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Just thought I'd get the first part of it up. I probably shouldn't say this, but I have no clue how I'm going to work this fic. I can see a writer's block coming up through my spyglass and I'm hoping to find a way around it. That's why I'd like some ideas from you people! Using your ever-intelligent ideas, I will be able to forge a path of Justice and Righteousness around the EVIL WRITERS BLOC OF DOOOOOOOM!!! (And yes, I did spell bloc wrong. I also neglected to capitalize my name.)

Enough of that!

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Chapter 4

"Good morning, Chief Inspector Greyson."

"What are you doing here? Might I remind you that you don’t formally work for the Yard? Get out. I have other things to do than entertain dead detectives."

"Oh? Such as?"

"Finding my missing inspector, for one! What do you want, Holmes."

"I wish to help you find our dear Inspector."

"Fine! Detson! Get in here! Detson, meet Holmes, our resident dead detective. He’ll be your temporary partner. You have authority over him. Feel free to boss him around. Now, both of you! Get out of my office! I have work to do."

"Yessir, Chief Inspector."

"Good day, Chief Inspector."

". . .

"You better not be dead, Lestrade. I have to fire you before you die... besides, you still have three months of vacation time to use."

---

Holmes leaned back comfortably as his new temporary partner navigated the skyways of New London. He would have to ‘give him the slip’ as Lestrade would say. He knew he was walking right into a trap, but if for Lestrade, he would give everything. He glanced at his new partner and decided to strike up a bit of conversation.

"Detson, is it? Do you know Lestrade well?"

"Yes."

"Oh? How well?"

"We were partners."

"For how long?"

"Four years."

"That’s qui-"

"Listen. I know you want to give me the slip so that you can find her on your own. I don’t care. Just report back to me every once in a while so that I can report back to Greyson. And no, I didn’t have any kind of intimate relationship with Beth. I’m gay."

"Gay?"

Detson rolled his eyes. "Homosexual."

"Ah. Er. . . You wouldn’t. . .?"

"No."

"Ah."

---

"This's where Lestrade was sent to investigate and was last seen." Detson paused and looked Holmes squarely in the eye. "I’m guessing that you already know who took her."

Holmes returned the look. "Yes. Moriarty. I have the evidence at my home, along with a broken window and brick."

Detson blinked, then sighed. "Yeah, well, good luck. I haven’t had the chance to look around, but you could probably do better than I could. And because you’re wondering, no, I don’t have any ‘special someone’."

"Who is to say that I was wondering such a thing?"

"Your subconscious. Get out and look around. I’m going to get some breakfast. Keep me updated on what you find. And no, I’m not going to stare at your rear as you walk away. Goodbye Mister Holmes."

With that, Detson had taken off to ‘get some breakfast’. It truly unnerved him (Him! Him! Of all people!) how Detson could almost read his mind. Then again, Detson probably got that reaction quite a bit, being homosexual. In his day, homosexuality had been considered to be ‘improper conduct’, but in this day, homosexuality was no different than heterosexuality.

In the warehouse, all he found was a lump of some kind of metal that was once a lock, and the footprints of a chase. One pair of footprints he identified as belonging to the Inspector and the other pair belonged to none other that that devious little scum Fenwick. In the alleyway, he found another pair of footprints. This pair showed a man who had been waiting in the alleyway for the Inspector to emerge. This man was Moriarty.

By his reasoning, it went something like this:

The Inspector arrived at the scene and took to looking about the warehouses. She found a warehouse with a new lock and used her ionizer (set to a high setting) to melt it and part of the door away to relieve some of her anger. She then entered, heard footsteps leading away, and then chased after the running man (Fenwick) until she reached the alleyway where Fenwick kept running. She was about to chase him further out of the alleyway when the second man (Moriarty) shot her in the back with a low-powered setting. Then Moriarty proceeded to pick her up and they escaped with the Inspector to an unknown location. Then he had /touched/ Lestrade (God damn him!) and had thrown a pair of his gloves (The ones with which he had touched Lestrade) through his window. However, the devious bastard had left no clues as to his and the Inspector’s whereabouts.

Holmes paced along the sidewalk in front of the alleyway. It was obviously a trap and Moriarty was using his Inspector as bait. Holmes paused on the sidewalk, pondering Moriarty’s most obvious trap. Why was the man showing his hand so early on? Was he so confident that he would win this time? And if he was, what was it he had, besides the Inspector, that made him so confident? Holmes resumed his frantic pacing. Possible answers darted about in his head, many of them relating the Inspector and bodily harm.

"Lemme guess. Moriarty ambushed her and snatched her away to use as bait for some dastardly trap in which he means to kill you most painfully."

Holmes almost started at the sound of Detson’s voice. "Back so soon? And, yes, that would be correct."

Detson shrugged. "I’m a fast eater. Beth was always on the run. Hard to keep up with that girl, sometimes."

Holmes turned and gazed blankly down the street. "Yes," he replied distantly. "Yes she is." His gaze refocused upon Detson.

"You haven’t the slightest idea where he took her, do you?" Detson deadpanned, watching Holmes steadily.

"No, I don’t. Moriarty is being unusually clever. He’s trying to draw me to him using Lestrade." ‘And by God it’s working,’ he added mentally.

Detson sighed and turned away. "Well, no point in hanging around this dump. Let’s go. We’ve still gotta report."

Holmes nodded in response, and they returned to the cruiser without another word.

A man dressed in dark clothes stepped from the deep shadows of an alley. He smirked broadly. Things were going according to plan.

His stomach gurgled unhappily and he laid a palm on the whining gut. ‘Already?! I just ate!’ He looked up and down the street and then strode off to find something to satisfy his bottomless pit of a stomach. ‘How embarrassing.’

---

Um. It may seem odd and rather impossible, but chapters 3 and 4 are happening on the same day. And it's not even lunchtime yet! Oh, and another thing. I am planning to make Moriarty's bottomless stomach a theme. It'll add a bit of humour to the fic. Well, in my opinion, at least.