PROLOGUE
Sherlock Holmes and Beth Lestrade rushed from his Baker Street flats as
others in the neighborhood were leaving their houses in a panic, clutching
their most precious belongings, snatched up in a desperate haste. There
were shouts of surprise and cries for help all through the air. Lestrade
clutched her ears in a vain attempt to block out the overwhelming grief of
all that was around her. But she gathered all the courage she had, and
walked on before Holmes could offer his support.
"We have to get to the source of the bombings. We have got to help!" She stepped forward resolutely and ignored The Great Detective's protests on the contrary. It was useless to argue with her when her mind was set something. Just like the Lestrade I knew, Holmes thought to himself. A true Scotland Yard Inspector.
As they quickly strode down a street with the most distress, Holmes slipped on something and went down on one knee. When Holmes stopped so did the rustle of his clothes, and Lestrade turned to see what the matter was. To stop himself from falling, Holmes instinctively grabbed Lestrade's hand. But he didn't stand just yet, and their eyes met, even as their hands stayed together. Any passerby would assume that they were about to be wed, and the man kneeling down - Holmes - had just proposed. Lestrade's face was certainly that of shock, seeing Holmes in a position that would otherwise be a comical one. But not now... Not at this time. Not when all of New London was in danger. She didn't know he had fallen: she thought just the same as any person whose eye fell upon the two of them. Had he really heard her confession of love? It was nice that he felt the same way, maybe even wonderful. But it was such a bad time to tell her, and to dump it on her in this way. She didn't know what to do, and so she slowly withdrew her hand from his. "I'm sorry, I'm not ready yet," she murmured, and continued on.
Sherlock Holmes was speechless. How could he explain he had only slipped without embarrassing her? What had she thought he was doing? She didn't really think. that he was proposing? It was a chilling idea. His Victorian ideals and natural distrust of women forbade the idea of marriage. But then. Obviously no Victorian of Holmes' time had met Beth Lestrade. Holmes bit his lip hard and walked on, afraid to speak because of what he knew Lestrade must have been thinking of him at the moment. He imagined it would be something along the lines of how strange he was to propose when they were needed the most by New London. How selfish he was to do something that would make the two of them feel like they were the only two in the entire world when they were needed most by the entire world. It made him wince that such a thought should cross her mind. And what did she mean by yet?! Did she expect that he would propose again? It was all too confusing. And so Holmes drove the incident from his mind, said nothing, and followed her.
The two soon came to what was the disastrous origin of one of the bombs- it was completely barren. How shocking it was to be in the bustling, although panicked, city of New London one moment, and then to be confronted by an area of nothingness the next second. The blast radius of the bomb could be approximated to five blocks in all directions. Already, people were gathered around the edges of the bleak circle, while braver ones ventured into the "wreck" to search without hope for whatever could be left after such an appalling attack.
Even Holmes felt a devastating sadness in the air, but Lestrade, who was followed by others who grew braver at the sight of her assured presence, joined the searchers. But the place was a complete clearing, without even a bit of trash or a weed. There was nothing left. Soon, even Lestrade had to give up. She walked back to where Holmes was looking around with her head bent and arms limp at her sides. "It's hopeless." She groaned.
"We should go to Scotland Yard Headquarters." Holmes recommended quietly. He led the way, knowing Lestrade would follow. Onlookers were beginning to go back to their homes, knowing there was nothing they could do. Those who had known the people who were now gone forever as a result of the explosion gathered around the place and wept silently.
When they met with Chief Inspector Greyson at their destination, he was looking deeply troubled. "We know about the explosions. We've just been there." Holmes prompted. Greyson nodded. He brought up a map of New London, with dark bold spots where the bombs had blown. He named them all as Scotland Yard offices. Everyone shuddered. Whoever had done this, and it was obviously Moriarty or one of his henchmen, did not want the interference of the police.
"So New London is without law?" Lestrade whispered in horror. She gasped as Greyson nodded gravely.
"Strange, is it not," Holmes began, plunging the rest into the matter without hesitation or useless bemoaning, "that these bombs were located in the smaller branches, and not the Headquarters of the whole Yard? Wouldn't it be that if someone didn't want the Yard in the business, they would take out Headquarters, where all the information is stored, where things of the greatest importance take place?" It was agreed that Holmes had brought up a good point, and that it was a scary thought: if Moriarty blew up the smaller branches, leaving absolutely nothing behind, what would he do to the highest branch of the Scotland Yard offices?
