Chapter 2

Lestrade settled, her mind carefully blank. She absently twirled the tack in her right hand, subconsciously releasing some of her pent up anger. She sighed boredly. The only way she could get her captor to come to her would be to calm herself. Experience told her so. And this Yardie-snatcher would just be another experience.

Though she was expecting it, the hiss of the door at her left set her entire body on edge. The tack disappeared into her fist.

A tall man with a confident stride and heavy boots came to her left side. A pair of gloved hands traced her right fist, and the string that had been resting under her hip slid away. The gloved hands gently coaxed her fingers open and Lestrade knew now, without a doubt, that she was at his mercy. She surrendered her tack, but frowned. Her mouth opened to speak, but one of the gloved hands rested a finger against her lips. Her lips came together, sliding against the soft material of his gloves, and Lestrade identified them as genuine velvet. The man’s hands left her and his weight shifted. There was a rustling of cloth and movement. The man’s velvet-clad hands returned to her right fist, unraveling her fingers. A cold, wet cloth dabbed against her injured finger and over her hand. The man clucked his tongue in amusement and murmured something under his breath. She could smell him now, as he leant over her to tend her injured finger. He smelled of soap and sweat and . . .women’s shampoo? and of . . .bubble gum . . .and of . . .of . . .blackberry jam. What the hell? He pulled away, but his scent remained. There was another shift of cloth and his velvet hands came up near her face, then back around her head. His deft fingers undid the knot (how could she have not noticed it?) and the blindfold slipped away to reveal. . . more darkness. There were no lights on in the room to which she was confined, but light shone in through the open door behind the man with the bizarre scent. The light formed a silhouette around his body, but hid his features from view. Instinct took over and she yanked viciously at the straps binding her wrists. The man stepped back, surprised, velvet-clad hands palm forward in a sign of good will and intentions. She bared her teeth, a growl forming at the base of her throat. Her stomach beat her to it, growling with startling intensity. Both of the room’s occupants gazed, surprised, at her midsection. Lestrade squirmed miserably, face reddening with embarrassment as the man let out a throaty chuckle. His velvet hands lifted and clapped once, the sound muffled by his gloves. A smaller man, a misshapen man stepped into the room. His features were also dark, but he did not wear the darkness as well as the man with the velvet gloves. He placed a tray of food on the table next to the bed and left. Lestrade glanced over at the steaming (steaming!) meal and noticed a remote control lying on the small bedside table and glanced up at the man.

He picked up the remote control and pressed a button. The door slid shut with a hiss. Darkness reigned again. Lestrade heard another button being pressed and the lights came on. She blinked several times and looked straight up into the face of the man with the velvet gloves.

She then had a heart attack from surprise and died. The End.

Well, that was what she thought she would do. Instead, she whispered, . . .

---

Holy shit. This was not happening. This was not supposed to happen. Things like this did not happen. It was against the laws of physics. Well, not really, but still, things like this did not happen to people like her. It just wasn’t supposed to happen. It was wrong. Absolutely, totally, entirely, wholly, fully, completely, utterly, thoroughly, perfectly wrong. It was so wrong that Lestrade simply could not wrap her mind around it. So she sat, slack jawed, and stared at the door he had left through. At some point in time, she ate the food left for her, and went to sleep. The straps had turned out to be cuffs and hadn’t been removed, but somehow he had returned to her use of her arms and legs. Maybe this was a big, fat, ugly dream and she would wake up in the morning and go to work and get yelled at by Granny Greyson and get...ticked...at...Holmes! Yes! Holmes would get her out of this ugly mess! Yes he would.

But no he wouldn’t, because this was just a dream, and unless her mind had started to want to dream of him, then he wouldn’t come in like some knight in shining armor to save her from the evil bad guy. So...what? Would he come to save her or not? Was she dreaming, or not?

She rolled over, wishing she had another pair of clothes, like her pajamas, for example. That would be nice.

She sat up suddenly, realization suddenly taking her brain by surprise and shaking it vigorously. She had been kidnapped! Kidnapped! By! By! By....

"SHIT!!"

---

Holmes leaned back in his chair, one arm folding across his chest and the hand of the other coming to rest over his mouth. He looked out the window as if searching for someone or something, willing whatever it was to appear before his window. He superimposed the image of a red and white cruiser landing smoothly on the street below and a tall and elegant woman stepping out, clad in a skintight white uniform. When he blinked, the image was gone, replaced by the murky grayness of the thick, polluted New London fog.

He stood abruptly and moved jerkily to the window, his eyes narrowing in worry. Why was she not here? Why was she late? Not even Chief Inspector Greyson ever kept her this late. Had she forgotten? No, she would rather die than forget an appointment with him. Oh, how he worried. Perhaps she was afraid of him. Bah!, how ridiculous. Inspector Lestrade feared nothing. Besides, why would she have any reason to fear him? He had not done anything to her to make her fear him. At least, not yet. Why was she not here? With him? Was she, could she be, with another? No. No!

Holmes shut his eyes tightly and turned from the window. He stalked to the opposite end of the room, standing before the wall, his head bowed. A wild fire burned in his chest. She could not be with another. If she were, he would have noticed it. She was so easy to read, like an open book. All he had to do was look at the open pages and she would be revealed to him. That was why she couldn’t be with another. Also, she was always so fixated upon him that she would never stray. She would never stray....

The fire in his chest died abruptly and a lingering pain replaced it. He leaned his forehead against the wall and rested his right palm against the cool surface.

Why? Why was he so taken with her? What made her so special? Her intellect was inferior to his and she was as subtle as a sledgehammer to the groin. Her body was easy on the eyes, but lacking in eye-catching characteristics and her language was crude and unrefined.

The answer came to him immediately. When she concentrated, her eyes would glint in /that/ way and her brow would furrow like /that/ and when she was driving, her eyes would glitter with almost-mania and freedom and when she fought with her fists and feet, her eyes would harden into impenetrable walls and, and, and.... And she was perfect.

Holmes turned back to the window and leaned his back against the wall, his eyes far away and a slight smile playing about his lips. His arms crossed over his chest and he wondered what it would be like to hold her in his arms.

His lips fell into a frown. If only she were here, she would have been in his arms by now!

A brick crashed through his bay window, shattering the aged glass. Holmes managed to shield his face in time and waited until the sound of tinkling glass had stopped.

Suddenly glad that he was still wearing his shoes, he picked his way through the shards of glass to the brick that lay innocently amidst the sharded glass.

Tied to the brick was a black velvet glove.

The DNA of two people was found on the glove.

Inspector Lestrade’s DNA was found on the fingertips with a hint of her blood.

The rest of the glove was thickly coated with DNA that belonged to none other than the infamous Mister....

---

All right. I know these are short chapters, but, like I said, this story has been holding my first story hostage. It demands that I finish it. I probably won't write another chapter tonight (I do need sleep, y'know), but tomorrow's Friday and Friday = lots of time. Thx for the reviews. They make me feel warm and fuzzy. And on the swearing bit; I'll try to keep it down to a minimum and only use it a lot in certain situations (ex: Angry and/or confused Lestrade). Other than that, the other charas will probably only use a cuss every once in a long while. Of course, I can't guarantee that, because I've just started writing the story, but I'll try stick to those rules. Bye bye and GOOD NIGHT.

Ooooooooooone more thing before I klonk out at my computer desk.

About the brick being hurled through the window thing.

That wasn't really intentional. It was the first thing that came to mind.

That window is just so convenient.

Maybe I'll make it some kind of trademark theme.