House Guest

Chapter 1

by Jen (dragonriderjenner at yahoo.com)
6/22/04

After being gone for so long from the whole world of SH22, I feel a sense of shame and intrusiveness for returning. And so, as a gift (which I know is not necessary), I present to you the first chapter of my re-written fanfic, "House Guest".

Chapter 1
Introducing the Players

If Elizabeth Lestrade were to say that she was having a good day, she would be lying through her teeth. You would be able to tell, too. If she said that yesterday had been a good day, she also wouldíve been lying. In fact, if you were to ask if she had ever had a good day in her life, she wouldíve replied, "Well, I would have to say that the only good day of my life was when I got ten billion creds from the Mesecrusian government." And then you would either ask: "Mesecrusia?", or "When was that?", because anyone with two creds of sense would know that there was no such place as Mesecrusia. And she would reply either, "Itís a province in Antarctica," or "Never." And then you would leave her alone and sheíd be content.

You see, in Elizabeth Lestradeís mind, every day was a mediocre day. There once was an almost-good day. The day that Sherlock Holmes came back to life. For some time, that day remained an almost-good day. Then, time passed, and that almost-good day went from being almost-good go being very regrettable.

You see, Elizabeth Lestrade is fed up with Sherlock Holmes. Very much so. She has had enough of his condescending attitude. His condescending attitude and his arrogance. His condescending attitude, his arrogance, and his insubordination. His condescending attitude, his arrogance, his insubordination, and that damned inexpressive mask he calls a face. Oh, how he was smart. And oh, how he was clever. And oh, how he so loved to flaunt it in front of everyone.

That is the very reason that Elizabeth Lestrade was walking in the less than presentable part of town. In her street clothes. Without a weapon. And off guard.

"DAMN him," she muttered darkly, kicking yet another piece of grimy litter. "He just knows how to turn every damn day into a bad one." She turned into an alleyway, walking a path her feet knew, but a path only her darker and earlier memories would admit to knowing. "Is he deliberately trying to hack me off? Because if he is, Iím gonna slam his arse. He certainly deserves it, after all heís put me through and after all the blame heís put on my shoulders. Every time he goes out and does something, everyone expects me to clean up after him. Me! His superior! He should be cleaning up after me! But noooo. Instead, he takes my cases, right off my desk, I might add, and goes through them all, expecting me to be thankful. Well, Iím not. Now they all think that I canít handle him. And theyíre right! For Godís sake, theyíre damn right. Itís like nothing I do keeps him in line. Heís always doing whatever his whimsy wants, and expects everyone to bow down before his holiness. Even Watsonís put off by his attitude. Watson! His best friend!" She continued ranting like this, following an unconscious path, until she was stopped by three less than pleasant thugs who were looking for a little fun and hoping to find it in Lestradeís swinging hips.

"Hey, love, whatís wrong? Your boyfriend got you a little upset there, doll?" said one of them.

At this, Lestrade looked up, clearly surprised and confused at where she was. She turned about, trying to find some landmarks, but all around here were garbage-filled alleyways. "Hey. Could you tell me where I am? I seem to be lost."

The thugs laughed, taking this as a ĎYes, sure, Iíd love to sleep with you.í "Youíre in Banker Alley, right on the territory line, babe. Why donít you come with us, sweetheart. Weíll keep you safe and warm."

Lestrade paled and her eyes widened unconsciously in surprise. A heavy knot began to tie itself in the pit of her stomach. The men took this as ascent and two of them reached forward to interlock hers and their elbows, just as any gentleman should. Lestrade, nerves suddenly on end, reacted quickly with a quick uppercut for one and a kick to the stomach for the other. She made to run, but the third grabbed her by the arm and was thusly received the side of her fist in his groin. Lestrade was promptly tackled to the ground by the other two men and was held fast while the third recovered. The knot in her stomach was growing to an unbearable size and adrenaline was pumping into every corner of her body. She struggled with much travail, but their superior weight combined with the force of gravity kept her down. Finally she surrendered, conserving her strength. She would need it for what she knew would come next.

However, as luck would have it, an armed passerby noted the fray and watched as she was forcefully brought to the ground. As she struggled, he idly pulled out his ionizer and set it to a medium setting, which would knock them out and cause minor burns. Aiming carefully, he announced his presence as she grew still.

"Good evening, gentlemen. I do hope you are not harassing the lady." His cultured English accent caught the three defilers and Lestrade by surprise. Their eyes caught and stayed on the ionizer and the end of the short barrel, which glowed dully at them. "Now, I must ask that you get off the poor lady and let her up. The ground is much too filthy for such a lovely lady to be laying on, especially face down." The two men slowly stood and backed away from her and the third man stood from his place on her legs. Lestrade crawled forwards a bit, then stood up and ran, only to be caught by the gracious Samaritanís outstretched arm. Three shots, fired in quick succession lit the alleyway, but Lestrade was unable to see his face, as he had pulled her back to him.

"Now, now," he cooed gently. He turned her around to face him. "No need to panic, my dear. Come, letís see you, then." He took a dim flashlight from his belt and turned it on, holding it over their heads. Two pairs of eyes widened in surprise. Lestrade shut her eyes and opened her mouth to scream, not really hoping to draw people, but hoping that she could at least get him to loosen his sudden one-armed vise grip around her torso and arms. A pair of vibrantly blue eyes widened further in surprise. Just as her lungs reached capacity, she found her open mouth covered by another. Here eyes snapped open, but the dim gloom had returned. She began to struggle, and snapped her jaws shut, just missing the tip of the manís wet tongue. He pulled away, grinning, and she shrieked indignantly.

"You! You!" She screeched, unable to form coherent sentences in her fury. "How DARE you!"

He chuckled, then moved his free hand to the back of her head. She continued to shriek at him angrily ("If you do that again, I swear Iíll bite your lips of!") He flinched in pain as she stomped and kicked at his feet and ankles, but pulled her in for another kiss as she paused for a lungful of air. Lestrade, caught by surprise, paused in her struggling. She debated biting, but when she felt his velvet- gloved fingertips against her pressure point, she surrendered, sighing through her nose. Then everything went black.
And there you have it. I must say, I like it much better than the old one already.

On to Part 2!

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