CC#1: Inspector Lestrade is in a bit of trouble as she gets demoted for her recklessness on the job. Depressed and desperate, she takes up a case no one thought could be solved.

H/L

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Disclaimer: I do not own DIC or Sherlock Holmes in the 22nd Century, nor do I own Sherlock Holmes. I do own all original material of this story (including Nick).

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The Case of Anne Peterson

CyleFlynt

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Chapter One

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Lestrade wandered through the archives of Scotland Yard, aimlessly staring at the hundreds of thousands case files that had somehow been cast aside and forgotten by the department, waiting for some kind of closure that may never come. Lestrade, having come to the end of yet another hall, grimaced in shame and bit her lip, the immensity of the crime having not really hit her till then. She peeked past the corner of the hallway, hoping to find a dead-end wall, but the sight that greeted her only served to further drive a pang of grief into her heart. A seemingly endless array of hallways, lined with shelves overstuffed with cases and evidence was there, and the knowledge that this was only the first of the three floors dedicated to the storage of New London's cold cases gave the entire room a depressing atmosphere.

Inspector Lestrade leaned against one of the shelves and softly sighed. "This entire floor is a crime. These cases shouldn't be here collecting dust when the victims are still suffering…." She stood there, contemplating the dire situation the Yard had fallen into in recent months. The Yard was lacking the proper funding to hire more detectives probably due in part to her own recklessness on the job, costing Scotland Yard an unprecedented amount in damages to city and private properties. Even without the financial troubles the Yard was experiencing, it was obvious the Yard had lost control of the crime in New London, having spiked a third time in the past two months. The people of New London were beginning to panic with the onset of the recent crime spikes, and after walking down the hallway she was standing in then, she knew exactly where most of the fresh cases would end up. She couldn't help feeling responsible for the mess the Yard was in even though Chief Inspector Greyson had repeatedly told her the department's recent issues had not stemmed from her own investigations but instead from a steady decline in funding venues. She didn't believe him, but she hadn't argued when he had removed her from all new cases coming into the Yard two months ago and sliced her patrols down to mere lunch runs as she was loaded down with desk work. This was all the evidence she needed to nurse her sneaking suspicion that he was only telling her this because he felt that he was ultimately responsible for all the actions of his subordinates.

Lestrade sighed once again, and leaned her head back against the shelf, bumping into a random folder that was jutting haphazardly out of the shelf. Turning around, she pulled out the file and blew away six years of dust that had collected on top of the case folder. Opening the file, she glanced over a roughly formed abstract report on the case and condition of the victim, Anne Peterson.

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Lestrade dropped a file on Chief Inspector Greyson's desk, a determined look set upon her face as she blurted impatiently, "I want this case!" She sharply inhaled and began to agitatedly pace in front of his desk, already dreading the refusal she knew she was bound to receive.

Just now looking up from the reports on his desk, Greyson frowned at Lestrade for the abrupt intrusion, but remained silent as he reached over and looked at the case file. Several minutes later, he looked up from the file, and folded his hands, still silent as he intently watched an apprehensive Lestrade continue to pace in front of his desk, her eyes darting everywhere around the room except to his seat.

"What about all of that deskwork I gave you this week to do?" Greyson inquired pointedly. "Or have you forgotten that you're not to work new cases!" he fumed, the tips of his ears turning red as he ended, "Who gave you this case?"

Finally turning to face Greyson for the first time, Lestrade's blue eyes wavered just a second as she replied, "Actually…..it's not really new. Look at the date…."

She began to bite her lip apprehensively, watching as he again checked the file and slowly nodded. "So it isn't." He agreed acidly, sifting through the report again to gleam over the details. "However," he continued, "this is a cold case. The chances of you successfully solving this are practically none. What makes you think you can do it?"

Finally finding her resolve she stated, "If I don't at least try, I know it may never be solved."

Greyson sighed at her words and glanced back at the financial report on his desk, clearly torn between the lesser evils.

Seeing her one chance to slip back into her position failing, she promised, "It's a cold case, so the chances of me breaking anything are slim to none, and all I want is another chance." She finally fell back into the chair behind her and propped up her forehead with her hand, staring back at the floor, feeling an air of defeat drape silently around her.

"I didn't take you out because you were an expensive officer to maintain." He muttered softly, glancing one more time at the cold case. "I just can't keep you out of the field, can I?"

