Sherlock Holmes seized Lestrade's arm and pulled her toward him. "Kiss
me." He ordered quietly. Lestrade was appalled. Was it that obvious that
she was thinking of him? Did Holmes recently acquire mind reading
abilities? She could've slapped him across the face for his impudence, but
then she saw in his eyes a seriousness that was only associated with one of
his plans. She hesitated, then leaned closer and gave him a smooch.
Immediately he let out a series of loud moans and groans and threw his arms
around her. It was a comical sight to anyone who knew his thoughts towards
women, but Lestrade caught on and did the same. The robot swerved the car
as it beeped out, "Hey! Hey, back there! Stop that now! This is a police
car, not the Moulin Rouge! Stop that!" But its orders only made Holmes
and Lestrade perform louder and more drastically. Lestrade even ran her
fingers through Holmes' sandy colored hair after he began to roll about.
She wouldn't be outdone. She accidentally laughed out loud at the
situation, but Holmes covered it over with a giggle of his own. His giggle
was lower, of course, but a giggle nonetheless. It made Lestrade want to
laugh more, but she forced herself to focus. With her lips still locked in
his, she situated herself in a position, which would take the droid by
surprise when it rolled down the separation wall.
The robot had been reprogrammed, but it still had a policeman's mind in it. It was furious that the orders it had given were ignored. It would be the laugh of the whole agency if word got out that two prisoners "had a shag" in the backseat of the robot's car and wouldn't listen to its orders. It finally pulled the car over and lowered the separation.
No sooner had he done so, Lestrade had tackled the robot and yanked out its wiring. It didn't even know what hit it. Holmes calmly moved the machine to the passenger's seat, fiddled with its simple programming, and figured out the problem. There was a bug on one of the robot's microchips, a bug that was straightforward but effective. He pocketed it and turned to Lestrade.
"Well, Inspector," he shrugged in his usual manner as if nothing had happened at all and smoothed out his ruffled attire. "I'm afraid we've lost Fenwick and Moriarty for the time being, and our hovercraft must be a long ways off. I suppose we could borrow this one and reprogram the robot again. No need for it to remember any of this. No reason why any of this should reach Deidre's ears, either." He grinned and Lestrade smiled back weakly. Deidre, another Irregular, was fixated on the fact that the two of them should get together. She was convinced the two felt something for one another, despite the fact that all they did was argue. Maybe she's right after all. Lestrade thought as she straightened out her own cloak and set to work on reprogramming the robot. The two of them returned to their hotel tired but satisfied with a day's . "work".
In the hotel room, Lestrade and Holmes discussed the investigations that needed to be done the next day. Holmes insisted they find more leads before pursuing the only one they had at the moment, which was the bug found on the robot. Lestrade argued back that Moriarty's trail had grown cold and if they wanted to find more leads they had to follow the one they had. The two had different ways of working, but for once Sherlock submitted to Lestrade's way. He was too tired to argue with Lestrade, who could keep at an argument for days if she had to. But he'd never admit to his weariness and so he remarked casually to Lestrade, "Well I'm sure you're tired, so I'll let you sleep." And he shot out an arm for the light switch.
Beth grinned evilly from underneath her blankets; she knew exactly what he was doing. "Oh, but Sherlock, I wasn't the one who climbed the Eiffel Tower two times today. And I wasn't the one who thought up a daring and efficient escape plan when a haywire robot wrongly arrested me." She blinked innocently at him. Holmes groaned and turned off the light, turning away from Beth Lestrade. The small hotel room was so cramped that the beds were less than an arm's length apart from each other, and Sherlock Holmes was sure that if he turned in her direction, he would be able to see her Cheshire cat grin - even in the dark.
