardrop shaped gray-blue eyes held no emotion and her thin, tiny lips made a straight line above her chin rather than a smile or a frown.
"Do come in, Mr. Malone," Morgan said.
"Please, call me Matches," Bruce replied. "All my friends do."
Morgan smiled a half-smile and led Bruce inside. She put a hand on his broad shoulder and gestured towards the seat he had eaten breakfast in that very morning.
"I'm sorry, but I still don't remember you," she said.
"But I remember you," Bruce said. "I must make a confession."
"Go on," Morgan said, her half-smile fading back into a straight line.
"I lied about talking to you before. But I fell in love with you when I first saw you and I just had to get in touch."
"I'm glad you did," Morgan said. She placed a cold, emotionless hand on Bruce's. "But how did you get this number?"
"From a mutual friend," Bruce continued. "Miss Sabrina Smith?"
"Oh?" There was a flicker of emotion in Morgan's eyes. But it wasn't the kind of emotion he thought it was at first. She began stroking the hand she was holding with her fingertips. It sent chills down Bruce's spine. "Are you sure it's not Sabrina you're interested in? Most men are."
"She seemed okay, I guess," Bruce said. "But she's so… plain next to you."
Morgan batted her eye lashes and half-smiled again.
"Have you had many ladies before, Mr. Matches?"
Bruce swallowed a lump in his throat. Morgan leaned over and drew invisible circles on the tabletop with a short fingernail; much like Bruce had seen Sabrina do earlier, revealing shallow cleavage beneath the gray dress. Holmes was right, Bruce thought begrudgingly. Every woman on the planet is hell-bent on using their sexuality against me.
"When do we eat?"
"You silly Yankee," Morgan said. "Isn't the conversation fulfilling enough for you?"
She leaned in deeper. Bruce blushed and rose from his seat.
"I've dreamed about this moment since I first saw you. But now I'm afraid I must be going. Ta-ta. Pip-pip. Cheery-o. And whatever else you Brits say."
Bruce ignored the shocked look on Morgan's face and walked out the door. Then he hid behind a shrub and waited. An hour later, Morgan stepped out the front door, the confused look still on her face. Bruce waited until she was at the end of the street and then began to follow. He followed her several blocks. Morgan never hailed a taxi or a bus but just continued her trek on foot.
Bruce's hair bristled up on the back of his neck. Was Sabrina dangerous? Was he walking into a trap? Bruce refused to believe he could be that wrong about someone, but he couldn't shake the feeling something, or someone, was behind him. Bruce looked over his shoulder and spotted an old man with long, stringy hair. Bruce continually shifted his gaze between the old man and Morgan, speeding his walk just a little. The old man turned down a different road and Bruce turned his full attention to Morgan. After another block, Bruce felt as though someone was behind him again. He turned and saw a crippled old lady with gnarly red hair. He ignored her and sped up even more to stay in pursuit of Morgan.
Bruce checked over his shoulder. The crippled old lady was out of sight. Up ahead, Morgan was unlocking the door to a secluded cabin. Bruce waited until she was inside and then ran to the house and onto the front stoop. He turned the knob. The door was unlocked. It slowly swung open.
Sabrina Smith was holding a gun inside.
"Hello, lover."
She grabbed Bruce by the arm and pulled him in, slamming the door shut and locking it behind him. She pushed him to the other side of the room and kept the gun trained on his belly.
"Did you honestly believe I couldn't recognize your voice from all those other phone calls?" Morgan asked. Bruce just shrugged.
"Sit down, Bruce," Sabrina said, motioning with a gun towards the whicker chair. There was still a playful glimmer in her brown eyes and a naughty smile on her sumptuous lips.
Bruce took a seat.
"He knows too much now, Sabrina," Morgan said. "We'll have to kill him."
Sabrina holstered her gun and crossed the room to Bruce. She put a hand on his cheek.
"That would be a shame," she said. She straddled his lap. "Our relationship was just getting interesting."
"I suppose I should leave you two alone," Morgan said. She opened a door and disappeared from sight.
Without leaving Bruce's lap, Sabrina drew her gun again. Then she pushed her lips against Bruce's. Bruce automatically pushed his back.
Sabrina removed her mouth from Bruce's and then bit his earlobe.
"What am I supposed to do with you, lover?" she whispered.
Then, suddenly, her mood changed. She crawled out of Bruce's lap and sniffed the air.
