A Dish Best Served Cold
Summary: Moriarty is out rule the world once again and he's had it with Sherlock Holmes's interference. He has a plan, but the detective's friends may pay the ultimate price.
DisclaimerAll Publicly Recognizable Characters, Settings, Ideas, etc. are the Property of DiC Entertainment and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The Original Characters and Plot are the Property of the Author. The Author is in no way Associated with the Owners, Creators, or Producers of DiC Entertainment. No Copyright Infringement is intended.
Chapter 4 - Forcibly Taken
Lestrade's Flat, New London
Lestrade awoke two hours later to find that she had fallen asleep at the table. But it wasn't the uncomfortable sleeping surface that had awakened her but the tell-tale sound of footsteps moving about in her flat. Plural. Footsteps. From more then one person. Which automatically ruled out Holmes, and on top of that the weight and stride time didn't match anyone else she knew.
Her hand slid down to her right thigh and withdrawing her ionizer she started to advance towards the sounds of footsteps. Turning the corner as she approached the living room, she pointed her ionizer at the intruder—seeing that it was a woman.
"Freeze! New Scotland Yard!"
The women turned and smirked. Something about that smirk put Lestrade on edge, her lips were small, cruel and her black eyes seemed to shine with sadistic glee. She was 5" 5' had long straight jet black hair that hung lose around her shoulders and was dressed in a blood red skin tight top and black skin tight pants.
"Hello, you must be Elizabeth."(1)
"Inspector Lestrade to you." Lestrade's voice was thick with anger and annoyance.
"If you say so dear, but there's no need to be rude. Where I come from we say hello—it's only polite. Hmm… must be your American upbringing."
Lestrade glared. "What are you doing here?"
"Sigh," the woman shook her head morosely, "Well if you insist on been rude, I suppose Damon will have to deal with you."
Lestrade felt a pair of strong arms put her into a headlock. She sighed in annoyance, then using a judo technique she picked up when she was eight, flung the man across the room and towards his partner who gracefully stepped out of the way.
The woman smiled again and before Lestrade could assume a fighting stance her opposition was an inch from her face. Simultaneously the intruder's index and middle fingers struck Lestrade on her arms a few inches beneath her shoulders. Lestrade cursed as her arms went numb, her ionizer dropping to the floor with a noisy clatter.
As the sound echoed thought the room, the woman swept Lestrade's legs out from beneath her using a side-kick. Within milliseconds Lestrade was flat on her back and the woman had a small knife at Lestrade's throat.
"You really should be more polite you know," the woman said in a chidingly, an insane sadistic expression on her cruel face "people respond to you better when you are."
Lestrade glared and spat out, "What the zed do you want?"
The woman shook her head as her partner walked up behind her and handed her a white handkerchief. Lestrade could smell the chloroform.
"Not very high tech," the woman said regretfully as she used her left hand to cover Lestrade's nose and mouth, "but it gets the job done."
"Hurry up will you?" the man's voice rumbled in the background. "We still need to take care of those kids."
Lestrade's eyelids flickered as she realised they were talking about the Irregulars. 'No…' was her last thought as she was forced into a restless slumber.
00o00
"Lestrade! Lestrade!" Holmes shouted, his heart in his throat, as he ran towards the rubble that had been a warehouse only moments ago.
There was only one thought in his head. Lestrade was in there dying—or dead.
He clawed at the debris, moving and rooting through as much as he could, desperate to find her. Shoving aside another layer of crumbled stone, he saw a grey gloved hand, limp and unmoving protruding from the pile of rubble.
'No,' he screamed with mental anguish as he shoved rubble to the side and slowly revealed the dirty, bleeding and unmoving form of Lestrade. 'No!' Heaving the last large piece aside, Holmes searched for a pulse or any other signs of life and at the same time calling for Watson hoping the compudroid could do something… where was he? He had been just behind Holmes a minute ago!
"Watson?" He cried out, "Watson!"
Holding onto Lestrade he started to cry, tears poured freely down his face for the first time in many years.
"Come back!"
It was an anguished, desperate plea for either and both. He couldn't think, couldn't see. He felt numb. There was nothing but pain all over his body.
