==Chapter 4==

Cabin Fever

"Spending time with the ones who are dear to you is like being in a dream, is it not?"
― Sakura Tsukuba, Land of the Blindfolded, Vol. 3

Unfortunately, Beth noted, Sherlock's resolution only lasted as long as his patience, which rapidly wore thin as the days dragged on. John kept him mostly confined to bed for the next fortnight, and the odd half-hour trip out to the sitting room window to watch the traffic in the street below wasn't nearly enough to keep his thoughts occupied. On the plus side, Beth was finally allowed to sleep in the bedroom again, after John had found her fast asleep beside her husband. Sally reported with a grin that Sherlock had given John the most adorably imploring look, who gave in and agreed that Beth could choose her own bed from then on, as long as she was actually getting some sleep! But to the dismay of both, Sherlock's constant coughing during the night soon had Beth retreating to the settee again; she had to have at least one door between her and all the spluttering, though she refused to let Mrs. Hudson switch bedrooms with her after she'd only just traded back with the Watsons.

John was making sure everyone besides Sherlock went out regularly in the open air for walks and drives when the weather allowed, but that still left them all stuck indoors most of the time, and the group cabin fever was steadily increasing. Beth made a point of bringing something back for Sherlock on every trip, but his growing restlessness and irritability, while a good sign in itself, only added to her guilt at being able to go out when he couldn't. Mycroft was visiting every few evenings now that the quarantine had been lifted, and Sherlock was clearly glad to see him, but that had to be immensely frustrating, too, since John had strictly forbidden Mycroft to share details of anything case-related if he wanted to keep visiting. Beth thought this was terribly unfair, surely one or two armchair problems wouldn't do any harm... although if she was absolutely honest with herself, she was just as keen for a new case as Sherlock!

It was going on one o'clock, and Inspector Lestrade hoped that lunch at 221B was already over when he rang the doorbell. He had interrupted one or two meals in the past, and Watson's look of pure aggrievance at being parted with his plate was difficult to bear.

The front door opened to reveal the young Mrs. Holmes. Her blue eyes widened, then she positively beamed. "Inspector, hello! Please come in!"

Lestrade smiled. "Thank you." He stepped inside, removing his hat as the young woman closed the door, then frowned. The girl's eyes were bright but the bags beneath them were heavy. "Er, pardon my asking, Mrs. Holmes, but are you quite well?"

She blinked. "Oh. Yes, I'm fine." She sounded like someone entirely unused to prioritizing her own problems. "Um, I'm sorry, but if you came to see Sherlock, he's recovering from being really sick. John's not even letting him do armchair cases right now."

Lestrade's frown deepened. "Oh dear, I'm sorry to hear that." Mycroft had mentioned in passing recently that his brother had been ill, but he'd neglected to mention that it was serious. Then Lestrade realised how he sounded. "Not that he's getting better, I mean…!" He sighed at himself: somehow, he always seemed to trip over his own tongue around this girl! "Well, anyhow, please give him best wishes from everyone at the Yard." He put his hat back on and turned to go.

"Um, just out of curiosity, what did you want to see him about?"

"Oh, nothing serious," Lestrade said lightly — "just a rather unusual robbery, that's all. I thought hearing about it might divert him while he's getting back on his feet, but if it's against doctor's orders…" He wasn't stupid enough to incur Watson's wrath!

"Well, would having a second opinion still help?" she said hurriedly. "Second pair of eyes…" She blushed, and Lestrade's eyebrows shot to the roof as he realised she was not talking about Watson. She could not even be twenty, and female at that — and even being American, she had to understand what she was asking, didn't she? Lestrade didn't doubt for one minute that women could be as capable as men at investigation — well, his wife had certainly proved as much on more than one occasion! — but this…

"W-well, I, ah… I really don't know…" He began to turn red himself — why was it so difficult to simply give her a straight "no"?

It got even more difficult when her eyes lit up the next moment. "I'm sorry, it's just that… maybe having an extra person around might help, and, well… it'd be nice to get in some… practice…"

Lestrade blinked. Practice.

She folded her arms, and he was reminded of his wife again. "Inspector, did you seriously think that Sherlock Holmes would marry a woman who wasn't going to help him with his cases?"

"Er, no, I… suppose not…" Which was perfectly true: he'd never thought Sherlock Holmes would marry anyone! "But aren't you needed here?" he tried, only half-hopefully.

She arched an eyebrow — oh dear, she'd been taking lessons from her husband in that. "I think John can keep Sherlock from climbing the walls for a few hours." Rather to herself, he thought, she muttered, "Believe me, I'm not a whole lot of help there…" She chewed at her lip, and turned big, hopeful eyes on him. "I'd like to help. Please?"

