A Study in Solar
Part 6
By Trynia Merin
"Wait, am I insane or wasn't the Wallace destroyed?" Lestrade suddenly whispered.
"I was waiting for you to make that observation," Holmes said with a smirk.
"Remind me to strangle you later," she growled.
"Well, I am just seeing if you're on your toes. Considering you told me to contact Lernov, someone who was clearly instrumental in creating problems…"
"Drop it Holmes," she warned.
"Shuttle gamma nine, how can you be the Wallace?" asked Holmes.
"We made the necessary repairs," came the reply.
"We're in no need of assistance," Holmes replied, holding a finger to his lips as Lestrade opened her mouth to say something.
"What in Zed are you doing?" Lestrade stammered.
"Shush, things are not as they seem," he said. "Trust me… I know what I'm doing," he urged, whispering in her ear as he stroked hr back.
"Clarify that Holmes?" said the voice, and Lestrade noticed his eyebrow lift, and it set her as being strange that they immediately could identify him since he didn't give his name!
"Have you seen the attackers and are they still in the vicinity?" Holmes asked.
"Negative. They seem to have escaped. Are you entirely certain you do not need help?" asked the voice, more instantly.
"UI would attend to the matter of the debris field near asteroid… er… Ceres and see if there are any survivors," Holmes said quickly. "I am en route to the rendezvous point as specified for evacuation."
"Copy, Holmes. We await your arrival."
"Thank you and good day," Holmes said and cut the channel. He turned to Lestrade, who looked at him as if he'd sprouted a second head.
"What in the nine planets are you doing?" she shouted.
"My dear Lestrade, please listen!" he urged. "I want to explain, but you have to calm down…"
"I… you…" she shook her head, her hand pressed to it.
"Please Lestrade; you know I always have a good reason for what I do. You have to trust me."
"This makes NO sense at all, you won't even explain… Dammit Holmes are we partners or not?" she shouted. "Zed why are you making me need to visit the brain techs? Can't you at least warn me that you're going to do something instead of making me look like a stupid idiot? I'm SICK of being manipulated by people who think they know what's BEST for me! First Lernov and now YOU!"
"Lestrade, you're shaking… steady on," Holmes urged. "You've got to calm down. And I'm speaking to you not just as a colleague but as a close friend… I insist you listen… because your safety and mine depends upon trusting me."
"Zed… I'm so confused… first you're excited that it's the Wallace and… what is going on?" she sniffled, unable to control the ups and downs she was feeling in her mood.
"Lestrade, I think nobody died, at all," he said, leaning over the seat, his grey eyes serious and not mocking or patronizing in their expression. "I think given the evidence it was all an elaborate ruse, designed to throw any nosy parties off the scent… and cover a most diabolical scheme."
"Oh here you go again," she groaned, weary of arguing because her emotions were drained, and her nerves were frayed to the breaking point. "I don't think I can take much more of this."
"Lernov and the others are not dead. In fact the transport has probably reached Mars safely. Especially when command hears that there was no sign of any dissidents attacking."
"Holmes you and I saw them!" Lestrade protested.
"What you saw were a series of explosions, which was caused by the detonation of the Nusolar and the feedback caused by the power converters overloading. With a few bangs and flashes. It's all smoke and mirrors, or the modern day equivalent," Holmes reassured her. "And look here."
She glanced down at his long slender fingers punching a few buttons on the screen keypad, and he directed her to look at the display of the debris field. Numbers flickered over the screen, and she looked to him in shock and anger, "What are you doing that for?"
"I measured the mass of the apparent object that debris field represents, and compared it to the standard mass of a patrol cruiser… that you told me was destroyed. The two weights do not match. There are quite a lot of pieces missing, wouldn't you say?"
Lestrade compared the two numbers, and shook her head in disbelief. Again the cold hard facts had undermined her reality, and she felt like she would go crazy in a minute. Exhaustion and lack of food, combined with the emotional roller coaster was sapping every ounce of her control.
"All right, Holmes, but you said it was the Wallace! What was THAT all about?"
"How did they know it was I?" Holmes queried.
"Zed, I hate it when you answer a question with a question!" Lestrade growled. "They must have recognized your voice of course."
"On the contrary, only the Earl of Cameron, William knew my name and my voice, and the captain Gregory, since you did most of the talking," Holmes pointed out.
"So, if it wasn't the Wallace, then who was it, Encyclopedia Holmes?" she asked him, folding her arms across her chest indignantly. Their banter was giving her something familiar to hang her reality on for the moment.
"The very craft which 'simulated' an attack," Holmes said. "And is now supposedly saving survivors."
"That's insane and you know it!" Lestrade laughed ironically. "You mean someone played a huge trick?"