She was gone.
He had failed. Failed his friend and comrade and failed… failed his love.
With a choking cry Holmes jerked upright into full, heart-bounding awareness. Glancing wildly about he regained his bearings, he had fallen asleep in his armchair—it had only been a dream. Breathing steadily to calm his racing heart, Holmes relaxed backwards as words and scenes drifted through his mind.
…a grey gloved hand buried under stone…
…turning to call Watson and seeing nothing…
…the heart-wrenching sense of having failed the woman he loved…
He shoved that fragment of nightmare into the back of his mind and buried it. Now was not the time.
Heart beat returning to normal, Holmes signed at the return of this particular nightmare; a nightmare that had begun after the incident with the Musgrave sword when Lestrade had been trapped within a collapsed warehouse.
'She didn't die,' he reminded himself firmly, "she's fine." Holmes unexpectedly however found himself fighting the urge to call Lestrade, to hear her voice and be reassured that she was all right. A glance at the clock however deterred that notion: it read 2:32 a.m.
'No,' he told himself firmly. 'She is more then capable of defending herself, besides it would irate her beyond reason to be awakened at such an ungodly hour, and a irritated Lestrade is the last thing I wish to encounter at present.' Sighing he went back to doing what he did best thinking, and solving crimes. To do this he took up his violin and started to play.
At 11:30 a.m. Holmes' thoughts were interrupted by the vidphone. Hoping it was Lestrade he quickly went to answer it and was disappointed to see Grayson, a disappointment that he, as always, did not show.
"Holmes!" The Chief Inspector barked, "Where's Lestrade?"
"Is she not at her flat?" Holmes questioned quizzically, the foreboding feelings that he'd been fighting since awakening rushing back to the fore.
"If she is she's not answering her 'vidpho—" Grayson blinked as Holmes vanished from view, the slight pause of breath had given Holmes enough time to grab his Inverness, deerstalker, and cane and head to his coachcraft.
Holmes made it to Lestrade's flat in record time, narrowly avoiding crashing approximately ten times.
As he dashed up the steps he cursed himself twice over, first for not taking her up on her invitation and second, for not calling when he'd had the urge. If he had…. 'No,' he told himself, 'now is not the appropriate time for 'what ifs'.'
Punching in the lockcode, he entered Lestrade's flat cautiously in case it was still occupied but soon had his worst fears confirmed—Lestrade's issued ionizer lay forlornly on the living room floor and the plaster of the far wall bore faint spider-web cracks—a struggle had taken place. From the faint footprints on the floor he was able to deduce that there had been two attackers, the foot size and treed imprint indicated that one was male that stood at least 6" 8' whereas the other was a female of about 5" 5'.
The interesting thing of note was that it was the male that Lestrade had managed to toss to the wall that bore the spider-web cracks, a good seven feet from where she'd initially been attacked. But at some point the female had attacked and… Lestrade had lost.
'Considering Lestrade's skill… this woman should be considered extremely dangerous,' he muttered to himself, recalling the occasion when he'd seen Lestrade take out five men with no visible effort, and the fact that this unknown woman had taken her down so easily…
Performing a thorough inspection of the room for clues as to where the two had taken Lestrade, all he learned that was relevant to the matter at hand was that they had carried her out to the balcony and into a hovercar and may or may not been waiting.
'Naturally,' he reflected, 'Moriarty would make sure there was nothing else. Well I have other methods.'
From his coachcraft Holmes called Grayson and updated him on the situation.
"What do you mean Lestrade's been abducted?" Grayson shouted.
Holmes sighed. Grayson was thick, how he got to be Chief Inspector was anyone's guess.
"What I mean is Lestrade was forcefully taken from her home," replied Holmes in his patronizing 'I'm-Talking-To-A-Three-Year-Old' voice.
Needless to say Grayson was not amused, "Get back to Lestrade's. I'll meet you there. I'm going to oversee this investigation personally."
'I'm sure Lestrade would be extremely grateful considering the fact you could not find a curio in an art auction(2)' Out loud though he said, "I don't think so Chief Inspector, I have my own leads to follow."
