Okay I'm going to need just a little help, so be sure to read the A/N at the end. Thanks!

I got a couple of positive reviews, so I'm going to continue and see what happens. ^^ Oh, and "les gens importantes" means "the important people" in French.

Big Game

A Study In Pride part 2

Jim was pleased to find himself still alive when he woke up. He always imagined that nothing would be more humiliating than waking up dead. He stretched and looked behind him to see Sebastian was still there, wide awake and looking intently into the valley lit by the new sunrise.

"Good morning," Sebastian said, not making eye contact.

Jim wanted the tiger to look at him. He wanted to look into those huge, paralyzing eyes. "Good morning," he answered. "Did you sleep well?"

"Scarcely at all... I'm not used to sleeping at night."

"You'll get used to it." Jim sat up and curled his neck around so Sebastian was forced to look in his face—which would have been a comical sight, had anyone else been there to observe. "Would you like to look over some of the hunting grounds?"

Sebastian focused on his face then, to Jim's satisfaction. "I would."

"Good. Come along; I'll find someone to show you around."

They made their way to the lower ledge where Clem had fallen asleep recently, judging by his deep snores. Jim rolled his eyes. Clem's eagerness to follow orders (not his ability to do so, of course) was his one redeeming quality. Replacing him would be a joy.

"Good morning, good morning!" Jason greeted the two large cats from his perch on a low, scrubby tree.

"Go fly a kite," Jim told him.

"I don't know any kites," Jason sniffed. "Why should I? They're all American..."

"Not that kind of kite! Oh... never mind, bird brain. Anything happening this morning?"

"Your delegates have arrived."

"Oh, is today council day?" Jim chuckled to himself. "I completely forgot."

"Yes, they're prowling round near the watering hole. Now is probably a good time to hold the meeting."

"I suppose it is. Come along, Sebastian. You're going to meet all les gens importantes."

"I'm sure it will be very interesting," Sebastian said, without a hint of interest actually coming through in his voice, but a little just visible in his eye.

When they got to the water hole, all the top representatives were there, from the jackals to the wild dogs to the leopards to the dingos to the crocodiles (peeking out of the water with their periscope-ish eyes) to the cheetahs to the hyenas... In spite of all the mistrustful looks, it was an impressive sight, to see so many different predators there, not fighting. Jim gave them gracious smiles and nods.

"Good morning, everyone. I'm very pleased that so many of you chose to come." A small movement caught his eye and he saw a large spotted cat creeping closer, the better to hear him. "Many of you have staked out areas in my territory, but some of you are new here, and some have come far for this visit. I won't take up too much of your valuable time; by now you've been informed about the way things work in my domain. Some of you will want to stay here with me, others will want to help me extend my borders to your territories, and others will want to learn from me to implement my strategies in your respective realms. So, after this meeting, anyone who will not be staying long is welcome to speak with me first and be on their way. I will deal with you in order of urgency."

Sebastian sat behind Jim and to the side, taking up the protector's position coincidentally, or perhaps instinctively, or maybe he was simply trying out the role to see how it fit him.

"In the meantime, there is an issue I would like to address," Jim went on. "The issue is not a pretty one. In fact, it's quite an unsightly one. It's called 'the baboon.' I detest these creatures and everything about them."

There was a little murmuring from the other predators, neither negative nor affirmative.

"Not only are they some of the stupidest ape-types you can meet, but they are also highly annoying and very destructive—even dangerous."

Here there was some quiet affirmation.

"They do make decent eating, though. So I propose we make a game of it. The overall object is to wipe out all baboons. The goal for each predator group is to take the most down. For the next seven days you will bring your baboon tails to Jason, the secretary bird, for counting. Whichever predator group scores the most kills will be given a lavish feast, compliments of my people. Furthermore, from this day on baboons are not to be tolerated anywhere. They are not to be spared or harbored."

Jim knew his suggestions were a bit radical, but he could see that each group was beginning to size up its opponents and to think about where they had last spotted a troop of baboons. However unorthodox, games begged to be won.

Sebastian gave a little cough... little for a tiger, anyway.

Jim turned to look at him. "You have something to say?"

After clearing his throat, Sebastian said, "What you are suggesting is genocide of a species, not to mention extermination of entire ape-type families. Both are forbidden under Leonine law."

