Disclaimer: None of the titles, trademarks, or characters (with the exception of OC's) are mine.

Superfan – I had my back story for Sherlock Holmes decided on pretty early on while writing the story. When I decided to tweak what makes Holmes tick for myself, I thought it wise to stick to what other Sherlockians have come up with for Sherlock's past. Both "The Seven-Percent Solution", like you said, and "Young Sherlock Holmes" hinted at infidelity between Holmes' parents during Holmes' youth. And I've taken a lot of inspiration from both of those movies while writing this story.

Prayerrun – I'm glad I'm not disappointing you. As for Dr. Watson's fate, I already described that. I'm sorry if I didn't make that clear enough, but Dr. Watson, in this universe, died of a heart attack.

Forcerlo – Thank you for your reading, and for your great compliments. I feel like I'm really accomplishing something with this story if I've encouraged you to read the Sherlock Holmes stories. You won't be disappointed if you do. "The Hound of the Baskervilles" is the story that made me want to become a writer in the first place. As for more stories like this one, I'd like to. But I'm terribly busy, and this story has taken me so long to write. Also, I do other types of writing, and I need time for them.

A/N – And now, part 2 of "The Case of the Missing Master"…

April 7th, 1936

The detective agency had been exceptionally quiet over the past few days. None of the operatives stood in the hall and bragged about their previous cases while drinking cool water from paper cones. They were too busy scouring London, discreetly asking about Sherlock Holmes. When Wiggins had learned of his former mentor's disappearance, and when Bruce had shared his theory that Holmes had not perished in the fire like Scotland Yard was assuming, Wiggins turned the entire agency into a massive task force.

Although Bruce wanted to be involved in the search, Wiggins refused to include him in his debriefings with the rest of the agency. Bruce was given less tasks to perform around the office. He spent most of his time sleeping on his cot and keeping the water coolers full. He got most of his information on the case from Ernie Stappleton, who himself could only share the snippets he knew based on his own instructions from Wiggins.

There were no big breaks in the case.

On the evening of the 7th, Wiggins appeared in the doorway of the room Bruce was sleeping in. Bruce looked up weary-eyed from his cot into Wiggins' usual disdainful expression.

"A Scotland Yard man to see you."

"Gregson?"

Wiggins left, and Inspector Stanley Hopkins took his place.

"I'm afraid that's what I've come to tell you about," Hopkins said. "I'd hate to be the bearer of bad news, but…"

"What is it? What's happened?"

"The chief inspector was found dead early this morning. They found his body beside the Thames."

Bruce said nothing for a minute, just trying to digest the few words Hopkins had said. He looked hard at the middle-aged inspector, tried to determine if he was just joking. Hopkins face held only solemnity. Bruce remembered the Wednesday morning on which he'd last seen Gregson. He had been so generous, so caring and sensitive to him and to Jamie. Bruce now realized that would be his final memory of Tobias Gregson.

"Drowning?" Bruce finally asked.

"No. That's what we thought at first, too. Simple accident. But no, Dr. Watson says. She determined the cause of death to be a broken neck."

"Still might be an accident."

"Yes. But it might not. Dr. Watson says death probably occurred about three days ago. She thinks she might even be the last person to see him alive."

"The killer was the last person to see Gregson alive, Inspector."

"So you do think it was murder?"

"I was with Dr. Watson, and with Gregson. He got a ring that shook him up a little. Ran off to meet someone."

Hopkins eyes narrowed in intense interest.

"Did he say who?"

"No," said Bruce. "No, he didn't."

"Did he say what it was about?"

"No. All he said was that he had to meet someone and that he expected to be back soon. I left shortly after he did. Came here."

"I just thought you'd like to know about it, since you played such a key role in some of his latest investigations."

"Yes. Thank you, Inspector."

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

Sherlock Holmes snapped back into reality with a frightened scream. His face was soaked. At first, he thought he'd been out in the London rain, and then he realized it was a cold sweat.

Holmes could just make out the vision of a hypodermic needle above his head in the darkness.

"Sorry to interrupt your dreaming, Herr Holmes," a menacing voice said.

Holmes recognized the voice. It wasn't entirely familiar. It sounded more harsh than the voice he had heard before. It sounded distorted. But he knew he had heard it.

"It was time to administer the antidote," the voice continued.

