Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes in the 22nd Century. I really wish
I did, but I don't. I also own nothing affiliated with the show. I do
however own Denae Hartman. I would be very upset if someone were to steal
her or 'borrow her without consent.' Keep that in mind, as my temper can
get very nasty.
A/N: Now, I know that there are a lot of H/L shippers out there. Frankly, I can't picture them together forever. It is my belief that Holmes needs someone who can keep him on his toes at all times. So for those of you who are comepletly opposed to anything not H/L, don't bother reading this fic. You have been warned, so I don't want to read any complaints about it.
words written between * * are italics, ----- indicates change of scene _____________________________________________________________________
It was a peaceful night in New London on the night of April 13, 2105. Very peaceful. There was not a single cloud in the sky. Unfortunately, the stars weren't visible because of the lights of the city. But if one happened to be on the roof of one of the tallest buildings, one would have seen how beautiful the night sky was.
It was unusual for a peace like this to settle on the streets of New London. The streets were usually crawling with unsavory characters. Tonight it seemed as if they had all gone into the Underground.
Suddenly the peace was shattered by the sudden formation of strange looking clouds just above a lonely street in one of the older parts of the city. Stranger still, the clouds were forming out of nowhere about 8 feet above the ground. Thin bolts of lightning began shooting out of them.
Then, the entire sky filled with dark clouds. Thunder began to rumble. Then, a single, fantastic flash of lightning seemed to fill the entire sky. Thunder boomed out of the clouds.
Something dropped out of the low clouds as the lightning flashed. There was a grunt of pain and shock as the falling body landed on the street, facedown. Several other objects landed on the street near the body.
Within moments, the sky was clear once again. The peace that had been returned. The storm retreated, leaving behind a nearly unconscious woman alone in the street.
After a moment, air rushed into her lungs. The fall had knocked the wind out of her. She dragged in a few deep, agonizing breaths. Carefully, she tested her limbs. Nothing was broken, so she flattened her palms against the asphalt and pushed. Her body, from the torso up, rose from the ground. She glanced around. She was alone.
Slowly, she climbed to her feet. Her body ached all over. Especially the front of her. She had landed facedown, after all. She groaned softly as she managed to stand. She staggered a moment as a sudden dizziness overtook her. Her right hand went to her head as she fought it. Another groan escaped her lips. "Oh, my head," she said in a voice that was decidedly American.
After a moment, she recovered. She looked around once more. She saw her backpack, jacket and one of her notebooks lying in the street. In her hand was still clutched the stone pendant an old man on the street had given to her earlier that day.
She dusted herself off. She then began to take in her surroundings. She turned slowly in a circle. Confusion was evident on her face.
"Where am I?" she wondered aloud.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
A moment ago, Sherlock Holmes had been startled out of his music playing by the sudden, bright flash of light. It had been almost blinding.
Holmes's compudroid, Watson, had also been quite surprised.
"I say, Watson. Whatever do you think that was?" asked Holmes.
"I haven't the faintest idea Holmes. The skies are perfectly clear tonight. There should be no cause for lightning."
"Hmm," said Holmes thoughtfully. "Ah, well. Be a good man and monitor the news broadcasts in the morning, would you?"
"Of course Holmes."
Holmes nodded and went back to playing his electronic music instrument. He did, however, note the time; 11:07pm.
That lightning was so strange. He shrugged and kept playing. All returned to normal at 221B Baker Street.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
In another part of New London, an amazingly ugly Frenchman looked a bit frightened.
"What could it have been, Master?" he asked.
"I don't know," responded the tall, dark man in Victorian style clothing. He stroked his goatee thoughtfully. "Hmm."
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Two blocks from where she had landed, the young woman continued down the street. She went slowly. She gaped at her surroundings. She had never seen anything like this place. Well, in futuristic animations, maybe, but never in real life.
Her eggplant colored backpack was slung over her shoulders. She was also wearing the jacket that had landed near her. The notebook and pendant had been placed in the backpack.