"Thank you for pointing that out." Jim bounded between a group of jackals and the spotted cat that had moved closer earlier and leapt into the branches of a low tree overshadowing the watering hole. "I am Professor Moriarty," he said in a deep, commanding voice. "There is no Leonine law in my territory! Only my own personal Leopardine law. We have no fear of the lions here. Preds don't hunt preds!"

"Preds don't hunt preds!" the jackals echoed, and soon everyone took up the chant.

Jim looked around from his new vantage point and a smile spread over his face. All those sharp-toothed creatures cheering for his cause. How noble. How gullible. How perfect. "No one gave the lions permission to make up the laws!" he shouted over the chanting. "We have a right to choose our own way in our own lands. And I want the baboons gone! Who will help me?"

"Extinction to baboons!" Shouted one of the hyenas. The others soon began chorusing the new line, and then the entire entourage began alternating "preds don't hunt preds" and "extinction to baboons!"

Jim began to laugh in delight. This was power. The heady experience he lived for. He turned his head slightly and looked down to find that Sebastian had moved to the base of the tree and was looking up at him with the faintest smirk... somehow conveying a message of respect. The tiger was in.

John liked the cave. It felt like home. He did feel guilty that he wasn't able to contribute anything for his upkeep, his limp preventing him from hunting, but he promised Sherlock that soon he would find a place to practice his healing skills, and then other creatures would pay him. The first couple of nights he found it hard to sleep. He was used to a nocturnal schedule. But as cheetahs, Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson were naturally diurnal, so John decided it was his duty to be the one to change his habits.

Sherlock didn't seem to mind having to do all the hunting for the three of the cave's occupants. Every once in a while Mrs. Hudson was able to contribute something small, but the effort always took a lot out of her, and Sherlock discouraged her from doing so.

One day an egret came to the cave, fluttering its wings excitedly. "White flag, white flag," it exclaimed. "News from the Yard!"

"Don't be so dramatic," Sherlock told it. "I'm not going to eat you if you've got information. But I could change my mind if you're not quick about it."

"Eek," the bird said, eyes popping in fear. "I've come from Lestrade—he says you must come right away, but don't get your hopes up because you're not part of the pride."

"As if I'd want to be," Sherlock snorted. "Where is he?"

"In the southern valley near the stream. One of the cadets spotted a large group of crows down there, and... well you'd better see for yourself."

John sighed. He'd been hoping to watch Sherlock hunt again this morning, but now that the lions had asked for his help, there was no telling how long he'd be gone. The officials always made a mess of everything. Now he'd just be in with Mrs. Hudson all day, unless he dared venture out alone to look for work.

Sherlock looked back at him. "In the dust battle," he said, "you saw a lot of death, I'm sure, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did."

"Quite a bit of trouble, too."

"Yes, a lot. Far too much. Enough for a lifetime."

"Want to see some more?"

"Oh, god, yes."

Sherlock gave a small smile. "Come along then."

"You're both going out?" Mrs. Hudson called.

"Yes, Mrs. Hudson—the game's afoot."

"Don't forget to bring some back for me," she chuckled.

The two male cats followed close behind the egret, crossing the great clearing to the foothills and then following the stream into the valley. There they saw a half dozen lions and one lioness who looked like she had a large chip on her shoulder.

"Thanks for coming so quickly," one of the lions said when they got close.

"Quick is my middle name," Sherlock replied boastfully.

"Who's that?" the lion demanded, indicating John with one forepaw. "Bring a sack lunch, did you?"

John's eyes, which already looked a bit large for his face, widened in fright and indignation.

"Don't be absurd," said Sherlock. "John, this is Captain Lestrade. Lestrade, my friend Doctor Watson."

"Doctor, eh? Under whose teaching?"

"I earned the title in my training for the great dust battle," John answered, trying not to squeak. Why did the lion have to be so... large?

"He's my colleague," Sherlock said.

"Oh, is that right? We sent for you, not you and an optional date."

"I want his professional opinion," Sherlock said, insistently.

Lestrade gave a grudging sigh. "I'll give him two minutes on the scene."

"And the scene is?"

"This way." Lestrade led the way past the other lions.

The single lioness hissed "Hello, freak" to Sherlock as they passed.

