DISCLAIMER: I own nothing... nothing!

A/N – Here's a present, just in time for Christmas. Again, I apologize that the story isn't more in-line with the Spirit of the Holidays, but it's taken longer to write this fan novel than I intended. It was only meant to take place over the course of a year, and I can think of no proper explanation for Christmas occurring twice in one year.

So, here's the conclusion of "The Adventure of the Walking Terror."

Sherlock Holmes seemed to be sleeping peacefully when Bruce Wayne entered his bedroom. Jamie Watson was sitting beside the bed, her eyes downcast and showing nothing but concern. At the sound of Bruce's footsteps, she looked up.

"Any improvement?" Bruce asked solemnly.

Jamie shook her head with equal solemnity.

Just then, Holmes jerked up violently, flaying his arms in the air.

"It's the Headless Horseman!" he screamed. "The Headless Horseman. He tried to kill me!"

Bruce could do nothing but gape at the horrifying site. Jamie gently grabbed Holmes' shoulders. Holmes responded by grabbing her neck. Bruce watched in horror as Jamie choked and Holmes tightened his grip. He lunged forward.

"Get your mitts off her!" he commanded.

Holmes continued to squeeze. Bruce raised his hand to strike at the possessed man grasping the beautiful blonde by the throat.

"Bruce, no!" Jamie wheezed. "Don't."

Suddenly, Holmes' hands separated and the detective fell back to the bed. Jamie coughed violently. Bruce stepped towards her, but Jamie held out a hand to stop him.

Then Holmes shot up again. Bruce and Jamie both started in terror. But Holmes just opened Jamie's Gladstone bag. He removed a syringe and hurled it through the air like a dart. The needle caught in a book on a shelf on the other side of the room. Then Holmes collapsed once again. Jamie sighed, relieved.

Bruce led Jamie into Holmes' study.

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

"What have you found?" Jamie asked.

"The name in Holmes' pocket. Dean Dennis Shaw of Oxford University. He's dead. The police think it's a suicide."

Jamie's thick blonde eyebrows arched in surprise.

"No note or anything. But Shaw left muddy footprints on the banister of his master staircase. It looked like he jumped. He'd been dead about eight days when his wife found him. She'd been visiting family in Switzerland. She said he was a little stressed about work, but no more so than usual. Couldn't think of why he'd kill himself."

"Do you think it was murder? And that he hired Holmes because he knew someone was after his life?"

"There may be more to it than that. The University Chaplain died a few days earlier. Burnt to death."

Jamie cringed.

"How?"

"He crawled into a lit fireplace."

Jamie cringed again.

"His maid says he went off his rocker," Bruce continued. "Says he kept screaming about Satan sitting in his armchair, and about the fires of Hell, and about how he was an unrepentant sinner. He was still screaming about fire and brimstone when she came in and saw him burning in the fireplace. She tried to pull him out, but he was stubborn. Wouldn't come out. Just kept talking about being an unrepentant sinner."

"Another suicide?"

"Looks like it."

"But you think it was murder. You think the Dean suspected foul play, and that he hired Uncle Sherlock to investigate the death. And you think the Dean got himself murdered as well."

"It could all be a coincidence. But all coincidences must first be weighed against."

"What's your next step?"

"I met a student at Oxford. Very bright guy. He's a psychology student. I think I can trust him to give me the inside scoop. His name is Crane."

Bruce and Jamie stepped out of the study and walked back to the bedroom.

"Where are you sleeping?" Jamie asked.

"A little cot in Wiggins' office on Baker Street. Why?"

The two stopped the conversation with a start. Irene Adler was standing above Holmes' bed. She turned to face them.

"Ms. Adler," Bruce said simply.

"Special Agent Adler," Irene said. She showed her badge. "His Majesty's Secret Service. Have you figured out what's causing this?"

Jamie shook her head and Bruce spoke.

"I'm working on it."

"Let me know if there's anything I can do to help," Irene said. "He's important to the government, you know." Softer, "And to me."

Irene sat down in the seat Jamie had occupied and took hold of one of Holmes' hand.

Then Holmes began to moan. Then he began to scream.

"Bruce!" he cried.

Bruce was walking towards the door, but he froze in his tracks.

"Bruce! Don't let him get me!"

"Who? Don't let who get you?"

"The Hound! The Hound of the Baskervilles! He's come back for me!"

He began to cough.

"Don't leave me, Bruce!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. Jamie and Irene clasped their hands over their ears. "Don't leave me!"

Bruce left.

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

Bruce's footsteps echoed down the mostly empty hallways of Oxford University. Bruce kept walking until he came upon an odd little man sitting in a corner. The man was really short, with shaggy, snowy white hair and a serious overbite. His long, pointed nose was buried in a heavy volume titled "The Complete Works of Lewis Carol."

"May I help you?" the man said in an odd, sing-song voice with a heavy English lilt. He lifted his nose from the book. "My name is Professor Jervis Tec."

"Professor of literature?"

Tec looked at Bruce as if the question was bizarre. Then, slowly, understanding crossed his face, and the eyes fell back to the book and then quickly rose again.