"Indeed. An elaborate hoax to cover their trail and give an airtight alibi for what was really transpiring," Holmes nodded. I took the liberty of speaking to Watson whilst you were elsewhere, and he confirmed that two employees from Solarex were working at Nusolar. One was a gentleman named Rossini, and the other was named Alvarez."
"No way, you mean… wait… Alvarez is a common name," she shook her head.
"On the contrary, Watson showed me image files, and I knew when I saw the gathering in the mess hall who I should focus on."
"So that chess game… was just a trick to get them to spill?" Lestrade asked.
"Precisely," Holmes nodded with pride. "It also explains what I saw over your shoulder when you rang up on the display screen for any available ships and found this one. It was the only one available, because nobody was in immediate danger… and it was none other than Alvarez and Chang who left the command for us to take it…"
"Wait a nanosecond," she threw up her hands. "If that's the case are they in it with… Lernov?"
"Not fully," Homes corrected her. "Their only interest is tobacco and other contraband that Lernov's employers can provide in exchange for information. Lernov is only a link in a collaborative chain and is unaware of the true scope of his ringleader's plan."
"What is this plan?" she asked. "Though you're going to tell me if I ask you or not…"
"Facts are pointing to a possible attempt to buy 0.1 more stock and add it to the 50 holdings in Nusolar for a corporate takeover," said Holmes. "With the proceeds gained from smuggled contraband. The cigarettes that everyone smoked were Russian tobaccos, the same scent I smelled on your gentleman caller. And the same brand of tobacco was in the slipper I… er won in a chess match. Clearly he was the source."
"Zed… that… that… toe rag!" Lestrade exploded hands over her face. "It was true... he was trying to fool me!"
"Lestrade?" Holmes said as she tore at her hair. "Did he hurt you in any way… did he defile your honor? Your reaction to him possibly being dead evoked distrust and yet… you grieve at his loss."
"Why do you have to be so zedding nice!" she cried, shaking from head to toe in her chair. Burying her hands in her face she finally broke down, sobbing.
"Lestrade," he sighed, and reached over to stroke her hair. "Please… I'm not asking you as your colleague, but as your friend again. If that blackguard has defiled your honor in any way, I promise you he'll face the consequences and answer to me personally!"
She raised her head from his shoulder and gaped at him, shaking her head. "I… can't believe what I'm hearing… this isn't some Victorian macho trip! It's not professional… and you zedding know he'd… you don't have anything to prove!"
"Please Lestrade," he urged, reaching over to take her hand and press it with his own before releasing it again. "Tell me. You're obviously distressed, and it may help to tell me. I promise it will be strictly confidential, between us and will not leave the confines of this room, since it is of a highly personal nature."
"Oh to absolute zero with it!" she sobbed, burying her head in her hand. Relinquishing her last shred of self-control, she let the tears burn down her cheeks. Holmes reached across the aisle to stroke her shoulder reassuringly and give it a firm squeeze. He softly whispered to her and shushed her, letting her cry. Anger boiled up in his stomach, and he found it was more intense than the mere anger at a friend, even a close friend like Watson being wronged.
"You can trust me," he whispered into her ear as he leaned further out of his seat. "If you're familiar with Watson's journals you know I abide by my promise and word as a gentleman."
"Not like this… I didn't want it to come to this," Beth sobbed. Sherlock sighed and realized she was exposing her soul to him, and it made him equally uncomfortable. He wasn't sure of what to say, for the first time in ages, and felt that the only thing he could do was comfort her like a mother or father consoles their children.
A mental image flickered into his mind, a memory of the new Baker Street Irregulars. Deidre, Wiggins and Tennyson had been out late as usual, shortly after he started using them as his eyes and ears, selling travel brochures and offers to give tours. He remembered Watson interrupting his music lesson to tell him that Tennyson's emergency message had gone off, and they were needed. It took them only minutes to rush out and track his homing signal to find them.
Wiggins and Deidre had closed ranks to defend their friend, from some street thieves who were harassing them. Credits were strewn all over the streets with crushed vid discs as Wiggin's fists flew, and Deidre had swung her purse, angrily beating them off as Tennyson frantically typed into his keyboard. A loud wailing blast came from his synthesizer, and it angered the punks even more by the time Watson and Holmes arrived.
A few quick punches and shots from Watson's stun ray sent them packing, and Wiggins breathed in and out, gasping as he saw Holmes and Watson bending over them. While Watson probed them for injuries, Holmes saw how scared and vulnerable they all seemed. Anger built up inside of him, and he saw Deidre trying hard not to cry, and Tennyson looking anxiously up with fear in his eyes.
All he could do was to put his arms around both and tell them they were safe, and that they would be all right. Deidre had let herself go, and buried her face in his coat, uncharacteristically breaking down now that the fight was over. Tennyson's hand gripped that of Holmes and Watson also leaned over in worry and his attempts to comfort them. Deidre wept tears of shame and Holmes looked down at her face, streaked with makeup as she glanced up at him.