"I'm not the one trying to pull a gender role-reversal, Sally," he muttered in return.

"One of the boys saw a murder of some two or three dozen," Lestrade said, recapturing John's attention.

"Two or three dozen?!" John exclaimed. "Who could kill so many people in one day?"

Sherlock winced. "In this case, John, 'murder' refers to a group of crows."

"O-ohhh..."

"Carry on, Inspector."

"When he got closer he saw the carcases and decided to report it. It's a most unnatural scene."

John caught the scent of a recent kill, and soon he could see the carcases of several animals. Another few steps and he recognized them as baboons.

"You've kept the cadets off the scene?" Sherlock asked Lestrade.

"No one's touched it but the carrion birds, and we've kept them off since dawn."

"Good." Sherlock looked carefully at the ground, choosing his path very slowly as he made his way among the bodies.

"So, how'd you get mixed up with Sherlock Holmes?" The lioness had crept up to sit beside John.

"We share a residence," John said flatly, not caring to explain himself to a stranger.

"If that's all, how come you came out here with him?"

"Any reason why I shouldn't?"

"He's tried to make friends before... but he doesn't have real friends. I don't think he knows how."

Well, I doubt anyone else would be willing to live with me, John thought to himself. Other species always complain that ocelot territory is marked too strongly. But maybe Sherlock doesn't care because he's so odd that no one else would be willing to live with him. "What do you care?"

"Just trying to give you a friendly warning. Sherlock's tried coalitions before, and it never works out. Not even with his own brother."

John did his best not to look surprised. He didn't want Sally to know he hadn't known Sherlock had a brother. "Er... what do you mean 'coalition'?"

"Cheetah males often live with one or two other male cheetahs. That's a coalition. A lot of cheetah brothers live that way. Not Sherlock. He's got to live with some old surrogate mummy and whatever other stray that can stand him for more than five minutes at a time. Not strong enough to live on his own, not tolerable enough to have real friends."

John wanted to say something in Sherlock's defense, but in the first place he really didn't know Sherlock well, or much about cheetah behavior, and secondly, talking back to a lioness didn't seem like a good idea. So instead he changed the subject. "Why are you out here with the cadets?"

"I am a cadet," she sniffed. "I decided there was more to life than hunting and breeding. I'm the last of my generation... when my father was run out of the pride, all my younger siblings were killed. I'm someone special, and I want to have a place of authority one day."

"You... you're working for the lion that chased off your dad and killed your little brothers and sisters?"

"The pride leader is my half-brother anyway. You don't understand our ways."

"No, I suppose I don't."

"John," Sherlock called. "Come over here, but try not to disturb the paw marks."

John nimbly picked his way over the ground until he came to stand by Sherlock.

"What do you make of it?" Sherlock asked.

Feeling a bit unprepared, John surveyed the signs left by predators and got closer to a couple of the carcases for closer inspection. "Well, there were several predators," he began. "Prey was killed with teeth alone, no claws; paw prints look canine... smallish, so I'm guessing jackal?"

"Excellent. Black-backed or side-striped in this region; my guess is black-backed. Continue."

"There were at least three of them... probably more."

"I'd say five to seven."

"Seventeen corpses, with evidence of others being dragged away..."

"Three others certainly; there may have been a fourth."

"Since they killed the entire troop, I'd say they expected the baboons to run but the adults turned to fight... they were forced to kill them all or abandon the hunt. Then, having killed more than they needed, they dragged a few away to avoid conflict with scavengers here."

"Not quite. When would you say they were killed?"

John sniffed one baboon. "Certainly before dawn, but not before sunset yesterday." He sniffed again. "I'd put time of death between midnight and two."

"That makes sense for jackals; they're instinctively nocturnal. But there are things about this scene that don't add up... What would you say is the strangest similarity all the corpses have?"

"They're all missing their tails," John answered immediately.

"Precisely. This wasn't a hunt gone wrong. It was an organized slaughter. Come on." Sherlock led the way back to Lestrade. "I've got all the information I need; you may clear up the scene now."

Lestrade gave a nod to one of the other lions and they moved forward to drag the adult carcases away. "What do you make of the missing tails?"

"Seems like psychotic behavior," John put in. "Like serial killings... taking a trophy off the victim."