"Another question is how the bombs got there." Greyson added. But he added that it would be hard to investigate that matter, because the only ones who could tell him of any strange incidents in the smaller offices were no longer with them. The only person who knew the answer to Greyson's question would be the antagonist himself. And they were an unreliable source anyway.
********************* Beth Lestrade was alone. That was how she liked to be. It was the best time to do whatever she wanted, without anyone to get in her way. A second person meant a second opinion, a second voice to listen to and plan around. It was just too much to deal with. Which was why Lestrade joined Scotland Yard. So she could sink herself into her work; it was the best excuse when you didn't want to go somewhere with someone. "Sorry I got to work." It was a perfect reason. Some stupid dip wads at the Yard joined only for others. The people who joined "for the cool uniforms" and the pompous abuse of authority was disgusting. But that wasn't Beth Lestrade's way of doing things.
Watson, her old helper but now Sherlock Holmes' companion, often teased her about her independence and yet having him as an assistant. She couldn't help smiling at the memory as she cleaned her apartment and hummed an old song the evening of the bombings. She heard the door to her rooms open, and she felt the eyes watching her from the doorway. The only people with the key to her residence were her best friends Alice and Edith. Besides, if it was danger it would've taken the surprise chance to attack, so she decided to ignore it until it spoke.
And when it did speak, she was indeed surprised to hear the voice of Holmes himself. It would've taken the hardest torture in the world to get her to admit she had been thinking of him before she sensed the door open.
"Holmes! You," she turned to him, peeved with his coming at a bad time, but calmed herself to keep the annoyance out of her voice, "took me by surprise!"
He smiled, "Of course I did, Inspector. Which is why I saw you tense when you felt me open the door. I may be centuries old, but my lock-picking skills are far from rusty. And it didn't take the sharpest mind to see you decided to ignore my presence. Are you angry at me?" At this last remark Lestrade could here his voice change. But how did it? She couldn't exactly put her finger on it, but banished it from her mind.
"I didn't know it was you." She murmured softly.
"And that's a bad thing?"
She decided to stay quiet. She fiddled with her fingers, waiting for his next remark.
Sherlock Holmes was an impatient man by nature. He was often exasperated with the people around him who couldn't catch on as quickly as himself, and so he found it best to not tell them what he was thinking. But he was worried about Lestrade; the day's experience could easily be labeled traumatizing, and Holmes remembered how pale she was on the journey back to his flats. He found his voice and said to her quietly, "Are you all right? If you feel too- that is, if you don't want to continue for a little while." He paused to get a look at her face. It was a plain face, not one you would consider pretty. Yet, if you took a second glance, the lines of determination and bravery took the place of other features. And they made her more stunning than anything else could.
There were no signs of denial or resentment at his last comment. There was only some tension and a thoughtful, faraway expression on the downcast face. At his pause, she turned away from him and headed for the sofa. He followed, wanting the save her from the awkwardness of speaking. Taking a seat on an armchair, while Lestrade sat on the farther side of the aforementioned sofa, Holmes began again, "I could have a talk with Greyson. He may not take me seriously, since I'm technically 'dead'-"Lestrade's face was still focused on the floor, but a tiny smile danced across her features at Holmes' light joke. She finally looked up at him. Looked right into his gorgeous eyes. They were filled with concern. Holmes took a deep breath, and smiled inwardly at himself- nervousness was foreign to his nature. "-But I'm sure if I were to ask him to give you some time off, or cut you some slack, he would agree immediately."
The regular Beth Lestrade would've been denying all this in a huff and gruffly thank Holmes for his concern before politely kicking him out to return to her work. But it was true that she was disturbed by the day's events. The bombings had shown that Moriarty was indeed at large, and deadly serious about his plans of domination. First there would be domination of New London, then - and she shuddered to think of it - domination of the world. It made her want to grimace, but she fought against it because Holmes was there too.
Holmes seemed to read her mind. "My opinion of you is in no way altered just because of this. Anybody would need some time off after what happened today, and I'm sure in the next few days a lot of work won't be done for just that reason." He then surprised his Victorian half even more by taking her hand with a reassuring squeeze and saying, "You're a strong person, Beth, and I'll always admire you for that. But everyone needs a break at the moment. Even you." Nobody could've said it better. And so Lestrade's mind was put at ease, and Holmes' offhand praise was worth it.
Still, the old Lestrade wouldn't die without a fight. She straightened her back to give herself more conscious authority and counter Holmes' colossal height. "Thanks for your concern, um, Sherlock, but rest assured that I will do all that I can to help, even while I'm resting at home."
