Disclaimer: I own Denae Hartman, the plot, and my own warped imagination.

Words between * * are italics, ------ indicates either change of scene or point of view the story is happening from. ________________________________________________________________________

The DNA scan had turned up zilch.

"Zed! Not one clue pointing at the thief," said Lestrade, pounding her fist on a table in frustration.

Holmes and Watson stood nearby. Holmes, as usual, was lost in thought.

"What do you mean her DNA is unknown!?" bellowed a voice.

All three turned their heads in the direction of Chief Inspector Greyson's office.

"Everyone's DNA is on file! It's a law!" he boomed.

The three approached the office and ran into a constable leaving the office.

"What's going on?" asked Lestrade.

"A woman was arrested this morning. We've scanned her DNA twice, but it keeps coming back unknown," he explained. "We have no idea who she is."

"But that's impossible," said Watson.

"Interesting," said Holmes. "Where is the lady?"

"Being questioned."

Lestrade, being curious as she was, followed the constable. Holmes and Watson did the same. They reached a two-way mirror and saw another constable interrogating a young woman.

She was sitting at a table. She was angled so that 3/4 of her body was facing them.

Holmes was surprised as he recognized the girl from outside his flat this morning. He hadn't gotten a very good look at her face earlier. Now he could see her features clearly.

She was quite beautiful. Her skin was light, but not as pale as it had been this morning. Her hair was dark brown, almost black, and hung well past the middle of her back. Her eyes were almond shaped and deep brown. And, right now, they were dark with anger.

"Just tell us who you are!" demanded the constable.

"I already have, more than once, you imbecile!" she shouted back.

"I say, Holmes. I do believe that is the same young lady from this morning."

"One and the same, Watson."

"Huh? You know her?" asked Lestrade.

"No. I simply observed the young lady outside my flat this morning. She seemed lost."

"Look," said the girl, standing up. She approached the constable. "We both know that I did nothing wrong. So let me go."

"Not a chance, sweetheart," he sneered.

A look of irritation crossed her face. For a moment, she just glared at him. Then, to the astonishment of the onlookers, she kicked him on the right shin with her right foot. He cried out and grabbed his shin. He began hopping up and down on his other foot. She stormed back to her chair and plopped down. She crossed her arms and just sat there with a frustrated look on her face.

Lestrade covered her mouth with her left hand in an attempt to stifle her barely controlled laughter. A few giggles managed to escape anyway as she watched the man jump up and down, yelping in pain.

"Goodness, gracious!" said Watson in disbelief.

"I must say, I am impressed," said Holmes, chuckling lightly. "Not many people would have the nerve to do that."

Just then , Greyson entered the interrogation room.

"What happened?" he asked.

"She kicked me, sir."

"Is that true?" he asked turning to her.

"He deserved it," she said flatly without even looking at him.

"What is your name?"

"Who are you?" she countered.

"Chief Inspector Greyson. What is your name?"

"Denae Hartman."

"And your age?"

"21."

"Where are you from?"

"Thousand Oaks, California."

"And what are you doing in New London?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"I mean I don't know. I have absolutely *no* idea how I got here." She sighed. "Look, the last thing I remember is I'm on my way home, there's this weird lightning and thunder. And I'm in the middle of a street in a city I don't know."

"Right," said Greyson sarcastically. "Who are you really?"

"God, I've been over this a thousand times! My name is Denae Hartman, I am 21 years old, I am from Thousand Oaks, California and I don't know how I got to New London. I don't care if you believe me or not. It's the truth."

"All right, we'll come back to it. Your report says you attacked two men on the street."

"I didn't attack them. They attacked me."

"You've been arrested. You must have done something illegal."

"Oh, so it's a crime to defend yourself now? The only reason I've been arrested is because *he* doesn't like Americans." She pointed an accusing finger at the constable, who was still rubbing his shin.

"Nonsense," said Greyson.

"It's true," she said with conviction.

"Is that right?" asked Grayson, turning to the officer.

"Of course not, sir. I would never do something like that."

"Imagine," said Watson. "Accusing a Constable of such a thing!"