"Holmes—" Grayson began to shout again before being cut off by the source of his annoyance turning off the vidphone.
When Holmes got back to Baker Street he turned himself into Wayne and headed out to The Hole hoping Broady or Jackson had said something to someone, they were the type to brag.
Ten and a half hours later Holmes had been all over Whitechapel and had not found a thing. No one had mentioned Moriarty or anything about Broady or Jackson—people were scared.
He asked Tennyson to keep a digital eye out for any sign of MacGyver. Deidre and Wiggins were to go through Holmes' copies of several tech robbery files looking for anything that MacGyver might be interested in based off the information they had on him from his yard file.
00o00
"Agh… my head," Lestrade groaned as she sat up carefully, hands cradling her busily spinning head. "Arrgh," she groaned again, "who uses chloroform anymore?"
She was in a fairly large room (about 40 x 40 feet) The head of her bed was against the wall and there were nightstands on both sides of it. At two thirty (geographically speaking) there was a small round table with two chairs at one o'clock was a dresser and to the left of the dresser was a door, Lestrade despite the slight dizzy feeling she was still suffering, could tell it lead to a washroom.
The bed itself was queen size with white gossamer curtains, white sheets and a white blanket. The walls of the room were metal. And she could see they were lined with small round vents at the top. There was another door in the far right hand corner that looked extremely heavy and very locked. On the night stand to her right there was a glass of water. Deciding that if they wanted to drug her they probably would have by now and that she really needed a drink due to the chloroform, making her throat dry. She took the glass and drank it all, in seconds.
"Thirsty?" asked a voice that Lestrade would recognise anywhere.
"Moriarty," growled Lestrade, venomously.
"Guilty," was the villain's response in a ridiculously cheerful voice. (3)
As she turned she saw that he had a tray with some food in his hands. "Where's Watson? And the kids, what have you done to them?"
Moriarty walked over to the table and placed the tray down before answering. "The children are fine Miss Lestrade—"
"That's Inspector Lestrade to you clone head!" Was it just her or did Moriarty look hurt for a split second? The look was gone in an instant and Lestrade was sure she had imagined it.
"Inspector Lestrade, as I was saying, they are unharmed… the reason being that they have yet to arrive. I've decided to wait a day or two. See what Holmes will do." He paused as he sat himself down. "As for Watson, he is also fine… considering his current predicament. Try to attack me, hold me hostage or anything of the kind and well… he shan't remain so."
Lestrade who had been tensing for that very reason forced herself to relax. Moriarty noticed.
"Good now have a seat," he said as he reached for one the muffins he brought and took a bite. "I assure you the food is not drugged. If I have to drug you, I'll use the vents."
Lestrade remained standing and glared. "What is this all about?"
"Isn't it obvious?" He replied smugly, "I'm getting my revenge on Holmes—by destroying everything he cares for."
"If you hurt those kids—"
Moriarty waved his hand, "Tennyson's hacking skill will be useful—"
"He would never in a million years help you."
"He will if he wants to keep the other two safe. Though really, I only need one as leverage. I could use the other as an example."
"If you—!"
Moriarty waved his hand again, "Enough! If you don't stop yelling I shall leave and you'll lose your chance to procure information." He randomly picked a grape and ate it. "Now why don't you have something to eat, I know for a fact that you haven't eaten since 12:30 p.m. yesterday and it's…" he glanced at his old fashioned gold pocket watch, "11:35 a.m. now."
Calmly Lestrade put both hands on the table across from Moriarty and leaned forward so that she was eyelevel with him and replied in an even voice, "As if I would ever eat anything you offered."
Surging angrily to his feet, Moriarty swept the tray onto the floor. "Then starve!" he shouted as he stalked from the room, the door closing with an ominous click behind him.
Sighing Lestrade collapsed on her bed.
An hour later she found herself thinking of Holmes and wondering how he would be handling the situation. Well one thing she could be sure of he wouldn't panic, he would remain his usual stone faced self. The man knew how to bury his emotions. Thinking of Holmes' cold exterior her mind drifted to a conversation she had had with her mother when she was sixteen…
Beth read a passage of John Watson's journal and sighed in frustration, attracting a quizzical look from her mother who was preparing dinner. Seeing and interpreting it, Beth answered the unvoiced question.