Holmes' face grew smug at her last word, and a smirk spread across it. He spoke lightly, in a jesting tone, "My dear Lestrade! And who told you that you'd spend your well-deserved holiday at home? And whoever told you that you're going to spend it by yourself? I won't allow it!" His smile and tone were impishly malicious as he continued, "And I beg of you, don't protest! I've already had that talk with Greyson. I think it in all probability that he was eager to get rid of the cause of those dreadful gray hairs of his, and will be paying-"Two brochures appeared out of thin air and he waved them tauntingly in front of her face. "-For our trip around the world!"
Sherlock Holmes ended his dramatic talk with a large sweep of his arm, and Lestrade was reminded of John Watson's account of the hemoglobin discovery. But before long, the absurdity of the whole thing sank in. First, there was the obviously bogus statement of Greyson paying for the trip. He would gladly send the two of them off on a long trip, but Scotland Yard didn't pay much salary, even to its Chief Inspector. Second, how would New London's law officers fare without two key helpers who were off on some road trip? The trip would make the two unreachable, since they would hardly stay in one place too long. Holmes' restlessness had to kick in at some point. Speaking of which, Lestrade was convinced -even if Holmes' concern for her was enough to make him talk to Greyson tête a tête - he would never leave the familiar surroundings of populous, crime-filled New London for a trip as long as the one he had just described. There must be some other reason behind the one Holmes had given her, and Lestrade was hurt at his falsified speech and dishonesty with her when she was just thinking his feelings were the same as hers. She felt bad enough already.
Lestrade's shadowed face caught Holmes' eye. Alarm ran through his mind. So she's sharper than I thought. Must be hanging around me too much. He had to smile when his thoughts came before he could stop them- but caught himself before it appeared on his face. For once, Sherlock Holmes couldn't think of a bluff or an excuse for his untruthfulness. He stammered out half an alibi before realizing how hurt Lestrade must be. The truth would be the smartest thing for him to say. That, and a humble apology, which wasn't easy for Holmes, who was proud and sometimes even vain when it came to dealing with people of less intuition than himself. And he took his mistakes harder than anything else. But in this case Beth Lestrade was almost as intelligent as he was. She could've given Irene Adler a run for her money. Holmes thought bitterly. He stood up, deciding a quick escape would be better than a quick death by way of unaccepted apology. She stood too, seeing him already beginning calculating his get away.
She stopped him with only two words. "Wait, Holmes." Sherlock couldn't look at her without feeling a funny twisting in his gut. Lestrade continued just as softly, "We both know you weren't telling the complete truth." The edges of her mouth turned up in a resigning smile. "Let's just forget about it. I know you wouldn't lie to me without a good reason." Holmes could've kissed her. She so understood! But he felt she was just being merciful to him, and any extra show of emotion would result in a backhanded slap across his face. Lestrade wasn't sure she had done the right thing either. She had completely taken a chance with the declaration of her forgiveness because she knew he "did it for her own good". For all she knew, he could've been using her. But somehow something inside her said he wasn't, and that he felt the same as she did. Deep down inside, at least.
************* Beth Lestrade met Holmes outside her apartment the next day. She was glad she hadn't decided to pack a lot - Holmes was only carrying two small duffels. Just like him to carry light. She herself had decided to bring her guitar and a couple sets of clothes. There'd probably be stores in . wherever they were going.
"So where to first?" She tried to ask nonchalantly, but she felt the excitement of a trip around the world to be almost uncontrollable. Alone with Holmes... She was suddenly alarmed. I hope they give us separate rooms. She smiled weakly to herself. Holmes turned to her, looking at her as if studying some familiar but complicated puzzle. Then he turned back to the car.
At first she thought he hadn't heard her. But then she became conscious of the fact that he was pausing for dramatic effect. Lestrade really couldn't resist the satisfying action of whacking the Great Detective upside the head. He glared at her, rubbing his noggin, then muttered, "France." Then he continued loading the car, giving an indignant, "Humph."
So that's where we're going! Lestrade thought eagerly. She couldn't wait to get a move on. But Holmes wasn't so sure, reminding her what snobs the French were: "Why, just look at how Fenwick turned out!"