She opened her eyes, not daring to believe what she had just heard, and listened quietly. "If I reinstate some of your privileges as an Inspector, for this case, and this case alone," he cautioned, "will you promise me, that you will be more responsible and reliable than you have been in the past?"

Sitting up straight in her chair, she affirmed gladly, "Yes sir."

Breathing slowly, he continued, "and I don't just mean the constant wrecks and damages you cause, Lestrade." His eyes set sharply on her as he said, "I want reports on every move you make, something you have never been quite capable of doing on time."

She nodded vigorously and stood up, reaching for the case file on his desk. "I'll make it a priority from now on."

"You do that." He grumbled sourly as his thoughts turned back to the financial report. "I'll reinstate you today and you can start working on it tomorrow. Don't forget your other duties."

Lestrade let out a silent sigh of relief as she picked up the case report and turned to leave. She had almost reached the door when Greyson's voice rang out, "One more thing. Send that antique of yours to my office when he comes in for lunch."

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"Case Number: 117932-661. Victim: Anne Peterson. Cause of death: Homicide --- Caffeine Poisoning. Age at the time of death: 4 years, 2 months. Parents: Helena and Jonathon Peterson." Elizabeth Lestrade listed as she poked the lunch Watson had made for her with a fork, not having bothered to take a bite since it had been placed in front of her.

Holmes, sitting across her desk sampling his own plate, looked up and smiled, "Eager are we?"

Lestrade playfully stuck her tongue out at him and replied, "Yes I am." She grinned another moment before asking, "Is it that obvious?"

Holmes chuckled and instead of directly answering her, speculated, "I suppose you'll want to do this one alone?"

Lestrade, nibbling on her biscuit, hurriedly swallowed and answered, "I need to do this one alone. This is probably my one chance to prove I can handle a case without bankrupting the Yard."

"I understand," Holmes nodded, "though I don't believe the Yard's problems stem solely from your actions."

Lestrade sighed softly and looked towards the wall that she had often wished was a window, "Perhaps so, but I certainly helped it on its way." She stopped a moment, and looked back at Holmes with an odd look on her face. "So what does Greyson want with you?" she asked, truly intrigued.

Holmes furrowed his brows a moment and then looked up, "I suppose that means he wants to see me?" Lestrade merely nodded thoughtfully, awaiting an answer. Holmes averted his gaze a moment before replying, "I can only imagine he wishes to speak with me about my consultation fees."

Lestrade dropped her fork and winced, "Oh…"

"You needn't worry, Lestrade." Holmes quickly reasoned. "I already have several private cases lined up. If I depended on the Yard for all my income, I'd have been forced out on the streets by now." Holmes, seeing the defeat labeling Lestrade's face, added thoughtfully, "When the Yard recovers, my work here will too."

Lestrade picked up her fork again and began to poke the cold pasta, trying not to think of the numbers she had seen on the financial report and how long it might actually take.

Holmes sensing the change in mood quickly crossed his arms and sternly chided, "Stop playing with your food Lestrade. You know how upset Watson will be if he gets here and you've barely touched your plate."

She let out an exasperated sigh and quickly began to unceremoniously shovel the pasta onto her fork. "You know, we won't be able to do this so often once I really start on this case." She asserted between mouthfuls.

Holmes leaned forward and smiled, a playful glint in his eyes, "I had thought of that and I must admit; I rather enjoy our lunch dates…perhaps we could meet elsewhere for lunch every now and again?"

Lestrade froze, fork halfway out of the pasta, and incredulously echoed, "Dates?"

Holmes chuckled softly, a habit he had often found himself doing around Lestrade more and more, "Now Lestrade. You wouldn't deny an old man one of his few remaining pleasures in life?"

Lestrade thought for a moment, and then sarcastically joked, "I guess bumbling American oafs are your type?"

"Balderdash!" He exclaimed, acting as if he was taken aback. "Rather intelligent conversations with a fascinating lady."

Lestrade sat agape, almost in disbelief of what she had just heard, so contrary to Watson's journals, yet somehow a believable aspect of the man she had somehow befriended.

Holmes leaned back in his chair, still a playful smile upon his lips and curled his fingers against his chin, in a classic thinking posture. "Not quite the yes I was looking for," he started, "but I suppose…"

"Yes!" Lestrade chimed, snapping back to attention.

