Disclaimer: I don't own 'em
A/N: This is something I wrote before I ever posted my first fic "The Case of the Singular Suitor" to Maureen O'Brien's SH22 fansite. That version was written a week after I finished this one, and you can see a lot of differences. There's also a couple of things that I used for the sequels to that version, which if you've read them, you'll probably catch.
And now…on with the fic…
The Case of the Singular Suitor
(from the writings of the new Watson)
We were sitting in the rooms at Baker Street across from the fireplace, when Holmes—who was settled back in his chair with his eyes closed, playing the odd keyboard-like instrument—suddenly said, "I think you should do it, Watson."
I nodded, then started. "Now really Holmes…" I began.
"Ah Watson," he said with a smile, "It is quite obvious that you've met a lovely robotic young lady and are wondering whether or not to ask her out."
I sputtered. "But how could you possibly…"
"Really, Watson, it's so simple I'm rather embarrassed to explain. When you came in you had a rather fatuous look on your face. The spot of oil on your shirt is not yours, so I inferred that it was another robot. The two tickets in your pocket are for the annual policeman's dance, and as you keep glancing at them and then smile with a puzzled air, I deduced that you were contemplating on asking your new friend to the dance. Hence my comment that I thought you should."
He sat up and pushed the keyboard aside.
"Are you sure Holmes?" I asked.
"Of course. I wouldn't have said it otherwise. Besides, you look as if you could use some fun; you were already planning to go, you don't have to go with me." He settled back in his char.
"But what will you do, Holmes?"
"Honestly, Watson. I am a big boy now. Granted I am now only twenty-five when I was ninety-eight, but I'm still able to care for myself. And amuse myself."
Before I could respond, the vidphone rang. Holmes answered it.
"Yes, Lestrade. What can I do for you?" Holmes had an amused expression on his face, so I moved to where I could also see. Inspector Lestrade's usual fierce, assertive visage now looked decidedly uncomfortable. She sighed.
"Inspector Greyson has just informed me that I must go to the dance on Friday and that I must take a date. He's even picked one out for me. You've heard of Evan Newman? Yeah. Anyway, I was wondering if you could come and call me away on a case or something?"
I was amazed. Evan Newman was the richest man in England. He was also as steadfast a bachelor as Holmes. Most women would have given their arms to be in Lestrade's position. But then, Lestrade was not most women.
Instead of growing up with tea parties and sleepovers, she had grown up with karate classes and my journals—well my predecessor's journals at any rate. Also, she was the only female that I had ever known Holmes to speak with and of on equal terms.
"Well, Holmes?" Lestrade asked, rather desperately.
"I don't know…" Holmes began, a twinkle in his eye.
"Holmes!" she yelled.
"Oh very well. You can count on me," he said mock-grudgingly.
"Thanks." She smiled briefly and signed off.
"Well, what do you think old man?" Holmes asked, turning to me.
"Hm. I find it rather odd that Newman would go out with Lestrade just because Chief Inspector Greyson asked him to."
Holmes chuckled. "Exactly, Watson."
My puzzlement must have shown because he grunted in annoyance.
"It is obvious that Mr. Newman requested this favor of Inspector Greason, who as you know, bends under the pressure of influence quite easily." This last was said with derision.
"But that would mean that Newman knows Lestrade," I said.
Holmes nodded. "Yes, though it is odd that he wouldn't ask Lestrade himself. However, it is useless to theorize before receiving all the facts."
With that, he settled back into his chair and began playing the keyboard again.
I knew that he was trying to think so I let him be.
Friday morning dawned bright and clear. Holmes was nowhere to be found; it always amazed me that he was able to sneak past me, as I—being a robot—did not need sleep. My mind once again turned to the dance being held that night. Annie, my robot lady friend, had agreed to accompany me.
Holmes had told me to take the hovercoach, since he had no need of it.
I wondered exactly how he was going to 'rescue' Lestrade, then decided I didn't want to know.
That night, Annie and I were chatting with Inspector Greyson and his wife, when a vision walked into the ballroom. She was absolutely beautiful, and if I were indeed my predecessor, no doubt I wouldn't have been able to keep my eyes off her.
She was tall with creamy white shoulders, shown off by the strapless sapphire blue dress she wore. The dress itself was long, reaching almost to the floor, with a split from the thigh down. Her dark brown hair was coifed in ringlets atop her head.
Her companion rather paled in comparison. He had very pale blond hair and was one inch shorter than she. He wore a black tux that looked as if it would fall off of him any second. Neither of them was close enough yet for me to identify.
Then, the woman moved decisively toward us. The man walked behind her, nodding to several people. Those same people gaped at the young woman as if they couldn't believe their eyes. Then the couple stopped in front of us, and I realized with a jolt that the young woman was Lestrade.
"Ah Mr. Newman," Greyson said, "Lestrade. I trust you are both having a good evening."
He also seemed taken aback at the Inspector's appearance. Lestrade ignored him and smiled at me, a question in her eyes. I shrugged to let her know I had no clue as to when Holmes would arrive or what he would do.
