Thanks for reviewing! ^^ I seem to have a couple avid followers and either no one else is reading or they're too shy to admit it. lol I'm glad you're enjoying learning about animals along the way—it's crazy how much research I'm putting into this crack. xD

Looks like I'll just go ahead and write whatever... I'll try to warn you of anything graphic.

Cat trivia: A female cat may be called a molly or a queen. Well, I've already got a "Molly" in this story... *knowing smile*

Big Game

A Study In Pride part 4

John could scarcely believe it when he saw the lions putting up the telegraph wire. They had to employ the help of some of their messenger birds to attach the wire at the top of the poles, and it looked like a lot of hard work to dig the holes in the hard-packed ground, but they were doing it anyway, working steadily away.

"Would you like me to run the wire for you?" John offered. "I'm quite a good climber, and I think I could handle it better than your birds."

Lestrade turned a grumpy look on him, but he said "Very well, you can try."

John took the spool of wire in his teeth and ran up the newest pole easy as anything. He clung to the back of the pole with one paw while he used the other and his mouth to loop the wire around its keeper. Then he began backing down again, paying out the wire from the spool as he went.

"You're out of a job, beaky," one of the cadets told a secretary bird. "He's much quicker than you and he don't even have wings."

The bird huffed. "Good. Rotten job anyway."

"That's enough," said Lestrade. "Watson, we'd be glad to have your help if you're willing to go on."

"Of course." John looked back toward Sherlock who was standing near the cave mouth. "You won't be needing me for a bit, right?"

"I'll just go and get lunch," Sherlock answered. "I'll be back in a couple of hours."

So John went on helping the lions put up the wire. He found the work enjoyable at first, and not too unpleasant even when he was tired. There were so few trees near the cave and he rarely had any reason to climb them. He missed climbing. If it weren't for this damn leg, I'd...

Suddenly John slipped. He yelped in surprise, dropping the wire spool, and clung to the pole.

"All right there, Watson?" Lestrade called.

"Y-yes," John said shakily. "It... it's just my leg. I think I need to take a rest." He backed down carefully, trying his best to avoid using his injured foot. A few feet from the ground, he let go and dropped the rest of the way.

"There are only a few poles left," said Lestrade. "You go and rest in the shade. We'll manage."

"Thank you... sorry about that." John cursed his leg all the way back to the cave. It's healed. I should be able to use it all right. He drank from the little pool inside and stretched out on Sherlock's blanket.

XXX

"You wanted to see me?" the jaguar asked in a strong voice.

"I should think everyone would want to see you," Jim answered, blinking seductively. "I heard you're doing well in the game... are those your baboon tails hung about your collar?"

"Yes. I had a chimpanzee sew them."

"A chimp? It hadn't any qualms about your slaughtering other ape-types?"

"I made her an offer she couldn't refuse. I promised not to eat her if she did it for me."

Jim smiled. She's my kind of charming. "Nicely done. Tell me: What do you think of Leonine law?"

"It's a wonderful thing—for the weak. For you and me, it is something to be manipulated. A great game for us to play, twisting the rules to our own advantage."

Better and better. "What is your name, my dear?"

"I am Irene Adler. Better known as 'The Queen.'"

Oddly enough, Jim had heard of her. She was the Amazonian jaguaress who traded her atypically rough services outside her normal estrus cycle in exchange for protection and offerings of food. She had a reputation for servicing several males in a short time, and for being extremely dominant. In spite of her frequent activity with the opposite sex, she had yet to raise any cubs due to her careful planning and unusual self-control during the time that her instincts and hormones told her it was actually time to mate.

Seeing his look, she said, "So you've heard of me."

"My dear lady, I'm sure there are few cats who haven't. Your reputation certainly precedes you."

"As does yours."

"And what do you intend to do after the game is over?"

"That depends on whether I win."

"And if you win, what will you do?"

"Enjoy my spoils, naturally." She smiled, obviously pleased with the idea. "I may well settle here for a time, if I gain enough prestige through this game of yours. Though I do hear that it is unbearably hot during the dry season, which is nearly upon us. I may miss the forests."

"If you do stay, I can see to it that you are kept comfortable," Jim said, glad to have found an easy way of introducing his proposal. "I believe I could use an associate of your obvious skill."

"Use how?" Her tone was guarded.

"Information. Information is worth more than meat or water or territory or strength. Because with information you can acquire everything else."

"That is very true. It's all a matter of what you know. If you know someone's weakness, you can get anything from them."

