A/N Thank you for picking this fanfiction, I hope it pleases.

Now, the thing is, when I was trying to come up with a fanfic, I was free typing randomly, and decided to place my drabbles at the beginning of this fic. If you can be bothered, read it, if you can't, skip to the next page break. I shall say ahead of time:

Disclaimer: I don't own Lewis. Or any literature that may be mentioned in this fic (Will specify when time comes.)

So yeah, I typed this while listening to Elgars Cello Concerto in B minor, which is actually really nice to listen to, especially the first movement, which was my favourite.
I was trying to come up with something to type on my exctrutiatingly ling car journey and was drawing a blank. Even though I'm typing this in the past tense, I am typing it before I've even come up with the story, and am still drawing a blank...
I'm debting cross over. Other arts of me are beginning to feel travel sick from staring at a lighted screen while travelling, this part of me ( the travel sickness part, it takes a hell of a lot to make me feel ill,) is rare to surface, so for now I think I'm going to ignore it.
Now, a Crossover's a good idea, but what to cross. Then I came up with... nothing. Damn, I really hoped that typing that sentence would spur me into some ideas. If you're reding this, then you already know what crossover (or not) that I have chosen to do. I hope that after this inpirational free-writing is said and done, that the story it self was worth sorting through my drabble in the first place.
I'm sorry, I had access to decent light and decided to continue reading the climax of the book I had been reading before I turned the computer on... It was a brillint book.
I am now at my destination, still lost for a story and cursing myself as I am trying to watch a DVD to fall a sleep to as it is quite late at the moment. But I dont think this laptop has a DVD player. I shall find out...

... and it doesn't. Never mind. I can still play sudoku. It's a shame, Goodnight mister Tom is a personal favourite of mine. Maybe I can bug my friend for his laptop. I can disturb his coversation without appearing rude, right? Or I could stay here and... Sory guys, temptation is winning me over. Lets see what I can do. BRB.
Well that failed. SO still lacking for inspiration, I shall go to sleep, like he suggested. Yeah Right. I shall play Sudoku instead...yay. I'll come back tommorow, when hopefully I have some inspiration. If I actually decided to tag this on to the front of my story when I eventually write it, thank you for bearing with me.
Ooh cold. I'd been sitting on the duvet while typing, so that bit was all warm, then I got underneath the duvet and now... I really should have more sense.
And I'm back. I'm WAY too tired to concentrate on Sudoku and Kukoro. So here I am, realising that I should really be getting to bed and not wasting Authors Note space on drivel. Good Night Readers!

So yeah... still no inspiratiuon on a story, at least not one I can publish, my mind is buzzing with plot lines for some personal writing, so I'm afraid I can't share. Hush Hush and all that jazz.
I'm gonna go see how that top secret plot line establishes it self.
I 'vil be bach.

And now finally, almost three weeks later, I have inspiration. I hope it's worth it...

Lewis

Student's lover

The gravelly tarmac crunched as Hathaway stepped from the car at the latest crimescene. He slammed the door shut, causing Lewis to wince slightly.

"Bit early in the morning for that." Lewis eyed him over the car, "Rough night?"

Hathaway shrugged, sniffing. He nodded to the house,"Not as bad as theirs."

Lewis nodded once before turning towards the house. He removed his hands from his pockets and turned into the houses drive which was swarming with investigators. They ducked under the tape and stepped through the door.

They followed the buzz into the first room, the living room. It was neatly furbished; settee; a low coffee table, which was currently laid with some wine glasses and a bottle of red wine; an arm chair turned towards a tv, some ornaments on cupboards meter high cupboards.

The body was sitting on the settee and a familiar figure was talking to one of the investigated. She saw Hathaway and Lewis, nodded to her companion and crossed the room to them.

"White female, early twenties." Dr Laura Hobson told them matter-of-factly, peeling off her gloves from her ands in well practiced motions. "Strangled, late last night early morning."

"The neighbor who found the body said that he heard disturbances early this morning, but didn't think anything of it until he came round this morning and saw teh body through the window." Hathaway supplied

"So, probable time of death. Murder weapon?"

Dr Hobson looked at them frankly, hands on hips, "Unidentified as of yet. Some form of rope, but there weren't any obvious indentations to give anything specific away. I'll get back to you on that."

Lewis nodded, "Sure, thanks."

Dr Hobson turned to some other investigator to give them instruction. Lewis turned to Hathaway who was looking past him at the body.

"First Impressions?"

"Probably a student, sir."

"You're notjust sayin' that 'cause it's Oxford are you?"

Hathaway looked at him increduously, "Do give me some credit sir. There's a matriculation card on the side, in the bowl with the keys, money and the phone." Hathaway walked to said side and picked the card up from the light blue, low rimmed ceramic bowl. "Yep, student, Maria Kanesley," He passed the card to Lewis who peered to the picture with something that could be taken as annoyance painted on his features.

"Great."

He squatted next to the body, eyes taking in the details. She'd been arranged sittin gup on the settee, her eyes, red and bloodshot were open and staring. Her head was tilted, almost questioning, almost as if it was resting on an invisible shoulder. This stretched the neck to it's fullest, showing off the purple-red bruising which ran in a band around it's circumference, over lappping itself. The markings were even more stark obvious because her hair ahd been brushed back from that side of her neck, drawn over her right shoulder, a bright blonde waterfall which fell from her head, over her shoulder, spilling off the arm of the sofa. Her hands were in her lap, her legs together, protecting her modesty. She was dressed nicely, as if preparing to go out.

Or meet someone Hathaway mused, eyeing the half full glasses on the table as he squatted next to Lewis. He noticed with a wave of distaste that her mouth was slightly open, as if Maria Kanesley still had something to say.

"Crime of passion, would you say sir?"

Lewis stood with a sigh, "Maybe, but why take the murder weapon?"

For there was no suitable weapon in sight.