He exhaled heavily through his nose, groaning inwardly — he'd also seen that look on a different Holmes far too many times before. "Well," he started gruffly, "I suppose it wouldn't do any harm if you rode along… but no disturbing anything at the scene, mind!"

Blue eyes widened in delight. "Oh, I do my own laundry," she said with mock solemnity. "I promise I won't do anything I have to clean off myself."

He couldn't help smiling — he was beginning to see how this girl could have charmed Sherlock Holmes after all. "All right, then," he said slowly. He still couldn't quite believe he was allowing this. "After you, Mrs. Holmes."

She looked as though she could barely contain her excitement. "Thank you." Something seemed to occur to her and she calmed again. "I just need a couple of minutes to get ready, but if you wouldn't mind waiting in the kitchen, the kettle's still on." She turned and led him down the hall.

A hot cup of tea did sound marvellous. "Very kind of you, ma'am," he said as he followed her.

She grinned over her shoulder. "Well, last I checked, it was still winter out there." She entered the kitchen, where Mrs. Watson was clearly cleaning up from lunch, and her daughter in a seat nearby. "Hey, so, I'm running out for a bit with Inspector Lestrade" — she gestured for him to take a seat at the table while she grabbed a cup and saucer out of a cupboard — "and I need to make myself presentable."

Sally's eyes widened in astonishment and more than a little envy, but gave Lestrade a friendly smile. "Nice to see you again, Inspector. You missed all the excitement around here!" She flapped Beth away from the teapot. "I've got that. Go get yourself sorted before Sherlock finds out and invents the es..." She just managed to swallow the word 'escalator' in front of Lestrade. "The moving staircase!"

Beth giggled as she dodged. "That's not a terrible idea." She dashed out of the room, calling back, "It'd make moving laundry so much easier!"

Sally shook her head, pouring Lestrade's cup. "Three sugars, right?" Mrs. Hudson knew every regular Yarder's tastes by heart. "Here you go."

Lestrade was impressed. "Thank you." He waited until she seated herself before picking it up. "How's the wee one?"

Sally chuckled as Kathy cooed and burbled from her seat, delighted at being asked after. "I think she's doing very well!"

Lestrade chuckled as well, enchanted by the little one. "Hallo, young lady!" He put out a finger for her to grasp, which she did with the oddly strong grip all babies seemed to have. "Keeping everyone busy, eh, you and Mr. Holmes?"

Kathy giggled, beaming.

"Something like that," her mother smiled wryly. Thank God she was mostly excused from dealing with the bigger baby upstairs!

"Oh, just look at those dimples! That's a John Watson grin if ever I saw one!"

"Isn't it just!" Sally laughed. She loved seeing her husband in their daughter's face... You mean the daughter that wasn't supposed to be John's, biologically? ...Crap.

Ah. Lestrade's smile became fixed, as, at the same moment, he and Mrs. Watson seemed to have realised what they'd said. Well, that would explain one or two things! But it's none of my concern, and a happier-looking infant I've never seen. Being born out of wedlock had clearly done the youngest Watson no harm — and the charade would probably continue to work, any resemblance chalked up to coincidence and the fact that father and mother did look a bit alike themselves. And none of his colleagues had spent half as much time with the residents of 221B as Lestrade had. Speaking of...

He gave the little girl's hand a playful shake. "I'm going to need my finger back, missy." She pouted briefly but let go, and Lestrade wondered if Watson had another genius on his hands — the little one was so clever already!

Sally dropped a kiss on her daughter's curls. "Silly girl." There was a distant thunder of feet on the stairs and Sally shook her head, grinning. "Prepare to get hit by Hurricane Beth."

Lestrade smiled uncertainly as he stood, cup in hand, wondering anew just what he'd let himself in for. "Thank you for the tea, ma'am."

"Any time."

Lestrade ruffled the baby's curls affectionately. "Bye-bye, little 'un." She cooed back at him, and he couldn't help but smile.

Mrs. Holmes appeared in the doorway, neater and more presentable than she'd been a minute ago. Now that, Lestrade knew well, was a skill. "I'm sorry," she said meekly, "maybe I shouldn't have rushed. Did you have enough tea, Inspector?"

"Plenty, thank you." He finished the cup and set it down, still scarcely believing what he was about to do. "Shall we?"

The girl looked a tad skittish as she nodded, stepping aside to let him through. Well, as long as she calmed down before they reached their destination...