They tossed their stuff into the back of her car and Holmes stepped into the driver's seat. "I hope you looked over those driver's manuals I got you." Lestrade said in a worried tone. His smile didn't do much to comfort her nervousness. Holmes could be cautious enough, but when he was short on time or pursuing a bad guy like Moriarty, his impatience could override his good judgment. She would find out how right she was when they got to Paris: the center of bad driving and snobby policemen. *******
"We have to get to the source of the bombings. We have got to help!" She stepped forward resolutely and ignored The Great Detective's protests on the contrary. It was useless to argue with her when her mind was set something. Just like the Lestrade I knew, Holmes thought to himself. A true Scotland Yard Inspector.
As they quickly strode down a street with the most distress, Holmes slipped on something and went down on one knee. When Holmes stopped so did the rustle of his clothes, and Lestrade turned to see what the matter was. To stop himself from falling, Holmes instinctively grabbed Lestrade's hand. But he didn't stand just yet, and their eyes met, even as their hands stayed together. Any passerby would assume that they were about to be wed, and the man kneeling down - Holmes - had just proposed. Lestrade's face was certainly that of shock, seeing Holmes in a position that would otherwise be a comical one. But not now... Not at this time. Not when all of New London was in danger. She didn't know he had fallen: she thought just the same as any person whose eye fell upon the two of them. Had he really heard her confession of love? It was nice that he felt the same way, maybe even wonderful. But it was such a bad time to tell her, and to dump it on her in this way. She didn't know what to do, and so she slowly withdrew her hand from his. "I'm sorry, I'm not ready yet," she murmured, and continued on.
Sherlock Holmes was speechless. How could he explain he had only slipped without embarrassing her? What had she thought he was doing? She didn't really think. that he was proposing? It was a chilling idea. His Victorian ideals and natural distrust of women forbade the idea of marriage. But then. Obviously no Victorian of Holmes' time had met Beth Lestrade. Holmes bit his lip hard and walked on, afraid to speak because of what he knew Lestrade must have been thinking of him at the moment. He imagined it would be something along the lines of how strange he was to propose when they were needed the most by New London. How selfish he was to do something that would make the two of them feel like they were the only two in the entire world when they were needed most by the entire world. It made him wince that such a thought should cross her mind. And what did she mean by yet?! Did she expect that he would propose again? It was all too confusing. And so Holmes drove the incident from his mind, said nothing, and followed her.
The two soon came to what was the disastrous origin of one of the bombs- it was completely barren. How shocking it was to be in the bustling, although panicked, city of New London one moment, and then to be confronted by an area of nothingness the next second. The blast radius of the bomb could be approximated to five blocks in all directions. Already, people were gathered around the edges of the bleak circle, while braver ones ventured into the "wreck" to search without hope for whatever could be left after such an appalling attack.
Even Holmes felt a devastating sadness in the air, but Lestrade, who was followed by others who grew braver at the sight of her assured presence, joined the searchers. But the place was a complete clearing, without even a bit of trash or a weed. There was nothing left. Soon, even Lestrade had to give up. She walked back to where Holmes was looking around with her head bent and arms limp at her sides. "It's hopeless." She groaned.
"We should go to Scotland Yard Headquarters." Holmes recommended quietly. He led the way, knowing Lestrade would follow. Onlookers were beginning to go back to their homes, knowing there was nothing they could do. Those who had known the people who were now gone forever as a result of the explosion gathered around the place and wept silently.
When they met with Chief Inspector Greyson at their destination, he was looking deeply troubled. "We know about the explosions. We've just been there." Holmes prompted. Greyson nodded. He brought up a map of New London, with dark bold spots where the bombs had blown. He named them all as Scotland Yard offices. Everyone shuddered. Whoever had done this, and it was obviously Moriarty or one of his henchmen, did not want the interference of the police.
"So New London is without law?" Lestrade whispered in horror. She gasped as Greyson nodded gravely.
"Strange, is it not," Holmes began, plunging the rest into the matter without hesitation or useless bemoaning, "that these bombs were located in the smaller branches, and not the Headquarters of the whole Yard? Wouldn't it be that if someone didn't want the Yard in the business, they would take out Headquarters, where all the information is stored, where things of the greatest importance take place?" It was agreed that Holmes had brought up a good point, and that it was a scary thought: if Moriarty blew up the smaller branches, leaving absolutely nothing behind, what would he do to the highest branch of the Scotland Yard offices?
"Another question is how the bombs got there." Greyson added. But he added that it would be hard to investigate that matter, because the only ones who could tell him of any strange incidents in the smaller offices were no longer with them. The only person who knew the answer to Greyson's question would be the antagonist himself. And they were an unreliable source anyway.