"With him, I wouldn't dismiss it so quickly. There have always been rumors about him. There was never any evidence, so no one really paid any attention. There were a few incidents when people he brought in *claimed* some kind of prejudice. For some reason, no one's ever filed charges, so it never really got back to Greyson," explained Lestrade.

Holmes simply watched the woman argue with Greyson. She looked as if she was holding in most of her anger and trying to keep control of it. And it looked as if it were harder to control by the minute.

Greyson didn't look too happy either. Running a hand over his face, he said, "Constable, leave us. And send me some coffee. This could take a while." As soon as they were alone, he turned back to her. "Let's try this again. Your name?"

"Denae Hartman."

"Age?"

"21."

"From?"

"Thousand Oaks, California."

"What are you doing in New London?"

"I...don't...*know*!" she said through gritted teeth.

Greyson looked more frustrated than ever.

A compudroid entered the room. It was holding a steaming mug, which Greyson took immediately.

"Are you through with the background check?"

"Affirmative," answered the droid.

"Well?"

"There is no record of the subject anywhere."

Greyson placed the mug on the table. "That will be all," he said to the droid, who proceeded to walk out the door, which slid shut behind it. He turned back to Denae. "Well, according to the records, you don't exist. Now why don't you try telling me the truth?"

"I have."

"Oh, beastly American," growled Greyson. He turned away in frustration.

Denae's eyes narrowed. That was it. She'd had enough of this 'beastly American' crap.

As Holmes watched, she quickly snatched up the mug, spit in it, and replaced it a split second before Greyson turned around. She acted as if nothing had happened.

Greyson eyed her suspiciously. Still watching her, he picked up the mug and brought it to his lips.

"Ecch!" groaned Lestrade as he drank fro the mug. "That's disgusting!"

Holmes nodded in agreement. "Yes, although I must admit I can't really blame her."

"Can't blame... She spit in his coffee Holmes! Then let him drink it!"

"Are you about to tell me that you've never had the urge to do something similar Lestrade?" When she didn't answer, he continued. "I must say, she is a very...spirited young lady."

Holmes continued to watch the girl through the glass. The corners of his mouth twitched upward a bit as he tried to control the laughter that wanted to break free.

Lestrade eyed him suspiciously for a moment, then turned her attention to the scene unfolding behind the glass as well.

Greyson turned his back to her once more. Denae brought her right hand up to her mouth. She desperately tried to conceal the smile that had emerged on her face. After a few moments, she composed herself. Greyson turned to look at her again. Then he turned and left her alone in the room.

Denae tapped her foot against the floor and sighed. She had known that nothing would turn up on her in the files. How could there be records of someone who didn't exist in this world?

She turned towards the mirror on the wall to her right. Her eyes narrowed. She was surprised that they still had this set-up. She had expected a machine that would measure her emotional stress level, not that it would do the Yardies much good, considering her stress level at the moment. No doubt there was someone behind the mirror. Watching, listening, judging her.

Holmes watched her eye the mirror. He knew she couldn't see them, but she obviously knew they were there. He turned away as Greyson came up to them.

"I might have known you three would be poking your noses in," he said. "What do you think?"

"I think she's frustrated that no one believes her," answered Lestrade.

"Frustrated, maybe, but by no means surprised," commented Holmes.

"Huh? How do you figure that Holmes?"

"Very simple Lestrade. When the good Chief Inspector informed her that there is no record of her at all, she didn't look the least bit surprised. I simply deduced from her reaction, or lack thereof, that she came here knowing that there would be no record on file."

"But, if she knew that we'd know she was lying, why would she do it anyway?" asked a very confused Lestrade.

"I'm not entirely sure she *is* lying," he said, looking thoughtful. "She is rather insistent on her identity. Yet, she claims not to care if anyone believes her or not. From the way she looked and sounded, I'd guess that she is telling the truth. Either that, or she is the best actress I've ever seen. Perhaps she simply believes that she is telling the truth."

"What do you mean 'she believes she is telling the truth'?" demanded Greyson.

"There are documented cases of people who believed that they were one person when, in actuality, they were someone else entirely."

"But her DNA should still have brought up a file. It lists her as 'unknown'."