Beth Lestrade woke up in the morning exhausted after a night of unrest. Not only were the hotel rooms confined and small, but also the walls weren't so thick either. She had heard the neighboring tenant snoring nonstop all night long. It certainly wasn't Holmes; she had rolled him over to check on his breathing. But he was sleeping peacefully and inhaling with clear, deep breaths. Lestrade had half a mind to phone the manager of the hotel to complain of the lack of soundproof walls before she realized the room didn't even have phones. The manager had evidently foreseen the possibility of too many complaints. You would think the Great Detective could afford the greatest. She thought bitterly as she tossed and turned. When she finally fell asleep it was 4 in the morning and Sherlock got up an hour later. Lestrade refused to wake up -she was still half asleep when he tried to make her rise- and her fatigue told Holmes that she had heard the snores as well. Holmes could fall asleep at will, another one of his eccentric abilities, but Lestrade obviously couldn't do so. So he let her sleep and headed out to a light breakfast and following the only lead they had. He took care to send some brunch up to Lestrade in a thermo for when she stirred.
And when she did stir, she was alarmed to find Holmes' bed slept in but empty. But her fears melted when she found the thermos and a note in his firm but rushed handwriting. Lestrade: Am following lead. Keep resting. You will need it. Be back soon. Sleep tight. Don't let the bedbugs bite. S.H. Beth had to smile. She kept the note in her pocket and ate her meal meditatively. She decided to follow Holmes' advice and went back to sleep, which was how he found her when he got back. Holmes cocked his head to one side, unsure of how to wake her up. He picked up the thermos and its tray, lifted it high above his head and dropped it onto the floor. Sure enough, the clamor roused Lestrade.
"Sorry, didn't mean to drop that." He lied, and began picking up the tray. She nodded drowsily, blinked, and got up with a yawn.
"What'd you get?" She prompted. Lestrade looked around, and, remembering the note, pulled it out again and restudied it.
"I can tell you wrote this in a hurry, and so that means you had a very important lead that you couldn't wait to investigate. And from that cocky smile on your face I can tell you succeeded." Beth looked at him, waiting, and then continued without looking away, "You know, I hate bedbugs. I hate any kind of bug, actually."
Holmes' smile broadened. She was right about the note, but not right about why he was smiling. Sherlock was about to give one of his dramatic pauses, but remembered the bruise on the back of his noggin and decided just to tell her. But his sense of mischief got the better of him. He pulled out a crumpled brown bag. "My dear Lestrade, your deductive powers seem to be growing stronger, even as we speak. And as to your prodding, I'm sure you shall find this bag immensely interesting." Holmes tossed it to her, and focused his eyes on her with a look of amusement. Beth Lestrade tore the bag open with curious ferocity, took one look into it, and gave a loud scream.
The robot had been reprogrammed, but it still had a policeman's mind in it. It was furious that the orders it had given were ignored. It would be the laugh of the whole agency if word got out that two prisoners "had a shag" in the backseat of the robot's car and wouldn't listen to its orders. It finally pulled the car over and lowered the separation.
No sooner had he done so, Lestrade had tackled the robot and yanked out its wiring. It didn't even know what hit it. Holmes calmly moved the machine to the passenger's seat, fiddled with its simple programming, and figured out the problem. There was a bug on one of the robot's microchips, a bug that was straightforward but effective. He pocketed it and turned to Lestrade.
"Well, Inspector," he shrugged in his usual manner as if nothing had happened at all and smoothed out his ruffled attire. "I'm afraid we've lost Fenwick and Moriarty for the time being, and our hovercraft must be a long ways off. I suppose we could borrow this one and reprogram the robot again. No need for it to remember any of this. No reason why any of this should reach Deidre's ears, either." He grinned and Lestrade smiled back weakly. Deidre, another Irregular, was fixated on the fact that the two of them should get together. She was convinced the two felt something for one another, despite the fact that all they did was argue. Maybe she's right after all. Lestrade thought as she straightened out her own cloak and set to work on reprogramming the robot. The two of them returned to their hotel tired but satisfied with a day's . "work".