There was a sudden roar and a flying car nearly ran her down. She leapt out of the way partly by instinct and partly by panic. The force from the speed of the car almost knocked her down.
She could do nothing but stare in shock at the rapidly retreating vehicle. It soon disappeared.
After a silence, her face twisted in frustration.
"What the hell *is* this place!?" she cried.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Holmes rose at about half past eight. This was unusual for him. As a rule, he was a late riser. Watson prepared breakfast for him as he monitored the news, as Holmes had asked.
"Good morning Holmes. You're up early."
"Yes. I found myself wondering about that storm last night. Has there been any word?"
"Only people who are just as confused as we are. No one seems to know what could have caused it," said Watson.
No sooner had Holmes finished his breakfast that his vidphone began to ring. As Watson answered it, a brunette woman appeared on the screen.
"Holmes," she said.
"Ah, good morning Lestrade. Need help on another case, do you?"
"Gee, how perceptive of you Holmes," said Lestrade sarcastically. "Someone broke into GenUTech and stole some equipment. But there's nothing on the cameras and the security system is pretty tight. We can't figure out how about 700 kilos of equipment could disappear without anyone seeing anything."
"Hmm. You scanned for DNA traces?"
"That's the thing. The only DNA we found belongs to the people who work there. We're questioning the last few now, but about half of them have iron clad alibis. That leaves about 13 suspects and no leads except that the correct codes were entered into the security system to gain access."
"Really? I thought you said the building was broken into."
"That's what it looks like. We found some signs of force on one of the windows. The thing is, the marks are on the inside."
"I see."
"I'm going to need you down at the crime scene Holmes. I've got a few more interviews and some paperwork to finish, but it shouldn't take more than an hour or so."
"Very well, Lestrade. I shall meet you there at 10:00 sharp."
The screen went blank.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- --
There was a light fog out. The skies were dull and gray. It was nearly nine, but the young woman had no way of knowing that. Her watch registered the same time it had when she last remembered being home.
Amazingly, she was completely unscathed after a night alone on the New London streets. All the possessions she had with her were still intact, with the exception of a few cracks in a CD case caused by the fall. Her books had taken the brunt of it and so everything remotely fragile had remained intact.
She pulled her jacket tightly around her as she walked, but didn't bother to button it up. Whether she did this from the cold or fear of this strange place, who could say?
There were some people strolling on the street, but not that many. She passed several of them. Several more of those insane flying cars had gone by. When she looked up, she could see many, many more of them.
Finally, she stopped a man in a long brown coat.
"Pardon me," she said politely," but could you tell me where I am?"
"Why," he said smiling, "you're on Baker Street, my dear."
She started to open her mouth, but he was gone before she could say anything. Slightly frustrated, she stopped another man.
"Excuse me, can you please tell me where I am, sir?"
"On Baker Street," he replied. He then started to walk away, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm.
"I know that. What city is this?"
He was rather taken aback by this question.
"Why, New London, of course." He began to walk away. "Beastly Americans. They grow stupider by the year," he mumbled.
"I heard that, you snob!" called the girl, who was not at all amused. She turned and continued down the street. "New London," she muttered. "That can't be."
She stopped to lean against a booth of some kind. She didn't know what it was, and she didn't care. She was tired, dirty and confused. Not to mention a bit bruised.
Across the street, Holmes crossed the sitting room to the large bay windows. Looking out, he took in the way the street looked today. The street was never what you could call busy in this day and age. In his day, the street had always been bustling with people. Gray skies and fog were very common in New London. They were not important.
He did, however, take notice of the young woman leaning against the public vidphone booth. She was turned so that he could only see her profile. However, he could still see that she had a look of shock on her face. And that she was fairly pretty. Her skin looked pale.
Watson came to stand next to him.
"What are you looking at Holmes?"
"This young woman."
"Well, what of her?"
"She is obviously lost."
"How did you deduce that?"
"Eyes and brains, my good man. The look on her face is one of bewilderment and thoughtfulness, as if she is trying to register her current situation. I've never seen her before on this street, so it is unlikely that she is familiar with it."