"Ah, but in this day and age it is not impossible to change one's genetic code. Furthermore, it is not impossible that she is a clone of someone who lived before DNA was required to be on file. Moriarty is living proof of that."

"Quite right. I never even considered that."

"It is my job to consider what others do not, Chief Inspector."

"Oh, well. In the meantime, Lestrade," he said turning to her, "I want you to question her."

"*Me?* Why? What did *I* do?"

"Females tend to be more comfortable with females. Besides, she is annoying me."

"I would approach her gently, Lestrade," suggested Holmes. "As we've seen, she has a tendency to... act out her frustrations."

Denae was drumming her fingers on the table when Lestrade entered. She stopped and turned her head to see who it was.

"What's the matter, I wear out the last two?" she asked.

"Actually, yes, Miss...Hartman was it?"

Denae nodded.

"Alright Miss Hartman, can you tell me why you don't have a holofile?"

"No."

"Okay, um, what's the first thing you remember after arriving in New London?"

"I remember falling. And landing in the street. After that, trying to figure out where I was."

"And the last thing you remember before you arrived?"

"I was going home. I was close to my house. In L.A."

Lestrade gave her a suspicious look. "I thought you said you were from Thousand Oaks."

"I am, but I go to school in L.A. I live there."

"Why did you tell Grayson you were from Thousand Oaks?"

"Hey, he asked me where I was from, not where I live."

Holmes smiled a little through the glass.

"Tricky, aren't you?"

"Very."

Lestrade was a bit surprised at that.

Denae sighed. "Are we done here? Can I go now? Because I didn't do anything wrong."

"They say you beat up two men in the street."

"Hey, I don't know about you, but when someone tries to attack me, I fight back."

"That would be understandable, but according to the constable who arrested you-"

"He's lying," Denae cut in. "He just has it in for me."

"Can you prove that?"

Denae bit her lip as she thought. After a moment, her eyes lit up. "I've heard you keep cameras all the place here. One on every street. Is that true?"

"Yes."

"Well, it should be recorded then. I swear to you, Inspector..." she paused to read the badge, "Lestrade, those men attacked me first."

"I'll get right on it. Thank you." She got up and started to leave.

"Oh, and Inspector?"

She turned back to her. "Yes?"

"I'd like my things back, please."

"I'll see what I can do. After we check the surveillance."

Denae looked annoyed, but nodded.

Lestrade made her exit.

Denae glanced again at the mirror. She wondered if those two idiots were behind it. Then she wondered if they would call in anyone special to investigate her.

Casually, she put her feet up on the table, crossing her ankles. She put her hands behind her head and leaned back.

Inspector Beth Lestrade. Now *there* was someone she'd never expected to run into. Of course, she'd never expected to find herself in New London either. She still had no idea how she had come to be here. Or, more importantly, how she was supposed to get home.

"What do you think?" Lestrade asked of Holmes and Watson. "Is she genuine?"

"She appears to be," said Holmes. He was still watching Denae, who was now tapping her foot on the air to an imaginary beat. "I wonder... Greyson mentioned a backpack. Could we examine its contents?"

"Sure. I don't see the harm in that."

Holmes and Watson followed Lestrade. After first stopping to ask one of the techies to bring up the surveillance for the street, she led them to where Denae's belongings were being kept.

As they began to go through the backpack, Lestrade commented, "Books, make-up. Nothing really out of the ordinary."

She then proceeded to dump all the contents out onto a table. The first things they noticed were the personal CD player and a large CD book.

"What the-?" Lestrade picked up the player and examined it. She had never seen one outside of history books or websites. Then she opened the booklet. There were 90 CDs inside.

"CD's?" exclaimed Lestrade in confusion. "They stopped making these over 80 years ago!"

"Oh, my. This is strange. All of these books were printed before the year 2004," said Watson.

"But, they look new."

"Yes, they are in excellent condition."

"Very strange," commented Holmes.

Next, Lestrade opened the smaller compartment on the front of the pack. She pulled out the contents: a CD still wrapped in plastic, some writing utensils, a receipt, a wallet and a cellular phone.

"Curiouser and curiouser," said Watson. "Why on earth would a young girl carry so many rare antiques in her bag?"