"I smell smoke," she said.
The door Morgan had disappeared through opened and smoke billowed out.
"Fire! Fire!" Morgan cried. "Fire! We've got to get out of here."
"Not without our files!" Sabrina cried.
"Sabrina, we could die if we get them!"
"Morgan, we will die if we don't!"
Bruce just watched as Sabrina and Morgan ran frantically down the hallway. When they were out of sight he bolted for the door.
The old man with stringy hair and the old crippled lady with gnarly hair were waiting outside, holding guns. Bruce looked at them in shock. Morgan and Sabrina soon bolted into Bruce, both carrying cardboard boxes filled with papers.
The woman pulled Bruce to the side and then she and the man both removed their disguises, revealing themselves as Irene Adler and Sherlock Holmes.
"The game's up, Miss Smith," said Holmes. "Or should I say, Miss Golden Fox?"
He grabbed her by the shoulders and twirled her to face the woods on the west side of the cabin, from which Prof. Andrew Davenport, Mycroft Holmes, Inspector Stanley Hopkins, and several sharpshooters holding rifles and dressed in constabulary uniforms emerged.
Holmes then turned and grabbed Morgan by the shoulders. He twirled her around as well.
"There's no need to worry, ladies. A simple incendiary device was flung through an opened window. There's no flames, only a small amount of smoke."
"Up to your old tricks, I see, Sherlock," said Irene. "I can't believe they fell for it."
"Why not, Miss Adler?" Holmes asked, looking at her haughtily. "You did."
Davenport, Mycroft, Hopkins, and a constable stepped forward and placed cuffs around Sabrina and Morgan's wrists.
"You no doubt recognize the Golden Fox's accomplice," Holmes said. "Lady Morgan Barnswallow. Upon Miss Smith's arrival in England — I call her that only because I still have no idea of her true surname — the two became fast friends. Lady Morgan lent her two homes and her numerous social contacts to Sabrina's gymnastic skills to create the perfect spy."
"Two houses?" Bruce said. "Now I get it. Sabrina made the mistake of carrying her most prized possessions from one house to the other. The gymnastics photo was what convinced me she was the Golden Fox."
"Lady Morgan was Sabrina's English insider," Holmes said. "They were no doubt splitting the profits from selling government secrets."
Bruce watched as a police captain disbanded the sharpshooters and then followed them away.
"You'll want to talk more with the young ladies, of course, Professor," Holmes said.
"Quite," said Davenport. He and Mycroft led Sabrina and Morgan into the woods. Irene Adler followed.
"I wonder what those secrets are," Holmes said slyly.
Holmes reached into one of the cardboard boxes and pulled out a manila folder. Hopkins gasped but said nothing.
The file was labeled "Fort Kane." Holmes opened it and looked at the blueprints inside.
"It seems to be the blueprints for some kind of vehicle," he said.
Bruce peeked at the blueprints. The automobile appeared very sleek and aerodynamic. There seemed to be plans to power it with some sort of turbo thruster.
"I've got to get me one of these," Bruce said.
Holmes closed the file and replaced it in the cardboard box.
Then Bruce looked at Holmes in disgust.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded.
"Capturing the Golden Fox," Holmes said. "With your help, of course. You led me straight to her. First, I simply had to put a tail on you. Wiggins was more than happy to do the job. When you met up with Lady Morgan, Miss Adler and I waited to follow you as you followed her. And of course, you led us here, where I was able to spring my fox-trap. There's no need to thank me for rescuing you."
"You didn't rescue me," Bruce snapped. "I had everything taken care of myself. You didn't need to come here."
"Fair enough, Master Bruce," Holmes said. "You did very well for yourself. Now you may come back to the Sussex cabin to continue your lessons."
"No!" Bruce said. "I meant what I said. I might have been wrong about Sabrina, but I wasn't wrong about those other things! I can make it on my own as a detective… without you."
Prof. Davenport, Mycroft Holmes, and Irene Adler emerged with their prisoners.
"They're pretty tight lipped, Sherlock," Mycroft said.
"And we're just plain pretty," Sabrina quipped.
"And now, gentlemen," Holmes said, "if we leave the more than capable Inspector Hopkins to safeguard our prisoners, we had better search the premises to see if our adversaries have any more hidden secrets."
And everyone moved into the building, with the exception of Inspector Stanley Hopkins and his two prisoners.
A/N – If you read this, then please review.