by Cyberwolf (wolf at mydestiny.net)
All disclaimers in part I.
Chapter III: Adoption
The New London night was cool, and bright with the lights of
both the city and the sky. Upon its streets both young and old (and
the middle-aged, who are not generally noted) walked, some fast, some
slow, some too lazy to walk and taking cars instead. But enough of
them -- let us focus on the one whom this story is about.
The young lady was of average height, and rather slender in
build -- though this in no way meant that she was delicate or petite.
On the contrary, she radiated an aura of ‘please-mess-with-me,
so-I-can-have-a-reason-to-kick-ass’ to most people; furthermore, she
was dressed in the street uniform of New Scotland Yard, and most
people didn’t like to pick a fight with a Yardie. She had brown hair,
with an odd but eye-catching streak of lighter, almost blond hair in
the front, and bluish-green eyes, and (you’d be surprised at how many
people could pick this up right away) considerable experience at
giving deep hurting.
She was, of course, Inspector Elizabeth Lestrade, and she was
on her way home from work. She was in a good mood -- Grayson hadn’t
yelled at her for property damage or irresponsibility or taking the
last of the coffee, and she had finished with all her paperwork, and
her month of paid vacation was coming up. Ah, yes, life was sweet.
She passed by a police cordon. Naturally curious, of course,
she came nearer, and then lost interest as quickly. A car
accident -- a collapsed wall -- policemen (not Yardies, but the more
mundane and rather less glamorized bobbies). Holmes would instruct
her to take in the situation and deduce quickly what she could from the
minutiae there, and probably would himself for the sheer hell of it;
but damn -- it was a car accident. There was no mystery involved
here, no enigmatic lack of conclusions and facts. Judging from the
noticeable lack of media hounds, and no blood seeping anywhere, it
involved no casualties. And anyway, Holmes wasn’t here.
So she continued on her way, until almost tripping over
something. A very furry something.
"Hello," she murmured, bending down. "What’s this, then?" A
puppy? With no ownership tags? The puppy looked miserable, tail
inbetween legs. She picked it up, and was startled to see that
instead of the usual dark brown, this dog’s eyes were a deep blue.
Rather like...well, Holmes’.
The puppy looked straight in her face, and if Beth wasn’t so
sure that it was impossible, she would have thought an expression of
shock flickered across the puppy’s strange blue eyes.
Impetuous Lestrade, who brought dead men back to life without
her superior’s permission, there and then decided that this dog
would be her new pet. She liked the look of it....
Holmes could scarcely believe it. Well, he was a dog, and
after various tests, had to accept it for the time being. He had
four legs, a snout, and a tail. Some differences from normal dogs -- he
had the clearer, color-enabled eyesight of a human being, and somehow
(thank God) retained all his higher brain functions.
And then he had been adopted by, of all the strange
coincidences in the world, Lestrade.
‘Bloody hell, I’d kill for a smoke.’
They stopped by a pet store, where he was bought feed bowls,
a bag of puppy chow, some chew toys and (the indignity, the
indignity!) a collar and leash, both of which were attached to him
while still in the store. He couldn’t stop his displeasure at having
a leash fastened to him from showing, with a low, quiet growl issuing
from himself that surprised him.
"Quiet, Seeker," she ordered the dog as she clipped the leash
onto the collar already around the dog’s neck. Holmes quieted, less
out of obedience than in sheer shock. Seeker? What, she’d already
named him? Well, her job (and her life) was being a detective,
seeking out the truth...but naming a dog Seeker...?
And then she’d had the pet-shop attendant sweep him in a
‘bath’ of sonic waves that were the exact frequency to kill fleas
and ticks and other parasitic pests. Holmes stood still for it,
mildly insulted. He’d been swept for fleas. For fleas. He’d never
be able to look at himself in the mirror the same way again.
They went out of the shop, the bag of pet things Lestrade had
purchased on her arm, and Holmes trailing a bit sulkily behind. He was
collared, literally, and he was named Seeker. This made
everything he said about marriage mild. Although, thank God, Lestrade
wasn’t the sort to name a dog Fido or Frou-frou or Rover. He couldn’t
have borne it if she had.
On to Part 4!
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