"Precisely. And a queen of your charms is certain to have an easy time of acquiring information."

"I can see the promise of a business relationship. But if I do not finish well in this game, I may decide to go back to the jungle where I am already well-respected."

Jim shook his head. "Even if you don't win, I can help you establish a reputation here."

"I don't wish to live in your shadow."

"You wouldn't. The public would see you as an independent. You would build the reputation yourself; I would simply give you the means to do so."

Irene looked at him in silence, flicking her tail back and forth in thought. "Very well," she said at last. "Let us say that I'm very interested in your offer. We can solidify terms after the game is done."

"There is one other thing."

"Yes?"

"Although your reputation in your own territory is quite substantial, things are different on the savannah. I'd like to be sure that your methods are viable here."

She wasn't naïve; she took his meaning immediately. "After the game."

"What if I don't want to wait that long?"

"Then I'm sure you'll console yourself with your sense of chivalry and make do until then."

"My sense of chivalry," Jim chuckled, "exists only... out of irony."

She turned to go, but looked back at him coyly. "I think I like a chivalrous hipster."

Jim felt some primal exclamation trying to burst from his throat; to avoid releasing it he compressed his breath in a long sigh so tight that it vibrated his purring mechanism. Her personality certainly lives up to its reputation, as do her looks. I hope to god the rest matches up, too.

John woke with the dawn. Sherlock wasn't up yet. The cheetah was sprawled out over three quarters of the blanket, leaving very little room for John, but he smiled fondly at his companion. He did work very hard to keep them all fed; he deserved all the space he wanted.

John got up and padded quietly over to take a drink from the pool. He wondered if he would hear back from the hospital today. He knew that his relatively small size made the lions think he wasn't much use in emergencies, but he hoped he had demonstrated his expertise to them sufficiently that they would offer him a position.

His thoughts were interrupted by a beeping sound that seemed impossibly loud in the previously silent cave. After his surprise ebbed, John sprang from the pool and ran to the little telegraph station the lions had set up in a niche in the side of the cave. He tapped the transmitter key several times to convey that he was receiving. Taking up a chunk of charcoal, he began to scrawl out the Morse message on a sheet of vellum. He was grateful to his military training for his knowledge of the code, but he wished he had practiced to develop neater writing. A doctor should have better paw coordination anyway, he chided himself. But it was some consolation to him to know that Sherlock's reading and writing skills were much poorer than his own.

Like most animals, lions were not coordinated enough to handle reels of paper or changing out ink ribbons, so this telegraph was a simple sort that relied on the person receiving to decode it as they heard the beeps, rather than pulling it out on a paper strip. John had to make a few corrections based on context before he got it right, but he was proud of himself for not having to request the message to be repeated.

"Is that from Lestrade?" Sherlock asked from behind him when the message was complete.

"Yes. He says to come to the foothills immediately."

"The foothills, not the hospital," Sherlock mused. "I'd say that means we have an actual crime scene to investigate. It's near the Yard, so I'm guessing another lion has been killed. Though it could be another baboon slaughter."

"Don't know which is worse... it's disturbing to think of a serial killing snake or some snake-charming animal, but then again hearing about all these predators banding together to kill baboons, I mean—what next?"

"Snake-charming animal...? Nonsense."

Lestrade was quick to give them the details when they arrived.

"Another male cadet. He was bitten in the throat. Autopsy hasn't been made yet, but for now we're assuming it was an Egyptian cobra. The bite certainly looks the same."

"He's still wearing his radio," Sherlock observed. "No one had any messages from him?"

"No. Radio silence all night. No one noticed him missing. Another cadet came upon him just before first light on his way out on patrol."

"Any idea what he might have been doing out here?"

"None. He had no orders to be out."

"Fascinating."

"One of our cadets just died, Holmes. I'd thank you to show a little less... enthusiasm."

"All right, captain. But you know how this intrigues me. Each death compounds the data, solidifies or eliminates theories. Each lion was killed out of sight of the Yard. None had any good reason to be where they were found. All were killed by a snakebite. None showed signs of any other physical harm. All were killed at night."

"We had guards posted last night, but he wasn't one of them. Either Toby left the Yard of his own free will, or someone invisible sneaked in to fetch him. In any case, he had to have deliberately avoided the guards to keep from being seen."

"Thank you; that's very useful."

"How?"

"It eliminates some possibilities. And whenever you determine and rule out what is impossible, you are left with the truth. Elementary."