********************* Beth Lestrade was alone. That was how she liked to be. It was the best time to do whatever she wanted, without anyone to get in her way. A second person meant a second opinion, a second voice to listen to and plan around. It was just too much to deal with. Which was why Lestrade joined Scotland Yard. So she could sink herself into her work; it was the best excuse when you didn't want to go somewhere with someone. "Sorry I got to work." It was a perfect reason. Some stupid dip wads at the Yard joined only for others. The people who joined "for the cool uniforms" and the pompous abuse of authority was disgusting. But that wasn't Beth Lestrade's way of doing things.
Watson, her old helper but now Sherlock Holmes' companion, often teased her about her independence and yet having him as an assistant. She couldn't help smiling at the memory as she cleaned her apartment and hummed an old song the evening of the bombings. She heard the door to her rooms open, and she felt the eyes watching her from the doorway. The only people with the key to her residence were her best friends Alice and Edith. Besides, if it was danger it would've taken the surprise chance to attack, so she decided to ignore it until it spoke.
And when it did speak, she was indeed surprised to hear the voice of Holmes himself. It would've taken the hardest torture in the world to get her to admit she had been thinking of him before she sensed the door open.
"Holmes! You," she turned to him, peeved with his coming at a bad time, but calmed herself to keep the annoyance out of her voice, "took me by surprise!"
He smiled, "Of course I did, Inspector. Which is why I saw you tense when you felt me open the door. I may be centuries old, but my lock-picking skills are far from rusty. And it didn't take the sharpest mind to see you decided to ignore my presence. Are you angry at me?" At this last remark Lestrade could here his voice change. But how did it? She couldn't exactly put her finger on it, but banished it from her mind.
"I didn't know it was you." She murmured softly.
"And that's a bad thing?"
She decided to stay quiet. She fiddled with her fingers, waiting for his next remark.
Sherlock Holmes was an impatient man by nature. He was often exasperated with the people around him who couldn't catch on as quickly as himself, and so he found it best to not tell them what he was thinking. But he was worried about Lestrade; the day's experience could easily be labeled traumatizing, and Holmes remembered how pale she was on the journey back to his flats. He found his voice and said to her quietly, "Are you all right? If you feel too- that is, if you don't want to continue for a little while." He paused to get a look at her face. It was a plain face, not one you would consider pretty. Yet, if you took a second glance, the lines of determination and bravery took the place of other features. And they made her more stunning than anything else could.
There were no signs of denial or resentment at his last comment. There was only some tension and a thoughtful, faraway expression on the downcast face. At his pause, she turned away from him and headed for the sofa. He followed, wanting the save her from the awkwardness of speaking. Taking a seat on an armchair, while Lestrade sat on the farther side of the aforementioned sofa, Holmes began again, "I could have a talk with Greyson. He may not take me seriously, since I'm technically 'dead'-"Lestrade's face was still focused on the floor, but a tiny smile danced across her features at Holmes' light joke. She finally looked up at him. Looked right into his gorgeous eyes. They were filled with concern. Holmes took a deep breath, and smiled inwardly at himself- nervousness was foreign to his nature. "-But I'm sure if I were to ask him to give you some time off, or cut you some slack, he would agree immediately."
The regular Beth Lestrade would've been denying all this in a huff and gruffly thank Holmes for his concern before politely kicking him out to return to her work. But it was true that she was disturbed by the day's events. The bombings had shown that Moriarty was indeed at large, and deadly serious about his plans of domination. First there would be domination of New London, then - and she shuddered to think of it - domination of the world. It made her want to grimace, but she fought against it because Holmes was there too.
Holmes seemed to read her mind. "My opinion of you is in no way altered just because of this. Anybody would need some time off after what happened today, and I'm sure in the next few days a lot of work won't be done for just that reason." He then surprised his Victorian half even more by taking her hand with a reassuring squeeze and saying, "You're a strong person, Beth, and I'll always admire you for that. But everyone needs a break at the moment. Even you." Nobody could've said it better. And so Lestrade's mind was put at ease, and Holmes' offhand praise was worth it.
Still, the old Lestrade wouldn't die without a fight. She straightened her back to give herself more conscious authority and counter Holmes' colossal height. "Thanks for your concern, um, Sherlock, but rest assured that I will do all that I can to help, even while I'm resting at home."
