Author's Note: AHHH!!! I haven't updated in so long! And I bet I've lost 3/4 of my readers, just like mysha said... :( well... here I am anyways. Its summer so I got to update at least once! I got this idea from watching Tom and Jerry (yea...) episode. I'm very sorry if the story's confusing. Especially if I've stayed away so long you need some memory refreshing... :(

The gang all felt the regretful pangs of letting the criminals escape with the heating crystals, especially during the nighttime, when temperatures dropped dangerously and one couldn't survive with simply one blanket. Beth Lestrade could be found complaining loudly about the cold in the mornings, although she never blamed anyone for the loss of the crystals, as that would make her shiver even more, both from remembrance of her escapade and the method by which she was saved after it. Erika and Watson would sit by nodding their heads methodically, but Sherlock Holmes' eyes and his ears were nowhere to be found; he set out bright and early each morning to search for leads as to where the criminals had gone. The path had gone quite cold.

But all was not in vain, for at last, at long last, the detective appeared at the breakfast table one morning, a very rare occurrence indeed, and it aroused the curiosity of all, regardless of whether or not they chose to show it. Watson broke the ice with a straightforward question, as he was indeed programmed to do so...

"Holmes, my dear chap, would you like some butter with your toast?"

Erika and Lestrade both twitched, and even Holmes gave the robot a funny look. Watson, realizing the question all three wanted him to ask, stuttered, "Err, I mean, what brings you to the breakfast table so... err... early?"

His companions all smiled with relief, and the detective shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly and eased through his speech.

"Watson, my friend, I'm very glad you asked that, for I wasn't sure how to present this information before you." From the look of things, Sherlock Holmes had planned the presentation in his sleep, for he spoke with an emphasis here or a suspenseful pause there. "My trekking of the formidable Alaskan terrain has not proven fruitless, and while I'm sure my company has not been not missed, it certainly wasn't at all not worth your while." Holmes used the time his friends took to untangle his double negatives to withdraw a ... rubber duck?

"Whoops, wrong pocket." Returning it to one of the many pockets in his coat, Holmes patted his sides awhile before giving out a triumphant hiccup and extracted a small concealable camera the size of a pin, which of course projected pictures as big as you desired. Of course, you would have to purchase the deluxe super mega stand which powered the camera, and that certainly was rather bulky. A piece of equipment the size of your fist is pretty large for the 22nd century...

Holmes fumbled with the gadgetry for a few minutes, muttering something under his breath that sounded like "midget trolls nibble my toes in the nighttime" but what really was "a pox on the annoyingly complex machines of the future". Cold weather does funny things to people's hearing, I've discovered.

At last he was able to show his friends the pictures he had uploaded, of a certain female they all knew. Breaths abated all around the table as they stared at the photography frozen features of Melanie Dawson.

Deidre and the Irregulars were confused. "Isn't that the wench Grayson was talking to in 'is office the day you two left? She seemed pretty stuck-up to me and Tennyson..." The boy beeped in agreement and Wiggins blushed. "I thought she was pretty... in a stuck-up way," he added quickly when Lestrade scowled at him.

Sherlock grinned. "Your youthful memories suit you well. It is indeed Miss Dawson from the Yard, whose imaginary boyfriend worked at one of the ... erased offices of New Scotland Yard." A moment of silence passed as all remembered the bombings that completely wiped out offices around New London. Then he continued, "I've done some snooping around in various places and discovered her apartment as well as her false identity..."

Erika spoke up for the first time. "I don't think she would be foolish enough to stay here after stealing the crystals. It's criminal suicide."

Lestrade nodded. "I agree. How can you be sure she's still living there?"

Holmes put up his hands as if alarmed that the two had taken his skills for granted. "Simply that a blizzard has surrounded our city, making it impossible for anything to get out or in, also the reason I wasn't able to get reinforcements from New London," he frowned, then went on. "Besides, as I was watching her apartment, she coincidentally stepped out of the door and into her craft. Now, I trailed her without her knowledge and found that she likes to visit a certain new café, Le Bat En Rouge, and was met by a mysterious Englishman..."

Lestrade instantly sat up straight. "Moriarty! Of course! She's meeting him there to discuss their next move!" A nod from Holmes convinced her beyond a doubt. "Well, then what are we waiting for? Let's get them!" She stood with a burst of energy, but was gently tugged down again by Erika, who indicated that Holmes had more to say.

With a look of silent thanks for subduing the Inspector, Sherlock cleared his throat. "Well, I do have a plan as to how to lure her over and get her to confess..." He focused his gaze on Watson the droid, and the others followed his gaze. Watson, befuddled, was sure his old friend had some favor to ask of him. As always, he'd be glad to help.

Hopefully.

Lestrade, the Irregulars, and Erika sat at the living room table of their temporary lodgings awaiting Holmes' and Watson's returns from wherever they went to find Melanie Dawson. Without heating, all three were shivering in their wool socks, even though Erika had made some nice warm soup for them. Erika came back from the kitchen with more soup and noticed Lestrade's shaking. "You know, Beth, you could always borrow Holmes' blanket at night." She suggested absent-mindedly. Deidre snickered. Erika added quickly, "But not like that. I meant from his suitcase, of course." She looked sternly at the only female Irregular, who didn't flinch. "I didn't mean it like they're not sleeping in the same room, Deidre, so you needn't bother thinking of saying it."

The girl seemed unconvinced, but nodded slyly. Glaring at Deidre, Lestrade replied stiffly that she didn't want the eyes and brains of the group to freeze to death. Erika shrugged and sat down on a chair, sipping her soup quietly.

Everybody sat up when the front door banged open and Sherlock Holmes came in, falling onto the couch in a fit of laughter, slapping his forehead with the back of his hand as if making sure he didn't have a fever from the intense amusement. Soon, Watson's voice came from the steps below, slowly entering the room with pounding steps. "Oh come off it, Holmes! You haven't written a monograph upon this subject, and so I beg of you, desist!"

When the detective continued laughing, Watson huffed indignantly and sat upon a nearby couch, looking quite hurt. Everybody else, still quite confused, waited patiently, except for Tennyson, who gave Holmes a punch in the shoulder. This caused the silly sleuth to calm down a bit, and gave him a chance to wipe the tears from his eyes. But his explanation, broken up often by bouts of merriment, was as incoherent as ever, causing them to look to Watson instead.

The compudroid, supposedly devoid of real emotion, flushed as he explained Holmes' behavior as if to a group of tourists in the chimpanzee section of a zoo.

A/N: R&R please. I won't wait for reviews to post the next chapter, of course, but they'll be appreciated.