"Six or seven serial killers working together?" asked Sherlock. "I think not. For that matter, six or seven jackals working together is almost unheard of. They sometimes convene round a scavenged carcase, but they don't hunt in packs. They live together in pairs, rarely keeping their young on their territory more than a year or two. This is most unnatural behavior. And even considering how many of them there were, they dragged away three large adult baboons and possibly another, smaller one. Rather a lot of food for their number."

"You think some of it was taken as payment to another carnivore?" asked Lestrade.

"The infamous leopard?" John asked in awe.

"We don't know that. And don't go spreading any rumors. It wouldn't look good to the public."

"No," Sherlock said sarcastically. "God forbid there should be any doubt in the abilities of the Leonine government."

"You mind what you say. I want you to find out why this happened and who's responsible. We have here a clear case of DAFG. It can't go unpunished."

"DAFG?" asked John.

"Decimation of an Ape-type Family Group," Sherlock supplied. "Because apes are the most adept tool-users and they are primarily vegetarian or omnivorous, they are protected as a group to ensure the survival of all species. Preying on individuals is legal, but wiping them out like this is forbidden."

"I see."

"Best learn quickly if you want to survive the savannah, puss," Lestrade told John sternly. "You rainforest people may get away with more where you think Leonine law doesn't apply to you, but around here it's strictly enforced."

"Yes, sir," John squeaked.

"I would like to take a specimen home for further study," said Sherlock.

"Very well," Lestrade agreed. "Take one of the juveniles."

"Pick one out and get it home, will you John?" Sherlock prompted.

"Oh... er, yes. All right."

"I'm going to see how far I can follow their trail."

"If you find anything, don't rush in on your own," said Lestrad. "Here, we'd better get you a radio just in case."

John wanted to stick around and see Sherlock get outfitted with a radio—he hadn't seen one since the battle. But he had instructions to follow and he didn't care to be near the lions any longer. He dragged one of the young baboons back the way he had come and paused when he got to Sherlock again. "You'll be careful, won't you?"

Sherlock smiled down at him. "Don't worry about me, John. You just get that back to the den."

John was extremely curious to know what Sherlock would find, and more than a little worried. His preoccupation with his thoughts and his task caused him to be less cautious than he should have been. He suddenly found himself flanked by two warthogs. In that instant his will was torn—drop the baboon and run, try to take it with him, stand and fight...? He had never confronted a warthog before, but he had heard that they were quite dangerous and could even force a cheetah away from its kill if they came in sufficient numbers. But before he could decide what to do, one of the warthogs spoke.

"Don't be alarmed; we mean you no harm. But someone would like to see you."

"Sh-shoneone...?" John repeated, awkwardly speaking around the burden hanging from his mouth. "Who?"

"Come with us and you'll see. Here, sling that sorry creature over my back and I'll carry it for you."

"How fick you fink I am?"

The warthog rolled its beady eyes. "I'm not going to make off with your dinner. If that's what I was after, I'd have gutted you by now."

John noticed for the first time that the warthog's lower tusks looked razor-sharp. He gulped. Nothing to lose, I guess... if I have to run I'll have a better chance without the weight anyway. He swung the carcase over the warthog's back. "Er... thanks," he muttered.

They walked in silence for a very long way. It began to grow cloudy overhead. The rainy season was officially over, but John hoped they might get one more good storm before the long drought. Dry season made everyone so disagreeable, always hot and thirsty, never enough game to go around. The last one had made John long to be back in the rain forest. He doubted he would ever see it again.

At last they reached the cover of a sparsely treed area with thick bushes under it. There must be good ground water here, John mused. He wondered if the area stayed green in the midst of the dry season.

"In there," the second warthog spoke for the first time, indicating the opening of a sort of tunnel through the bushes. "We'll guard your cache while you're gone."

John didn't like it. He looked from one of his escorts to the other, then peered inside and sniffed tentatively. As far down the tunnel as he could see, very little light filtered through the bushes. "Who's in there?" he asked uneasily.

"Our boss. Wants to make your acquaintance is all."

He knew they weren't going to take no for an answer. And he wasn't sure he could outrun them. If only he knew what warthog stamina was like, he might chance it... What would Sherlock do? God, I wish he were here. Taking a deep, steadying breath, John reminded himself that he'd been trained as a soldier, and it was time to act like one. With great determination, he set one paw in front of the other and entered the tunnel.

