Follow the Leader

Part 1

by Ann (redwaller at

OK, after reading through all the other fanfics I've seen that you guys have made Lestrade an orphan, so here's a twist. Oh, and I have never seen the show {grumble, mutter, gripe} so I will make a few mistakes, correct me if I'm wrong. But WHEN I see the show {or when they put it on VHS} I will try to be right more often. And you're thinking, 'Blah blah blah blah blah, just get on with the fanfic!!!!'

Here it goes!

"Man, is this place dusty," Lestrade said to herself as she held a flashlight into her small attic. But all I need to get out is my old casebook, nothing else, she thought. She was often prone to forgetting what she was looking for and just taking out the whole attic. She started to open up the first boxes she saw, rummaging through them sloppily and then moving on to the next. Finally, after about a dozen boxes, she found no less than eleven full casebooks. There was no way she could figure out which one she was looking for without going through all of them.

"Oh well, so much for 'just the casebook'," she said with a sigh, as she picked the box up and slowly made her way to the living room of her flat.

"Finally, we've been here for almost...."

She dropped the box and spun around to see Holmes sitting in a chair in a corner and Watson standing beside him. Holmes looked at his pocket watch. "...almost fifteen minutes."

She felt her face redden in a dull rage. "Have you guys ever heard of a zedding doorbell?!? If I had my ionizer with me both of you would be toast! Toast and crispy! You better have a good reason for scaring the bajeezzes out of me!"

"Holmes, we better go. I don't know of any reason that would please the Inspector. I don't want to end up spending the next two years being repaired," said Watson, looking at Lestrade edgily.

She turned her burning stare to Sherlock Holmes, the notorious detective. He threw his hands up into the air. "Fine. Arrest me. I just wanted to know if you had any idea about the escaped prison inmate from the States. They said he was heading towards Europe. I wanted to know if you knew anything about a murder case that happened when you were about, what, 17?"

"Why did you come here? You have a handheld communicator! Why not contact me with that?! Eh? Any answer to that?" jeered Lestrade angrily.

Holmes' face became serious as he replied, his eyes watching her expression. "Because, my dear inspector, his name is Tyler Lestrade. A relative of yours, perhaps. And I believe he is already in Europe -- Great Britain, actually". Holmes watched her face blanch; her eyes widened. He pressed further, softening his voice. "Do you know him? Have you ever heard of him, from family? friends? Maybe an old st-"

"You are wasting your time, Holmes. I've never heard of him, never. Get out. This is my only free time. I intend to spend it alone and looking for that old casebook of mine," she said evenly, her face still with its newly acquired unhealthy pallor.

Holmes stood up and replaced his green plaid deerstalker on his head. He motioned for Watson to follow suit as he replied to Lestrade's cold response, "All right, but if you come across anything, ANYTHING, that might help out with catching him, tell me. If you could ask your family or-"

"I have no family. Not any more," she cut in abruptly for the second time.

"Please let me finish. This man is very dangerous; be on full alert at all times. Never go anywhere without your ionizer -- an extra, just in case. Lock your doors; keep your communicator with you. Don't be afraid to call if yo-"

"That's enough, Holmes .I thank you for your concern, but I'm a well trained Yardie. I know how to take care of myself," interrupted Lestrade, her voice barely even over a whisper.

Holmes nodded in understanding; she didn't want to be babied. He walked out the door and closed it behind him. He knew from the way she'd reacted that all she had said was a lie.

Lestrade watched them leave as she bolted her door. She turned on the news, then turned to her box of books. The drop had spilt them over the floor, and mixed into the thick gray-brownish casebooks she spied a small green book with frayed edges. She thumbed through the time-worn pages; dates and entries sped past her eyes. It was her old diary; it lasted her almost five years, on the account she never was too keen with going to it every day. She smiled as she read the first entry. It read:

Dear Sherlock Holmes,

Man, if Holmes ever found this out, I'd never live it down,' she thought.

Today is my 15th birthday, my grandmother gave this diary to me. She told me to always write down what happens, even with our technology we should record the old fashion way, she said, because you never will know when your computer might crash and lose your files. So I'm taking her advice and writing stuff down, who knows maybe my diary will become something like Watson's was! I only know of you because the old 221b Baker Street museum was willed off to my grandfather, even though he lives in the States. I guess it's because of our last name, Lestrade. He keeps the journals locked in a glass case and lets no one near them, but sometimes my grandmother will let me read them. She thinks that Grandpa doesn't know, but he does and doesn't mind. He told me that sooner or later he'll give the books to me, no one else seemed as intrigued by them as much as me. IT says he'll burn them when I get them, and that's the only good thing they could do, become kindling. Maybe I'll just let Grandpa keep them until I move away, so I can get away and stay away from It.

         With love,

         Beth Lestrade

With a sigh she flipped through the pages once more. A photograph fell out. She didn't pick it up; she knew who it was of.

In the photograph there were three people: a 16 year old version of herself, a short, thick 18 year old with a mean disposition and a piggy face, and a sandy-haired 17 year old boy. At the bottom it read in neat penmanship:

Beth, Tyler, and Brandon. Grandpa's funeral.

Anger welled up in Lestrade. She would do anything to get back at him. Anything.

Just then her television flashed a special news report.

"New London is on high alert as world travel officials tracked Tyler Lestrade, the escaped murderer, to the United Kingdom. New Scotland Yard has been put on full alert, as this man is extremely dangerous. The United States has told officials that Lestrade is response able for murdering countless people and the attempted murder of another. Lestrade has also been charged with child abuse. The United States also will give an award and assistance to the force that captures this madman."

Beth froze in place, not daring to avert her eyes from the screen. So they are counting that as child abuse? About time, she thought.

"If you happen to locate or spot this criminal, please call New Scotland Yard at-"

Lestrade shut off her TV. It was a matter of time before she was called back on duty. She might as well get ready, to avoid confrontation with her boss Chief Inspector Grayson.

As she walked out her front door fifteen minutes later, she caught a glimpse of someone following her as she got into her hovercar, sending chills up and down her spine. She fingered her ionizer, giving her some reassurance. She saw the follower glance up at her apartment number, and then walk off.

But what that follower didn't notice that he was being stalked as well.

OK, I know it's sort of weird and confusing, but I think once I get a bit of it done it will not be as confusing -- still weird but not confusing. I think....But I'm not sure. Anywho....


On to Part 2!

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