He then gave her a kiss on the top of her head and told her how brave she was, and that there was nothing to cry about, because she had acquitted herself well. This somehow cheered her up, and she was able to breathe more easily. His hand had tightened on Tennyson's shoulder while he kept hold of Deirdre, and Watson made sure everyone was all right. They had then all piled into the coach hovercraft and back to Baker Street for hot chocolate and biscuits while he called their parents and told them they were all right. But seeing them all in his parlor made him realize they were the closest he had to family, besides Watson.
That circle included Lestrade. She was like the vigilant den mother, and he was some sort of paternal figure in these children's lives. Especially how may times he and Watson helped them with homework, or encouraged them to stop by if they had any problems. Even though they had parents, Holmes sensed that the bonds he was forging with the youth, Watson, and Lestrade was far beyond mere friendship. They were misfits who had to stick together.
Holmes didn't let many people into his inner circle. Only Watson had been truly privy to whom he really was, and that had taken many years of trust. Why was he willing to surrender to this woman who had turned all his notions of the fair sex upside down? Her and Deirdre that is. Neither female was anything like the retiring creatures that he recalled. Yet he had known women who had challenged his misconception.
"There now… shhh… shush now," he whispered softly, as he had done to Deirdre. Lestrade felt safe as he got up out of his chair and moved across the aisle to lean over and wrap her in a rather awkward hug. It was a bit stiff, but well intentioned as he leaned down on one knee so they were on the same level. She felt as she had when her brother would comfort her.
After a day of being picked on by the other girls who called her brace face, and brain, and tomboy, and ugly duckling. He taught her how to defend herself, and to shield her sensitive nature with an iron thick wall that kept out their jeers. How to fight back when needed, and how to avoid fights. George Lestrade was five years her senior, born of a long line of cops that reached back years. Her mother had been a schoolteacher. And yet her younger sister was the doll and the spoiled brat. She was stuck in the middle, neither a boy nor a pretty doll that meekly did what mom and dad said.
When the sobs stopped, she lifted her head from Holmes' shoulder, and wiped at her eyes. Through the blur she saw his concerned scowl, eyes slate gray with anger. Taking his handkerchief from his pocket he raised it up and dabbed away the tears streaking down her cheeks.
"You're being so nice," she whispered again. "And um… not really Victorian? A little more familiar then your gentleman sensibilities?"
"Does that surprise you, Lestrade?" he asked.
"You're sometimes so cold… so… I mean Zed, if someone was even to TOUCH you you'd go nuclear!"
"I may be a gentleman, but I do have feelings like the rest of mankind, and I am not immune to the feelings of other men… er human beings. Especially those I call friends. I am not heartless, as you have doubtless come to believe," Holmes said regretfully. "I simply master my emotions so they do not cloud my judgment. But there is no shame in being distressed Lestrade."
"If you say it's because I'm a woman I'll kick your tail," she sniffled and he handed her the handkerchief.
"I was, but I won't," Holmes smiled. "Seriously, in the attempts to make the sexes equal, I think your century has denied that there are differences between the male and female. It's utterly ridiculous how you try to be something you're not."
"Excuse me, but I have to be better then most of the men. That's just the way it is."
"So that you forget the merits of being a lady?" Holmes asked slowly.
"And what advantages are there to that?" she asked bitterly.
"I'm learning just as you are," Holmes confessed. "It is a mystery I have yet to solve."
"At least that makes two of us," Lestrade laughed sadly. She finally let the words come, spinning them into the recollection of what had transpired in the quarters. Holmes listened intently, and his mood grew darker with each passing sentence. Lestrade wondered if it was his concern as a lady being wronged, out of his Victorian sensibilities or if it was something more, concern for her as more than just a lady who needed protecting?
"So, correct me if I'm wrong," Holmes finally said when she had finished. "This Lernov… used you in the past… in a rather abusive fashion, and you still retain affection for him. Why is that?"
"I was in love," Lestrade admitted, wiping away her eyes. "Zed, it doesn't make sense. Love doesn't make sense, Holmes. I mean even though he was a zed head, he did want to save me."
"Which proves he knew in advance about this supposed attack," Holmes gritted bitterly. "Let me get this straight, Lestrade. He can slap cuffs on you, and wreak havoc with your emotions, and yet you still defend him. That ruffian is not worthy of your efforts."
"Sherlock," she got out, and he shivered at the use of his first name. "I don't know what to say."
"You do not need to be treated in such a horrendous fashion. And they say this is progress," Holmes snorted in anger. "I say it's even more barbaric then you claim my time is. A man wouldn't dream of treating the fair sex in that manner, whether he preferred the company of men to women or not. It simply is not the way that civilized people behave."
