Please Sit Down
by Alicia (aisumitsukai at home.com)
White on White
Twenty-two-year-old Beth Lestrade screamed and yanked the
offending piece of sharp metal out of her thumb, stuffing the finger
into her mouth. The silver sewing needle glinted almost boastingly at
her under the neon light.
"Grrrrrrrr." Glaring with narrowed eyes, Beth took her thumb
out of her mouth and rethreaded the obnoxious needle.
"Hmph, you useless piece of twenty-first century junk! I'll
show you!" Angrily Beth picked up her project and started sewing
again. "Edith is right. I really should get a sewing machine if I want
to continue making these dresses," Lestrade thought out loud as she
squinted down at the lacy trim of the underskirt. "But that would make
it so much less authentic. White thread on white lace on white. What
was I thinking?" Shaking her head resignedly, she was silent,
completely absorbed in her little stitches that would never be seen.
Hours went by; rush-hour traffic came and went. Yells and calls
echoed outside the dorm room. Lights went on and lights went off,
things broke, lives ended and started. Friendships were cast aside and
new ones began, love was severed and love was sewn back together. it
was all lost on the university student busy remaking the piece of
history she wished she hadn't missed out on.
A violin CD whispered mournfully in the background as she
packed away her supplies. Neatly, everything in its predetermined
place. The dress was hung up, its wrinkles gently smoothed out. Beth
sighed, running her fingers down the fabric. The skirt was delicate
and looked so out of place, hidden between modern day clothes. Like a
lost ghost somehow stuck on a crowded subway.
Beth shook her head. It was just a sewing project. An
underskirt at that. It had absolutely no spiritual value whatsoever.
Giving the dress a final smoothing, Lestrade went off to bed. But as
she pulled the covers over her, she couldn't help but think of how she
felt like a ghost, ignored and invisible, stuck in a crowded subway
car, not knowing how she managed to get there.
Gotta Love Books!
Heh, this is based off my experiences traveling home from
Florida. Lestrade's traveling companions are actually real people...
though they weren't reading those books....
The airport was crowded. Ridiculously so. But, Beth Lestrade wove her
way through the hordes of faceless people with a sureness that implied
that she was a) an experienced traveler or b) lived in a big city and
was accustomed to seeing this many people stuffed into tiny quarters.
She arrived at her departure terminal with too much time to
spare. Indifferently, she sunk into a plastic chair, drawing her legs
up underneath her and resting her chin on top of the ratty black
knapsack that made up the entirety of her luggage. The minutes wore
by, and she swore she could feel her hair turning grey. Finally, just
as she was about to start losing hair, the stewardess announced that
they would begin boarding.
Twenty minutes later, Lestrade sat down in yet another
uncomfortable chair. This time squashed between two others. Before she
could make a futile attempt to get comfortable, a girl, a few years
younger then her, appeared in the aisle beside her. "Um." she bit her
bottom lip, looking shyly at Lestrade through long brown bangs.
"Yeah, sorry." Lestrade slipped out of her chair and into the
aisle, letting the girl squish through to her (window!) seat.
The girl gave her a quick grin before taking out a book (!) and
engrossing herself in what appeared to be 'The Simarilion'. Lestrade
raised an eyebrow (that was a hard book to come by! And she should
know!) as she slipped back into her seat. Boredom ensued.
A bald guy, with multiple piercing in his left ear, plunked
down on her other side just as the stewardesses were retreating after
checking the luggage compartments. (Missing the one above Lestrade and
her Darwin reading companion.)
Lestrade didn't spare him a glance. Until the title 'Canterbury
Tales' flashed in her peripheral vision. She slowly raised her head.
This man, who couldn't have been much older then her, and looked for
all the world like the boys her mother used to point out and warn her
about (Drug dealers and worthless the lot of them. Don't get mixing
up with them, Beth. It won't do you any good, and you can use all the
help you can get.) was engrossed in a century-old classic. Another
that was very hard to come by. And once again, she should know!
Raising her other eyebrow, Lestrade sifted through the contents
of her pack. there had to be something in here to read. She smiled as
her hand closed around a Xeroxed copy of one of Watson's journals. She
didn't like bringing the originals traveling for obvious reasons.
Mark looked over the rim of 'Canterbury Tales' in surprise. The
woman beside him was reading Sherlock Holmes! (What he would give for
a copy of the late Dr. Watson's journals.) And here he had taken her
for some techie twink. He raised a pierced eyebrow.
Lestrade stretched her back and dropped her pack into a blue
plastic chair of the New London airport. Holmes and Watson had e-
mailed to say they'd be by in about five minutes. This was a welcome
surprise as she was way too tired (!) to drive.
