Sherlock Holmes and The Incredible Hulk
by Mary Christmas (unicorn_76010 at lycos.com)
"All right," Holmes said lightly once everyone had settled into
their respective rooms at a small inn in a town just outside of San
Francisco and were now in a private lobby, "Now that weíre here, Iím
only going to say this once. Have fun!" He beamed at each of them.
When no one responded, his smile turned into a concerned frown.
"Weíre on vacation, if you hadnít noticed. I had hoped Tennyson at
least would have been able to deduce that." He shrugged and grinned.
"Well, since you hadnít, this is a surprise and Iím sure youíll enjoy
it. Now, Iím off to see the sights." And with that, he left
Watson smiled reassuringly at the Irregulars after Holmes had
left the lobby, even though he was worried himself. The detective was
acting stranger than usual.
"Iím sure everything is just as he said it was," he told them.
Tennyson immediately chimed in with a rebuttal, "Then why did
he say we were on a case?"
The other two nodded in agreement. "Yeah," Wiggins stated, "I
mean, this is weird, even for Holmes."
"Well," Watson began, then gave up. "Youíre absolutely right.
Holmes isnít acting like himself at all. I do hope nothingís happened
The four of them were silent for a moment, contemplating what
that could mean. Watson, as soon as he had said it, envisioned several
things that could be wrong with the detective, not the least of which
was some sort of mind control. He shuddered, remembering the last time
heíd encountered that tactic. He could still see Lestrade jumping from
her balcony, and him being unable to do anything about it. Both his
new personality and old programming (a compudroidís primary function
was protection of its owner, or in the case of a law enforcer, its
partner) had hated that.
"Or maybe somethingís Ďappened to Inspector Lestrade," Deidre
That of course was just as bad. "Well, the only way to know for
certain is to find out exactly whatís going on," Tennyson beeped, "So,
I say we come up with a plan of action."
"Yeah!" Deidre and Wiggins exclaimed together.
And so the four of them put their heads together and formulated
a plan. Watson was to find out why Lestrade had gone on leave (an
invasion of privacy, but it was an emergency) and where she had gone
to, Tennyson was going to see exactly what had happened at the First
Multi-National Bank of New London (the detective had decided he hadnít
needed the Irregularsí help after all) and find out if anything
unusual had occurred and Deidre and Wiggins were going to take turns
following Holmes around.
Watson only hoped it wasnít too late.
David waved at Irene as she let him off at the Blanton Inn in
the small town of Blanton, California. She was such a nice lady, and,
with her temper, she reminded him of Beth. He grinned to himself. Beth
would never in a million years be caught dead in a cheaply died red
wig. In fact, if she ever found out that he had compared her to
His grin faded. She would never find out, though.
Resolutely he pushed the maudlin thought aside and turned to go
inside. As he walked up to the desk, he was nearly run over by a tall
man wearing an Inverness and deerstalker cap. David shook his head and
smiled wryly. There were all sorts in the world.
"Terribly sorry, my good man," the fellow said with a slight
slur to his voice, "but would you happen to have any Grey Poupon?"
David blinked at him. He couldnít smell any alcohol, but that
didnít mean anything. "Well...no, sorry."
"'S perfectly all right. No need to apologize. My fault
entirely," the man said with a cheesy grin. Then he looked over his
shoulder and frowned. "Must be going," he muttered and left the
David watched him leave, confusion and amusement warring with
each other. He shrugged, turned back to the reception desk and was
again almost bowled over, this time by a tall black boy in a
"'Scuse me," the boy said in a rush, "I didnít mean to run into
you. Gotta go, bye." And he ran outside as well.
"Lots of people in a hurry around here, I see," David said to
the woman behind the desk.
Beth hurriedly changed her clothes in the womenís restroom at
the car rental place in San Francisco. She wanted to get back to
Blanton before David decided to up and leave. She glanced in the
mirror and grimaced. She had always scorned women who bleached their
hair (since an accident in the third grade had resulted in permanent
color loss in one section of her hair), and now she had done it.
Still, it had had to be done. If David recognized her, or even
caught scent of her, he would run. Or worse, lie. One of his oh-so-
very annoying habits was that he still thought of her as the little
eight year old girl with no parents who needed her hand held and who
couldnít watch scary movies by herself. She smiled wryly. It was also
one of his most endearing traits. Which of course made it all the more
After applying some garish makeup, she left the restroom and
made her way to the front to get another vehicle. She had the perfect
one picked out. It was a convertible. Actually, it wasnít perfect.
Convertibles were horrible in air-traffic, but her new character was a
rich ditz and didnít care about things like that. It was yellow too.
When she finally did confront her brother, he was so going to pay for
A/N: This oneís a little short, but I felt I needed to leave
off here. Thanks everybody for your reviews.
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