"Well, when you put it that way..."
"Another thing, Watson. Look at the way she is dressed," he said, taking in her dark blue jeans and black jacket. She had let the jacket fall open to reveal a baby blue shirt and a navy blue button up shirt. On her feet were a pair of hiking boots. "Her clothes are not at all what New London woman have been wearing.
On the street, the woman ran her fingers through her long, dark hair, which hung loose. Her fingers caught on a tangle and she lifted her hand out. The shock still hadn't fully set in.
She got the feeling that she was being watched. She glanced briefly around with her eyes only. Her eyes darted across the street. Then she turned her head and looked up at the window. There were two people staring at her. She couldn't see one of them very well, but the other, who was closer to the window, was frighteningly familiar.
She quickly bent to pick up her backpack, which she'd taken off, and walked away while putting it on.
"Apparently, she doesn't like to be stared at, either," commented Watson.
They both turned away from the window.
The woman came to the corner of the street. There was a sign there. "Baker Street." She glanced up at it. Her eyes widened. She turned back to the building the two men had been watching her from. Above the entrance, the numbers clearly read 221.
New London? Baker Street? 221, the second floor, which was probably apartment B?
*New London?! Baker Street?! 221B?!*
She backed away from the building, eyes wide, shaking her head. "No", she said quietly. "That's *not* possible. *This* is *not possible*!"
She heard a car horn. She leapt forward and turned in mid air just in time to see another of those crazy cars zoom by. The driver was shaking his fist at her. She hadn't realized she'd backed into the street.
People were staring at her. She didn't like that. She quickly crossed the street and kept walking.
Now she was more dazed than ever. She walked down the street. The streets were getting more crowded. She didn't even register the few people that she accidentally bumped into, or their glares. After a time, she bumped into someone else.
"Hey," he said angrily, " watch where you're going, miss!"
"Sorry," she mumbled. His voice had seemed distant.
He wasn't about to back down. He continued to scold her loudly. People slowed as they passed and stared. A circle was forming.
He was publicly embarrassing her. For the first time, she looked at him. He was wearing a uniform and there was a badge hanging around his neck. A Yardie.
She realized how many people were listening or watching. Her cheeks grew hot with anger and embarrassment.
He eyed her. "You're American, aren't you? I could tell fro your accent. When are you beastly Americans going to learn to use your brains?" he sneered.
Her fists clenched at her sides. The crowd chuckled. Her eyes narrowed.
Apparently satisfied, the Yardie began to leave. "Beastly American," he said again.
That did it.
"Better to be a 'beastly American' than an inbred idiot!" she said loudly.
There was a collective gasp from the crowd and the Yardie whirled around. There was a surprised look on his face.
"You- you- you-" he stammered.
"You- you- you," she mocked. "You're English, learn to speak the language."
His face grew hot with rage as the crowd tried not to laugh. She knew that this was her cue to leave, but she needed to vent her frustration. And now she had a target.
"How dare you?!"
"Easy. I'm not a coward like you who has to pick on a girl!"
The crowd could not hide its surprise or amusement.
"That's it!" He reached for her arm. "I'm taking you in."
"For what?" She moved out of range. "Is it a crime here to embarrass a moron? 'Cause unless it is, you don't have a charge."
"She's got you there, constable," came a woman's voice from the crowd.
She turned and left. A smile threatened to break through as a few bystanders applauded. She could hear the Yardie yelling at them to shut up. A grin broke through. That felt rather good.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---
"Hmm," said Holmes as he examined the marks on the window. Just as Lestrade had said, they were on the inside. "Well, this was almost certainly an inside job."
"What do you mean *almost*?" asked Lestrade. "It couldn't have been anything else."
"I'll admit that it is improbable that it was anything else, but not impossible our thief, or thieves, was very careful not to leave any clues. And they did a good job. This indicates a keen intellect." He turned to Watson and Lestrade. "Exactly what kind of equipment was stolen?"
"Pretty basic stuff," said Lestrade. "You'll find it in any genetics lab."
