A/N: So, a little bit of an explanation before this starts. I'm currently in a writing class for college that's called Storyboard and Scriptwriting, and we had an assignment where we chose randomized characters and locations from a list that we ourselves created. My results ended up looking like this:

Protagonist- Sherlock Holmes

Antagonist- A giant storm that ends all life

Location- Hollywood

Story Premise- Has to escape the secret cow level from Diablo 2

Character Trait- Sherlock is gullible

What follows is the result of this assignment. I hope that the Sherlock and Moriarty are at least somewhat in character.

The Herds of Hollywood

Sherlock Holmes woke up to the sickening stench of methane infiltrating his nostrils. The detective's eyes suddenly snapped open, and he sat up to find… a bipedal cow standing over him, holding a type of battle axe in his hand. Holmes looked around, seeing they were both on a hill, overlooking a snow covered city. Hanging over the city was an ominous cloud that had a pale blue tint to it, and it appeared to be just above one of the taller buildings.

"Moooo." the mutated cow said, raising the axe up. Just as the bladed weapon came crashing down, Sherlock split his legs apart, and the axe slammed harmlessly into the ground in front of him.

"Mooo!" the cow growled again, this time angrier, as Holmes rolled over and scrambled to stand up.

Adversary is some type of mutated cow that can walk on two feet. Holmes noted, pausing to size the cow up. Weapon of choice: one sided battle axe.

The mutant cow began charging at Sherlock, and he sidestepped, while forming a plan in his mind. It was almost like a sixth sense to him, where time seemed to slow down.

Trip right leg as the cow runs past me.

Kick face while downed.

Rip battle axe from hands, behead foe.

In summary: approximately a year's worth of beef.

Sherlock snapped out of his thinking, and stuck his leg out to trip the maddened cow. However, despite his plan, the beast came to a halt, and picked Holmes up, heaving him a few inches above the ground. Sherlock's eyes widened, as the cow slammed him back down, knocking the wind out of him.

"MOOO!"

The cow screamed, more furious than ever. Sherlock pulled out his gun, a .442 Webley handgun, and fired six rounds into the beast. The cow was slowed for sure, as blood leaked out of the holes in its body, but it slowly began walking towards Holmes once more. For the second time that day, Sherlock was paralyzed in shock.

Just as the cow was within arms length, a shot rang out, and the cow fell forward, as blood gushed from its head. Sherlock rolled out of the way to avoid the now dead cow, and stood up to find his old friend, John Watson, walking towards him, with a smoking revolver, and his mustache tickled by the wind.

"Watson, my good man!" Sherlock smirked. "I'm happy for your assistance!"

"Of course Holmes." Watson replied, putting his gun away.

"Where are we?" Sherlock asked, looking back at the blue cloud hanging over the nearby city.

"I'm not entirely sure." Watson admitted, before pointing behind Sherlock.

"But we appear to be in a place called Hollywood."

Holmes looked over his shoulder, seeing a gigantic sign built on top of the hills. The sign consisted of nine letters, which indeed spelled out Hollywood.

"Do you have any idea what that cloud could be?" Watson suddenly spoke, causing Sherlock to turn back to him.

"No idea." Sherlock shrugged. "However, the bluish tint does leave some options open… and it appears to be converging at that tower."

Sherlock pointed towards the city, where the cloud was directly over a tall building.

"I believe it is our duty to investigate, wouldn't you say, Watson?" Sherlock smugly grinned.

"I concur, Holmes."

The two began walking towards the city, noticing that more and more bipedal cows came out of the city's buildings and began running towards them with axes.

"I don't suppose you have any more bullets in your gun?" Sherlock asked nervously.

"No. You?"

"No." Holmes muttered grimly. "We should run."

Watson nodded in agreement, and the pair ran in zigzagging motions, dodging past the murderous cows.

"Moo!"

"Mooo!"

"MOO!"

"MOOO!"

As Sherlock and Watson got closer and closer to the building, a new odor began to invade his nose. The moment he got a whiff, Holmes' eyes widened, and he reached into his black coat, pulling out a red handkerchief and placing it over his mouth.

"Watson- cover your mouth!" Sherlock yelled.

"Why?" Watson asked, although he jerked the opening his own gray suit jacket to cover the lower half of his face.

"The cloud- it's cyanide gas." Sherlock revealed.

"How do you know that, Holmes?"

"Elementary, Watson. The odor in the air is that of bitter almonds." Sherlock explained. "That, combined with the blue color, makes the conclusion obvious."

"Someone had to have concocted this." Watson mused. "The mutated cows, this gas cloud, all of it."

"Right you are, Watson." Sherlock agreed, looking up at the building. The tower had at least a hundred windows plastered on it, with a double set of doors staring back at them. But what caught Sherlock Holmes' eyes the most was the name of the building.

Reichenbach Hotel.

Odd, Sherlock thought. That name sounds strangely familiar…

Sherlock shook his head, and he and Watson entered the hotel. Upon finding there were no staff, the two raced to the elevator, and pressed the button for the top floor. The doors closed automatically, and Sherlock and Watson ascended towards the top of the tower.

As the elevator doors opened, Sherlock ran out, finding the stairs leading to the roof, and ran up three steps at a time, with Watson following closely behind.