She sighed.
"Not tired already Beth?" Newman asked. His voice was very soothing.
"No," she answered, but didn't elaborate. It was obvious she didn't want to be here, but Newman seemed oblivious to it.
"Beth's parents and I are good friends," he said softly. I could see why women liked him. He was charming in an unobtrusive sort of way. No doubt irresistible.
Except for Lestrade, who was resisting quite well. She kept looking around the crowded room, as if for someone. I knew who she was looking for, but Greyson didn't, and judging by the way he kept looking at Evan Newman, he was afraid she'd alienate him. But Newman either didn't realize what she was doing or ignored.
I suspected the former. He was the type of man whose ego didn't permit him to believe that he wasn't the center of everyone's attention.
Two hours later, Holmes still hadn't shown up, and Lestrade was becoming more agitated. The dancing wasn't going to start for another thirty minutes, but I had the feeling that Lestrade most definitely did not want to dance with Newman.
Twenty minutes later, the room was again struck into silence, this time by a tall, thin man with reddish blond hair. Like all the other men, he too wore a black tux. I was surprised when the man made his way toward us. As he came closer, I realized it was Holmes.
When he reached us, I noticed that Newman looked ridiculous beside him. Lestrade had a look of relief about her.
"So Holmes. I see you decided to come after all," she said liltingly.
He merely arched an eyebrow at her. Then he did a double take. I was amused to see his face flush a little. He cleared his throat. "I'm afraid I'm not here to stay, but I didn't think the guards at the door would let me through without this suit. Hence my outfit. The reason I'm here is to tell you that I've spotted Moriarty and am in need of your…expertise," he finished.
Newman shook his head. "Now Mr. Holmes, Beth has earned a respite, and she's going to take…" He stopped as Holmes settled his sharp blue-eyed gaze on him.
Lestrade instantly started walking toward the door. "Sorry Evan, but business before…vacation," she said lightly.
Holmes smiled sardonically and followed. Annie touched my arm and told me to go with them. I started to protest, but Mrs. Greyson said she'd be happy to take Annie home. So, with no more excuses, I followed the retreating Holmes and Lestrade.
Once outside, Lestrade stepped into Holmes' hovercoach. Holmes turned and looked at me in amusement then got in after her. I followed suit and got behind the controls.
"Now Lestrade. If you don't wish to marry the fellow, why do you not simply tell him no?" Holmes stated this in a matter-of-fact manner, but I was still glad I was driving and not Lestrade. Although I am certain he would not have brought it up if she had been. Her driving was notoriously bad.
"What. Do. You. Mean?" Lestrade asked, a barely contained fury in her voice.
"Come now Lestrade, surely you expected me to figure it out, else you never would have asked me for help," Holmes replied.
"Oh all right," she conceded, "but it isn't as simple as telling him no. He ignores me, and tells me I'm too young to know about things like this and to take my time to think it over."
"He said your parents and he are friends," I put in.
"Were friends. Emphasis on 'were'," she said, "My parents died when I was fifteen and he became my legal guardian. In my parents' will, he was left a goodly sum of creds and the option of asking me to marry him on my 21st birthday. Or any time after."
At that moment, we arrived at Baker Street, and we paused our conversation long enough to get settled inside. Once we were arranged, Holmes asked, "Did you see the will yourself?"
"No," she shook her head. "This is what Evan's told me."
Holmes frowned. "And you've taken his word for it?"
She frowned also. "Why shouldn't I have? Evan may be a pompous, arrogant fool, but he's too unimaginative to make something like that up."
I had to agree.
"Nevertheless," Holmes stated. "Perhaps it would be best if we investigated Mr. Newman's background."
Lestrade shrugged. "As long as you keep him away from me," she asserted.
Holmes frowned again. "Why don't you wish to marry an obviously available man?" he asked.
Lestrade inexplicably blushed. "I…I…I already told you. He's too unimaginative," she replied succinctly. Holmes raised an eyebrow. "Oh okay," she relented, "he's never been the one I wanted to marry. I fell in love with a much older man. I decided then and there, that if I couldn't marry him, I would marry no one." She said the last defiantly, as though to dare us to naysay her.
I, needless to say, was taken by surprise.
Looking at Holmes, I could see he was too.
"Tell me, Lestrade," Holmes asked gently, "did this older man ever notice you?"
She looked at Holmes and smiled sardonically. "Not until recently," she stated, "And certainly not in a romantic way."
Holmes looked sympathetic, which surprised me. I would never get his limits as long as I lived—or was around. Then, I realized who the older man was.
It should have been obvious to someone with Holmes' deductive reasoning. Yet, I knew that the softer emotions were not his forte.
Later, after Holmes had left to see what he could find out about Evan Newman's background, I sat down on the couch next to Lestrade. She was staring out into space.
"It's Holmes, isn't it?" I asked softly.
She blinked and looked over at me, then smiled sadly. "What makes you say that?"