Holmes tried to peer through the darkness to find a face to go with the voice, but all he could see was a bulky silhouette.

"I've left you to your nightmares long enough," the silhouette said. "But for the next part of your torture, I want you to be conscious. To be aware of the reality of your predicament."

Then the voice broke into a hysterical, demented laugh. To the harsh tones of the evil cackling, Holmes slipped back into a nightmare world.

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

Bruce slowly walked along the length of the Thames, running his eyes back and forth across the ground in front of him. He didn't know what he was looking for, and he certainly wasn't finding it. He tried to imagine how Sherlock Holmes would behave in the situation. Look for blood stains? No. Not from a broken neck. The killing would have been really clean. What then? Footprints? Scraps of clothing? Bruce shook his head. It was raining. The drops struck the surface of the Thames and exploded, spawning hundreds of tiny rivulets in the water. Bruce's clothes were growing heavy and damp. He turned around and walked back to his cot at the William Wiggins Detective Agency.

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

One of Wiggins' operatives was turning out the lights in the office as Bruce entered. He bid Bruce goodnight and left. The office seemed completely empty, but as Bruce came near to his room, he became aware of another presence.

Bruce opened the door as slowly as he could, but he was still unable to avoid the crreeeekkk the door made as it slid on its unoiled hinges. Bruce saw a huge lump under the blanket on his cot. He crept forward in a karate pose.

Screamer Wiggins slipped out from beneath the blankets. She was wearing a corset, and nothing else. Her strings of dirty blonde hair were caressing her waiflike bare shoulders. Her wicked green eyes glowed in the dark above her extremely sensuous, evil lips.

"I've been waiting for you," she said, batting her long lashes.

"We're not supposed to be together," Bruce said.

Screamer strutted to Bruce and put her hands on his shoulders.

"Big brother's not here right now," she said. "And I'd like to finish what he interrupted back in February."

Bruce grabbed Screamer's hands and pried them away. He pushed her back into the darkness. She let out one of her high-pitched shrieks. Then she giggled. In the darkness, without any vision of Screamer's face, the giggle triggered in Bruce's mind the image of an impudent imp in a corner of the room. Then Screamer sauntered back into view.

"I'm not interested," Bruce said.

Screamer slid her hand down Bruce's abdomen.

"Yes, you are."

Bruce pushed her away again. Again, Screamer sauntered back. Again, she clamped her tiny hands firmly over Bruce's shoulder. Then she began to pull him close to her. Her body rubbed against his. Then she tilted her head and began to move her lips to Bruce's.

"Floozie!" Bruce said. The force of the words his Screamer like a spit wad of venom. "I've had enough floozies already; I don't need another one.

Screamer's eyes flashed. They no longer held naughtiness. Instead, they held pure malice. Screamer appeared to be debating on slapping Bruce again, decided not to, and then marched past Bruce and out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Bruce threw away the blanket and looked at the curvy impression Screamer's corrupt little form had left in his cot.

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

Meanwhile, Holmes struggled to breathe. He was alone in a dark room, drowning under a thick layer of dust. He lifted his head and gasped for breath. The dust bunnies crawled up his nostrils and went diving painfully down his throat. Holmes coughed a terrible, choking, sickly cough. He felt every year he had been alive in the joints of his body, and then some.

"Calm down, old man," he told himself. "Think rationally. That's your mantra, isn't it?"

What did he know about his situation? Well, for one thing, he could raise his head. That meant his neck wasn't bolted down. Good. Now what else? Where were his hands?

Holmes could feel nothing but the pain at first, but somehow he managed to wiggle his fingers. They were down at his side. Free. Good. Now what about the hands? Holmes tried to raise them. The rope burned into them. His arms were tied down.

What about the legs? Holmes could move his feet in small backwards and forward motions. He tried the entire legs. Both legs shot high into the air, sending a bolt of pain through his ancient bones.

Then he tried to sit up. He felt the rope. The only rope. One rope strategically tied across his center of gravity and around his arms. With only one thick rope around him, he was powerless. If he was younger, he could writhe his way out of the trap. But he didn't feel the energy now. He felt more ancient than time itself. More ancient than death.

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

April 8th.

Jamie Watson opened her door to find Bruce Wayne waiting on the other side of it.

"I want you to take a walk with me," he said.