"I don't know why Watson describes Holmes as cold. He doesn't seem cold to me."
"Really?" Her mother questioned, stirring the contents of a pot, "That man never shows any emotion and half the time acts like he doesn't care about others."
"Is that you're definition of someone who's cold, mom? Someone who acts like they don't care?"
"Yes sweetheart, what's yours?"
"Someone who doesn't."
A pause and another quizzical look.
"Doesn't care that is, not just acts like they don't care." Beth clarified.
"Then you're right," her mother replied, "according to your definition Holmes is actually very warm hearted. And that is a good definition—but in my view he's still cold."
Lestrade sighed; this trip down memory lane was getting her nowhere. Why was she thinking about Holmes? She should be thinking about the kids or a way out. She decided to look at the door.
Five minutes later Lestrade had come to the conclusion that Moriarty had purchased a very good door.
"I'm going to kill him!" Lestrade shouted as she pounded her fist on the table. Her stomach grumbled. "Quiet you," she ordered the rebellious organ. Sighing again she started to pace the room like a caged animal (which she practically was).
Moriarty sighed as he looked at the monitor.
Lestrade had been alternating between pacing and glaring at the camera for the past six hours. He had made sure the camera was placed in an obvious location so she would know she was been watched and would change (he had, had several spare changes of clothes brought in with her) shower and what not in the privacy of the camera-less washroom he had provided.
He was a gentleman after all and he did not want his security guards fighting each other for leering rights—as things were he was only letting his female employees keep an eye on her.
He messaged his temples, one could never accuse him of been a chauvinist. Even in the 1800's he had been an equal opportunity employer and was very glad of that fact, women could open a fare number of doors that would otherwise be closed.
He sighed again, chances were she would go three weeks without asking for food, she might even let herself stave to death. She had access to plenty of water so she could do it easily enough.
Moriarty smiled, it was going to be a challenge breaking her. Now he had only to decide whether or not to cut off the water.
00o00
As Holmes browsed through the records of MacGyver's known thefts a thought struck him, if Moriarty was behind it as was clearly indicated, then MacGyver would have been paid—he should be looking at purchases, not thefts. And as Moriarty had AI chips he should probably be looking at robotic parts. 'Seems Watson's and Lestrade's abduction has affected me more then I originally anticipated.' Quickly he punched Tennyson's number into his pocket vidphone.
"Tennyson there has been a change of plans. I need you to look up recent purchases for robotic parts, when you have acquired the information come to Baker Street."
Tennyson nodded. Holmes decided to call Wiggins and Deidre and appraise them of the situation.
"We'll be right there Mister Holmes."
Half an hour later, the Irregulars were assembled in the sitting room. Holmes being Holmes hadn't bothered with tea as he was too busy thinking. To the Irregulars the lack of tea, which was something Watson always made sure was there, was just another reminder that not everything was at should be at Baker Street.
"A.I. chips were stolen from Sir Hargrave's lab as well as the plans for them. The fact that Moriarty took the chips as well as the plans instead of simply coping them so they would not be missed implies that he has immediate use for them. Or he simply wanted to lead Watson and I into a trap, but there are other ways he could have gone about doing so and obtained the same result."
"Okay," Wiggins began thinking aloud, "we know Moriarty has an immediate use for the chips. And we can knock off several of these orders of robotic parts as suspect because they from established legitimate companies" here he grimaced, "great that only leaves about two thousand."
"Two thousand, six hundred thirty seven to be precise," Holmes corrected.
Wiggins sighed gustily. "Right well lets get started. Kyle Ryner ordered two server droids. I think we can put that in the definitely not Moriarty pile."
"Same with this Sara Waters who ordered a few spare parts," Deidre said picking up the tread.
And so it went for the better part of six hours, till it was midnight and it was obvious that the Irregulars were getting tired and more then little disoriented—they hadn't been sleeping well lately.
"Go home all of you it is a school night." Holmes finally announced, "You may return at the end of classes tomorrow."
