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

They call me Bruce – Thanks for the very nice compliment. It's always been a dream of mine to write Sherlock Holmes professionally, and I'm afraid right now it's still just a dream.

Louie Pastiche – Nice work deducing "The Aryan" 's literal pedigree. Your impatience can end now. Here's the conclusion of the fanfic.

Ernie Stappleton tapped his foot anxiously and peered out of the door frame he was hiding behind. It seemed the racket on the top floor had drawn all of the Nazis there. Ernie was standing next to a tiny pile of gunpowder on the floor. The tiny pile was the start of a trail he had made. The trail led to another room, in which he had loaded, one by one, barrels of TNT. The explosion would bring down half the building and would roust the remaining Nazis out of their lair. It was the same trick Holmes had used to capture the Golden Fox, and years earlier to nearly capture Irene Adler. Only this time it wasn't a harmless smoke bomb. It was real. People would probably die.

This building would be burnt to the ground the same way the Nazis had burnt down Holmes' cottage. After lighting the pile, Ernie would have just enough time to run out the front entrance before the TNT blew.

But Ernie had selected this exact spot because the other members of the League of Justice would have to cross him to escape the building. He hadn't seen any of them go past yet. They were still distracting the Nazis upstairs. Hopefully, they were all right.

Ernie would hold off as long as he could. He wanted his friends to get away. But he knew his country was depending on him, even more than they were. The gunshots above him sounded deadly serious, and a few of the other League members might have sacrificed themselves for the good of the cause already.

He'd hold off a few more minutes but then, like it or not, he would light the fuse.

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

Bruce Wayne struggled for breath as The Aryan held him off the ground by the neck, gripping it in only one powerful hand. Bruce raised his arms and desperately wrenched, scratched, pounded, whatever it took, at the powerful arm. But it was no use. The Aryan seemed incapable of feeling pain.

Bruce saw bright lights forming before his eyes and felt dizzy before the monster lowered him back to the tip of his toes, only for a second, before lifting him back up and releasing him, sending Bruce launching across the room into the nearest wall.

Bruce still felt dizzy, but he tried to ignore the pain he was feeling throughout his entire body. He tried to render himself incapable of feeling any pain, just like his opponent. Through Aldous Rhine's tree-trunk like legs, Bruce could see the terrified expressions of Irene Adler and Sherlock Holmes. The two stood in their cells, transfixed by the terror.

"Go!" Bruce called to them. "Run! Now!"

Then one of the tree-trunk like legs swung out and kicked Bruce in the face. Bruce rolled over to his side and spat out chips of his teeth, along with a tiny puddle of blood. As Bruce brought a hand to his face to wipe away the trail of blood and saliva on his chin, he was hoisted up from behind and turned around to face Aldous Rhine as the monster barred hideously white teeth and made a sound more animalistic than human. Then Bruce was thrown into the wall next to the door of the cell Sherlock Holmes and Irene Adler were still standing in.

Bruce was about to yell at them to leave again when Rhine threw him to the ground and threw an oversized fist into his face. Bruce lifted his head and bit into Rhine's arm. Rhine just laughed. Bruce turned and spat again. Biting Rhine was like biting into a piece of charcoal.

Then Bruce saw Jamie run to Sherlock and Irene, carrying a pistol. She let out a little shriek and then aimed at Rhine's head and fired. A bit of Rhine's exposed skull shattered, but the beast just laughed again. Jamie lunged closer, but Holmes caught her by the arm.

"No, Jamie!" he said. "Let's get out of here! This is something he has to do on his own!"

The Aryan lifted Bruce to his feet and, holding Bruce in place with one enormous hand on his shoulder, threw a series of punches into Bruce's face. Between the punches, Bruce managed to call out to Jamie.

"Tell… Ernie… not… to… wait… for… me… Light… the… fuse… now…"

Jamie tried to respond, but Bruce couldn't make out the words as the beating continued, and Sherlock and Irene each had a grip on Jamie's shoulders and were running away with her.

Bruce threw several small punches up to Rhine's elbow, but to no avail. In desperation, he launched his foot to where Rhine's groin should be. Rhine laughed his jolly, mocking laugh again. Then Bruce remembered how Jamie's bullet had impacted Rhine's skull. He wasn't invulnerable, after all. With all of his might, Bruce brought a karate chop down on top of Rhine's elbow. Rhine was still laughing when half of his arm fell to the floor and shattered. When he saw Bruce move away, he looked at where his arm was supposed to be and sobbed once, loudly. Bruce dropped to his back and sent both of his feet towards Rhine's center of gravity, forcing Rhine down the hallway and into a wall.

