Well, this is another unusual prompt. I like opportunities to stretch myself, so this will be great as usual.

Again, this timeline is slightly different: it will be set one week after 'The Adventure of the Speckled Band' in April 1883. I have always liked the Speckled Band, too, so I've meant to tackle something in that time frame as well.

Admittedly, I was also scratching my head at this, so I settled on this response in turn. I wouldn't be surprised if this has happened during this time, but for now, this is a plot that I've primarily made up on my own.
Warning: This will mention implied murder, violence, and, in general, spooky stuff, as this is Sherlock Holmes.

With that, on with the show.

From JackofCats: Watson and Holmes chase a criminal into a rural cemetery in the middle of a dark, moonless night… and what was that strange noise?

The Things That Go Bump in the Night

It had been a week since the death of Doctor Grimesby Roylott, by my accounts, bitten by the self-same snake that he had so callously set on his stepdaughters, resulting in the death of one and the fright of the other, Helen Stoner, nearly dead as her sister had been two years prior.

As much as Holmes and I would have liked to put Stoke Moran behind us, Helen Stoner called on us again to finish handling some affairs with her, putting Stoke Moran behind her as well.

"I hate to bother you like this again, gentlemen, but while I was retrieving some of my old belongings from the manor, one of the neighbors that had been kind to Julia and I had approached us about hearing strange noises in the night." Said she.

We had convened in the Crown Inn as we did the week prior, with Helen sitting across from Holmes, who had been sitting back in his chair, eyes closed. "Strange noises? Akin to what you heard in the house?" He asked as Helen shook her head.

"No, Mister Holmes; he said he heard two sets of noises coming from around the house. One was almost a cow, he said. The problem being there are no cows nearby, and the other, why, he could hear running footsteps." Said she.

"Running footsteps? Could it be someone that Roylott was associated with?" I added as Holmes jumped to his feet.

"Excellent, my dear Watson, capital notion!" Said he, rubbing his hands together. "Before Doctor Roylott met his demise, Miss Stoner, you did indeed say he was quite friendly with what the public believes to be unsavory types?"

"Well, yes. But some of them have gone because of his death. There's still a few thieves that remain, though." Helen said.

"Then we shall set out for Stoke Moran to-day to see if we can put things to rights, have no worries," Holmes reassured. "We shall all have also put Stoke Moran behind us after we are through."

I can only hope so—and be rid of Roylott's specter once and for all over Stoke Moran!

The sun had sunk lower over the horizon in Stoke Moran when Holmes and I arrived back by the old house on foot, each of us carrying our canes that we would use in London and our pistols.

We should not come back here unarmed, Watson. I have not yet received word that the people from the zoos have taken care of the leopard and the baboon, so we will need to be on guard, He said.

And in the night, I could remember why. With each step further into the undergrowth and the more the sun went lower, my skin chilled, as if I could see the animals that had stalked the grounds—even that snake.

Even though the snake had been taken care of first and foremost, given its venomous nature.

As much as he never liked to show it, Holmes was doing no better. He strode ahead of me, the hand that gripped at his cane white. "According to Miss Stoner, she said that her neighbor heard these noises closer to the dead of night, much like our Speckled Band." Said he, his voice barely heard above the wind.

"She said something like the moo of a cow and footsteps…" I mused, glancing around the expanse of shadowy ground.

There was no moon to-night; the sky was shrouded in shades of black and dark blue. This only made the shadows seem to grow as the sun disappeared over the horizon.
"Stay behind me, Watson." Holmes was suddenly leaning toward me, his hand trumpet by my ear. "I can hear the baboon is still about, though I am not aware of where the leopard is; I'd rather neither of us be taken by surprise." Said he.

I nodded, tightening my grip on my cane and pistol. "Right behind you, Holmes, and the same goes for you. I'd hate to see you ambushed." I said.

For a moment, I thought I could see the cold, logical expression on my friend's face shift, softening in something similar to gratitude—but at the sudden snap of another twig, his face hardened again.

Then, more twigs went as if someone were frantically running off with a horde of people on his trail. Holmes took off after the sounds, running further past the house than what we'd known.

"Come, Watson! It seems we've found one of our mysterious noises, and when we find him, we'll find another!" He called, and I, despite our shared apprehension, ran after him across the fields.

