[Author's note:
Jaka ray steps out humming linkin park and Simon & garfunkel songs:
Ok, first of all, the new Simon & garfunkel tour is the bomb, and I got to see it on Art's birthday (November 5th), which was really special! I had the time of my life!
Sorry about the slow updates…]
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Sherlock Holmes [do I really start every chapter with "Sherlock Holmes"? Well, just goes to show how loved he is… ;)] shifted his weight hesitantly. He was careful not to drop the Inspector, even if she made no effort to catch the screws that she removed. Luckily they were far from hitting him, but it was unnerving because if he moved too much he would slip immediately on the circular bolts. Yes, he thought to himself, it was the wrong day to wear those slippery brown loafer shoes.
Finally he heard a creak and knew Lestrade had gotten the shaft open. What a relief! Slowly but surely she lifted off of his palms and pulled herself into the vent. With a few shuffles and scuffles and groans, Beth was able to squeeze in.
"I told you not to eat those cream puffs, Inspector!" Holmes called out from below, fully aware that she could do nothing to hurt him from her position. However, Lestrade quickly sent her spare screwdriver rolling toward the open vent and it hit the man smack on the forehead. Rubbing the mark, which he felt was bruising already, Holmes jeered, "Well ex-cuuuse me, Britney Spears…" A horrified squeak and tugging of Spandex uniform told the detective that his jest had hit its mark. Smirking gleefully, Sherlock crossed his arms and waited for her to help him up. Instead, however, the female was still. I do hope she isn't stuck, he thought privately. What an inconvenience that would be!
"Uh, Holmes?" Lestrade's voice was tentative and muffled. "I'm facing the wrong direction: my head is facing away from the hole…" Breathing a sigh of relief but muttering to himself, the detective instructed her slowly to back up over the gape.
"Ohhh…" Lestrade cursed her own stupidity, growling to nobody in particular, "No shit, Sherlock."
"Ahem."
"Oops. Sorry Holmes. Oof."
"You should've done those sit-ups like I asked you to, too, Inspector."
"Shut it, Sherlock."
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Outside, the gang was about to start following Holmes and Lestrade's scent from the ventilation system when Scooby started to growl. And I don't mean his stomach: I mean a rumbling growl from deep within the throat that signaled the dog's unhappiness. Turning to see what the fuss was about, every member tried to look casual when they saw Timothy Squaw approaching. Shaggy smiled weakly and waved, but the man's eyebrows narrowed and the boy noticed his teeth were pointed as he said, "Well look-y here! If it ain't the Ghostbusters from the beaches of hell! Where's the crappie chappie from across the pond?" [As in, across the Atlantic Ocean]
Even while the rest of his friends cowered, Freddy took the bull by the horns and stepped forward pompously. Which isn't always the smartest thing to do. "How'd you know Mr. Holmes was from New London? And how'd you know the Inspector was from Scotland Yard? Is it because you're the one behind all this? Huh?"
For a moment, surprise seemed to flicker in Squaw's eyes, but in the next moment they were hard again. In a mockingly British drawl he exulted slyly, "Eyes and brains, you little hippie. Isn't that what your ol' detective used to say?" He stopped a minute to give a cruel smile. "And as for the broad, I could read that ID tag from a mile away." Fred's hands were clenched as tightly as his jaw, so Shaggy stepped into his place.
"Don't you have some crimes to commit?" The man looked like he was about to tear Shaggy apart with his blazing eyes alone, but Velma placed herself between the two, shooing Squaw away with a silent glare. Then she turned on Shaggy.
"You know better than to put yourself in danger like that!" She snapped angrily. Shaggy looked confused; hadn't he just stood up for their leader? And now the brain of the gang was mad at him? At least food doesn't talk back to you, a voice in his head said. This time, however, it was Fred who broke it up, again reprimanding both sides of the battle for their immaturity but still being fair. He made the two of them shake hands good-naturedly, but of course, when he and Velma turned their backs, Shaggy stuck out his tongue at both of them.
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Trying to figure out how to get her companion up the eleven feet that separated them, Beth Lestrade could find no other way but to hang upside down from the vent as far as she could go and instruct Holmes to jump. And when he did grab onto her arms she had her legs locked into position and didn't fall. Holmes awkwardly tried to climb up, but found it increasingly embarrassing, as there was nothing to hold onto once he got past her shoulders. And he was too much of a gentleman to… Well I'll leave it at that. [*Grin mischievously *]
"Couldn't you try and swing yourself up?" Lestrade growled, trying to hide her face, which was beet red from hanging upside down so long (and from realizing the handhold-foothold situation, too). He tried to do so, but ended up grabbing her belt instead. Luckily for both of them the belt was enough for the incredibly lean detective to scramble into the shaft. Lestrade followed suit and soon found the Great Detective's ass in her face.
"Please don't fart." She muttered to herself. Holmes pretended he hadn't heard her. Clearing his throat crisply, he lead the way as quietly as possible through the metal duct, making sure to tap loudly when they were over the rest of the group. When he was sure that Scooby was on their scent Sherlock continued on, Lestrade right behind him by a few inches, careful to stay just the right amount of distance away from him but still keeping up to his swift movements. Every so often they came across a vent like the one they had removed in the janitor's closet, which showed a room filled with scientific junk, and soon even Lestrade had a mental map of the building. She could hear Holmes mumbling to himself as well.
"First laboratory, second, right turn, empty office, left, left, another lab…" But pretty soon the crawling was become monotonous and mechanical. Lestrade's limbs moved rhythmically and predictably, following Holmes' Inverness covered bottom. That was until that bottom stopped with a halt and she crashed right into it. Springing back as quickly and gracefully as she could, Lestrade babbled an apology but was shushed by Holmes, whose hand was waving frantically for quiet.
"What is it?" Lestrade hissed between her teeth. His reply was so low she could barely make out [*getting ideas? Jk *] the words. Nevertheless, any stranger would've been able to hear the thrill in his voice as he whispered, "We've found her."
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Shaggy held his dog's leash tightly in his hand, in case he zoned out and got separated from the gang like always, at least he'd have Scooby. Not much help, I know, but you must remember they were best buds. The perky pup yelped at every indication of a refreshed scent, meaning that they were still on the detectives' trail. Velma and Fred jogged behind the two, minds still pondering who was the real culprit behind this puzzling mess that became a ficcy. Their thoughts, however, were interrupted by Scooby's interruption: he careened to a stop just outside a closed door, waddling around in circles, whimpering sadly.
"Aw Scoob'! You didn't lose their smell, didja?" Shaggy whined. His dog looked up at the master dejectedly, but Freddy solved the problem.
"Don't be so pessimistic, you guys! Maybe Mr. H and the Inspector stopped as well. Or they've found Daphne!" This last statement was more to himself than the rest of his friends, and his voice was tinted with steady hope.
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[Author's note: As always, read and review, and I'll be sure to finish up the story in the next one or two chapters… Maybe three chapters if you're lucky/unlucky. If that's the case, I'll be sure to make it a cliffy... ;) Hey! This wasn't a cliffy!]