Part 2

by Jen (dragonriderjenner at yahoo.com)

I'm reeeeeeeeely sorry. This' been on my comp for several weeeeeeks now, but I haven't put it up 'till now. Pleeeeeeeeeeeeze forgive meeee!!!


Holmes and Lestrade stumbled out to Holmes’ hovercoach. The drive to 221B Baker Street was rather quiet, seeing as the driver was concentrating on driving and the passenger was concentrating on sleeping. They reached 221B without incident, and Holmes managed to dodge her punch as he attempted to wake her. He helped her up the seventeen stairs and into his flat.

‘What to do now..,.’ he thought. He gently placed her on the couch and fetched a blanket for her.

She shifted as he covered her. "Thanks, I owe ya one."

"Do not worry about it, Lestrade. Just relax," he replied, feeling her forehead with the back of his hand. He jerked his hand away, as though he had been burned. ‘Fever, dizziness, exhaustion, lack of coordination. What has happened to you, Lestrade?’

He slipped into the kitchen and made her a quick batch of chicken soup. By the time he had finished, Lestrade had passed out cold on the couch.

Holmes was up bright and early the next morning. He was attempting to coax Lestrade into eating something, but she constantly refused. A knock at the door stopped him mid coax.

He opened the door, only swinging it open enough so that Lestrade was hidden from sight.

On his doorstep stood a young woman. She was quite petite, at about 5’ 6" and probably around a mere 110 lbs. Her plain brown hair fell almost mid-thigh, and peculiarly familiar blond bangs were tucked neatly behind her ears. Her eyes were a most peculiar shade of blue.

"Um..." the woman looked down at a piece of paper that she had brought from her pocket. "You’re Sherlock Holmes, yes?" She paused to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear to join the rest of her brown locks. "My name is Samantha, but you can call me Sam."

There was a heavy thump and a loud moan from the couch.

Holmes glanced back. Lestrade had fallen off the couch, obviously in an attempt to stand. Now she lay on the floor, blinking the stars from here vision.

"Ah... Excuse me, Miss Samantha. A friend of mine is not feeling well," he said, hurrying back to where Lestrade lay on the floor.

She replied with an airy tone. "Oh, that’s quite all right. Perhaps I can help." She followed him and stood near the bay window. She shot a smile out across the street, aiming for the man on the rooftop whom she had noticed earlier.

Lestrade grabbed onto Holmes’ shoulder (it just happened to be in reach) and hauled herself to her feet. She brushed aside the hair that hung in her face and squinted at the new visitor. "Sam...?" she said, her voice slurring slightly.

Holmes gently pushed her back down onto the couch. Ah, just as he had suspected. They already knew each other. Perhaps they were sisters? This would need some investigating.

Samantha gasped as she saw Lestrade.

Meanwhile... on a rooftop across the street.

Professor James Moriarty scowled as he stared through the binoculars, trying to catch a glimpse of any of the three persons in the room. He had arrived at the crack of dawn and had only seen Holmes in his pajamas (which he had taken a picture of for future blackmail), and Holmes running around his flat, obviously attending to someone who was out of sight. That Yardie hadn’t showed up yet, which was a good thing, but someone else had shown up. A woman. A stunningly beautiful woman. The most beautiful and perfect specimen of the female spec-


Moriarty’s eye twitched. "What do you want now?" he drawled out, his attention focused upon the room across the street. The woman was inside now and had crossed the window. He blinked in surprise as she paused at the window for a moment and smiled out. Out at him. She disappeared from sight after a gasp of what seemed to have been surprise. He pulled back from the edge of the building and turned away, glaring at Fenwick. His eye twitched again. "Well?"

"Mazter, I ‘ave received word zat ze Yardie is not at her home. Her voice mail says zat she will not be able to receive calls for a while. ‘Owever, it was not her that recorded the message. It was that nasty meddler, ‘Olmes."

"Hmm... Interesting. Come, Fenwick, we have other places to go." He stood, not waiting for his servant. He had plans to make.


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