"Well, two hundred years is definitely older," I began, "and when you were eleven, Holmes was not yet revived, so how could he notice you?
"As for the fact that he only just noticed you, well it was only a year ago that he went through the cellular revivication process." I didn't say this aloud, but it also answered the question of why she had dressed up so nice for someone she didn't like.
I'm certain that if Holmes had told her he would help her, she would have dressed as dowdily as possible.
She blushed. "Congratulations," she said, "Holmes would be proud of you." She stood up and walked to the door. "Could you give me a lift back to my apartment? I really want to get out of this dress."
I quickly acquiesced.
Once I was back at Baker Street, I pondered everything that happened. I was, I realized, angry with Holmes. How could he not know how Lestrade felt about him, and if he did know, he was more callous than I had ever imagined. Then my mind rejected this notion. As I've stated before, Holmes was very unknowledgeable about the 'weaker' sex.
At that time, Holmes burst in the door.
"Where's Lestrade?" he demanded.
"I took her home," I told him.
"Watson! You've just placed her in danger, how could you have let her out of your sight!"
Normally, I would have been stung by this, but I was more taken aback by the raw fear and desperation in his voice.
"What are you talking about, Holmes?"
"I'll explain on the way." He was out the door and into the coach before I could say anything more.
"Mr. Newman has accrued a very large gambling debt," Holmes stated without preamble, "do you know who is holding his markers?"
I indicated that I didn't know, and he went on. "Moriarty. In fact, it seems that Newman and Moriarty have become close friends. It was the latter's idea for Newman to capitalize on his inheritance. I took a good look at that will, Watson. It says that in the event of Lestrade's death, all the money goes to charity. But if she is married at the time of her death, then all her money goes to her husband."
I looked at him in amazement. "You mean, Moriarty has convinced Newman to marry Lestrade and then to kill her?" I asked.
Holmes shook his head. "No," he said, "Newman thinks it's his idea to marry her. Moriarty arranged an accident for afterwards." He sat in grim silence, then almost to himself, "The thought of her with that dull, dimwitted…It is too much to bear thinking of."
We stopped first at Lestrade's apartment. The place was a mess. Instantly Holmes began looking through the clutter. "Aha, let's go Watson."
I blinked and followed Holmes. "Where…" I began..
"To Las Vegas. They don't need verbal consent, just the bride and groom's signature. Remember that Newman believes Lestrade to be incapable of her own will, so he will most assuredly forge her signature."
He said all this as we got into the hovercoach and took off.
"Oh my," was all I could say.
"Step on it Watson," was his reply.
We arrived at a chapel in Vegas that Holmes had determined they were going to be at.
"Very well Mr. Newman," said a rotund preacher—at least he wasn't dressed as Elvis—"All seems to be in order here…" he stopped as he saw Holmes and I coming towards them.
"Here now, what is the meaning of this Holmes?" Newman demanded.
"You cannot marry Beth Lestrade," Holmes stated with deadly calm.
"And why not?"
"Because she is already married."
Everyone gasped, including me.
"To whom?" This time Newman wasn't quite so amused. "And what proof do you have?"
Holmes smiled. "To me. And here is the proof."
Hey kids! Are you tired of these crazy commercials, always interrupting your fanfiction, right at a critical moment? Okay. Just wondering. Now back to the fic!
We all gaped at him. In his hand was a signed marriage certificate, with his and Lestrade's name. Newman abruptly slumped his shoulders, finally admitting defeat.
"She's out back, in the hovervan. I guess she's all yours." He walked away.
The reverend just stood looking at us. Holmes offered him a smile of apology and walked out.
We found Lestrade tied and gagged in the vehicle. When she was ungagged she asked, "What took you so long Holmes?"
He just smiled tenderly at her and led her to the hovercoach.
I don't know what happened to Moriarty. Holmes said he must have realized we were on to him and cut his losses.
When we were sitting around the fire at Baker street, I suddenly asked, "But Holmes! What about…"
I stopped when he started laughing.
"My dear Watson. Do you really think Newman is the only one who can forge our dear Lestrade's signature?"
"What?" Lestraged cried.
"A…necessary ruse to make Evan Newman back off," Holmes explained, "You did say to keep him away from you at all costs."
"And what was the cost, Holmes?" she asked, deceptively sweet.
To my surprise, Holmes blushed. He actually blushed!
"I…made a fake wedding certificate," he stammered.
She blinked, then started laughing. Soon, we were laughing.
"You know Holmes," Lestrade said, "you have got to be the most singular suitor I've ever had. And that has to be the most interesting proposal I've ever heard."
Holmes smiled. "So…do you accept?"
Lestrade smiled and nodded. "I do."
Beth Lestrade suddenly woke up. On her chest, laying open was a romance novel. Beside her was one of Doctor John Watson's journals. "Mmm," she groaned, "I've got to quit reading so late. That was the weirdest dream I've ever had."
Or…was it…?
THE END!
Ha!Ha!Ha!Ha!Ha!Ha! (and so on and so forth…)