When the two detectives finally arrived at the roof, they were met by a man in a white dress shirt and black vest. Though his face was covered with a gas respirator, the hair on his head revealed a reddish orange color. Right next to him was a machine that had two glass tubes, consisting of the pale blue gas, and a type of radio transmitter on the top.

"Ah, Sherlock!" the man smiled. "I was hoping you would come!"

"Moriarty." Sherlock's muffled voice growled. "What have you done? Is the gas yours?"

"Yes and no." Even with his mouth covered by the respirator, Holmes could tell by his eyes that he was smirking. "You see, when the great philosophers discovered the planet Saturn and its moon Titan, they overlooked one crucial characteristic."

"And what might that be?" Watson scoffed.

"The moon is surrounded in a layer of cyanide gas." Moriarty explained. "And I figured out how to harness it for myself."

"And the mutated cows?"

"Merely a byproduct of adding methane to the gas." Moriarty shrugged.

"And all this was done using the radio component from Henry Blackwood's gas device." Sherlock realized, recalling the villain's dastardly plans to murder all of Parliamant years ago. Holmes turned to his friend, murmuring. "I will keep our old adversary occupied. Find a way to stop the gas."

"You're not going to do anything, except die." Moriarty smugly stated, pulling out a pistol. Thinking quickly, Sherlock through his empty gun at his nemesis, knocking the weapon out of his hands, while Watson dashed towards the machine.

"I assure you, that is the shortest of reprieves." Moriarty vowed, as he and Sherlock began circling each other. Holmes noticed Moriarty forming his right hand into a fist, and began coming up with a plan.

Block the right hook, follow with a haymaker to the face.

Left cross to the ribs, surprise with heel kick to right knee.

Finish with headbutt to crown.

Moriarty drew back his right fist, and began to swing. Sherlock instinctively brought his right arm up to block, but James suddenly pulled back, and punched Holmes in the stomach with his left hand. The detective's eyes widened, but he kept his right hand placed on his handkerchief, since the gas cloud was still right on top of them, as Moriarty proceeded to deliver a jab to his cheek, and a kick to his legs.

"Did you really think you could match me, Holmes?" Moriarty boasted, as Sherlock stepped back. "Were you really that gullible to believe I would show my hand too soon? To think you're the only one who can predict an opponent's moves? What do you think of me now?"

He's right. He's unpredictable. Sherlock thought, looking past Moriarty to see Watson frantically working on the gas machine. Time to switch tactics. Enrage him.

"I repeat, what do you think of me now?!" Moriarty yelled through his respirator.

"I think you're no more than a petty criminal who steals from more powerful crime lords." Sherlock taunted.

"Big talk, from a dead man!" Moriarty yelled, attempting to throw a right hook that Sherlock easily ducked under, before shoving his right shoulder in his face.

Tactic is working, press further.

"You stole the machine, and the plans for the gas, from Henry Blackwood, and you claim to be the Napoleon of Crime." Sherlock scoffed, quickly jumping out of the way of a haymaker to his face. "The sheer lack of imagination and originality is staggering."

"You take that back!" Moriarty yelled, charging forward. Sherlock sidestepped and stuck his leg out, causing his adversary to trip.

"A one trick hack after your last failed attempt of starting a war." Sherlock continued. "The joke of London's Underworld."

"Shut up, damn you! SHUT UP!" Moriarty raged, charging at Holmes once more and throwing a right hook.

Opponent is now predictable.

Sherlock ducked under the punch, before jabbing his left fist into Moriarty's ribs. As James stumbled back, Sherlock delivered a heel kick to his solar plexus, sending him sprawling to the ground. Holmes took the moment to look up, just in time to see Watson still working on the gas machine.

Unfortunately, Moriarty got up sooner than expected, and he tackled the detective. The both of them flew backwards, until Sherlock felt his back slam into the edge of the building's roof, with Moriarty placing his hands on his throat.

"I have you now!" Moriarty yelled sadistically. "I win!"

Sherlock looked past James, seeing Watson finally deactivate the machine by loosening the glass tubes and pulling them out of the contraption, and the cyanide cloud began dissipating instantly. At that moment, Sherlock leaned backwards, letting go of his handkerchief and grabbing Moriarty by the shoulders, sending them both tumbling over the roof. Moriarty screamed in rage and fear, while Holmes closed his eyes, resigned to his fate.

Sherlock gasped awake, finding himself in his bed, with Watson sitting in a chair across the room.

"What happened?" Sherlock asked, confused.

"What do you mean?" Watson asked, looking at his old friend with concern. "You were sleeping the whole time."

"Oh. That I was." Sherlock shrugged, brushing off the odd dream.

"There is something you should see." Watson informed. "The police suspect that Moriarty is still alive."

"Is that so?" Sherlock inquired.

"Indeed." Watson nodded. "You said yourself that you and him were separated when you fell in the Reichenbach Falls. And the officer who was sent looking for him was found dead via a gunshot wound similar to the one Moriarty used in those tunnels last year."

"I see." Sherlock said grimly, getting up out of bed and putting his checkered deerstalker hat on.

"Case reopened."

The End…?