"Lestrade, I suggest that you scan the entire building for DNA traces. Any DNA that does not belong here is suspect. Hmm," he said again. He pulled out his magnifying glass and examined the marks on the window more closely. "Are there any droids in the building?"
"Yes. Two of them."
"For heavy lifting and odd jobs, I suppose."
There was a silence.
"Are you saying the *droids* robbed the place?"
"Watson," said Holmes, "would you be so kind as to place your hands against these marks? Palms out, please."
Watson did as instructed. Sure enough, the marks matched his fingers perfectly.
"I say, Holmes. It appears you're right. A droid did have something to do with it."
Hey," called Lestrade to the nearest GenUTech employee, who happened to be a guard. "Where are the compudroids kept?"
"Right this way," replied the tall, thin guard. He motioned for them to follow. "They're programmed to clean up the lab and then come here to recharge," he explained as he opened the door to the room where they were kept. He gasped when he looked inside. There was only one compudroid in the room.
"Hey, where's the other one?" asked Lestrade.
"I don't know. They should both be here."
Watson linked himself to the remaining droid and searched its database. This didn't take long.
"The entire memory has been erased," he announced.
"As I suspected," said Holmes.
"And the missing droid?" asked Watson.
"Taken, no doubt, to continue moving the stolen equipment and force open the window to throw us off the scent."
"But, Holmes, Who would be in need of such equipment?"
"Martin Fenwick!" declared Lestrade. "He's a geneticist."
"Possibly," said Holmes. "But what use would it be Moriarty?"
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---
It had been over an hour since the young woman's run in with that Yardie. She was now in a much less crowded part of town. The buildings were old and much more run down than any of the buildings she had seen on Baker Street.
The shock of realizing where she was had yet to go away. New London, of all places. She realized why the man in the window had looked so familiar. She hadn't recognized him at first because she was used to seeing only 2D images of him. This was him in real life.
"Well, well. What have we got here?"
She turned to see a tough looking guy approaching. She tried to keep walking, but another thug stepped out of the alley just ahead. Before she knew it, she was backed against a building.
"Cute one, isn't she?" asked the first thug. The tall, fat one.
"She sure is," replied the second thug, who was short and thin. He let his eyes rove over her and she thought she was going to be sick. It was obvious what he was thinking.
"Back off," she said, trying to sound tough, even though she was scared out of her mind.
"Hand over the bag!" ordered the first thug.
"Drop dead!" she responded.
Both thugs looked surprised. Then they scowled.
"Now!" barked the fat one. "Give it to me!"
So she gave it to him. As her foot connected with his shin, he howled in pain. Her right fist connected with the other's cheek and he reeled back.
She tried to dart between them and escape, but the first thug recovered and grabbed her.
"Let go!" she shouted as he lifted her clear off of her feet.
The thin one moved toward her and she used the fat one as leverage to kick him, hard, in the face.
She'd kicked hard enough that the one holding her had stumbled back into the wall. His grip loosened and she slipped down out of it. She stepped to the side, grabbed his arm and pushed him forward. At the same time, she brought her knee up. It rammed into his gut and he doubled over as she started to run.
She only got about 20 feet when a hovercraft pulled up. It had sirens on top. A Yardie.
"Officer," she called. She felt relief wash over her. Until the Yardie stepped out. She stopped dead as she realized it was the same Yardie she'd run into earlier. "Oh," she said shakily.
"What seems to be the trouble?" asked the constable.
"Constable, this madwoman attacked us!" declared the thin one as he climbed to his feet. He was holding a hand over his left eye.
"*What?! They* attacked *me*. I was just defending myself."
The constable looked from her to them, and back. They were pretty badly beaten. There was hardly a mark on her.
A wicked smile appeared on his face. He took her by the arm. "You're coming with me."
"Me? What did I do?"
"Attacking two citizens."
She continued to protest, but he put her in the cruiser anyway. At that point, she realized that nothing she could say would change his mind about who was at fault. "You've just been looking for an excuse, haven't you constable." It wasn't really a question.