"Do you think it's someone related to Roylott's schemes?" I called back as Holmes laughed, leaping over a tangle of plants.
"I know so! I will explain the chain of events we have here, and I can tell you that I deduced them from the sound of the twigs snapping." Said he as we continued our run through the night.

By the time the footsteps and sound of twigs snapping stopped, we two had reached what appeared to be a cemetery, the dark grey plots blending into the pitch-dark landscape.

Holmes himself was barely visible, given that he favored his darker clothing while we were out in Stoke Moran. Though his free hand looped around my wrist and mind around his, he still helped us pick our way through the graveyard.

"I think I have heard of this man that flees us," Holmes said as we wove between the gravestones. "Roylott's associates might have all fled, but a known animal smuggler was unaccounted for. Clarence Roy, I believe."

I blinked away shadows and bugs that had come out in the night air, trying to remember where I'd heard that name before. "Is he the one from America that managed to get a hold of rare animals in Africa and Australia?"

"He is, Watson. With several new species that have only been introduced to England recently." Said he.

"And… could he have been the one to bring the animals here? To Stoke Moran?" I asked.

"Oh, I have no doubt, at least for some of them. The snake, as was the leopard, was all of Roylott's idea, but I believe he brought the baboon. And, as we might find, others we don't know about-" Holmes cut off as the strangest noise warbled over the stones of the graveyard.

As Miss Stoner described, it was akin to a cow's moo. But it sounded unnatural, filled with clicks and whines that weren't from a cow. The clicking followed after, rattling and almost hollow.

What in the world? My skin's chill deepened with each strange noise.

"That is not a cow," I whispered to Holmes as he nodded. "I would agree with you. Look." Said he.

Ahead of us was one of the strangest things we'd seen. Even in the dark, at this distance, it appeared to be a rather large bird standing there, staring.

The air went silent as we two stared down this strange bird. It clicked again after a while, dipping its head down and shaking its bill.

"What kind of bird is that?" I asked as Holmes tightened his grip on my wrist.

"I do not recall, my dear Watson, but I advise we back away." Said he as we slowly crept backward.

The bird did not move to follow, still standing in the same spot we'd encountered it.

It's as if we're not here at all to it.

"Oh, this adds spice and life to this investigation, Watson. If Clarence Roy and this bird are here, then we've come across a crime under our noses." Holmes said, and at this proximity, I could see the excitement in his gaze.

"We will wait here and see to it that both the bird and our thief are back where they belong." Said he.

By Holmes's estimations, it had reached the stroke of midnight when we saw the bird finally move, wandering towards the nearby river.

It released the alarming clacks again, which seemed to set the air still again.

Until, something suddenly bundled us into the dirt from behind. My leg lurched at that, the familiar biting pain returning to life.

"What—" Holmes cried out as the American, Clarence Roy, tackled us both, his face looming, furious.

"I won't let you take my bird! I found it!" His tone was borderline hysterical, as if he, too, were frightened by something.

"And I'll ensure you don't get in my way!" Suddenly, I was hoisted upwards, a sensation pricking into my neck.

Knife, the sod took us by surprise! My bullpup flared at that in indignation; pains be damned. How dare he?

"You will not leave here unharmed if you hurt Watson," Holmes warned him, his voice set like ice.

"Oh, and like that scares me? I've fought worse than you; they were all creatures that could drop you on the spot." Clarence hissed, loosening his grip slightly to point his knife at Holmes.

And that was all I needed. He shouldn't have left my good arm and cane hand free. I twisted that arm as much as I could with my cane, smashing it against the American's knee nearest me.

Down Clarence Roy went, howling in pain and grabbing the knee I'd hit. "You think we would take that lying down?" I grit out as he writhed, only for Holmes to meet him in his tackle, wrestling the man.

"And truly, if you wished to keep your bird, you'd know to keep it near the water. Or, rather, actually with people who know how to care for a Shoebill." Holmes said as the realization came to me.

He might be experienced in taking animals, but for one who was just introduced to London, He's as lost as we are!

"Didn't the London Zoo lose a Shoebill just recently? The enclosure being cut into?" I asked as Holmes looked up with a grin.

