Alone at Last
By Trynia Merin
Chapter 1 The Cell
Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes who is out of the mind of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and Sherlock Holmes in the 22nd Century is the property of DIC. This story is PG, for a bit of language, but is generally clean and in good spirits. This is an H/L fic, just to let you know, and even though I'm writing the other story right now, I suddenly wrote it down over the last few lunch breaks at work, and I thought I'd love to share it with all you lovers of H/L vignettes. Please R and R!
She turned from the cell window, her arms folded across her chest. Mainly aware that they may likely be watched, the duo kept their distance from one another. Just what these sickos wanted by interring them was unclear, in this featureless box of metal with a two-way mirror, and nobody to watch them. It was a subject that her male companion was cogitating.
As she turned she felt a dozen invisible eyes that she was sure that must be trained on them from some camera somewhere unseen. Slowly she orbited the room, chewing her lips and searching again with her fingertips for any crack or hidden door, glancing only occasionally at her cellmate.
"My dear Lestrade, it may benefit you to desist in pacing the room like a perishing panther," Holmes suggested. He had sat down against the wall, with his legs stretched before him. Out of his Inverness he fished his 19th century notebook and pencil. Licking the tip he started to jot his thoughts down.
"How can you just sit there knowing those zed heads are watching us, like we're in some zoo?" she demanded, whirling on her heel to face him.
"Zoo it may be, but we do not benefit by wasting what energy we have upon idle and nonproductive moments," Holmes cautioned.
"There has to be a way out... I mean they put us IN here," Lestrade mumbled.
Before Holmes could stop her, she backed up for enough running room and charged toward the glass window. Hurling her body against it she hoped to somehow break the plastic with her shoulder. Unfortunately her body glanced off with a thud and she landed in an undignified heap on the floor next to the detective.
"Lestrade... are you all right?" Holmes asked as he put down his notebook and pencil, and moved over to her. Shaking her head, she mumbled.
"At least ONE of us is doing SOMETHING to find a way out of here!" Lestrade grumbled.
"Correction, both of us, although the way I am pursuing is less violent, and more fruitful in the long run," Holmes said as he held out a hand to help her up.
Lestrade knocked his hand away sullenly and snapped, "What are you precious eyes and brains telling you now? Unless you're some zedding psychic you could at least HELP me..."
"Well perhaps we start by asking why we are here," Holmes suggested, still offering her his hand. Glaring at him, she grudgingly took it and let him pull her to a sitting position.
"Why, I'll tell you," Lestrade growled. "Because these zed for brains get their kicks out of seeing their captives sweat it out, and don't even BOTHER to tell us WHY they're holding us... if it were Moriarty you'd bet he'd have given us his grand speech by now!"
"Well, that may be one reason, but it is a hasty conclusion," Holmes corrected her.
"Why else?" she asked. "I mean they said nothing about ransom, and nobody grilled us, and..." Lestrade started. Then she tapered off as her eyes fell upon a small crack or seam in the wall near to where Holmes had sat moments before with his back propped against it. Maybe that was why she hadn't noticed it before.
"We may be part of some intelligence test... our captors may by their silence be expecting to test us to see how intelligent we are... since there is no obvious means of escape," Holmes mumbled, tapping his lip with his pencil as he picked up his notebook again. "Perhaps a behavioral experiment?"
"You mean like rats in a maze?" Lestrade asked, incredulous. "I'm surprised. I mean the people captured before were not let go, and I saw nothing about any of these guys having any psychology degrees."
"Precisely, but they may have sold us to some interested parties," Holmes suggested. "So perhaps we could best sit down calmly and figure out what we're dealing with... since there is no means of escape, instead of blindly searching the walls."
"For one thing, the floor's cold as absolute zero and it's hard as asphalt," she complained.
She rubbed her bruised backside and nursed her shoulder. Her wrist COM was dead, and they had knocked her ionizer out of her hand in the fight, and confiscated Holmes cane. Both of them had been passed through a scanner that detected any electronic devices. Interestingly enough, they found nothing interesting on Holmes, so who knew what low-tech 19th century items he may have on his person to help them escape, she hoped.
"Easily remedied, my dear Lestrade," Holmes said as he got to his feet, and unfastened the clasp at his throat. Stripping off his Inverness, he flipped it out and tossed it down to make a sizeable mat on the floor. Indicating it with his hand, he motioned for her to sit on it next to him.
Lestrade let him grudgingly help her to sit on it. They propped her backs against the wall, which wasn't as cold as the floor oddly enough. Both faced the window to the empty room.
"Mind your boots," Holmes said as Lestrade shifted to sit down. Mumbling she put her legs straight out in front of her as Holmes did. Without the voluminous coat, he was in vest, shirt sleeves, and she could more clearly see how well his anachronistic clothes conformed to his slender and athletic body.
"I'll try to behave," Lestrade mumbled.
"Stiff upper lip," Holmes said, folding his arms across his chest and glancing at her. "Now, let's make a list of the relevant facts..."