"Oh, no! Oh, no, indeed! Science. Literature is merely a hobby."

"I'm looking for a student named Jonathan Crane."

"Crane? Oh, yes! A brilliant lad! A remarkable lad! He's double-majoring in psychology and chemistry. Taking a chemistry class here. Presently, he's in the laboratory, talking to another one of our professors."

"The chemistry professor?" asked Bruce.

"Heavens, no!" the odd little man remarked. "Professor Luxor. Egyptology."

Bruce scratched his chin. Just then, a door nearby opened. Jon Crane stepped out. Beside him was a thin man with neat white hair in a white lab coat, only slightly shorter than Crane. They were conversing quietly, but stopped when they noticed Wayne and Tec.

"Bruce!" Jon exclaimed. "How nice to see you again."

"Got a minute? Just to shoot the breeze?"

"With a real live shamus? Shoot. Of course. We can talk in the lab, if you'd like."

Jon stepped back into the room he had just come out of. Bruce turned to Jervis Tec once more.

"You're a literature buff," he said. "Have you heard of the Headless Horseman?"

Tec nodded enthusiastically… then buried his nose back in the book.

"Mad as a hatter," Bruce remarked to himself. Then he followed Jon Crane into the lab.

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

Bruce told Jon the details of the Dean's death and the Chaplain's death as Gregson had told him. Jon listened and nodded with interest.

"That's actually more than I knew," Jon said. "Absolutely fascinating."

"But you're on the in," Bruce insisted. "Did either man seem suicidal, or even depressed or agitated?"

Crane shook his head, causing his wavy black hair to swish left and right on the top of his head.

"But I didn't know either of them well. They seemed gay enough. This is incredibly queer."

"What were you doing in here with the Egyptology professor?" Bruce asked, eying the colorful liquids in vials around the room.

"We were just discussing some of his latest findings. Extra-curricularly. Professor Luxor is a fascinating man."

"But you're studying chemistry."

"And psychology. I'm especially fascinated with phobias. You see, as a boy, I was scared of pretty much everything. Dogs, rain, small spaces, the dark… But especially bigger people. Bullies scared the life out of me. Anything scare the life out of you, Bruce?"

"Bats."

"Bats. Common enough phobia. Anyway, I realized that even bullies were scared of something. Everyone is. And that fascinated me."

"But why chemistry?"

"Phobias, like any other psychological disorders, Bruce, are merely the results of chemical imbalances in the brain."

Bruce and Jon rose and shook hands.

"Well, thanks," Bruce said simply.

"Hey, if you want to be on the in, as you said, we're having a party here tonight."

"A party? Can you do that?"

"As long as the faculty doesn't find out, we'll be fine. Anyway, it's a costume party, and you're more than welcome to come."

When Bruce stepped back into the hall, Jervis Tec raised his nose from the book once again.

"The Legend of Sleepy Hollow," he remarked. "Washington Irving."

It signaled a light in Bruce's brain.

"Thanks."

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

Bruce burst into Holmes' bedroom eagerly. So eagerly that Jamie, who had fallen asleep in her seat, woke up violently.

"The needle!" Bruce cried. "The one in the book! Is it still there?"

Jamie pointed. Bruce raced to the bookshelf. He was disappointed when he read the binding of the book the needle was buried in. It was a book on the eider-duck. Then he became excited.

"He's delusional!" he said excitedly.

"I know, Bruce!" Jamie said, frowning.

"So he missed."

Bruce pulled down the book next to the volume on eider-ducks. He flipped through the pages eagerly. Jamie kept begging him to tell her what was going on, but he ignored her and read silently. Then he smiled at her.

"This page!" he remarked. "This page talks about an ancient Egyptian cult. They made an organic potion that they gave initiates. The potion would cause hallucinations. If the fledgling could confront the fear and survive, he would become fully initiated. The potion also made an effective weapon, causing enemies to hallucinate feverishly, confusing them. It could either be used in a battle, or to assassinate a single man."

Jamie still appeared puzzled.

"Jon Crane, the student I told you about, was in the lab with the professor of Egyptology. They're in it together. They made a similar potion, one that could be injected into the victim's blood stream. The toxin caused Chaplain Willies and Dean Shaw to kill themselves."

"How do you know?"

"Because, Holmes keeps referring to the Headless Horseman. The Headless Horseman comes from the Washington Irving story. The main character in that story is named Ichabod Crane. Jonathan shares his name, and resembles him. Holmes must have found out Professor Luxor and Crane were involved in the deaths. Or at least that Professor Luxor was involved. Then Crane followed him here and gave him the injection. Probably an overdose, since the symptoms are so unusually prolonged."

"If he's been trying to tell us Crane was involved, why didn't he just come out and say it?"

"Because, the toxin has put him in a hallucinatory state. It's like he's living in a nightmare. He subconsciously translated Crane into the Headless Horseman."

"So, what are we going to do about all of this?"

"Crane's throwing a shindig at the University tonight," Bruce said. "We'll find him and force him to give us the antidote."

"How do you know he will?"