"Oh indeed, friend Watson. It was all over the newspapers that the rare Shoebill Stork, found in Africa and brought to the London Zoo, had just lost one of their young." Said he, as the man he had pinned whimpered pathetically.

"You don't get it; Roylott said he'd pay me good money. Something about he'd get it soon when he had the chance. And I was going to put the damn bird back when I realized the old bastard died—" He got out before Holmes glared back down at him. "I have a better use for that nerve of yours, Clarence Roy." He said before hoisting him back up. "You'll be able to tell the people coming for the animals where exactly the lost London Zoo Shoebill went and the leopard and baboon."

For once, the American had finally shut up, glancing between us both. I shook my head, picking up my cane and the knife he'd dropped in his fall.

"You heard him," I said as we hauled him out of that dreadful tapestry of shadow and death.

"That was quite intriguing, Watson," Holmes said as we'd returned to Baker Street in the early morning hours and then got back up closer to the evening after returning.

"Which part? Finding the London Zoo's missing bird or stopping another crime?" I asked, looking up from where I was recounting this adventure in my notes. The knife that Clarence Roy had pressed into my neck had made me bleed, but it was good fortune not to be a severe wound.

Holmes had delivered Roy to Scotland Yard after the sequence of events, and the London Zoo had been overjoyed to find their missing Shoebill Stork.

They've been missing that bird for almost the same time we've been dealing with the Speckled Band… oh, we have had two crimes happen under our noses. Holmes had said before we'd retired for at least some sleep. "That, and how you reached for your cane to fight off Roy with your leg and arm." Said he, his gaze fixed on mine. "Are you hurt any more?"

It was true; my leg where I'd been tackled into the dirt was seized with pain, leg draped across the settee. Surprisingly, with my leg out of commission, Holmes had been of great aid in dressing the wound on my neck, clasping it with bandages.

As for how I fought him off, I do suppose it was from him pointing the knife at Holmes.

"Not any worse since we've been able to dress my neck, though I don't think I will be able to aid you any further to-night," I confessed as Holmes shook his head.
"No, no, Watson, you need not trouble yourself. I have nothing else to-do, as we were able to deliver Roy and the bird earlier, and nothing has caught my attention thus far." Said he.

"Have we gotten any word from Miss Stoner yet?" I asked as Holmes grinned at that, holding up a telegram and passing it over. "She has reported that there are no more sounds in Stoke Moran to deal with."

"And now that poor girl can finally rest, knowing this is all over," I added, tucking the telegram beside my notes.

"Indeed," Holmes murmured, absently picking up his violin as he retreated to the chair opposite me.

At times, I wondered if Holmes found my presence useful or if, in his logical, reasoning mind, I was little more than his flatmate.

But, as the day died out, Holmes began to play on his violin, one of my favorites, rather than his. One we'd heard on a case that took us to the Old Imperial.

And as the melodies played against the soft patter of April rain, I could tell one thing that he could not say, but was telling me through this.

Thank you.

And that's it for this chapter. Bit of a quicker one, but given the prompt, I was admittedly struggling with which direction to go down, but I ended up with this. So, JackofCats, once again, if you're reading this, I know this might not be what you pictured for your prompt, but this is what I came up with.
I was about to submit this chapter last night, but alas, power outages have followed me into this new year as well. Such is life.

Shoebill Storks were introduced to London in the 1860s. They were made known to Europe in 1850 when travelers began to describe the bird, and skins/live specimens were sent over after. A pair was introduced and had young in the London zoo, at least until 1950, when their last Shoebill died. I wondered what strange noise they could have heard, and then it dawned on me to include this peculiar bird(as it somehow fits perfectly into the timeline).
As for why Clarence Roy went down so quickly, He's an effective criminal with animals. People, not so much when they fight back. Watson may be injured from being tackled and running through Stoke Moran but I don't think our good doctor would go down without swinging.
Lastly, my references this time around are 'The Adventure of the Speckled Band', 'An Ad for a Goose?', 'A Duel of 88', 'A Study in Scarlet', 'Fate', and, partially, 'The Adventure of the Solitary Cyclist', as well as 'The Adventure of the Three Garridebs.'

I'll see you in the next chapter with a bit of a… parallel universe, shall we say.

Cheers,

Blue