Author's notes: Wanna give a big thanks to Sigerson and Silvarius
for the push to write. This is my first fic, so please R & R!
Disclaimer: I don't own SH22 in any way! That is the property of DIC
Entertainment. Sherlock Holmes comes from the mind of Sir Arthur Conan
Doyle. Only certain characters are mine!
###
A couple hours had passed since Lestrade left for 221B. In the
meantime Jessica had continued to pace. She kept nervously checking at
the window to see if he was still there. He was that ugly troll
of a man - that one Lestrade once told her about in passing. His name
was Fenwick, Moriarty's henchman! He had been watching her through a
pair of binoculars. He was perching in a tree in view of a number of
the building's apartments, trying to remain hidden. She couldn't
understand why the 'Napoleon of Crime' was tormenting her, she
suspected that it had something to do with her relationship with
Lestrade. She could only hope that he would leave when Beth got home.
Her apartment was the only one in the building that was modified to
better fit her unique needs. The doorways were widened slightly so she
could maneuver her walker through, and there was an extra power outlet
used for the recharging station of her hoverchair. In the living room
was a special recliner which could move whoever was seated in it into
standing position at the push of a button, which was a necessity
because she had trouble getting out of a chair on her own. She had a
normal sofa positioned near it. The kitchen was also modified so it was
bigger and easier to access. Her bathroom and bedroom were joined and
built in the same manner.
Jess took a deep breath and tried
to relax. Tapping a few keys on her computer, she pulled up her music
program and set a playlist. Some old American music by Sheryl Crow was
her favorite, and she knew the words by heart. She had even gone so far
as to learn a song or two on her guitar. As the music began to play,
she hummed along softly and tried to forget her troubles.
###
Lestrade and Holmes were still back at Baker Street, Holmes pondering
over who or what could be troubling the girl. The only sounds that
could be heard were being made by Watson, who was in the kitchen
preparing some tea. Holmes finally broke the stifling silence.
"Lestrade, would your friend still be awake at this hour?" Lestrade
looked up at Holmes' ancient grandfather clock. She was fairly shocked
to find that it was already eleven o'clock. Odd, she thought, it wasn't that dark when I got here.
"I think so; she's usually practicing her guitar or listening to her
music right about now. Why do you ask?" Before he could answer, Watson
came in with a tray balancing two cups brimming with tea. She took hers
and sipped it gingerly, wondering how wise it was to have caffeine so
late in the evening. She really just wanted to go to bed. It had been a
long day at the Yard. But her friends were far more important than
sleep, anyway.
Waving Watson's proffered teacup away
impatiently, Holmes jumped up from his chair and collected his
inverness and deerstalker from their respective hooks at the door,
yelling to Watson that he was going to Lestrade's building. This was
news to Lestrade, and she downed as much of her tea as possible before
standing and re-holstering her ionizer.
"I believe that we
should go back to your building and try to assist your young friend."
Lestrade sighed and rolled her eyes at him, but he chose to ignore her.
"Watson, will you be joining us?"
"I'm afraid not, Holmes. My
battery packs are very low, and I need to uplink with the Yard soon."
The technobabble seemed to bewilder Holmes, for he simply nodded sagely
and descended the seventeen steps without comment. Lestrade waved and
smiled at Watson before joining him.
"She might not want our
help, Holmes." Lestrade remarked with the air of one who suffers much.
Or at least one who is ignored a great deal by her 'subordinate'. "It
took me quite a while to earn her trust when she was little."
"Ah, I see." he replied in a voice that made it clear that he didn't
see. "Shall we, then?" Not in the mood to argue at this point, Lestrade
simply shrugged and followed him out the door.