In the hotel room, Lestrade and Holmes discussed the investigations that needed to be done the next day. Holmes insisted they find more leads before pursuing the only one they had at the moment, which was the bug found on the robot. Lestrade argued back that Moriarty's trail had grown cold and if they wanted to find more leads they had to follow the one they had. The two had different ways of working, but for once Sherlock submitted to Lestrade's way. He was too tired to argue with Lestrade, who could keep at an argument for days if she had to. But he'd never admit to his weariness and so he remarked casually to Lestrade, "Well I'm sure you're tired, so I'll let you sleep." And he shot out an arm for the light switch.
Beth grinned evilly from underneath her blankets; she knew exactly what he was doing. "Oh, but Sherlock, I wasn't the one who climbed the Eiffel Tower two times today. And I wasn't the one who thought up a daring and efficient escape plan when a haywire robot wrongly arrested me." She blinked innocently at him. Holmes groaned and turned off the light, turning away from Beth Lestrade. The small hotel room was so cramped that the beds were less than an arm's length apart from each other, and Sherlock Holmes was sure that if he turned in her direction, he would be able to see her Cheshire cat grin - even in the dark.
Beth Lestrade woke up in the morning exhausted after a night of unrest. Not only were the hotel rooms confined and small, but also the walls weren't so thick either. She had heard the neighboring tenant snoring nonstop all night long. It certainly wasn't Holmes; she had rolled him over to check on his breathing. But he was sleeping peacefully and inhaling with clear, deep breaths. Lestrade had half a mind to phone the manager of the hotel to complain of the lack of soundproof walls before she realized the room didn't even have phones. The manager had evidently foreseen the possibility of too many complaints. You would think the Great Detective could afford the greatest. She thought bitterly as she tossed and turned. When she finally fell asleep it was 4 in the morning and Sherlock got up an hour later. Lestrade refused to wake up -she was still half asleep when he tried to make her rise- and her fatigue told Holmes that she had heard the snores as well. Holmes could fall asleep at will, another one of his eccentric abilities, but Lestrade obviously couldn't do so. So he let her sleep and headed out to a light breakfast and following the only lead they had. He took care to send some brunch up to Lestrade in a thermo for when she stirred.
And when she did stir, she was alarmed to find Holmes' bed slept in but empty. But her fears melted when she found the thermos and a note in his firm but rushed handwriting. Lestrade: Am following lead. Keep resting. You will need it. Be back soon. Sleep tight. Don't let the bedbugs bite. S.H. Beth had to smile. She kept the note in her pocket and ate her meal meditatively. She decided to follow Holmes' advice and went back to sleep, which was how he found her when he got back. Holmes cocked his head to one side, unsure of how to wake her up. He picked up the thermos and its tray, lifted it high above his head and dropped it onto the floor. Sure enough, the clamor roused Lestrade.
"Sorry, didn't mean to drop that." He lied, and began picking up the tray. She nodded drowsily, blinked, and got up with a yawn.
"What'd you get?" She prompted. Lestrade looked around, and, remembering the note, pulled it out again and restudied it.
"I can tell you wrote this in a hurry, and so that means you had a very important lead that you couldn't wait to investigate. And from that cocky smile on your face I can tell you succeeded." Beth looked at him, waiting, and then continued without looking away, "You know, I hate bedbugs. I hate any kind of bug, actually."
Holmes' smile broadened. She was right about the note, but not right about why he was smiling. Sherlock was about to give one of his dramatic pauses, but remembered the bruise on the back of his noggin and decided just to tell her. But his sense of mischief got the better of him. He pulled out a crumpled brown bag. "My dear Lestrade, your deductive powers seem to be growing stronger, even as we speak. And as to your prodding, I'm sure you shall find this bag immensely interesting." Holmes tossed it to her, and focused his eyes on her with a look of amusement. Beth Lestrade tore the bag open with curious ferocity, took one look into it, and gave a loud scream.