General Disclaimer

My very own new series! (the plot bunnies have me! AAAAH! Help!)

Ahem! I'm now presenting to you my third? fourth? series! It'll have chapter headings and everything! -dances happily and feels accomplished- I present to you:

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Chapter One: Mais oui! Le travail!

Arbitrarily, Lestrade flung a leg over the armrest of her chair. She was bored. Again. Greyson had promised her a new case. He said he had the feeling something big was on its way. Lestrade said he was being uncharacteristically optimistic.

Whatever the future held, at the moment, Lestrade’s mind was on autopilot, singing a recent rock hit to the rhythm of her office’s digital clock.

Of course, the Inspector did realize there was no case. Greyson just wanted her to stop pestering him. Still, she mentally grumbled in between snatches of song, serves him right for giving the Anderson case to Fillangley, and the Rocket Diamond case to...Patricks, and the Harold case to....

Absently she glared at the innocent neon numbers on her clock’s screen. It was only seven AM: just two hours into the workday! With a gusty sigh, she pushed herself out of her chair, and paced the grey box they told her was a ‘first class, state of the art, physically- enhanced area designed especially to travailer.’ Of course they wouldn’t know that that was the wrong conjugation of ‘travail’ and that it didn’t make the cell anymore more glamourous than the rat trap-ishness it already had.

Acting on a spur of the moment idea, Lestrade came to life rather suddenly, and stalked out of her office, down the hall, bothering to slam the door behind her. She continued her fine example of huffy stalking all the way the New Scotland Yard garage, where she was forced to stop as she clambered into her cruiser.