Chapter 13: Of Hackers and Policemen: Part 2.

As always, London Victoria train station was bustling with tourists, visitors and commuters. The thrumming of life, like the heartbeats of a thousand humming birds, along with the scent of Burger King, piss and sweat assaulted Greg Lestrade's senses. The 'London Underground' song seemed highly appropriate.

When he'd gotten the text demanding that he meet 'insert name here' at London Victoria, his first incredulous thought was: How the bloody hell is this pillock gonna find me, then?

His second incredulous thought was: Am I seriously going to go along with this? I must be mad…

But he wasn't mad. Just desperate, tired and disappointed. He had been since the night his boss sent him off to haul Sherlock into Scotland Yard. He'd gotten a right rollicking over that debacle, despite the fact that Sherlock – the late Sherlock Holmes – had been acquitted.

"Coffee, Detective Inspector?" A voice archly enquired. He whirled around to see a girl with dark purple hair in a long, leather coat, holding out a large cup of coffee, another clutched closely to her. "Black, no sugar." She clarified with a vaguely amused quirk of her lips.

Should he take the proffered coffee? Was it drugged? Sod it! I need the caffeine, he thought savagely, taking the cup with a suspicious word of thanks.

"How do you know that's how I take my coffee?" he asked with a scowl.

"A friend told me." She answered simply.

"A friend?"

"Yes."

…

Meanwhile, inside the surveillance van parked around the corner, tech experts and policemen were tearing their hair out in clumps at the image on their computer screens:

A cartoon image of Count Dracula – cape, fangs and widow's peak included was flicking Vs at them to the sound of the stereotypical 'mwahahaha!' evil laugh.

And that was forgetting that the bugs that were wired around DI Lestrade were picking up nothing but white noise.

Sergeant Sally Donovan, brought out of suspension, was demanding that the techs 'fix it' whilst said techs blinked and drew straws as to who should tell her that they were 'way out of their depth'. Eventually, a bespectacled Welshman with a stutter and a comb-over weakly said: "Short of calling off the operation, I don't think there's anything that you can do. This is the work of professionals, sergeant, proper professionals who know what they're doing: we're looking at world-class Hacker's – my guess is that this" he pointed to the maniacal Dracula cartoon on the screen, "is the work of a certain Dreadnaught-"

"What's a Dreadnaught?"

"The highest you can get in the Hacking hierarchy. There's only about fifteen of them in the world – three in Britain. I reckon we've just encountered 'Dracula'. He's supposed to be the best in the world – I always dreamed of meeting him one day!" he gushed, adding, at Donovan's threatening scowl, "But if he's involved in this, then that means that 'Medusa' is likely hip-deep in this, as well."

"What do you mean? Who's 'Medusa'?"

"Not too sure: she only appeared on the scene a few years ago, but she's made quite a name for herself in certain circles, since then. They reckon she's already Dreadnaught level. Either way, you rarely find one without the other. The good thing is, though, that if they're involved, Detective Inspector Lestrade is completely safe; they have a pretty strong moral streak, see."

…

"Your text said that you had information about Emily Strange and Robert Downey's murders." Lestrade said gruffly.

"I don't think we were quite that specific, but never mind. You're looking for a professional hitman, Detective Inspector, and frankly, I don't think you'll be able to catch him on your own."

"So, what are you? MI5? MI6?"

"Christ no!" the girl snickered, "Our mutual friend would keel over if the secret service got their grubby little mitts on this."

"Alright, look. I dunno what you think you're playin' at, but Sherlock Holmes is dead. Alright? He threw himself off Bart's roof." He snapped.

"Did he really?"

"Yes!"

At this, Violet's brows rose briefly. "Bit obvious, wouldn't you say?"

"You're saying he's not?" Lestrade croaked curiously, scared to hope that what this mad girl was saying was true. "I'm not saying anything other than that we have a mutual friend who's gagging to get on this case. That's if you don't think that he's behind all of this." Her brown eyes turned icy, then.

"I never believed any of that. I was doing my job-"

"And a fine job you did, too. Look, I don't care: your hands were tied with beaurocratic red tape; administration is bullshit nonsense and the government is a bitch, I know." She smiled reassuringly.

"Well, it's not like he did himself any favours, getting everybody's back up, calling them idiots ever five seconds and showing off all the time with no respect for-"

"Believe me, I know how true that is." She muttered with an exasperated chuckle.

"But I'm not going to say that we don't need that sort of help, right now, 'cause we do." He saluted with his coffee, "Thanks for the coffee, by the way. Really needed that."

"You're very welcome." She grinned, "Just a word of advice, though: if you're going to get yourself bugged, you should really use a Dictaphone, or something. We blocked the signal to your team. Sorry."

"'S just as well, given the subject of conversation, eh?"

Violet nodded, seeing precisely why Sherlock put up with the supposed 'idiot', and stalked toward the exit, leather trenchcoat flowing dramatically behind her.

"Wait, hold on! Where am I s'posed to find him?" Lestrade demanded on a shout.

"I'm sure you can work that one out on your own," she called, not turning around, "It was very lovely to meet you, Detective Inspector!"

…

Donovan caught him, just as he was getting in the car back to Scotland Yard. "Sir? Who was it? What did they want?"

"I dunno. Just a concerned citizen, I s'pose."

"Who got your phone number and sent you a funny text?"

Lestrade answered with a mere shrug that fooled nobody.

"As long as you know what you're doing, Sir."

"Oh, so you're trusting me, now?"

"I made that mistake before; I don't plan on making it a second time."

"Ok then…"

Author's Note: I'm not too sure about whether or not I'm happy with how this one turned out, so I'd really like your opinions on it.

Soundtrack: Remain Nameless by Florence + the Machine.