"I hate this!" Lestrade snorted, wiping her eyes. "I lost control, in front of you. It's my worst nightmare. You're seeing everything now. I guess I've just proved your notion about how I just fit the mold of some spineless, weak 19th century fainting girl."
"Poppycock," Holmes snorted. "If you are referring to my erstwhile commentary on the fair sex from Watson's Journals, you may remember that there were a few examples of women who were fine specimens, and not typical of their species. Worthy of revising my general opinion of ladies in general. You are my partner, and my friend and you happen to be of the fair sex. Isn't that worthy of your admiration?"
"I guess," she laughed.
"There's no comparison between 22nd century women and 19th, in your case, my dear Inspector Lestrade," he said calmly, his eyes returning to their usual gray blue, but still somber and serious. "And a man can make mistakes."
"So, you solved my mystery," Lestrade said softly.
"It makes sense, if that is what you mean," Holmes said as she turned away.
"You happy now? You were right," she grumbled.
"On the contrary it causes me discomfort to see you in such a state, and so wronged by this animal…" Holmes answered firmly. "And the next time our paths cross, I will be sorely tempted to challenge his treatment of you."
"As a gentleman," she nodded.
"Quite," he nodded; pleased she had the proper picture.
"Careful, Holmes, somebody might think you actually had feelings," she said with a lopsided grin. There was a bit of the old sparkle there, and Holmes was glad of it.
"Well, I won't tell if you won't," he smirked.
"Thank you," she said, leaning over and giving him a soft kiss on the cheek, even though she was afraid offend his Victorian sensibilities. He had given over to a bohemian side by hugging her, and that was enough to know he'd crossed a line in an effort to make her feel better. Pressing a hand to his cheek he felt his blood running warm with a considerable blush where her lips had touched his sensitive skin.
"I suggest you rest," he said softly. "You look as if you need a lie down. I am sure that the seat in back is most comfortable."
"What about you?" Lestrade asked.
"I shall be quite all right. I trust this ship's auto pilot is engaged, and is capable of landing us at our destination in Lowell City?" Holmes asked. He reverently got up, feeling shy as she regarded him.
"Yes," Lestrade nodded. She suddenly felt the need to maintain some distance, because she liked to believe that he really DID care for her more than just a gentleman who was coming to the rescue of a lady. Even if he didn't admit it, the look in his face had given her the answer she had wanted. The only answer she would get right now. She didn't want to ruin what could be the makings of something special.
"Also, does this communicator have a trans galatic link?" he asked. "I should like to speak with Watson."
"Yes, it does," she said. Holmes took her hand and led her to the back seat, which was comfortable enough to lie down on.
"Now, off to sleep with you," he said sternly, though his eyes twinkled. "I can't let my dear Inspector loose the efficiency of her eyes and brains can I?"
"No," Lestrade laughed with relief as the comfortable bantering set in again. It had survived the first real test, and she let Holmes hunt for a pillow and set it down for her. Grabbing the space blanket, he began to tie either end to separate the back part of the cabin from the front. It reminded her of a movie she'd seen years ago with Clarke Gable and Claudette Colbert from many years ago… It happened one night…"
"Hmm, only one or two blankets…" Holmes said as he took the second, and tucked it into the sofa as a sheet for her. "You should be comfortable enough in that."
"Holmes what are you doing?" she asked, feeling suddenly strange at his pampering her.
"Making you a proper bed of course… and arranging privacy," he said. "I don't presume to clap eyes on a lady as she retires for slumber. Goodness, what do you take me for?"
"That's sweet," she laughed as she sat down.
"I'll keep a watch here," he said, and took one of the remaining blankets and a pillow for himself. Thinking for a moment he passed his Inverness to her. "You might like this… it is not real wool, but it should be warmer than these flimsy pieces of tin foil…"
"Thanks," she said. "And… good night…"
"Good night," he smiled. She wasn't sure if she should hug him or not because they weren't excited and she was not crying anymore. The fact she'd been crying was probably why he had hugged her. Normally he wouldn't dream of touching a woman in such a familiar manner. But he had treated her as a colleague, and perhaps like a sister she dared think. So she backed away, and he took her hand and gave it an affectionate kiss. Feeling a hot flush she let him pull up the sheet, and give her the wall that they both needed for now.
Holmes settled down in the pilot's seat, and attempted to make himself comfortable with the pillow. Thankfully the seat reclined a bit, and he rested his head on the pillow, and pulled the other blanket over himself to think about what had just happened.
"Good heavens," he sighed. "God help me understand what I seem to be falling into."
He silently prayed he wasn't making a mistake. He heard the sounds of rustling from behind the makeshift wall, and soon heard the sound of someone lying down and the whisper of sheets being pulled up. Smiling to himself, he took out his flask and unscrewed the top. Sipping a bit of brandy, he relaxed himself and glanced out at the stars studding the view before him. Before long, he was fast asleep.
