The Case of the Blown-Up Cottage
Part 1by Cyberwolf (wolf at mydestiny.net)
Hey guys! I know I should finish "Sherlock Puppy" before I
start another fic but (shrug) the idea's been banging at me for a
little while. Well, it's a crossover -- I tend to love those
things ^_^ -- and I think it'll be fairly obvious what the
crossover is in a while.
The headquarters of New Scotland Yard reverberated with the
sound of screaming. Despite the horror stories told by criminals
who were interrogated within the Yard's basement holding cells,
the Yard did not indulge in torture, and so this was not a normal
Elizabeth Lestrade heaved a sigh and put her hand to her head,
hoping that this action would help stave off a headache. First of
all, it was inhumanly early in the morning, and she was not happy
about being rousted out of bed and a perfectly good dream - the
remnants of which were slipping away, but were still vivid enough
to bring a smile to her face - but to come to the Yard to face an
earsplitting noise was insult added to injury.
The young man beside her looked more curious than annoyed.
Despite Sherlock Holmes never having been known as a morning
person, he did not seem at all perturbed about being called to
the Yard at such an early hour. He and Lestrade had met up in the
lobby of the Yard, and Lestrade, bleary-eyed, had been
unreasonably irritated by the half-pleased, half-expectant
demeanor the detective showed. It had only been a zedding week
since their last case, and surely he couldn't be bored ALREADY?
Lestrade decided she really needed a coffee.
"That's odd," Holmes commented as they stepped out of the
elevator. "I wonder whatever a baby is doing here at New Scotland
"Eh?" Lestrade blinked at him, and then focused again at the
sound. Yes, the tone was too shrill for an adult to be making -- a
fact she'd have immediately picked up on if she'd had more than
two hours of sleep in the last two days.
She made a beeline for the Yard's nearest coffee machine,
pouring herself a cup of the brew and downing it with the
alacrity of a man in the desert. The caffeine hit her bloodstream
with the force of a run-away train, and her eyes snapped open. Oh
damn -- Wilkins must have made it. She would probably be jittering
from the rush in a few minutes. Damn again.
At least she was awake, and to keep herself in that happy state
she drank the rest of the coffee down. She turned to see Holmes
waiting for her a little distance away, a look of amusement in
those dark-blue eyes.
"Strong brew, Inspector?"
"You know it. Want some?" she asked.
"Er, no thank you. I'm not feeling up to sampling Theodore
Wilkins's special coffee at the moment."
Lestrade wondered for a moment how he could have known it was
Wilkins who brewed the coffee -- he hadn't hung around the Yard
long enough to know that any really strong coffee was Wilkins's,
had he? -- before shrugging the matter off. "Well, let's be off to
the Chief's. I wonder what's so important that he needs to wake
us up so early in the zedding morning. Both of us," she said,
eyeing Holmes uncertainly. True, he was now under Grayson's
direct supervision, meaning that he had just as much chance to be
called by the irascible police chief, but Grayson didn't call
Holmes until he was really needed.
"Must be some case," she mused out loud, and almost laughed
aloud at the flicker of sheer glee that danced across Holmes's eyes at
They neared Grayson's office, and the more-awake Lestrade could
now note the suffering looks on the few other Yardies who were in
the building - as well as the fact that the sound of the baby's
wail increased in volume as they neared the Chief's office.
Holmes opened the door, stepping back to let Lestrade through
first. She almost rolled her eyes at the lingering remnant of
Holmes' upbringing, but went through anyway.
On to Part 2!
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