Acknowledgements: This story owes an especial debt of gratitude to my lovely fandom buddy, prosfan, who I consulted many times during the composition of this story and who provided valuable insights.

This story was also inspired in a large part by the British riots of August 2011. Therefore, I have decided to dedicate this story to the poor people who were killed or injured in this tragedy.

Disclaimer: ITV owns Lewis, and I'd like to take the opportunity now to inform the show's creators now that if they try to kill/seriously hurt any of the characters in canon (as opposed to me who's merely doing it in fic), they will have a VERY angry fangirl on their hands. Also, I'm not a medical professional and thankfully have no personal experience with the manner of death described. I'm sorry if it's portrayed unrealistically or inaccurately; I did the best I could. Try to accept it as best you can for the sake of the story.

Prologue

It started out as an ordinary Monday afternoon—or at least as ordinary a Monday afternoon as one could expect for Oxford, England.

The only thing that even remotely suggested that this Monday afternoon was at all different from the rest was the unusually pleasant weather. The rain that had drenched the area for the past three days had taken a momentary halt in its quest to flood all of Britain before the end of the month, and the sun shone brightly in the sky (though weather forecasters reminded everyone that this was only a temporary respite). The temperature was surprisingly mild for late August, the sort of gentle warmth that made one want to go for a picnic and afterwards to curl up and fall asleep on a flannel blanket.

Picnics weren't exactly James Hathaway's cup of tea, however, so the sergeant had very different plans for what he'd do with the day given his druthers—plans that involved Hathaway, his Gibson L5 guitar, and the Botanic Gardens. Unfortunately, a prior commitment prevented him from carrying out these plans. Although Lewis and Hathaway were currently between cases, James had promised his friend and colleague DS Adrian Kershaw that he'd help with some fact checking for Kershaw's most recent case.

After scouring through the voluminous paperwork that Adrian had left on his desk, Hathaway found a few promising details. He left his office to find Kershaw when Chief Superintendent Innocent intercepted him in the hall.

" Have you seen Lewis anywhere?"

" Er…no, ma'am. He went out with Dr Hobson for a little while. Neither of them had any work to do at the time, so it seemed alright."

" Ah." Innocent nodded simply.

" Is there anything I can to help, ma'am?"

A strange look passed across her face, which James instantly recognized as one that never boded well for him." Actually, there is. I hadn't thought of this before, but since you offered so nicely…" The sly smile widened, and James had a feeling that he was about to regret having ever opened his mouth.

His instinct turned out to be right. " I spoke with the chief constable this morning. He was supposed to give a speech to the press today, but he woke up this morning with a massive fever. He thought about cancelling, but he really doesn't want to have to. This took a lot of time and effort to arrange. Besides which, with all the current anti-establishment sentiments, he wants to remind the public that the police is on the side of peace, safety, and justice."

" I'm still not entirely sure how I fit into this."

"The chief constable e-mailed me a copy of the speech he was planning to make. I've made a few minor improvements, and I think it's ready to be presented. We leave in an hour."

" You want me to make a speech?"

The expression on her face was just as flabbergasted and horror-struck as he suspected the expression on his own face was. " Good God, no! That would be a fiasco. No, I'm going to be the one making the speech. It's…it's just…there'll be a brief question and answer session afterward. There's a good chance the press will bring up the Patterson case again, and well, I'd like someone there who handled the case directly to help answer a few of their questions."

He stared at her closely, still half-convinced this was some sort of joke. " I really don't think this is a good idea, ma'am. I'm not very good at speaking in front of large groups."

" It won't be a large group—only twenty or so people."

Hathaway fought the temptation to inform Innocent that he considered " twenty or so people" to be a large group. " But … but…I've never been part of a press conference before," he protested—though he suspected these excuses would be insufficient. The chief superintendent appeared to have already decided that Hathaway was coming with her, and the sergeant knew from experience, that once Jean Innocent had made up her mind, it was practically impossible to persuade her to change it.

" It's hardly a press conference, James. There'll only be time for maybe five or so questions before we have to leave."

" Still, I should think you'd want someone more polished. I have no real experience with this sort of thing."

" And what better way to gain the experience that you need than through practice? After all, you'll have give press conferences fairly regularly when you make inspector."

" I thought you said this wasn't a press conference," he teased.

" It's not," She saw the incredulous look he was giving her and revised her opinion. " Well, all right… I suppose one might call it a press conference, but I can promise you that it'll be brief and relatively stress-free. And remember…I'll be right here to help you the whole time."

He sighed. " I don't really have a choice in this—do I?"

She smiled slightly. " It's for your own good, and as you've always risen to any and every occasion in the past, I have full confidence that you'll do brilliantly. And even if you don't, it's hardly the end of the world. The absolute worst that could happen is that you'll be asked a few questions that you're unsure of how to answer."

If only they'd known just how mistaken she was in assuming this. If only they'd had some slight inclination that something far more terrible than difficult questions and obnoxious journalists awaited them.

But how could they have possibly fathomed the catastrophe that would soon transpire? How could they possibly have imagined that "the unanswerable questions" that would characterize this event had nothing to do with a previous case—albeit a very difficult and disturbing previous case?

In their eyes, it was just as ordinary a Monday afternoon as one could expect for Oxford, England.