Bruce grinned defiantly at The Aryan, who had definitely stopped laughing. The monstrous German snarled and lunged himself at Bruce, but Bruce braced himself. Both latched onto each other and fell to the floor together, rolling and wrestling their way down another corridor. Bruce found himself on top and tried to get his hands around Rhine's neck, but the charred flesh broke away and Bruce found himself touching slimy cords and a long bone.

Bruce let go in horror, but Rhine laughed one last time and rolled over, pinning Bruce below him. The Aryan put his remaining hand down on Bruce's throat. As he pressed, Bruce grabbed his opponent's thumb and pulled it back with all of his might. The thumb broke off. Bruce slid his neck through the new gap and gasped for breath.

The Aryan raised his hand and looked at where his thumb should have been, and while he pondered this, Bruce gathered up his strength and made his way out from under the behemoth.

An explosion rocked the building.

The floor gave way under the two combatants, forming a slope leading about halfway to the level below. Both began to roll down, but Bruce managed to grab a corner of a floorboard that was jutting out and to hang on to it. Rhine cried out as he tumbled down the slide and fell to the floor below.

The slide caught fire beneath Bruce, who reached up and found another gap in the floorboard. Climbing up to it, Bruce was able to grab at the point where floor and ceiling had separated from each other. He looked up and saw the ears and wings from his bat costume, still caught on the wall, forming a sort of bat symbol. Bruce desperately grabbed at the corner of the wings and put all of his weight on them as the floor broke completely from the wall and shattered below his feet.

That's when the bat wings tore away from the nail they were caught on.

Bruce screamed as he hurtled towards the floor, but when he caught the other bat wing, the costuming piece acted as a parachute, and Bruce slowly glided to the ground below.

Flames were slowly spreading across the floor here. Bruce saw Rhine's massive figure lying prostrate across the ground. Bruce didn't want to go closer, but he knew he couldn't just leave The Aryan to return from the grave once again. Bruce ran beside the body and reached a hand toward the neck to feel the pulse, but then he was reminded that Rhine didn't have much of a neck left. Then Bruce really looked at the body. Once again, Rhine had become impaled, this time by a jutting piece of wood. But Rhine no longer had a pulse. Bruce could see the exposed heart, and he could see that the piece of wood which had impaled Rhine had pierced exactly through the center of it. It was no longer beating.

Bruce turned towards the flames that were rapidly consuming the room. He used the batwings to muffle out the smoke and then darted into the fire.

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

Outside, Bruce coughed and tried to make his way away from the smoke to breathe in fresh air. His batwings fell away as ashes as he walked.

A line of stalwart constables were holding a group of wheezing Nazis at rifle point. Willy Wiggins was shaking hands with his top operative, the heroic Ernie Stappleton, who then received a series of kisses from adoring Screamer Wiggins. Jamie Watson was deep in conversation with Mycroft Holmes. Sherlock Holmes was holding Irene Adler closely. But the Golden Fox was nowhere to be found.

"Where is she?" Bruce asked Ernie, who was captive in Screamer's tight embrace, frantically. "What happened to Sabrina?"

"I didn't see her come out, Bruce," Ernie said. He frowned. "I'm sorry."

Bruce turned slowly, then he began to move in the direction of the inferno. Ernie broke free of Screamer's grasp and caught Bruce by the shoulders and spun him around.

"It's no use," he said. "If you went in there now, you'd never come back out."

Bruce tried to lunge away from Ernie, but the private eye held him tight. Finally, Bruce sighed and ceased to struggle.

Sherlock Holmes, former consulting detective, held Irene Adler, special government agent, in his arms. She caressed one of his cheeks and then kissed it. Holmes smiled at her.

"But what of your husband, Norton?" he asked.

"Dead twenty years now, God rest his soul," Irene replied. "I think it's time to move on."

"I couldn't agree more," Holmes said. And then he kissed her.

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

May 1st, 1936.

"What do you suppose they'll do to Davenport?" Bruce Wayne asked.

"They'll be some sort of secret trial," Sherlock Holmes replied. "They will need to clear up whether Davenport should be expelled from his position for neglect and incompetence, or hanged for conspiring with the Nazis and treachery against his country. I think the latter would be giving the professor too much credit. Considering his intellect, I'd say the former is far more likely."

Bruce had his bag slung over his shoulder, and he picked up Jamie's clock to add it to the small amount of luggage he would be taking with him as he continued his globetrotting.

"I figured it out," Holmes said. "The time your clock is permanently set at. It's the exact time of your parent's death."

Bruce looked at Holmes.

"You didn't just figure that out," he said. "How long have you known?"

"About the clock," Holmes said, "or about your parents? I've known what was driving you all along. I just said that you didn't have to tell me what it was, if that was your wish."

"I read the entry in Dr. Watson's journal," Bruce responded, "so now I know what drives you, too."

