Circumstantial Evidence

by Cyberwolf (wolf at

The idea just struck me in the middle of Physics class one day. (meaning I really ought to review Newton's Laws, seeing as how I certainly didn't get it from that lecture) A short, pointless fic whose only purpose is to provide a little H/L action. I don't know what to categorize it as. I haven't even come up with a title for it. If you've suggestions, then by all means, suggest away! ^_^
Disclaimer: Sherlock 'olmes in the bloomin' 22nd Century is an animated series belongin' ter DiC. Not ter me. I ain't receivin' no brass from this venture.
Lestrade was cold, damp, cranky and suspecting the beginnings of a cold. Needless to say, it had been a somewhat less than stellar day.
She had just come from an encounter with Moriarty on the waterfront. The incident involved explosives, smuggled weapons and an attempt to drown her. She shivered, once, in spite of the heating blanket draped over her shoulders and the mug of piping- hot chicken soup (courtesy of Watson) she held in between her hands. She would have drowned, had not Holmes managed to get her to shore. She remembered the water closing over her head, and then knowing nothing more until she awoke, sputtering, on a dock.
And Moriarty, damn his soul (assuming clones, especially clones of master criminals, had them) had escaped. 'Oh well,' she sighed to herself. ‘At least we managed to get that cache of smuggled weapons. And we did make a few arrests -- just none of them Moriarty.’
Now, here she was, recuperating at Holmes’ flat - it was nearer than either New Scotland Yard headquarters or her own apartment. She was about to start on her chicken soup when the front door banged open. Slightly startled, she looked up to see the three Irregulars come crashing into 221B. She had only enough time to note the generally shell-shocked expression on the boys’ faces and the absolutely beaming one on Deidre’s before the red-haired girl was in front of her, babbling happily.
"Oh, I knew it, I did, I was right!"
"It’s finally ‘appened. I knew it would. I almost can’t believe it, though. I mean, I knew but at the same time you were so zedding...agh! Well, I’m very ‘appy for you, Inspector. Congratulations! I am so, so ‘appy that it finally happened...."
Deidre was beginning to repeat herself in that long onrushing avalanche of jabber. Lestrade, knowing how smooth Deidre could be, regarded this as highly suspicious. She could make neither heads nor tails of Deidre’s puzzling outpouring of enthusiasm, so....
"Um, sorry to burst your bubble, kid. But we didn’t catch Moriarty."
"I’m not talking about that," Deidre said impatiently, waving the matter off.
"Then what in the zed are you talking about?" Lestrade demanded.
"Why, that you and Mr Holmes finally got together!"
Lestrade nearly dropped her mug of soup.
Silently, deliberately, she placed the soup on the surface of the nearby coffee-table. Equally slowly and deliberately, she turned to face the Irregulars.
"What are you talking about?!" she repeated, only with a significant increase in volume.
Wiggins and Tennyson winced; Deidre seemed unaffected.
"Oh come on. I know you’re always denying it, but it’s a little late for that now, isn’t it? You may as well own up. We’ve got evidence!" She held up a photograph and Lestrade’s heart skipped.
Her brain froze for precious seconds as she stared. Thankfully, it returned to its normal state of functioning as she registered the triumphant smirk on that insufferable Deidre’s face.
"Give me that!" Lestrade cried, lunging forward and snatching the photo out of Deidre’s hand. The bewildered inspector stared at the image of Holmes’ blond head bent over hers, his mouth against her own.
She’d been unconscious during the incident, but she knew what it was.
"You zedding ninny! This isn’t a kiss, he was giving me mouth- to-mouth resuscitation!" Of course she’d assumed that she’d been revived by one of the medical team whom she had awakened to find all around her, so that photo was rather a shock...but she’d known at once what the picture was.
"That’s a pretty imaginative excuse, Inspector," drawled Deidre, and Lestrade had to fight the urge to jump up and scream.
Holmes entered the room then, blond hair lying rather flatter than normally against his head -- he’d just showered, rinsing off the seawater which he had jumped into. He blinked once as Deidre ran to him, waving the photo in her hand. Lestrade stared at her own empty one. Damn -- she hadn’t even felt Deidre take it back.
After having had the picture shoved into his face, Holmes began to give the same explanation Lestrade had -- only more calmly. Deidre seemed to take it with about the same amount of belief. Wiggins and Tennyson stood around silently, looking a little awkward. Lestrade saw mingled belief and doubt in their expressions and fumed silently. That zedding girl and her fast- talking!
Fifteen minutes later, Lestrade left quietly through the front door. Holmes was still facing off with Deidre ("Well, what about the time when you and the Inspector...."), but she was able to catch his eye and wave just before closing the door.
As she drove home, anticipating a hot bath and a fresh change of clothing, she wondered. ‘Where did Deidre get that photo?’ Another, more frightening thought struck her. ‘Did she make copies?’
AN: There you have it. I'm considering writing a short epilogue...what do you think?

On to the Epilogue!
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