General Disclaimer

A darkness filled the room as smoke entered from an invisible door. A small string of light from underneath the door allowed the reader to see two shadows blocking parts of the light. The door creaked open, allowing the terrifying author to enter. "Review." Though she tried to use a threatening voice, her own voice was too high and she was coughing from too many special effects. She glared at Belgian Waffle who was fanning too much smoke, almost suffocating the author....

-Belgian Waffle

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Chapter 5

A bent figure paced the roof of a shop downtown. Every now and then, it would lift its discolored face to stare upon the nifty shop on the other side, before returning to its chaotic thoughts and once again angering itself with a situation of its own making.

HE had once been a genius. HE had once controlled people and HIS own destiny. HE had the master plan to take over New London. But somehow, that ‘master plan’ had backfired. Now, HE was just a lackey. A servant to one HE himself had created. As if the lack of gratitude for the gift HE had given him wasn’t enough, but then to treat HIM as a slave?

As the anger coursed through the figure’s veins, he once again glanced down at the shop, with his bony eyesockets scanning its premises for the two souls he had been sent to retrieve, ‘unaware’ of course. Still nothing. Certainly it would not take this long to interview the witness and leave?

Yes, he had been there when they walked in, and seen them talking, supposedly to the one he had knocked out last night. At the thought he smirked and laughed cynically to himself. Yes, that had been worth it. To have power again. To feel the malevolence in what he did. Not only did he beat that one, but he stole a little trinket as well. Ahhh, to kick someone when they are already down is power itself. Enjoying the victory is always better when you know the loser has lost more than their pride.

And yes, Holmes did walk outside and check the doorknob he had broken. A sly grin slowly crept upon his face. No, he didn’t quite see him. He had yet more time before having to return to that...that.....INGRATE!

Anger poured across his features as he began to relive that fatal mistake. True, his ‘master’ was a genius and far more evil than HE himself could be, but still. HE had created him to be a partner! An associate! An extension of himself! Where did things go wrong?

And then, that Yardie brat had disappeared from the window and so now he couldn’t even tell where they were in that shop. The figure spun around, glaring hostilely at the little shop, his eyes greedily searching its occupants. But once again to no avail. And so he began to pace again, his thoughts dripping with cynicism.

Master wasn’t that bad. Or as smart as Master’s maker. Was it not obvious that the crypnosis had not completely wiped out his cravings, the primal desires of power he sought? Plenty of times he had disobeyed Master, but did Master never connect the points? Oh no. HE would suffer this indignity until Master had finally succeeded in his little war against Holmes. Ah yes. His plan to take over New London -- nay, the world -- was quite brilliant. HE would be the one to reap the rewards of this conquest. After all, one cannot live forever. A simple yet elegant plan would be all that would be required to dethrone his Master. Something -- HE would find some way to do it. But until then, HE would wait and suffer. Suffer for the day that HE would rule. That HE would once again have that power! One day. One day soon. Master will eventually succeed. There is only one master of this person and HE would only play this role until an opportunity arises.

He grinned malevolently as the trio left the shop. The one he had beaten earlier took some extra time, adding to the Yardie’s already mounting frustration, to program his Closed sign and engineer a makeshift lock on the door. Yes, the boy was smart, or at least inventive. But he must have some brain damage from that pipe if he thinks he can win a rematch.

"And now, to make myself known," he thought aloud, savoring the last of his meager time before returning to the suffering under ‘Master.’ And with that he turned towards his vehicle and began to make the preparations.

---

As the small group climbed into the cruiser -- Lestrade driving, Holmes beside her -- Josh in the back leaned forward against his seatbelt in an effort to include himself in the front seat's conversation lines. Looking over the papers one more time, Holmes gave Lestrade a wry smile. "So, what were you doing late last night at Mr. Coultrane’s, my dear Lestrade?"

Lestrade instantly reddened at the underlying insinuation before snapping back, "Chemistry, Holmes. What did you think?"

"Chemistry...and just what kind of chemistry was that?" he said, rubbing his chin. "And I’m sure it took you all day and over half the night to manufacture that batch? If the attack occurred around 4 AM, you must have left at about 3?"

As Lestrade turned another shade redder than before, Josh piped in, "We were just doing the ‘old friend gig.’ You know. Chatting about the weather -- and, other stuff." And looking a bit less pressed added in a jolly tone, "Time flies when you’re having fun."

Josh, do you have to take two steps back for every step forward?

Suddenly, Lestrade’s internal vidphone began ringing. Instantly recognizing the com signal, grimaced and prepared for a long, loud, yelling lecture from Grayson as she punched the com; the only force driving her towards this end was duty.

"LESTRADE!!!!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING THERE!!! I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU...."

"Something came up, Chief, and Holmes and I are inspecting it."

"WHAT?!?!?! THAT DEAD DETECTIVE...well, I suppose as long as you’re out of my hair."

What hair?

He glanced down at some papers lying on his desk before continuing, "I want you to track this hovercraft signature. Don’t do anything stupid. Just track it. Understand, Lestrade?" he finished, eyeing her suspiciously.

"But Chief, I’m...."

"This is the same signature as the guy involved in those recent chemical thefts. Follow him and nothing more, Lestrade."

"Yes, sir," she said, lighting up and punching the com off. "Well, that went much better than I thought it would."

"Are you sure that was Grayson?"

"Huh? You mean that was Beth’s boss? Hey, he does sorta look like a bobcat when he’s mad...."

As she shook her head in annoyance at Josh, she noticed something. It was slight, and barely perceptible, but at the mention of her name, Beth could almost sense the detective next to her tense and then quickly relax, as if catching himself doing something he hadn’t quite thought out yet.

"The com signal was Grayson’s, he looked like Grayson, but then again, the hovercraft signature wasn’t in the report. How’d he know it?"

Holmes began to add in where Lestrade left off, "Did you not notice the background? Since when did Grayson have a desk like that? And furthermore, when did he ever start allowing me on cases without some major complaint of my 'antiqueness?' 'Dead detective' has merely become his way of addressing me -- a title, might I add."

Josh leaned forward from the backseat and interjected, "He’s got a point, Beth. From what you’ve told me, he would have at least've complained of you taking off or thrown a couple of underhanded insults at Holmes first. I guess I really shouldn’t even say a thing, seeing as how I don’t have the same experiences like you do, but it just didn’t sound like your version of him."

As Lestrade huffed, she then said, "I guess the only way to really be sure is to get a trace on the signal. Hold on, guys. This’ll only take a minute."