"Darn right," he replied as they lifted off. They zoomed toward New Scotland Yard.
A/N: Now, I know that there are a lot of H/L shippers out there. Frankly, I can't picture them together forever. It is my belief that Holmes needs someone who can keep him on his toes at all times. So for those of you who are comepletly opposed to anything not H/L, don't bother reading this fic. You have been warned, so I don't want to read any complaints about it.
words written between * * are italics, ----- indicates change of scene _____________________________________________________________________
It was a peaceful night in New London on the night of April 13, 2105. Very peaceful. There was not a single cloud in the sky. Unfortunately, the stars weren't visible because of the lights of the city. But if one happened to be on the roof of one of the tallest buildings, one would have seen how beautiful the night sky was.
It was unusual for a peace like this to settle on the streets of New London. The streets were usually crawling with unsavory characters. Tonight it seemed as if they had all gone into the Underground.
Suddenly the peace was shattered by the sudden formation of strange looking clouds just above a lonely street in one of the older parts of the city. Stranger still, the clouds were forming out of nowhere about 8 feet above the ground. Thin bolts of lightning began shooting out of them.
Then, the entire sky filled with dark clouds. Thunder began to rumble. Then, a single, fantastic flash of lightning seemed to fill the entire sky. Thunder boomed out of the clouds.
Something dropped out of the low clouds as the lightning flashed. There was a grunt of pain and shock as the falling body landed on the street, facedown. Several other objects landed on the street near the body.
Within moments, the sky was clear once again. The peace that had been returned. The storm retreated, leaving behind a nearly unconscious woman alone in the street.
After a moment, air rushed into her lungs. The fall had knocked the wind out of her. She dragged in a few deep, agonizing breaths. Carefully, she tested her limbs. Nothing was broken, so she flattened her palms against the asphalt and pushed. Her body, from the torso up, rose from the ground. She glanced around. She was alone.
Slowly, she climbed to her feet. Her body ached all over. Especially the front of her. She had landed facedown, after all. She groaned softly as she managed to stand. She staggered a moment as a sudden dizziness overtook her. Her right hand went to her head as she fought it. Another groan escaped her lips. "Oh, my head," she said in a voice that was decidedly American.
After a moment, she recovered. She looked around once more. She saw her backpack, jacket and one of her notebooks lying in the street. In her hand was still clutched the stone pendant an old man on the street had given to her earlier that day.
She dusted herself off. She then began to take in her surroundings. She turned slowly in a circle. Confusion was evident on her face.
"Where am I?" she wondered aloud.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
A moment ago, Sherlock Holmes had been startled out of his music playing by the sudden, bright flash of light. It had been almost blinding.
Holmes's compudroid, Watson, had also been quite surprised.
"I say, Watson. Whatever do you think that was?" asked Holmes.
"I haven't the faintest idea Holmes. The skies are perfectly clear tonight. There should be no cause for lightning."
"Hmm," said Holmes thoughtfully. "Ah, well. Be a good man and monitor the news broadcasts in the morning, would you?"
"Of course Holmes."
Holmes nodded and went back to playing his electronic music instrument. He did, however, note the time; 11:07pm.
That lightning was so strange. He shrugged and kept playing. All returned to normal at 221B Baker Street.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
In another part of New London, an amazingly ugly Frenchman looked a bit frightened.
"What could it have been, Master?" he asked.
"I don't know," responded the tall, dark man in Victorian style clothing. He stroked his goatee thoughtfully. "Hmm."
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Two blocks from where she had landed, the young woman continued down the street. She went slowly. She gaped at her surroundings. She had never seen anything like this place. Well, in futuristic animations, maybe, but never in real life.
Her eggplant colored backpack was slung over her shoulders. She was also wearing the jacket that had landed near her. The notebook and pendant had been placed in the backpack.
There was a sudden roar and a flying car nearly ran her down. She leapt out of the way partly by instinct and partly by panic. The force from the speed of the car almost knocked her down.
