[Author's note: In case you're wondering, I never found my notes so I'm trying to wing it as far as I can. I can't even remember what was on that piece of paper, so I don't know how bad it is yet...
Being not only a hopeless romantic but also a big Monty Python fan, I'm naming my little shadow demon "monty". * Pat monty on head * And Romeo's first name was Montague… ;)
j.r.: Heh heh. You want to say it, monty?
M: On with the monty.
j.r.: motley
M: same difference… :P
j.r.: not really
m: oh hush
In other news, monty (previously nicknamed tickle me nightmare) is trying to memorize the manual himself because I told him I had homework to do. *Pat monty on "head"* well not really homework I guess but … ficcys are good, rite? : D
Actually he just looks like a ball of fluff when he isn't shadowed. Right now he's shadowed into Einstein. Go figure; nightmare, that book would make war and peace look like a "dick and Jane" book!!]
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Sherlock Holmes massaged his temples: what a day! But he kept his energetic face on as he examined the janitor's room they stood in. It was normal enough: shelves full of air freshener bottles and other cleaning supplies filled up the wall to his right; to his left were the maintenance robots; and directly behind him loomed the main control system for all the cleaning machines. And the door was straight ahead, a large vent right above it…
"Of course!" Holmes cried out, rushing under the vent and trying the reach it, stretching his long thin arms up as high as possible. The vent, which looked big enough for him and maybe the Inspector (if she every stopped laughing) to crawl through on all fours, was still too far away. Groaning as he scrunched his body back up again, Holmes turned to Lestrade, who had miraculously shut up but did not appear to be ashamed of her outburst. Her auburn eyes had followed Holmes' movements curiously, and, registering comprehension, she bid the gang of recreated teenagers to listen up.
The great detective had to grin; it was nice having Lestrade as a "partner" after all… He cleared his throat and held his hand out for Scooby to sniff, and motioned for his colleague to do the same. Once Scooby was sure to have their scent in his mind, however dim it might've been, Holmes nodded and indicated the air vents.
"The Inspector and I will crawl through the vents and try to see if we can locate the room in which Daphne is being held. I know it sounds old fashioned," he grinned again at Lestrade's crestfallen face, "but I must remind you that this is California, the land of Hollywood and cliché movies… When in Rome, do as the Romans-" Sure enough, he was interrupted by Beth's scowl and reluctant voice, which finished his sentence slowly and in a monotone tone [no pun intended].
Fred, who seemed to have brightened considerably, took control immediately. "You're the man, Mr. Holmes! I'll… err... bring you a chair?" He strode out the room, Velma and Scooby following, but Shaggy trailed behind and only dashed out after giving Holmes and Lestrade a wink. Both chose to pretend they hadn't seen the lecherous wink in case the other had.
"So where do we start?" Lestrade always plunged straight into battle; why stop now? Looking around for something to stand on, Lestrade grabbed the tallest shelf of air fresheners she could reach and hoisted herself onto it. Holmes watched in amusement as she climbed up each shelf like a ladder until she got to the tallest one. Next she stretched her arm out toward the vent. Her fingertips were only an inch away from it. Pivoting her toes little by little, she was able to move closer in the direction of the door. But then the shelf collapsed.
With a yell she landed on her rump, rolling away just in time to keep the shelf from squashing her. As she stood, evidently disgusted, Sherlock spoke up teasingly, "Elementary Psychics, my dear Lestrade. I do believe you went to school, did you not?" His silver eyes shone apologetically the next instant so she decided not to make them black and blue. But she did cross her arms and challenge him to think of something great. And he did so, of course, very quickly. Not that it was great in her favor, though.
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Scooby's stomach rumbled loudly as the whole gang stood outside the door waiting for Holmes' signal: three metallic pangs which were supposed to come from somewhere above their heads. They didn't want to get in the way of "whatever was going on in their" Shaggy mentioned casually, especially if it was important detective work that they couldn't possibly follow. But, since they were still detectives in some way and still held on to a shred of pride, Fred and Velma went over the clues, bouncing theories off each other while Shaggy and Scooby simply daydreamed of other things like food.
"I think Squaw did it; you remember how he knew the Inspector was from Scotland Yard without us or his boss telling him?" Fred protested.
"Yes, but we should still keep an open mind. Remember when you used to think Red Herring was behind every little mystery? You had proof most of the time, but sometimes it still turned out to be somebody else!" Velma pointed out innocently, making her friend turn Red.
"Well this time it couldn't BE anyone else!" He defended arrogantly.
"There are a lot of suspects whether we like it or not. Even Mr. Lou can't be ruled out! Insurance gives a lot these days! There's Mr. Lucas, the guard who stopped us: his boss told him about us coming (a fact I verified when we were talking to Mr. Lou), but he still refused to let us in. Arnold Trojan, another scientist, was really nervous during our talk, and the Asian, however eager she was to cooperate, can't be ruled out either."
"You've forgotten Seth Pratt." Fred taunted smugly. "Just because he's a 'cutie' doesn't mean he isn't a criminal." Velma looked hurt. She muttered something about having gotten his autograph but then trailed off. Lucky for her she was saved from further embarrassment by the three sharp clangs that sounded from inside the room…
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"I do hope you didn't step in dog poo today, Inspector."
"Oh I don't know, Holmes; Scooby eats a lot for one pup."
It was a comedic sight to see Sherlock Holmes standing nonchalantly but with his arms grasped firmly around Beth Lestrade's calves. She was standing on his shoulders, wavering slightly and unsteadily, and together they measured at least 11 feet. But it was no use; she needed to be just a little higher… Conveying her thoughts to the person below her, she felt Holmes' arms shoot up and found herself in a sitting position, perched atop a Victorian gentleman's palms.
Restraining herself from issuing another vicious snarl, Lestrade reached up. Her hand touched the vent easily. So it did work… She thought privately, and she proceeded to unscrew the fastenings of the metal window, trying not to be distracting by the fact that her uniform was made of Spandex.
"If I catch you looking up, Sherlock Holmes, I will personally make sure you won't live to see New London again."
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[So read and review! Flames welcome since I have my own Nightmare now… * cough * HMM that movie "Texas Chain Saw Massacre" could be remade if something else like that happened… * cough *
monty: * sneers and turns to cowering readers (yea right) * she's only joking – she wouldn't be able to hurt a fly if she tried…
j.r. * Grins evilly *: Oh but you would… if you were a flyswatter… * gets ideas * pwahaha.]