"What for?" she asked.

Instead of answering, Bruce grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her outside.

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

"I need your help," Bruce said when he had dragged Jamie far enough from her house that turning back to it now would be just as inconvenient as continuing on.

"I'm starting not to like your manners, Mr. Wayne."

"I've got to find Holmes, and I'm not going to rely on Wiggins for help. I can't rely on anyone on this horrid continent. I might have trusted in Scotland Yard, but now Gregson's dead."

"What about the other inspectors?"

"As a general rule, I don't put much faith in the brass buttons. There might be one good apple on every force, if you're lucky. I think Scotland Yard's one good apple is rotting."

Jamie was disgusted by the turn of phrase. She turned away, but Bruce caught her arm and spun her back around.

"Hopkins said you figured the cause of death, Dr. Watson," Bruce said.

"Yes, I did. I was fairly convinced the cause was a broken neck."

"How could you tell?"

Jamie looked at Bruce as if he was a small child in boarding school and she was the all-knowing headmistress.

"Try and touch your chin to the tip of your shoulder."

Bruce attempted it. He could get the corner of his cheek to touch the corner of his shoulder blade. By pushing with his hand, he could get his whole chin to rest on the spot on his shoulder closest to his own neck. He finally looked at Dr. Watson in defeat.

"Not natural, is it? Well, Gregson was found in just that position. Why are you asking about Gregson, anyway? What's he got to do with Holmes?"

"Everything. Sherlock Holmes and Tobias Gregson went way back. Gregson wouldn't just give up on Holmes, no matter what things looked like. I think whoever called the Inspector away from his house killed him, and whoever killed the Inspector knows wherever Holmes is."

"You think if you look for the Chief Inspector's killer, you'll find Holmes in the process?"

"You got it, doll."

"Where do I come in?"

"You're the only ally I have left in England whom I can trust. And you'll be a good resource. You're an expert in pathology and forensic science. Holmes has been tutoring you longer than he has been me."

Jamie looked Bruce over from head to toe, and then glanced over her shoulder back at her home over a couple of hills.

"If you won't do it for me, do it for Holmes," Bruce pleaded.

Jamie turned to Bruce and looked deep into his eyes.

"I'm doing this for you, not for him. Where do we start?"

Bruce gave her a small smile, but then he suddenly put a finger to her lips. On tiptoes, he paced around the soggy, grassy knoll on which he and Jamie were situated. He then dropped to the seat of his pants and slid down the hill. Jamie saw a figure in a brownish-red jumpsuit burst from behind a tree just as Bruce slid into it, feet first. A tail flew like a banner behind the jumpsuit, and Bruce grabbed tight hold of it, causing the figure to trip and land face first in the mud.

Dr. Watson carefully made her way down the hill.

The figure rose to its feet. Even with a mud-covered face, she was attractive. And familiar.

"Hello, Sabrina," Bruce said. "Aren't you supposed to be in the hoosegow right now?"

"I was looking for you, Bruce," the Golden Fox said, raising her hands in surrender.

"Forget it, Sabrina," Bruce said. "You're completely out of my system."

"No, Bruce!" Sabrina insisted. "Don't you see? I can help you!"

"Help us?" Dr. Watson interjected. "How?"

"We're after the same people," Sabrina said. "I was working for them, but since you made that go ka-blooey, they're bringing the whole world down on me."

"So you don't want to help us," Bruce said. "What you want is my protection."

"Is that so bad?" Sabrina said, wiping the mud off her face and across her chest. "What I want is these people out of the way, just like you. We can work together. We're both well aware of each other's considerable talents."

"Don't listen to her, Bruce!" Jamie insisted, placing both hands on his right shoulder. "She's a common crook!"

"Someone's a little bit catty," Sabrina said.

She hissed and made a clawing motion in the air to illustrate her point. Jamie let go of Bruce's shoulder and lunged towards Sabrina. Bruce held her back.

"Besides," Sabrina continued. "I know exactly who we're dealing with. Who exactly has your beloved leader Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Face it, Brucey. I'm your inside line."

Jamie looked at Sabrina bitterly, but Bruce held out his hand. Sabrina licked it.

"Looks like I'm coming aboard, lover boy."

A/N – Our unresolved cliffhangers will be resolved in the next episode, coming soon.