The Case of the Blown-Up Cottage

Part 1

by Cyberwolf (wolf at
Hey guys! I know I should finish "Sherlock Puppy" before I start another fic but (shrug) the idea's been banging at me for a little while. Well, it's a crossover -- I tend to love those things ^_^ -- and I think it'll be fairly obvious what the crossover is in a while.
The headquarters of New Scotland Yard reverberated with the sound of screaming. Despite the horror stories told by criminals who were interrogated within the Yard's basement holding cells, the Yard did not indulge in torture, and so this was not a normal occurrence.
Elizabeth Lestrade heaved a sigh and put her hand to her head, hoping that this action would help stave off a headache. First of all, it was inhumanly early in the morning, and she was not happy about being rousted out of bed and a perfectly good dream - the remnants of which were slipping away, but were still vivid enough to bring a smile to her face - but to come to the Yard to face an earsplitting noise was insult added to injury.
The young man beside her looked more curious than annoyed. Despite Sherlock Holmes never having been known as a morning person, he did not seem at all perturbed about being called to the Yard at such an early hour. He and Lestrade had met up in the lobby of the Yard, and Lestrade, bleary-eyed, had been unreasonably irritated by the half-pleased, half-expectant demeanor the detective showed. It had only been a zedding week since their last case, and surely he couldn't be bored ALREADY?
Lestrade decided she really needed a coffee.
"That's odd," Holmes commented as they stepped out of the elevator. "I wonder whatever a baby is doing here at New Scotland Yard?"
"Eh?" Lestrade blinked at him, and then focused again at the sound. Yes, the tone was too shrill for an adult to be making -- a fact she'd have immediately picked up on if she'd had more than two hours of sleep in the last two days.
She made a beeline for the Yard's nearest coffee machine, pouring herself a cup of the brew and downing it with the alacrity of a man in the desert. The caffeine hit her bloodstream with the force of a run-away train, and her eyes snapped open. Oh damn -- Wilkins must have made it. She would probably be jittering from the rush in a few minutes. Damn again.
At least she was awake, and to keep herself in that happy state she drank the rest of the coffee down. She turned to see Holmes waiting for her a little distance away, a look of amusement in those dark-blue eyes.
"Strong brew, Inspector?"
"You know it. Want some?" she asked.
"Er, no thank you. I'm not feeling up to sampling Theodore Wilkins's special coffee at the moment."
Lestrade wondered for a moment how he could have known it was Wilkins who brewed the coffee -- he hadn't hung around the Yard long enough to know that any really strong coffee was Wilkins's, had he? -- before shrugging the matter off. "Well, let's be off to the Chief's. I wonder what's so important that he needs to wake us up so early in the zedding morning. Both of us," she said, eyeing Holmes uncertainly. True, he was now under Grayson's direct supervision, meaning that he had just as much chance to be called by the irascible police chief, but Grayson didn't call Holmes until he was really needed.
"Must be some case," she mused out loud, and almost laughed aloud at the flicker of sheer glee that danced across Holmes's eyes at the thought.
They neared Grayson's office, and the more-awake Lestrade could now note the suffering looks on the few other Yardies who were in the building - as well as the fact that the sound of the baby's wail increased in volume as they neared the Chief's office.
Holmes opened the door, stepping back to let Lestrade through first. She almost rolled her eyes at the lingering remnant of Holmes' upbringing, but went through anyway.

On to Part 2!
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