"Don't be gone too long," called Sally, in her best mother-hen voice. Don't snark, it'll be your turn one of these days!

Beth had to laugh. "You're the worst."

"So's Sherlock," Sally muttered at Beth's vanishing back. He'd be bouncing off the ceiling until she got home!

"Right then..." Lestrade took out his notebook, still not entirely sure how or even why he'd agreed to this. "I suppose you'll be wanting the facts of the case." At least the cab ride would pass the quicker for it.

"Yes, please! You said it was an unusual robbery?"

"Yes... Somehow I doubt even Mr. Holmes has ever been asked to track down an entire garden wall before!"

Mrs. Holmes burst out laughing. "Oh my gosh, seriously? That's... that's a lot of nerve! A whole garden wall?"

Lestrade had to grin at her reaction. "A lot of bricks, too. Don't ask me how many exactly, but... " He rechecked his notes; "the current gap is nine feet wide, and the former owner claims the wall was seven feet high." That had to be at least three hundred!

"Wooow. Was this... over time, or overnight?"

"Overnight, if you can believe it. The owner is a Mr. Peter Evans, of 61 Cornwall Crescent, Notting Hill. He'd inherited the house from some distant relative last year, and decided to make the property more secure by raising the back garden wall. The old mortar was a bit too weathered, though, so the bricklayers had to knock down the whole wall and rebuild."

"Overnight... But the only ways I know to take down a brick wall are to smash it in or chisel it apart, and either way would be noisy! Didn't anybody hear anything?"

He shook his head, equally bemused. "Not a thing. Even more puzzling, the family at Number 59 keep a labrador, and it never made a sound all night, either!"

Mrs. Holmes's eyes gleamed with sudden intrigue. "The dog that did nothing in the nighttime..." she murmured.

Now, why did that sound so familiar?

Notting Hill was one of the more upmarket neighbourhoods, although 61 Cornwall Crescent looked to be one of the older houses in the district. 'Faded elegance' might have been a kind description, but with a few signs of recent repair standing out, surrounded by a largely untamed garden. Lestrade led the way to a vine-covered gate, nodding to the constable on guard. "Anyone else been by?"

Constable Daley rolled his eyes eloquently. "Just the usual gawkers, sir. Mr. Evans' been bangin' on about 'is precious wall to anyone 'oo'll listen!"

Lestrade snorted. "You'd think he'd been keeping the Crown Jewels bricked up in there!"

Beth barely held back her own snort and murmured, "He should take better care of what he still has." This poor old house and its grounds desperately needed some TLC! A stolen wall looked like the lesser of the owner's problems.

Lestrade opened the gate as the constable glanced curiously at Beth. "Right this way, Mrs. Holmes." The reaction was everything he'd hoped for, Daley's eyes nearly bulging out of his head.

Beth kept stride easily with her great-grandfather as they walked on, being at least a couple of inches taller. "How much longer are you going to milk that?" she murmured dryly.

"Till that lot stop mooing," he chuckled. Probably sometime in the next five or so years...

They passed by the house and into the back garden. The property backed onto a well-manicured park, where a pair of constables were keeping a small group of onlookers back from where the wall should have been. Nothing remained now but the cement base, lined at intervals with traces of mortar.

The sound of a dog barking came from over the garden wall to the left, and Beth's eyes went wide. "Inspector," she said conversationally, "do you ever read Dr. Watson's stories?"

Lestrade shrugged. "I give them the odd glance now and then." Mostly the ones his wife had told him he was in! He was still idly planning revenge on the good doctor for 'rat-faced'. "Why?"

"Something you might have heard my husband say: 'There's nothing new under the sun; it's all been done before.'" A Study in Scarlet, and with Gregson and Grandpa Geoffrey present, Beth was sure. "And sometimes some things just... repeat... 'Silver Blaze', and the dog that did nothing in the nighttime. Dogs are ridiculous, absolutely crazy; they bark at anything they see as a threat, anything they don't recognise. The neighbor's dog is barking now that we've arrived, but it didn't bark while the wall was being stolen."

Lestrade's eyes widened. "I do remember that case, it was in the papers! The horse thief turned out to be the trainer, didn't he? Got himself kicked in the head..." He winced at the thought.

Beth shivered. "Yeah. And the dog didn't bark when the horse was being let out late at night, which was one of the clues that it was an inside job. I'm not suggesting that's the case here, but the point is that the dog stayed quiet because he knew and trusted the man who was taking the horse away."