Holmes' face grew smug at her last word, and a smirk spread across it. He spoke lightly, in a jesting tone, "My dear Lestrade! And who told you that you'd spend your well-deserved holiday at home? And whoever told you that you're going to spend it by yourself? I won't allow it!" His smile and tone were impishly malicious as he continued, "And I beg of you, don't protest! I've already had that talk with Greyson. I think it in all probability that he was eager to get rid of the cause of those dreadful gray hairs of his, and will be paying-"Two brochures appeared out of thin air and he waved them tauntingly in front of her face. "-For our trip around the world!"
Sherlock Holmes ended his dramatic talk with a large sweep of his arm, and Lestrade was reminded of John Watson's account of the hemoglobin discovery. But before long, the absurdity of the whole thing sank in. First, there was the obviously bogus statement of Greyson paying for the trip. He would gladly send the two of them off on a long trip, but Scotland Yard didn't pay much salary, even to its Chief Inspector. Second, how would New London's law officers fare without two key helpers who were off on some road trip? The trip would make the two unreachable, since they would hardly stay in one place too long. Holmes' restlessness had to kick in at some point. Speaking of which, Lestrade was convinced -even if Holmes' concern for her was enough to make him talk to Greyson tête a tête - he would never leave the familiar surroundings of populous, crime-filled New London for a trip as long as the one he had just described. There must be some other reason behind the one Holmes had given her, and Lestrade was hurt at his falsified speech and dishonesty with her when she was just thinking his feelings were the same as hers. She felt bad enough already.
Lestrade's shadowed face caught Holmes' eye. Alarm ran through his mind. So she's sharper than I thought. Must be hanging around me too much. He had to smile when his thoughts came before he could stop them- but caught himself before it appeared on his face. For once, Sherlock Holmes couldn't think of a bluff or an excuse for his untruthfulness. He stammered out half an alibi before realizing how hurt Lestrade must be. The truth would be the smartest thing for him to say. That, and a humble apology, which wasn't easy for Holmes, who was proud and sometimes even vain when it came to dealing with people of less intuition than himself. And he took his mistakes harder than anything else. But in this case Beth Lestrade was almost as intelligent as he was. She could've given Irene Adler a run for her money. Holmes thought bitterly. He stood up, deciding a quick escape would be better than a quick death by way of unaccepted apology. She stood too, seeing him already beginning calculating his get away.
She stopped him with only two words. "Wait, Holmes." Sherlock couldn't look at her without feeling a funny twisting in his gut. Lestrade continued just as softly, "We both know you weren't telling the complete truth." The edges of her mouth turned up in a resigning smile. "Let's just forget about it. I know you wouldn't lie to me without a good reason." Holmes could've kissed her. She so understood! But he felt she was just being merciful to him, and any extra show of emotion would result in a backhanded slap across his face. Lestrade wasn't sure she had done the right thing either. She had completely taken a chance with the declaration of her forgiveness because she knew he "did it for her own good". For all she knew, he could've been using her. But somehow something inside her said he wasn't, and that he felt the same as she did. Deep down inside, at least.
************* Beth Lestrade met Holmes outside her apartment the next day. She was glad she hadn't decided to pack a lot - Holmes was only carrying two small duffels. Just like him to carry light. She herself had decided to bring her guitar and a couple sets of clothes. There'd probably be stores in . wherever they were going.
"So where to first?" She tried to ask nonchalantly, but she felt the excitement of a trip around the world to be almost uncontrollable. Alone with Holmes... She was suddenly alarmed. I hope they give us separate rooms. She smiled weakly to herself. Holmes turned to her, looking at her as if studying some familiar but complicated puzzle. Then he turned back to the car.
At first she thought he hadn't heard her. But then she became conscious of the fact that he was pausing for dramatic effect. Lestrade really couldn't resist the satisfying action of whacking the Great Detective upside the head. He glared at her, rubbing his noggin, then muttered, "France." Then he continued loading the car, giving an indignant, "Humph."
So that's where we're going! Lestrade thought eagerly. She couldn't wait to get a move on. But Holmes wasn't so sure, reminding her what snobs the French were: "Why, just look at how Fenwick turned out!"
They tossed their stuff into the back of her car and Holmes stepped into the driver's seat. "I hope you looked over those driver's manuals I got you." Lestrade said in a worried tone. His smile didn't do much to comfort her nervousness. Holmes could be cautious enough, but when he was short on time or pursuing a bad guy like Moriarty, his impatience could override his good judgment. She would find out how right she was when they got to Paris: the center of bad driving and snobby policemen. *******