She could do nothing but stare in shock at the rapidly retreating vehicle. It soon disappeared.
After a silence, her face twisted in frustration.
"What the hell *is* this place!?" she cried.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Holmes rose at about half past eight. This was unusual for him. As a rule, he was a late riser. Watson prepared breakfast for him as he monitored the news, as Holmes had asked.
"Good morning Holmes. You're up early."
"Yes. I found myself wondering about that storm last night. Has there been any word?"
"Only people who are just as confused as we are. No one seems to know what could have caused it," said Watson.
No sooner had Holmes finished his breakfast that his vidphone began to ring. As Watson answered it, a brunette woman appeared on the screen.
"Holmes," she said.
"Ah, good morning Lestrade. Need help on another case, do you?"
"Gee, how perceptive of you Holmes," said Lestrade sarcastically. "Someone broke into GenUTech and stole some equipment. But there's nothing on the cameras and the security system is pretty tight. We can't figure out how about 700 kilos of equipment could disappear without anyone seeing anything."
"Hmm. You scanned for DNA traces?"
"That's the thing. The only DNA we found belongs to the people who work there. We're questioning the last few now, but about half of them have iron clad alibis. That leaves about 13 suspects and no leads except that the correct codes were entered into the security system to gain access."
"Really? I thought you said the building was broken into."
"That's what it looks like. We found some signs of force on one of the windows. The thing is, the marks are on the inside."
"I see."
"I'm going to need you down at the crime scene Holmes. I've got a few more interviews and some paperwork to finish, but it shouldn't take more than an hour or so."
"Very well, Lestrade. I shall meet you there at 10:00 sharp."
The screen went blank.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- --
There was a light fog out. The skies were dull and gray. It was nearly nine, but the young woman had no way of knowing that. Her watch registered the same time it had when she last remembered being home.
Amazingly, she was completely unscathed after a night alone on the New London streets. All the possessions she had with her were still intact, with the exception of a few cracks in a CD case caused by the fall. Her books had taken the brunt of it and so everything remotely fragile had remained intact.
She pulled her jacket tightly around her as she walked, but didn't bother to button it up. Whether she did this from the cold or fear of this strange place, who could say?
There were some people strolling on the street, but not that many. She passed several of them. Several more of those insane flying cars had gone by. When she looked up, she could see many, many more of them.
Finally, she stopped a man in a long brown coat.
"Pardon me," she said politely," but could you tell me where I am?"
"Why," he said smiling, "you're on Baker Street, my dear."
She started to open her mouth, but he was gone before she could say anything. Slightly frustrated, she stopped another man.
"Excuse me, can you please tell me where I am, sir?"
"On Baker Street," he replied. He then started to walk away, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm.
"I know that. What city is this?"
He was rather taken aback by this question.
"Why, New London, of course." He began to walk away. "Beastly Americans. They grow stupider by the year," he mumbled.
"I heard that, you snob!" called the girl, who was not at all amused. She turned and continued down the street. "New London," she muttered. "That can't be."
She stopped to lean against a booth of some kind. She didn't know what it was, and she didn't care. She was tired, dirty and confused. Not to mention a bit bruised.
Across the street, Holmes crossed the sitting room to the large bay windows. Looking out, he took in the way the street looked today. The street was never what you could call busy in this day and age. In his day, the street had always been bustling with people. Gray skies and fog were very common in New London. They were not important.
He did, however, take notice of the young woman leaning against the public vidphone booth. She was turned so that he could only see her profile. However, he could still see that she had a look of shock on her face. And that she was fairly pretty. Her skin looked pale.
Watson came to stand next to him.
"What are you looking at Holmes?"
"This young woman."
"Well, what of her?"
"She is obviously lost."
"How did you deduce that?"
"Eyes and brains, my good man. The look on her face is one of bewilderment and thoughtfulness, as if she is trying to register her current situation. I've never seen her before on this street, so it is unlikely that she is familiar with it."
"Well, when you put it that way..."