They all looked at him. He expected them to go to school? At a time like this? They would come straight to Baker Street in the morning. They told him so.
"While I do appreciate the offer, I doubt your guardians would approve."
"Dad wouldn't mind." Deidre reassured, "after all its thanks to you and Watson I'm getting A's in biology and chemistry."
"Ya and thanks to you I got a shot at going to some of the best universities in England." Wiggins contributed.
"My parents think that my working with you is great." Tennyson said though it sounded more like "Beepbeep whur beep beep."
"Be that as it may, I don't want to see any of you here until after school tomorrow." Holmes ordered, with a sigh the Irregulars departed and the detective returned to the list off orders. There were still a considerable amount to go through.
Deidre walked with Wiggins and Tennyson for awhile before she broke off and headed for her place.
The street was desolate but that was nothing unusual. All of a sudden she heard a noise behind her, someone grabbed her from behind, and forced her violently into a headlock. A year ago Deidre would have been scared, now she was merely annoyed. Lestrade had insisted that she learn combat if she was going to accompany Holmes around. She had heard from Wiggins how Lestrade had handled herself in the underground when they had first met, and at first Deidre had been thrilled. Then she learned how exhausting and demanding a teacher Lestrade could be, nevertheless she had learned well. She tossed the guy five feet.
Deidre heard a women laugh, it was high pitched and cruel. She turned in the owner's direction and saw that it was indeed a woman, she had black eyes and stood about 5" 5' with long straight jet black hair that hung lose around her shoulders. She was clothed in skin tight garments, a blood red top and black pants.
"Honestly Damon," the woman chided. "Can't you do anything? A yardie getting advantage over you is one thing, but a thirteen year old girl?"
Deidre quickly realized which 'yardie' the woman was referring to. "What ya do to 'nspertor Lestrade ya old hag!"
The women's eyes flashed, "You little…" anger radiated from her before she calmed, "you're even ruder then that detective. She kept asking us what we were doing. I would think that would be obvious."
Deidre said nothing but her fist clenched hard enough for her nails to draw blood.
"Damon, do you want this one or shall I?"
"She's mine," the man growled in a deep, gritty voice.
Deidre turned to face the man, knowing instinctively that the woman was the more dangerous of the two but it didn't seem like she was going to attack.
The man was half hidden in shadows, but Deidre could tell that he stood at a towering height of 7' 8'' with a muscular build, he had short brown hair and wore black pants, and a navy blue tee-shirt underneath a brown jacket. And it was obvious he has not in a good mood, to have a trained Inspector momentarily get the best of him was one thing, but a kid? That was an entirely different matter.
Deidre watched carefully as he approached, she was surprised by his expression or lack of one, his face was cold and distant and his eyes were… they could only be described as soulless.
Despite her fear she did not back down, she stared Damon right in the eye daring him to hit her. He brought up his right hand and threw a punch aimed at her collar bone. Deidre grabbed his hand, side stepped and pulled while bringing her knee up to his family jewels.
He went down, as soon as he hit the ground he used his legs to trip Deidre and while she was reorienting herself pined her to the ground. Despite the situation she smiled to herself. He was grimacing in pain.
"Where are they?!" She screamed as the women walked up and placed a rag over her mouth, forcing her into a deep sleep. A few seconds later a sleek looking hovercar arrived, and landing slit open it's doors in order to admit the group and it's unconscious prisoner
Wiggins and Tennyson continued on their way, strolling down another street, empty due to the late hour. They turned down an alleyway when six men approached out of the shadows.
Wiggins instantly assumed a fighting position. Three of the men surrounded him while the other three went for Tennyson. Wiggins grinned. 'Man' he thought 'are they in for a shock—literally!'
As a result of Lestrade's constant insistence Tennyson and Watson had spend many an hour installing a great defense system into his hover chair.