Holmes placed a hand gently on Bruce's shoulder.

"One last piece of advice, my young protégé," he said. "The thirst for revenge is never quenched. It only brings pain. If you truly wish to fight evil, you can not live only to fight the evil that had been done against you. That is revenge, not justice. You must set a higher ideal for yourself, or you risk being motivated by something primal, and you lower your self to the level of those you have vowed to fight against."

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

Bruce and Holmes stepped out of the cottage into the daylight. The sun was setting. Jamie Watson was standing there, waiting for them.

"Are you sure I can't persuade you to stay on any longer?" Holmes asked.

"No," Bruce said. "It's tempting, but I can't make my home here. I have a mission to accomplish, and you said my training was complete here."

"You found Rhine, brought down his lair, uncovered his gang," Holmes said. "And you did that all without my help. Yes. You are right. I have now taught you everything that I can. You are ready to move on."

"What will you do without me here?"

"I have found a new companion."

Bruce followed Holmes' gaze and saw Irene Adler's silhouette in the sunlight.

"But, Sherlock…"

"She'll be taking your quarters, Bruce," Holmes said with an ecstatic smile. "She shall help me tend to the bees, and she'll be much more appealing to my failing eyesight than you were."

"But what about all of that talk of a woman biasing your judgment?"

"Irene Adler is not just a woman," Holmes said. "To me she is the woman, the single figure that eclipses the whole of her sex. Besides, I'm retired now, and it's about time I get all of this crime fighting business out of my system and find a decent woman to settle down with."

Holmes glanced from Bruce to Jamie.

"I'd suggest the same thing for everyone," he said, and then he patted Bruce's shoulder. "So, what's next for you?"

"I'm going to make my way to Australia, to find an old Aboriginal medicine man. If nothing else, he can teach me how to ring a boomerang."

The two men laughed and Holmes extended his hand.

"Good bye, Bruce."

Bruce shook it.

"Good bye, Sherlock."

"I'll leave you two alone to say your goodbyes."

Holmes walked away, but before fading into the distance, he turned back.

"My final wish for you is that someday you find a young protégé who will cause you as much torment and anguish as you have caused me."

Holmes paused and scratched his head perplexedly.

"On second thought, I wish you several."

Bruce turned to Jamie and frowned.

"Please stay," Jamie said. "And don't do it for Holmes. Do it for me."

"There's nothing for me here."

"What about me?" Jamie asked. "Don't you love me?"

Bruce placed a hand on her chin.

"Jamie, listen…" he began. "For a little while, when Sabrina disappeared, when Hopkins had her… I thought that you were one of them. I thought you had betrayed me."

Jamie looked offended for a second, but then she laughed.

"That's all right, darling," she said. "I forgive you."

Bruce lowered his hand.

"That doesn't matter, Jamie," Bruce said. "What matters is that I didn't trust you. And I still don't trust you. I can't trust you, or any other woman, or even any other human being. Not if I'm going to become part of the world of crime, where no one can be trusted."

"I don't understand, Bruce."

"I don't either," Bruce said. His voice trembled a little, and he squinted his eyes tightly to keep from crying.

"Bruce, you don't have to go. You don't have to be part of that world. You can be a consulting detective, like Uncle Sherlock. You've made so many friends here that would be your clientele and…"

"That's another thing," Bruce interrupted. "There's no room in what I want to do for friends."

And certainly not for lovers, he thought to himself. How could he make her understand? I can't become close to anyone, because I can't stand to see anyone else hurt… like my parents.

"I know you won't be fully able to understand this," Bruce said. "But I've already made a commitment to someone. To my parents. I made a vow to them, and I have to keep it. Or everything I've experienced here in England will have been for nothing."

"How can you say it's all for nothing when it's brought you to me?" Jamie cried, and then tears began flowing down her cheeks. Bruce squinted again.

"And that's still not all," Bruce said. "I can't stay with you, because when I'm around you I feel. And that's something else I can't do. I can't allow myself to feel. I've got to numb myself. Because if I don't numb myself I'll never be able to do the things I know I have to."

Jamie breathed deeply and wiped away the tears.

Still sobbing, she said, "Just kiss me one more time, and then look me in the eyes and tell me that you don't love me. Then I'll say good bye and let you go."

She closed her eyes and pursed her lips and leaned in closer to Bruce, but he pulled away.

"I can't," he said.

Then he walked past Jamie. He saw the silhouettes of Sherlock Holmes and Irene Adler kissing in the sunset. Then he turned to take one last glance at Dr. Watson. She wasn't watching him leave. She had her back turned fully to him. The only hint of her emotions was in her shoulders, which slowly rose and fell several times.

A/N - 3/19/09 - I have removed the original epilogue that appeared here and placed it in its own chapter, for easier reading.