"Another thing, Watson. Look at the way she is dressed," he said, taking in her dark blue jeans and black jacket. She had let the jacket fall open to reveal a baby blue shirt and a navy blue button up shirt. On her feet were a pair of hiking boots. "Her clothes are not at all what New London woman have been wearing.
On the street, the woman ran her fingers through her long, dark hair, which hung loose. Her fingers caught on a tangle and she lifted her hand out. The shock still hadn't fully set in.
She got the feeling that she was being watched. She glanced briefly around with her eyes only. Her eyes darted across the street. Then she turned her head and looked up at the window. There were two people staring at her. She couldn't see one of them very well, but the other, who was closer to the window, was frighteningly familiar.
She quickly bent to pick up her backpack, which she'd taken off, and walked away while putting it on.
"Apparently, she doesn't like to be stared at, either," commented Watson.
They both turned away from the window.
The woman came to the corner of the street. There was a sign there. "Baker Street." She glanced up at it. Her eyes widened. She turned back to the building the two men had been watching her from. Above the entrance, the numbers clearly read 221.
New London? Baker Street? 221, the second floor, which was probably apartment B?
*New London?! Baker Street?! 221B?!*
She backed away from the building, eyes wide, shaking her head. "No", she said quietly. "That's *not* possible. *This* is *not possible*!"
She heard a car horn. She leapt forward and turned in mid air just in time to see another of those crazy cars zoom by. The driver was shaking his fist at her. She hadn't realized she'd backed into the street.
People were staring at her. She didn't like that. She quickly crossed the street and kept walking.
Now she was more dazed than ever. She walked down the street. The streets were getting more crowded. She didn't even register the few people that she accidentally bumped into, or their glares. After a time, she bumped into someone else.
"Hey," he said angrily, " watch where you're going, miss!"
"Sorry," she mumbled. His voice had seemed distant.
He wasn't about to back down. He continued to scold her loudly. People slowed as they passed and stared. A circle was forming.
He was publicly embarrassing her. For the first time, she looked at him. He was wearing a uniform and there was a badge hanging around his neck. A Yardie.
She realized how many people were listening or watching. Her cheeks grew hot with anger and embarrassment.
He eyed her. "You're American, aren't you? I could tell fro your accent. When are you beastly Americans going to learn to use your brains?" he sneered.
Her fists clenched at her sides. The crowd chuckled. Her eyes narrowed.
Apparently satisfied, the Yardie began to leave. "Beastly American," he said again.
That did it.
"Better to be a 'beastly American' than an inbred idiot!" she said loudly.
There was a collective gasp from the crowd and the Yardie whirled around. There was a surprised look on his face.
"You- you- you-" he stammered.
"You- you- you," she mocked. "You're English, learn to speak the language."
His face grew hot with rage as the crowd tried not to laugh. She knew that this was her cue to leave, but she needed to vent her frustration. And now she had a target.
"How dare you?!"
"Easy. I'm not a coward like you who has to pick on a girl!"
The crowd could not hide its surprise or amusement.
"That's it!" He reached for her arm. "I'm taking you in."
"For what?" She moved out of range. "Is it a crime here to embarrass a moron? 'Cause unless it is, you don't have a charge."
"She's got you there, constable," came a woman's voice from the crowd.
She turned and left. A smile threatened to break through as a few bystanders applauded. She could hear the Yardie yelling at them to shut up. A grin broke through. That felt rather good.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---
"Hmm," said Holmes as he examined the marks on the window. Just as Lestrade had said, they were on the inside. "Well, this was almost certainly an inside job."
"What do you mean *almost*?" asked Lestrade. "It couldn't have been anything else."
"I'll admit that it is improbable that it was anything else, but not impossible our thief, or thieves, was very careful not to leave any clues. And they did a good job. This indicates a keen intellect." He turned to Watson and Lestrade. "Exactly what kind of equipment was stolen?"
"Pretty basic stuff," said Lestrade. "You'll find it in any genetics lab."
