A week later the weather was still far too cold for anyone in their right mind to be out and about in. That did not, however, stop Inspector Lestrade from paying Holmes and Watson a visit.
"I wouldn't think anyone would be up to causing much trouble, as nasty as the weather's been." Watson commented as Mrs. Hudson deposited the half frozen Inspector in the sitting room and promised to return shortly with a pot of tea.
"Neither would I," Lestrade grumbled, not so subtly coming to stand by the fireplace, "but we found a half frozen corpse under a bridge last night." He held his hands out toward the fire as he looked to Holmes. "Young thing, barely fourteen. Strangled and left for dead." Lestrade scowled as he curled and uncurled his fingers in the heat "We can't figure out who she is."
Holmes frowned at the Inspector. "And so you came here?" He asked. "Do you expect me to know who she is?"
"I was hoping that if I gave you a description of the girl and her clothing you might be able to gve me an idea of where she might be from." Lestrade retorted. "Hopkins doesn't think she from the area where we found her."
"Hmmm..." Mrs. Hudson's reappearance and consequent fussing over Lestrade delayed any further conversation as she directed him to a seat on the couch, questioned his sanity for being out in this weather, fretted that he was not eating enough, and scolded him for letting himself get sick.
Lestrade, for his part, endured the attentions of the landlady with a good humor; it was common enough for the woman to mother the Yarders if she felt they needed it, and none of them seemed to mind very much.
He did, however, protest that he was not sick. He was rewared with a stern look from Mrs. Hudson. "Then you're going to be." The woman predicted. "When's the last time you were actually warm?" She demanded.
How the woman got away with treating members of Scotland Yard as if they were a bunch of errant children in need of looking after was something neither Holmes nor Watson had figured out, but far from ignoring the question as he would have if almost anyone else had asked, Lestrade merely stifled a growl before answering.
"Last night, when Hopkins dragged me out of bed to look at a body." He informed the woman grumpily.
Mrs. Hudson, remarkable woman that she was, never even blinked. "And you've been out running around since then, Id' wager." She scolded.
"I was inside for most of the day." Lestrade countered. "And for most of last night." He added.
"The furnace still isn't working?" Watson spoke up. "They haven't gotten someone to fix it by now?"
Lestrade barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. "The furnace has needed replacing for years." He admitted. "It's not a priority."
"Not a priority?" Mrs. Hudson was appalled by the statement.
Lestrade shrugged. "It works as long as the weather doesn't get too cold." He explained obligingly.
"They might actually do something about it if Jones didn't get fed up every winter and go take care of it himself. He gets it running again, but it's never more than a temporary solution. Not," he added with some irritation, "that we can ever convince anyone of that fact."
Mrs. Hudson tutted her disapproval as Lestrade turned the conversation away from the Yard's heating difficulties and back to the dead girl.