"Humph," Lestrade mumbled. Her eyes drifted to the handwriting on his paper, and she noticed what he was writing. How odd it was to see him scribbling away on its lined surface when few would write things down this way anymore.
"You see that there are some interesting details..." Holmes whispered as he leaned over to her. His breath tickled her ear, and she realized he must have been writing something down he didn't want their captors to possibly overhear.
"Air for breathing must come from some aperture," she peered over his shoulder and read from his scribbles.
"What now?" she scribbled, taking the pencil from him. "I saw a line near where you sat... it could be a door? I mean they HAD to get us in here somehow..."
"Likely, so we sit and wait to see if they will provide nourishment by that entrance," Holmes scribbled, taking the pencil back from her.
"Oh great, just what we need, more waiting," Lestrade sighed.
Licking her lips she patted her pockets and belt to see what they had missed. Her belt pack had several compartments. While they had taken most of her secret devices, she realized they had left her emergency food concentrate rations. Unlike Holmes who seemed content to wait, she was starving.
"Maybe you can wait till feeding time, but I'm starved," Lestrade mumbled as she tore open the foil package. Pushing the open package toward Holmes, she nodded for him to take one. He wrinkled his nose, but reached for one all the same.
"I suppose this must suffice, for we should retain our nourishment... in case they don't feed us," he muttered. As he took a bite, he made a face, and winced at how dry the confound thing was. "You neglected something to wash this down with."
"Hey, so sue me," Lestrade mumbled through a mouth full of food concentrate.
"I have the solution," he said, reaching into his vest. She caught sight of his suspenders as he unbuttoned it momentarily and pulled something that flashed silver in the light that shone down from above. It laid its strange and harsh light against them, but the source seemed hard to determine. It came from the ceiling panels itself. Unscrewing the top of the old fashioned silver hip flask, he held it toward her, and Lestrade took it, sniffing. A pungent whiff of alcohol hit her nose, and it was her turn to wince.
"Brandy?" she queried, lifting an eyebrow. "Won't that make us thirstier?"
"Be as it may, it is liquid, and it should suffice to relax you," Holmes shrugged. Lestrade sighed and took a small sip, opening her mouth as it burned on the way down, and a warm tingling shot up from her toes. She handed it back to Holmes, who wiped off the mouth with his handkerchief before taking a swig himself.
"So, here we are," she said. "In a damn box, waiting for feeding time at the zoo... what next, play some lame game?"
"Perhaps... such as what have we observed."
"Light and air has to come from somewhere," Lestrade said through a mouthful of concentrate. Holmes again offered her the flask, and she sipped it, making another face before handing it back for him to sip. Both leaned their heads close to one another, keeping their tones in a whisper.
"We had best be on our guard so as not to miss it," Holmes said.
"Funny they didn't take this away, it could be used as a weapon... alcohol IS flammable," Lestrade whispered.
"I do have my matches," Holmes nodded. "But our captors figure that it is a feeble means of escape, since these walls appear to be some sort of polymer coating a rather strong alloy which is heat and inspector resistant."
"Zed, if only they hadn't taken my nitro oxygen," she mumbled. "I hate this... I can't do a zedding thing!"
"We can wait, and observe," Holmes said. He folded his arms across his chest.
"Do you have an answer to everything?" Lestrade snapped, folding her arms across her chest.
"Only when asked the proper question," he bantered back with a slight twinkle in his eyes.
"If you mention eyes and brains again, I'll pound you," she whispered frustrated, grabbing a fold of his Inverness in her fist at her side and pulling at it.
"It's simply a matter of deductive reasoning," Holmes began.
"Oh save it," Lestrade cut him off rudely. "If there is one thing I hate MORE than waiting it's waiting with a KNOW it all..."
"Lestrade, your negative attitude HARDLY helps here!" Holmes snorted in frustration.
"You're right Mr. Spock," she shot back. "At least trying to bust out of here gave me something less boring than hearing you LECTURE me!"
"Now hang about," Holmes said, annoyance in his voice. "I am attempting to think productively how to use my energy, and I suggest you do the same, that's all."
"Oh shut up," she snarled. "I'm SICK of you always CORRECTING me!"
"Lestrade honestly," Holmes sighed. "This is hardly the time for such heated words."
"Did you hear me, just don't say ANYTHING!"
"Lestrade, enough!" Holmes said sharply. "This is getting us nowhere!"
"Great, we just sit here and admit we're stuck, right?" she laughed sarcastically, throwing up her hands. "That there is nothing that even YOU can do... apart from..."
"Apart from waiting, which CAN be fruitful," Holmes cut in.
"And then what?" she asked. "You know I think you actually think this is a game! You're enjoying seeing what they are about to do, don't you!"
"There is nothing more satisfying than solving a mystery," Holmes said brightly, trying to bait her so she would snap out of her sudden funk. A black cloud hung over Lestrade, and he could tell she was nervous, and anxious, perhaps bordering on fear.