Holmes shook his head, and finished thoughtfully, "even if it isn't a date, I would sorely miss our time spent together."

Lestrade leaned towards him, and smiled, "You can consider it a date."

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Watson walked towards the robotic maintenance offices of the Yard, purposely taking the least efficient route. Lately, it had become more and more difficult for him to continue his scheduled upgrades and routine repairs.

He rounded another corner and purposely slowed down. To him, it didn't matter how many times he had made this journey before; the memories gave him little comfort. This maintenance, it just felt….unnatural, and yet, he knew it wasn't always this way.

Having finally arrived at his destination, Watson paused a moment facing the door before punching in a code and continuing inside. A thin, short, grey-haired man sat across the room, in a ragged swivel chair, running diagnostics on another police robot in disrepair. Watson felt a stab of anxiety; or rather what he assumed must be anxiety, from how others had described it.

The old gent turned around in his chair and gave Watson a broad smile. Watson reciprocated the gesture, though he certainly wasn't as happy to see him.

"Watson! My favorite bot! Come on in and get ready." The old man called from his chair, already turning around to retrieve a few tools to use.

Walking over to one of the few remaining hubs not already full, Watson replied shakily, "Everything looks great in here…"

The old man's smile slightly faded, but he managed to cling to it as he said, "Yes, not as good as the old days, but ah, who wants to hear of them?" He turned around to face Watson and lifted his brow. "Mind taking the baggage off?"

At first confused and uncertain, it only took Watson a few microseconds to realize the meaning behind the words. He slowly walked over to a broken spare chair and removed his elastomask and black trench coat, suppressing a strange urge to shiver.

He looked down upon the articles of clothing, and at his bare metallic arms, an ultimate reminder of his true form. Even in the face of his physical self, he still felt naked without his clothing, stripped and ashamed. Turning around, he walked back to the hub, apprehension not capable of showing without his mask. A quick scan, a relatively fast upload, and without any extenuating circumstances, he'd be back out. "Five or ten minutes…just five or ten minutes…"

The old mechanic strolled slowly around Watson, taking in every detail of his frame. Finally, stopping at Watson's own input hub, he began to use his tools to carefully clean the connection prongs and chisel the caked grime away from his more delicate grooves. "You haven't been keeping too clean I see." He mentioned sourly as he reached for a smaller pick. "Experienced any new emotions since last time?"

For the first time since he had been stripped of his humanity, Watson was glad his emotions could not be visible. "None at all." He answered tersely. Only once had he mentioned an emotion to his mechanic, and afterwards, he had sworn it would be the last. The old man figured it might have been a symptom of a degenerative behavior core and had for a while, wanted to completely reformat him. The fear of being mind wiped by the Sussex vampire had been minimal compared to the horror he felt towards total reformatting. Though he did feel a little guilt from the deceit, he rationalized that all the emotions he had felt were not new at all, and were formed prior to his first conversation with the mechanic. "Not quite a lie," he mused to himself, "but was it really the truth?"

The old man yawned and stretched, replacing his tools with a connector. "Alrighty! Upgrade time. See you in a few."

The lights appeared to have flickered in the room, but Watson knew it was over. His offensive and defensive protocols had been upgraded, and as he checked his memory core, he found a new set of late night patrol directives. He then checked the time he had been out; a full sixteen minutes. "Why did my upgrade take so long Nick? Did something happen?" he politely inquired, being sure to keep any simulated concern out of his voice.

"Eh, just annual diagnostics and a quick internal checkup. It's your month." Nick smiled back, polishing his equipment with an old cloth. "Tell the Inspector I said hey, okay? I never see her down here anymore."

"Of course, Nick." Watson replied formally as he picked up his trench coat and mask, slipping them on in two quick moves. "I'll see you in another month."

The old man nodded, already continuing to work on the other Yard robot, which appeared beyond repair. "Just try to keep clean."

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A/N: Ah yes, my dreadful three page long author's notes… This is actually the first installment of a series (Cold Cases) I've been planning on making all summer. I've fiddled with the idea in my head and have managed to write and type plenty of ideas and goals for this series, including following cases and adventures. Don't expect me to release the chapters too quickly, because I would like for them all to be as well written as possible. I hope you will all enjoy this story and the ones I am planning on writing in the future.