One of the goons put his hand on the cage of the hover chair and was instantly shocked into unconsciousness. The other guy annoyed and surprised reached for Tennyson and grabbed roughly by the jumpsuit. Tennyson glared and a small gun appeared over his shoulder and blasted the guy. The man went flying into one of his co-workers who was attacking Wiggins
While all this was going on Wiggins was involved with his own fight. The first goon lunged at him and Wiggins knocked him out with a right hook. He smiled grateful and not for the first time that Holmes had overseen his training, seemed only natural since they both boxed. The two spent at least two hours a week practicing, and Holmes had also taught him some of the various other forms of combat the detective knew including Baritsu. After the first guy was out the second approached, he threw a punch which Wiggins blocked. The attacker was about to hit again when another body sent him flying into the wall.
"Thanks Tennyson," Wiggins shouted as he continued to fight Tennyson beeped a welcome as he turned to the last attacker, he found the smirk gracing his ugly features unnerving , not that he showed it.
"Heard you had some tricks," he said as he lifted his right hand to show he had an EMP(4) grenade, "so MacGyver gave me this."
"Oh no,' Tennyson's eyes widened, 'Me and Watson were going to install EMP shields next week!' He tried to hit reverse and while he did manage to get some distance it was not enough. The goon tossed the grenade and Tennyson's chair puttered to a halt.
Meanwhile Wiggins was dealing with his third attacker. He aimed a punch at Wiggins's face. Wiggins blocked with his left arm then quickly brought up his right to block another punch. This guy wasn't giving Wiggins a chance to counter attack. Wiggins waited till the other guy's punches started to slow then dropped his right hand and while sidestepping out of the way right hooked the guy. He only managed to clip him but it was enough to throw the guy off, Wiggins managed to grab the man's arm and turn it behind him.
"One wrong move and you'll be crippled for life," he hissed in his opponent's ear. "Now where's Lestrade and Watson?" When the man did not respond Wiggins twisted his arm.
"Arrrgh."
"The pain stops when you talk."
"That's enough of that," another voice announced.
Wiggins barely managed to avoid the kick. He then noticed that Tennyson was out of the fight. Angry Wiggins grabbed his new opponent's leg as he kicked again and twisted, hard and fast, dislocating it, the man went down unable to get back up. By this time the man who's arm Wiggins had twisted was back up on his feet. He looked at Wiggins uncertainty in his eyes.
"Think about it" said Wiggins glaring. The man ran. Wiggins walked towards Tennyson. "Hey you okay Tennyson?" he asked in concern as he leaned over his friend to inspect the damage. Tennyson's eyes widened.
"Beeep-whur beep!" (Behind you!)
Wiggins turned just in time to see the fist, it contacted with bruising force and he hit the ground, out cold. The new man who had punched him then stepped aside to reveal a woman.
"Well it's a good thing we decided to check up on these guys," she sighed to her companion.
Tennyson didn't like her, her eyes were cruel and her smile had a sadistic look to it.
"My name is Kerai, you're Tennyson right?"
He glared.
"Not even a response, well at lest you're not as rude as that girl… what was her name again Damon?" The woman's smile turned down right vicious, "Oh yes, Deidre wasn't it?."
"Beep beep whur beeep whur!"
"Relax she's fine, we merely knocked her unconscious. Cooperate and she and your friend here," she nudged Wiggins's still form with her toe, "won't come to further harm."
Tennyson glared, but lifted his hands in surrender.
Footnotes:
(1) This is me playing Devil's Advocate I know it says Elizabeth on the poster - I know that short forms of names containing 'beth' are customarily Bethany or Elizabeth but Beth is also a Hebrew name meaning "house of God." So why can't Beth be her true name? Also in episode #1 The Fall and Rise of Sherlock Holmes, compudroid Watson introduces himself as being "licensed to B. Lestrade," which indicates (because of the 'B') that Beth is her true name and if Beth is shorthand then her true name would be Bethany, not Elizabeth. What do you have to say?
(2) Curio noun, any unusual article, object of art, etc., valued as a curiosity
(3) Modified quote from Disney's 1994-1995 Aladdin t.v. series, episode #39 - The Secret of Dagger Rock.
(4) EMP acronym, Electro Magnetic Pulse, basic function is to short-circuit electrical equipment
The next update will be on October the 8 that's right it's a Thanksgiving day present to my few readers,
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