Even though he took his time, his eyes had barely begun to adjust to the darkness when he neared the thicket at the end of the tunnel where there was almost no light at all. A pair of eyes glowed faintly in his direction.

"Who are you?" John asked, trying to sound bold. "Why did you have me brought here?"

"I hope you weren't inconvenienced or frightened," a fairly high, but decidedly masculine voice said. "I just wanted to chat with you about Sherlock Holmes."

You and everyone else, John thought. "What about him? What's he to you?"

"I'm concerned for him."

"Who are you?"

"He'd probably say I'm his enemy... maybe his greatest enemy."

The eyes moved in the darkness and for a moment John caught sight of a spotted pelt in a tiny dapple of light that had found its way through the thicket's dense ceiling.

"So, you're his enemy, but you're concerned for him? That doesn't make sense."

"Oh, but I am. So much so that I'm not content merely to observe from a distance. I want someone to... surveil him for me. Look after him as it were, and report back to me."

"You want me to spy on Sherlock for you?"

"You would, of course, be compensated. I understand you tragically have a limp you acquired in the great dust battle; it prevents you from hunting, isn't that right?"

"How do you know that?"

"I could see to it that you never need to hunt again."

"So... you're bribing me to spy on Sherlock?"

"You'd be doing a favor to both of you. And incidentally, I know a lot about you. I know your ear twitches from time to time—another sign of your post traumatic stress acquired in the war. It happens when you're uneasy. How is it now?"

"Fine," John declared, beginning to feel angry with this creature who claimed to know so much about him. "It's just fine. Not a twitch, not a shiver."

The thicket's occupant laughed softly. "I thought as much. You were changed tragically by that battle, Doctor. But the truth is you don't fear the death and the blood and the tearing flesh... you miss it. You haven't limped once since you left the cave with Sherlock this morning, isn't that right?"

John gasped. My limp... surely I must have. But no, he hadn't struggled at all to carry the young baboon; he must be right. The limp wasn't there.

"You see, I know more about you than you know about yourself. I know a great many things. But I never know if Sherlock is all right, and that is why I want your help."

"I'm not helping you." John was properly angry now. "And I don't need your help either. We're getting on just fine. May I go now?"

A silence... John wondered if this was the part where he got his throat ripped out.

"You're very loyal to him, having known him so short a time." Another silence. "You may go. But consider my offer. You may change your mind."

John backed a few steps away, then turned and loped back up the tunnel. He squinted his eyes tight when he burst out into daylight. A low rumble of thunder told him that his hopes of rain were going to be realized soon.

"Oi, don't forget your... thingy," called one of the warthogs.

John nearly ran on without the baboon, but after all he'd been through he decided it would be terrible to have nothing to show for it. He pulled himself together and went to take the carcase back. "Thanks," he muttered and trotted off. About a hundred yards later he remembered some of the words of the glowing-eyed creature and suddenly his limp returned. "Dammit," he muttered to himself. "Dammit, dammit, dammit."

Who the hell was he, anyway? It can't have been a lion because it was spotted. Can't have been a jackal either, then. Wrong shape for a wild dog. Might have been a hyena, I suppose, but it looked more catlike. Suddenly John felt an ice-cold fear in his stomach. A cat that had warthog minions? Other creatures at beck and call, doing his bidding? Could this be the leopard rumored to be taking away authority from the lions and extending his territory...? John took a quick look around to see if he was being followed, shuddered and hurried onward as best he could with his limp and his burden. The sooner Sherlock got back to the cave, the better.

So, here's my problem: If I keep going with this and develop the relationships between the characters more, is it going to be too kinky? Because while they're highly personified, they're still animals. You know that part in The Lion King where Simba and Nala tumble down the hill and Nala gives Simba that look and you think (unless you're a straight girl, of course) 'Dang, Nala's so hot!' and then you think 'Wait, am I perving on a cartoon animal?' It's weird, right? So, I want your opinion before I go any further. Do you just want light, cute, fluffy-animal stuff going no further than lime at the most, or do you want no-holes-barred, whatever happens happens, they're personified enough that it's okay... stuff? I don't want to traumatize anyone... but I think I could do either. :p Might have to change the rating though. lol Please tell me what you think.