Holmes picked up the receipt and thoroughly examined it. "Fascinating! This receipt lists the date she purchased this, uh, CD. It says April 13, 2003. 102 years ago yesterday."

"Hey, look at this." Lestrade pulled a number of green papers out of the wallet. "What are these Watson?" Watson quickly searched his database. "American dollars. They haven't been used since 2025."

"Dollars?" asked Lestrade.

"Yes. It 2025, all nations began to use credits," he explained. "Credits have been used ever since. All other forms of currency were discontinued."

"I suppose these are worth a bundle to any collector, too."

"Indeed. And in such good condition, too."

"Hmm," said Holmes as he examined the dollar bills. There were several ones, two fives, two tens, three twenties, a fifty and even a hundred. $234 in all. "Look at the dates on these. Almost all of them were printed in 2002 or 2003."

"How strange. What do you make of it, Holmes?"

"I haven't come to a conclusion yet, Watson. I simply have a theory. As you know, I never divulge my theories until I have confirmed them. I look forward to learning more. However, the theft of the genetics lab takes priority. Come, Watson. We must pick up the trail."

"Holmes!" called Lestrade as they began to leave. "Don't you want to find out if she's telling the truth? Or at least see if she can explain all of this stuff in her bag?"

"No need Lestrade. You can fill us in later."

Lestrade quickly shoved the contents back into the bag. She hurried to catch up with Holmes and Watson. Just as she caught up, they encountered Greyson leading Denae by the arm. Lestrade stepped to the front of the group. "What's going on Chief?"

"We've confirmed that she was attacked. Now there's just the matter of her DNA scan. Then she's free to go."

"Look, if it's my DNA you're after, just stick a needle in my arm and be done with it. I'd like to get out of here," she informed Greyson .

Denae swerved her head towards the group in front of her. Her brown eyes found Holmes's blue ones. She held his gaze for a moment, then averted her own gaze.

"Um, I don't suppose you can explain the contents of this bag?" asked Lestrade.

"Yeah. That stuff's mine. I didn't steal it, if that's what you're asking, Inspector."

"I'll take that," said Greyson, grabbing a hold of the bag.

"Hey! That's mine!" protested Denae.

He kept it away and peered inside.

"What's a girl your age doing with all this?" he asked suspiciously, just before he handed the bag back to Lestrade.

"None of your business," she said defiantly.

"As long as I have this badge, it is very much my business!"

Anger flashed in her eyes. "Why don't you take your badge, and stick it up your-"

"As far as we know," interrupted Lestrade, " nothing here is stolen. And we have a DNA sample on file now, so there's really no reason to hold her here any longer."

"Alright, fine. It will get her out of my hair anyway." He walked away.

"Here you go," said Lestrade, handing her the bag.

"Thanks."

"Well, this has been interesting, but we really must be going. Lestrade. Miss," said Holmes, tipping his deerstalker. Watson followed suit, tipping his own hat, before they walked away.

"Inspector, would you be so kind as to direct me to the ladies room so I can clean up a little?"

"There's one down the left hall. It's a few doors down."

"Thank you."

With that, they parted ways.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------

Out on the street, Denae looked around. Her hair was now brushed and she looked a little more presentable. She had no place to go. She knew her money was no good here, and she was getting hungry. Not to mention the entire ordeal had left her tired.

How did I get here? she thought. How am I supposed to get back?

There was one person that she knew of who might be able to figure it out, but she wasn't about to go to him. He was a man of science. She suspected what had happened to her had nothing to do with science.

She picked a random direction and started walking.

After about half an hour, the rumbling in her stomach could not be ignored. She riffled through her bag. She was sure she had something to eat in there. Eventually, she found it. At the bottom of the bag was a bag of pretzels, a 2-pack of cookies and a tin of mints. Granted, the pretzels and cookies were broken and a bit crushed, and the tin had been dented from the fall, but it was food. Well, close enough.

She ate about half of what was in the pretzel bag, just enough to somewhat calm her stomach, then tucked them back in her bag. She didn't know when she would have any credits to buy more food. So what she had was going to have to last.