Stupidity's the Limit

Part 1

"What is the matter with you?" asked Inspector Elizabeth Lestrade to Sherlock Holmes one evening as he paced the floor. Lestrade had just walked in the door to find Holmes pacing the floor before the fireplace. Of course, the fireplace was fake, the fact being that it was the 22nd Century.

"Are you missing your pipe again, Holmes?" asked Lestrade. (There was no smoking in the 22nd Century). "You know you'll just have to get used to the fact that there's no smoking allowed..."

"It's not that, Lestrade, it's not that." He was being a bit more snappish than usual. "I just need to sort out some of my thoughts, and I can't seem to relax, that is all."

"Why not?"

"Please stop bugging me."

"You can tell me."

"It's a personal matter."

"You're getting more annoying than Watson." Watson was a computeroid, programmed to be like and have the same mind as the original Dr. John H. Watson of the 19th Century.

Sherlock Holmes of the 22nd Century was actually created by a piece of DNA from the true Sherlock Holmes. Created by Beth Lestrade, he lives at 221B Baker Street and is adjusting to his new life in the future. He still only remembers the 19th Century. He can't play his violin because there are none in the future. He can't smoke because there is no smoke anywhere. He can't even ride in a real hansom anymore because everyone rides in hovercars in the air! There was much information to absorb from two centuries, and he was used to being in control of everything. Now, he had control over very little. Lestrade thought that's what was bothering him, but his still huge ego wouldn't let him say so.

"C'mon, Holmes, tell me what's on your mind?"

"Not now, Lestrade. I need to think. Go talk with Watson or something. Why don't you call up the Irregulars? Have them come over. I should be able to think clearly by then." He walked out of the room.

He really is not feeling well...needs some rest, that's all. That, or something to do. Lestrade decided to go and talk to Watson. She walked to the kitchen.

"Hello, Watson," she said cheerily.

"Did you just win an argument with Holmes?" he asked, a bit skeptically.

"Oh, no, not at all. I just feel cheery today."

"Did you get back at Holmes for something he'd done to you?"

"No; why do you ask? D'you think I get my only delight by torturing the man?"

"No; by driving him up the wall with your pride."

"Thanks a lot, Watson."

"Anytime, Lestrade, anytime."

She didn't say anything for a while, then she said, "Watson, have you noticed anything lately?"

"What do you mean?"

"With Holmes. He's been acting strangely lately. Do you know why?"

"I haven't even noticed, Beth, I haven't even noticed."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive." She left the room, contemplating as she walked over to the visiphone.

"Wiggins, please," she said to the telephone.

A few seconds later, a young African man appeared on the screen. "Yes, Lestrade?" Wiggins said. "What's up? Somethin' I can do for you?"

"Actually, Wiggins, I want you to get a hold of Deidre and Tennyson. Meet me at my apartment in half an hour, okay?"

"Sure, Lestrade, but why not at 221B?"

"Don't ask now, Wiggins; I'll tell you later, okay?"

"If you say so, Lestrade." They hung up.

I just hope half an hour is not too late! thought Lestrade to herself as she ran out the door onto Baker Street. She jumped into her hovercar and rode off.