"Because I know what kind of man he is. A coward."

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

When blindfolds were removed from eyes, Professor Luxor and Jon Crane were staring at a broad-shouldered back.

"Well?" a gravelly voice said. "Your deadline's tonight."

"It's almost perfected," Crane said. "You know Chaplain Willies was our test subject for the injected liquid form, and Dean Shaw was our subject for the first gaseous form."

"We've made some alterations since," Luxor said. "I think we've perfected it, but we need to run a few more tests."

"Herr Luxor, it seems you were wise asking Herr Crane to join you here in England," the gravelly voice said. "But, still, the formula should have been finished much earlier. I can't extend your deadline much longer."

"Please," Crane said. "Give us one more evening. We'll have your weapon finished then."

"One more evening," the voice agreed. "That is all."

Then the men in swastikas returned the blindfolds.

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

"I found these in Uncle Sherlock's disguise kit," Jamie said.

Bruce's jaw dropped. Jamie was wearing a belly dancer outfit, and she looked exquisite. The outfit showed off Jamie's curvaceous figure more than anything he had ever seen before. It also showed off a well-shaped abdomen. Bruce did his best to banish any thoughts of how Holmes would look in it.

"Here's yours."

Bruce looked aghast as she draped his costume over a chair.

"What is it?"

"Die Fleidermaus," Jamie said. "The bat."

"I'm sorry," Bruce said. "I can't do bats."

"You'll have to," Jamie said. "It's the only one that I think will fit you."

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

Bruce hated his appearance in the mirror. A large, misshapen black ear protruded from each side of his head. He wore the ears over the cowl Holmes had given him for Christmas. He also wore a masquerade mask similar to the one Sabrina Smith had worn as the Golden Fox.

Bruce tried to determine which of the heavily costumed students was Crane. As he did so, he danced with Jamie. He looked deeply into her eyes.

"It's not going to happen, Bruce," Jamie said.

"What isn't?"

"A romance. Between you and I. I thought it might, at first, but…" She sighed. "I can't just be another trifle to you, Bruce. I don't want to fall for a jet-setter, and I don't want to become like Wiggins' sister or like that cheap actress tart."

And she wouldn't. Bruce knew that. She could never be like them. She was better. She was a better person. She was a more beautiful person. She was smarter and more determined. And she was becoming more than an infatuation to him. He ran his hand down her back, letting it rest on the exposed base of her spine, and prepared to tell her everything he was thinking.

Then he spotted Crane's unmistakable stature and gait. Crane was dressed as a scarecrow.

"Crane!" Bruce snarled.

The Scarecrow took one look and then began running down the hallway. Bruce ran after him. Long, black silk hung from beneath Bruce's dark sleeves. His batwings.

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

Crane ran into the laboratory and threw the door closed behind him. He leaned back against it with all of his might. The door burst open, forcing Crane into the wall. Bruce entered, slammed the door, and spun Crane around. Crane looked, not at him, but at two bodies lying on the floor. One was a man in a khaki uniform and swastikas. The other was Luxor.

"How fascinating," Crane said. "It looks like they got into a scuffle over the formula, and then both inhaled a lethal amount."

Bruce shook him by the collar.

"Where's the antidote?"

His voice was low, guttural, gargling.

"It won't help," Crane said. "They're dead."

"Not for them!" Bruce growled in the menacing voice. "For Sherlock Holmes!"

"He should be dead," Crane said. "I gave him a concentrated dose. At his age, it should have given him a heart attack. Killed him almost instantly."

Bruce let go of the collar and hurled his fist into Crane's face. Crane landed on the floor with a bloody nose.

"He's a strong man. Now where's the antidote?"

Crane pulled himself up and grabbed a vial. He handed it to Bruce. Bruce looked carefully at the liquid inside.

"This isn't the antidote!" he snarled. "It's the wrong color."

Bruce threw the vial at Crane's feet. A puff of purple smoke rose from the shards of broken glass. Bruce quickly covered his nose and mouth with a batwing. Crane's eyes held the same terrified expression Bruce had seen in Holmes'.

"Don't hurt me!" Crane cried. "Back! Back! You creature of the night! Don't take my blood!"

"Where's the antidote?"

Crane produced a vial containing a differently colored liquid and then crawled into the corner, screaming about bats and creatures of the night the whole time. Bruce turned and left.

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

Bruce and Jamie were in high spirits when they left, but their faces fell when they reached the Sussex cottage. Or at least what was left of it. Smoke billowed into the skies. And orange flames followed after the billows.

Jamie screamed and ran towards the fire, but Bruce held her back.

"Where are his neighbors? Jamie, we need to call the fire brigade! We need to call the cops! We need to call somebody!"

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

Jon Crane was escorted from Oxford to a small, run-down apartment by men in olive drab. He brought the formula with him. He was to hand it over to other men when they came to the apartment. But when the other men arrived, Jonathan Crane was gone. The Nazis that had escorted him to the secret apartment were crawling across the floor like infants, muttering one word over and over the entire time. "Scarecrow."

A/N – Coming soon: "The Case of the Missing Master."