A slight tap on her shoulder startled her in mid stretch and
she turned quickly, expecting to see a grinning blonde detective. To
her surprise, she found her airplane companions standing before her.
"Erm. I was wondering," The bald man cleared his throat. "How
much would you like for your book?"
"Eh? Book? Oh! Watson's.oh." Lestrade frowned. "Well, it's a
family heirloom. kind of. um."
"Here." The girl pushed The Silmarilion at her before Lestrade
had the chance to gather her thoughts.
"But that's Tolkien! That's extremely hard to come by!"
"So is Sherlock Holmes!"
"Oh. I never thought of that. it's always been right there."
Lestrade rambled off. She hated to part from anything remotely Holmes
related, but she could have another copy made. Heck, she could just
"Yeah, sure. I guess." Lestrade dug out the journal and handed
it over, biting her bottom lip as she did so. Sighing, she put Tolkien
away in her backpack, pausing to admire the crinkled paper cover.
"Thank you SO MUCH!" The girl threw herself at the
unsuspecting Inspector, hugging her fiercely.
Smiling, the two quickly said their goodbyes and walked off,
arm in arm.
"Who are they?"
Lestrade whirled around again, encountered, this time by the
aforementioned detective and, of course, Watson.
"Eh, a couple of fans. I think."
"Oh not again."
Lestrade winked at Watson over Holmes' shoulder. "Yeah, the
girl seemed really interested in you."
"I'm glad to see you too, Lestrade."
Lestrade tapped her fingers idly on the top of her desk. It had
been a quiet [translation: BORING!] day at the Yard, and she was
itching to leave. Which meant, of course, some catastrophe was bound
to happen, just as she left her office. Lestrade sighed irritably at
her inescapable fate and squirmed into a more comfortable position to
await the obnoxious, beeping call from Greyson's office.
It didn't come. The hands of her clock ticked painfully slowly.
Eternity by eternity, 6:00 came closer. Lestrade groaned. Reduced to
The door to her office opened at three to six. Lestrade swore
mentally. But, the person who stepped in was noticeably different from
a Yard errand runner.
"Moriarty! How in zed did you get in?!" Lestrade rose
"I'm glad to see you too, my dear Inspector." The professor
replied mildly. "Not pressing the security button?"
"No. I want to catch you by myself." Lestrade answered.
"Calling up a bunch of armed idiots isn't my style. And I'm not your
dear anything, zedhead."
"No, undoubtedly it isn't. And do watch your language
Lestrade." Moriarty moved over to the window. "Aren't you going to
arrest me? You could."
Lestrade narrowed her eyes. "Yeah, I could try. Personally
though, I don't feel like walking into another one of your joyful
little traps right now."
"Ah, the girl learns." Moriarty smiled. "Don't you want to know
why I'm here?"
"Well, first I'd like to know how...but why is good too."
"If you arrested me, think of the respect you'd gain. And not
just from your superiors at the Yard." Moriarty raised an eyebrow.
"What are you talking about?" Lestrade leaned forward on her
desk. "Do you want me to arrest you?"
"Oh for heaven's sake, Elizabeth, you know who I'm talking
about. I'm not blind. Just think of how this would impress him."
Lestrade sat down. "You're -- you're talking about -- absolutely
"I gain people's respect by doing things. Not by cheating like
this. Especially his." Lestrade could feel a slight blush creep onto
her cheeks. "Besides, I don't do things because he wants me to -- well,
not all the time. But not things like this. I wouldn't ever! I'm still
my own zedding person!"
"I'm glad to hear it." Moriarty regarded her levelly, "I think,
now, we understand each other, Inspector Lestrade."
Lestrade thought about this for a minute before standing up.
"Yeah. Yeah, I guess we do," she said in a slightly shocked tone.
Moriarty stepped forward and kissed her hand. Then with a mock
salute, he turned and jumped out the window. The sound of a hovercar's
engines could be heard roaring off.
Lestrade bit her bottom lip. "Guess he's human after all." She
muttered to her clock: reading 6:03pm.
Her door opened once more. Here it comes, she thought. But no,
this time Holmes stepped in, wearing a small smile. "Moriarty has been
and gone, I presume?"
Lestrade stared. "How...?
Holmes' smile widened. "And you didn't arrest him?"
Lestrade shook her head. "No, it was like...."
"Cheating?" Holmes all out grinned. "Come home and have some
tea, my dear Lestrade. It will make you feel much better."
Lestrade narrowed her eyes. "Moriarty told you, didn't he?"
Holmes offered her his arm. "My dear Inspector, I asked him to."
Back to the Fanfic index