John smiled tiredly. Sherlock was literally having a field day. In spite of the grim scene before them, it was nice to see his friend enjoying his work.

"At the moment I see three possibilities," Sherlock declared. "Possibility one: Toby, in a show of bravado, decided to set off on his own to try to find the killer of his comrades."

"Unlikely," said Lestrade. "While Toby wasn't a coward by any means, he wasn't one to lead the charge, nor one to disobey orders or go AWOL."

"Possibility two: At some point during the day, Toby received some information unbeknownst to the rest of the brigade which led him to leave in the night and go to his death."

"That seems a bit more likely, but I can't imagine what sort of information it would be."

"Possibility three: someone went to Toby in the night and persuaded him to leave in secret."

"If that's the case, it would have to be someone invisible. Or someone who knew the positions of all the scouts. And who left no scent trail."

"A hawk," John said suddenly, accidentally speaking out loud.

"What's that, John?" Sherlock asked.

"Er... it's just that hawks are known for hunting snakes, and a bird could fly in and out again without being seen by the scouts or leaving a scent trail."

"That's wonderful."

"Thank you." John was quite pleased with himself.

"But unlikely. Hawks hunt by sight and like most birds are therefore diurnal. Our killer is active at night and doesn't eat his poisoned victims. It's doubtful that a hawk would hunt by day, try to catch some sleep and then wake himself up again to go killing by night... still, it's not entirely impossible, so I shan't dismiss the idea entirely."

Somewhat crestfallen, John decided to keep his mouth shut from then on.

"There is another way that the scouts could overlook the killer, or a messenger from the killer—it could be another of your cadets or someone else in the pride who persuaded Toby to leave last night."

"A traitor?" Lestrade asked, bristling visibly. "I cannot entertain such a suggestion."

"Which is exactly why a traitor wouldn't fear being caught... it's unthinkable to the rest of the pride. And yet your society hinges on betrayal. Less than two years ago you ousted your leader and replaced him with a new one. It's the usual way with lions: out with the old, in with the young."

"That's different."

"That's a subjective opinion."

"I'm growing impatient with this conversation, tracker. If you're through, I'd like to get Toby to the morgue."

Sherlock gave the scene a last look and invited John to do the same. John couldn't find anything Sherlock had missed. He estimated that Toby had been dead about five or six hours.

"We heard back from one of the other prides south of here just before you arrived," Lestrade said. "So far they haven't had an incident like this."

"Good."

"They also said they discovered a baboon troop decimation the other day as well. Looked like the doing of hyenas."

"Interesting. If they have more, I may take a trip south soon. Keep me updated."

John kept silent most of the way home. Finally, he couldn't hold his peace any longer and asked, "Who do you think is doing this?"

Sherlock smiled. "I'm not sure. Isn't it exciting?"

Not sure how to answer, John asked another question. "What will you do now?"

"Now I shall go home and think. I shall think over possibilities—suspects and motives and methods. When I settle on one that seems likely, I'll test the theory."

That contented John for the rest of the way home. This is exciting, he decided. But he didn't think it would be proper to say so aloud. He concentrated on not being left behind, trotting to keep up with Sherlock's long-legged walk. They were nearly home before he remembered to limp.

XXX

"How did it go?" Sebastian asked, dragging the zebra hide up onto Jim's favorite ledge.

"Well, I think. We'll have another interview when the game is over. That's a fine skinning job you've done there."

"I've had a lot of practice, though not on zebras. I thought it would make you more comfortable."

"Will it attract flies?" Jim asked, wrinkling his nose.

"I cured it with salt water and then dried it in the sun. It should last all through the dry season at least."

"Good." Jim got up and moved out of the way so Sebastian could spread the hide out. Then he settled on top of it. "Oh, this is much better. Easier on the bones."

"It'll keep you from getting so cold at night, too."

"I hope that doesn't mean you won't be staying."

"No; I won't leave you alone."

Jim half-smiled. "Well, come on then. You go to sleep now so you'll be rested by the time I nod off."

"I'll do my best." Sebastian went to his usual place behind Jim and tossed his head so his knife swung around behind him, out of the way. Then he pressed his body against the leopard's and rested his head on him as usual.

"Night, 'Bastian," Jim murmured lazily.

No one had spoken so informally to him since his mother died, but Sebastian let it go. This was his new profession; he could allow his charge to be a little disrespectful as one of the hazards of the job.

Might not be able to post again as soon; busy times coming up. But I'll do my best. ^^ Don't forget to review.