"Hm." Lestrade took his notebook out and made a note. "So whoever it was might have been around earlier, often enough for the dog to get used to them, perhaps throw the odd scrap of meat over the wall..." Eyes narrowing, he called to one of the constables, "Simpson, just pop back next door, will you? Ask if the dog's been looking particularly well-fed lately."

"Right, sir."

As they reached the wall itself, Beth hummed uncertainly. "Dirty..." She scuffed lightly at the debris on the ground with the toe of her boot and frowned at a familiar gritty sensation. "Sandy. That's weird. I wouldn't have thought sand would be a big ingredient in walls in this part of the world." It seemed more like a matter of course for warmer climates.

"Oh, in the mortar it would be." Typical female, didn't know anything about construction! But now that he thought about it, she might have a point... There did seem to be rather a lot of it... "Hold on..." Lestrade bent and brushed some of the sand aside.

"Something wrong?" Best not to bend down; even with the Victorian-ness of Beth's wardrobe pared down as far as she could get away with, she was better off not trying to be as flexible as she would be in a T-shirt and blue jeans.

"Bit of the mortar here." He picked up the fragment, rolling it between his fingers, and his eyebrows shot up as that tiny bit of pressure turned the mortar to powder. "Now, that's not right!"

She frowned. "That seems... unstable." Carefully, carefully, she reached down and poked at one of the mortar lines on the base. Cement powder came away on her glove. "I thought for sure that nobody could take apart a wall without it making a lot of noise... But if the glue between the bricks is already fragile, you don't need as much force, so there's not as much noise..."

"Right," he nodded grimly. "With this slurry in between, the thieves could have broken those bricks off with their bare hands!" It had probably taken them a couple of hours, at most.

"Question is: was it Mr. Evans being cheap, or the builders?"

"Good question." Lestrade turned toward the house. "Time we asked him."

"Now, Mr. Evans, when exactly did this 'John Horton and Co.' build the wall?"

"I don't know!" Evans replied testily. "...Late October, I suppose! Does it matter?"

Mrs. Holmes visibly swallowed her irritation. "It might, sir. What is left of the wall is quite weak."

Lestrade hastily interjected before Evans could say something offensive. "And were you satisfied with the work done at the time?"

"Yes, yes!" Evans frowned suddenly. "Although they did try it on over the bill... But I was wise to their little games!"

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, you see, they decided not to reuse the old bricks because they apparently didn't have any new ones to match their colour. And then they tried to make out that that was my problem, and charge me full price for a completely new wall! 'Nonsense,' I told them, 'you'll have the price we agreed, and not a penny more! There's nothing wrong with those old bricks, either, you might as well take them away with you – that should cover any little extras, shouldn't it?' "

"...And they agreed to that?"

"Well, what else could they do?" Evans sat back and steepled his fingers, looking inordinately pleased with himself for someone with a gigantic hole where a wall ought to be.

Lestrade exchanged a significant glance with Mrs. Holmes. "What, indeed?" he murmured.

A few hours later, both Lestrades were back in the elder's office, and Beth was shaking her head as she poured tea for her great-grandfather and herself. "That was crazy. Whole thing was silly from beginning to end. Why are people so stupid? Evans and the bricklayers?" She sank into an available chair with her tea and cherished the warmth of it.

"Welcome to policing," Lestrade answered dryly from the desk, scribbling the rough draft of a report while the details were still fresh. "Most of the time, it's just dealing with stupid and cleaning up the mess." It would do that husband of hers a power of good to hang about occasionally once a case had been solved, and deal with the aftermath!

She sighed. "I know, I know..." She'd known it from a very young age, but it was still exhausting getting up close and personal with the insanity. "My dad complains to my mom a lot when he is home."

"Your father's a policeman, too?" Well, that explained a lot! Come to think of it, this might be the first time she'd mentioned any specifics about her family.

She nodded, wishing desperately that she could just tell him... wishing that he would believe her if she did. "My liking mysteries is... kind of his fault." She shrugged and tried to hide behind her teacup without quite knowing why.

He nodded sympathetically and returned to his writing, murmuring to himself as he scribbled. " 'At the suggestion of Mrs. Holmes... the dog from Number 59 Cornwall Crescent accompanied us to the brickyard...' "

"Which was very nice of his owners —" Beth smiled at the memory — "and I think he enjoyed the trip, too."

"Especially since he got to visit some old friends there!"

Beth laughed. "Dogs are man's best friend, but not his secret keeper!" She shook her head — a couple of the bricklayers had been very surprised and dismayed to see the labrador barrelling toward them. "Honestly, I think their reactions to his being there were just as telling as his reaction to seeing them!"