"Lestrade, I suggest that you scan the entire building for DNA traces. Any DNA that does not belong here is suspect. Hmm," he said again. He pulled out his magnifying glass and examined the marks on the window more closely. "Are there any droids in the building?"
"Yes. Two of them."
"For heavy lifting and odd jobs, I suppose."
There was a silence.
"Are you saying the *droids* robbed the place?"
"Watson," said Holmes, "would you be so kind as to place your hands against these marks? Palms out, please."
Watson did as instructed. Sure enough, the marks matched his fingers perfectly.
"I say, Holmes. It appears you're right. A droid did have something to do with it."
Hey," called Lestrade to the nearest GenUTech employee, who happened to be a guard. "Where are the compudroids kept?"
"Right this way," replied the tall, thin guard. He motioned for them to follow. "They're programmed to clean up the lab and then come here to recharge," he explained as he opened the door to the room where they were kept. He gasped when he looked inside. There was only one compudroid in the room.
"Hey, where's the other one?" asked Lestrade.
"I don't know. They should both be here."
Watson linked himself to the remaining droid and searched its database. This didn't take long.
"The entire memory has been erased," he announced.
"As I suspected," said Holmes.
"And the missing droid?" asked Watson.
"Taken, no doubt, to continue moving the stolen equipment and force open the window to throw us off the scent."
"But, Holmes, Who would be in need of such equipment?"
"Martin Fenwick!" declared Lestrade. "He's a geneticist."
"Possibly," said Holmes. "But what use would it be Moriarty?"
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It had been over an hour since the young woman's run in with that Yardie. She was now in a much less crowded part of town. The buildings were old and much more run down than any of the buildings she had seen on Baker Street.
The shock of realizing where she was had yet to go away. New London, of all places. She realized why the man in the window had looked so familiar. She hadn't recognized him at first because she was used to seeing only 2D images of him. This was him in real life.
"Well, well. What have we got here?"
She turned to see a tough looking guy approaching. She tried to keep walking, but another thug stepped out of the alley just ahead. Before she knew it, she was backed against a building.
"Cute one, isn't she?" asked the first thug. The tall, fat one.
"She sure is," replied the second thug, who was short and thin. He let his eyes rove over her and she thought she was going to be sick. It was obvious what he was thinking.
"Back off," she said, trying to sound tough, even though she was scared out of her mind.
"Hand over the bag!" ordered the first thug.
"Drop dead!" she responded.
Both thugs looked surprised. Then they scowled.
"Now!" barked the fat one. "Give it to me!"
So she gave it to him. As her foot connected with his shin, he howled in pain. Her right fist connected with the other's cheek and he reeled back.
She tried to dart between them and escape, but the first thug recovered and grabbed her.
"Let go!" she shouted as he lifted her clear off of her feet.
The thin one moved toward her and she used the fat one as leverage to kick him, hard, in the face.
She'd kicked hard enough that the one holding her had stumbled back into the wall. His grip loosened and she slipped down out of it. She stepped to the side, grabbed his arm and pushed him forward. At the same time, she brought her knee up. It rammed into his gut and he doubled over as she started to run.
She only got about 20 feet when a hovercraft pulled up. It had sirens on top. A Yardie.
"Officer," she called. She felt relief wash over her. Until the Yardie stepped out. She stopped dead as she realized it was the same Yardie she'd run into earlier. "Oh," she said shakily.
"What seems to be the trouble?" asked the constable.
"Constable, this madwoman attacked us!" declared the thin one as he climbed to his feet. He was holding a hand over his left eye.
"*What?! They* attacked *me*. I was just defending myself."
The constable looked from her to them, and back. They were pretty badly beaten. There was hardly a mark on her.
A wicked smile appeared on his face. He took her by the arm. "You're coming with me."
"Me? What did I do?"
"Attacking two citizens."
She continued to protest, but he put her in the cruiser anyway. At that point, she realized that nothing she could say would change his mind about who was at fault. "You've just been looking for an excuse, haven't you constable." It wasn't really a question.
"Darn right," he replied as they lifted off. They zoomed toward New Scotland Yard.