Lestrade had to laugh too at the memory of the workmen's faces. "If only it was that easy to get a confession all the time!"

Beth grinned back in delight. Not only had they so easily solved the mystery, but also... spending time with her great-grandfather like this... It was one of her oldest and fondest daydreams come true.

Back at 221B, Mrs. Holmes paused on the top step and turned to Lestrade, smiling shyly. "Thank you for letting me tag along today, Inspector. I really appreciate it."

"My pleasure." And he meant it sincerely, she'd been a lot more pleasant to work with than her husband most of the time! "Thank you for the second pair of eyes."

Her smile became a beam. "Any time." She looked at the door, then back at him. "Would you... like to come back in? Have a cookie or something? ...biscuit. I meant biscuit. Stupid language differences," she muttered, reddening.

Lestrade hesitated, but shook his head. "Thank you, no – I'd best be getting back, the stacks are calling." Touching his hat, he added gruffly, "Tell that stone-headed husband of yours to get well soon, all right?" His wife could clearly do with some looking-after, too!

"I will, thank you." She unlocked the door, pausing one last time, suddenly looking more wistful than she perhaps realised. "Have a good evening."

"A Labrador?" The words were out of Holmes's mouth before he realised he'd uttered them aloud. What could she and Lestrade have been doing that involved a dog?

Beth stopped in the bedroom doorway. Out of all the things she'd expected... worry, temper tantrums over not telling him where she was going and what she was doing... this was not one of them. And in all the time that she'd wished he'd do the Sherlock Scan on her... this is not what she had in mind. "Hi," she said, almost coolly. She stepped into the room and started to take the pins out of her hair.

Holmes rolled over onto his elbow, eyes gleaming as he took in more details. "And how is the dear Inspector?" Damn, that hadn't sounded nearly casual enough.

She tried to hold on to her patience — what is wrong with me?! I should be glad he's not going nuts for doing a case without him! "He's fine. He's good." Relieved to have her hair out of the tight pins, she put them away and grabbed one of her modern hair ties to do a ponytail; surely that had to be safe at this time of day. He caught you off-guard because his reaction wasn't about you, it was about the case. Oh.

His brow furrowed. Beth was smiling when she opened the door, the case obviously went well... What could he possibly have said in the last thirty seconds to offend her?!

Beth gathered up her hair and winced at the awkward silence. "Um... stolen wall. I mean, someone's garden wall was stolen."

Holmes blinked, then started to laugh. "Well, that explains the boots!" And thank God it was just a simple burglary, not a murder case! He wouldn't have to have words with Lestrade the next time he saw him.

She looked down at her boots, the soles of which at least she had done her best to wipe clean. "Okay...? I mean, I guess I kind of look like I've walked through a construction site? Or a demolition one."

He nodded, smiling. "Patches of mortar dust, splashes of red clay..." Pointing: "And you have a scuffed clay paw print on your skirt."

She groaned when she saw it. "Zed, I gotta clean that." She hadn't been joking when she said she did her own laundry! Still, she flopped down onto the bed, careful to keep the pawprint away from the blanket. "So, is there a moratorium on telling you about finished cases?"

That's my girl... "Well... what Watson doesn't know about won't worry him," he murmured with a grin.

She swatted his arm lightly. "You're terrible." Telling the story of an actual case, here we go. She sighed. "Okay, so there's this property that's supposed to be getting renovated, and that included the garden wall..."

Holmes snorted as Beth finished the story. "Well, if it weren't for the fact that the bricklayers were planning to steal Evans's bricks back from the start, I'd be tempted to call it poetic justice for being so miserly!"

"Mm, that's kind of what Geoffrey and I thought." She exhaled forcefully and fell back on the mattress. "They were all ridiculous. Being a terrible customer like that should be a crime anyway." She turned to face him again. "By the way, he says to get better soon — Grandpa Geoffrey, I mean."

Holmes arched a cynical eyebrow, but couldn't help smiling. "Kind of him. Good Lord, he must be missing me on cases!" And the sooner he could start making the Inspector regret that sentiment, the better.

She snorted, and swatted at him again. She had to wonder, though, if Sherlock might have solved the case even faster, if there was something she might have missed... She certainly wasn't at all up on her different types of soil, and that might have helped — or at least, she wouldn't have sounded dumb wondering about the sand. Maybe it's time to study Sherlock's monographs...

Sky: Well, we hope you enjoyed that totally indulgent but also long-overdue little adventure between the two Lestrades! And I'm sure we'll see more of them working together in the future. Meantime, yes, this is all going somewhere, promise! Just stay tuned...