It Was Probably Just the Wind...

by Angel (aisumitsukai at

riiiiiight! just found all my mistakes! this is the redone, redone version!

O.k. this is my new story... i was feeling kinda depressed a while ago and the plot bunnies chained me up and forced me to write's all fluff, but there you go....(it's got a title too)^_^

(i'm so proud, i actually thought of a title....)

Title: 'It was probably just the wind...'

Inspector Lestrade sighed; it was Christmas-time again. That wasn't really so bad (Holmes hadn't been complaining), but it seemed that this year she was not going to get out of going to the Christmas Ball. Damn! She looked at the clock. Sigh. She should probably get going, there was only five minutes left to go till she was late.

As Lestrade stepped out of her flat she shivered. Stupid dress, she thought. But that wasn't true; something was bugging her, nagging away in the back of her brain. Something was wrong; she felt horribly out of place.

"Great! Now I'm getting delirious! Grrrr." She slammed the hovercar door a little harder than usual. What was wrong with her today?


A loud slam annouced Lestrade's arrival at the Christmas Ball.

"You're late, Lestrade."

"Shut up, Chief."

Something was wrong with Lestrade; Holmes had noticed that right away, but now it looked like she was about to cry.... What was he thinking? Lestrade didn't cry. Get a grip, Holmes.

"Hello, Lestrade." She was wearing a very nice dress, too....


"How are you doing, Inspector? You don't look too good," Watson said in his usual doctoring manner.

"What? Oh, uh-I'm fine, just a bit hungry." Lestrade had forced a smile onto her face.

The smile really just makes her look more depressed. Oh deuce! What WAS he thinking?!


Watson was still dancing; he really was a very sociable person. Another one of those quirks (like cooking) robots weren't supposed to have.

Holmes, on the other hand, usually very sociable himself, was attempting to stay hidden in the hallway (he REALLY didn't like that Amilia Duchard) with Lestrade, who was....

Well, Lestrade was basically just standing beside Holmes feeling very depressed, for absolutely NO apparent reason. Of course Greyson had been chewing her out all night. She told herself that was the reason.


Holmes and Lestrade whirled to face a nasty-looking man. (The laser guns didn't add to his appearance.)

"Little Beth, it's been a long time." The guy smiled, showing a missing tooth.

Lestrade stared at him in confusion. She knew him, but WHO was he?! Why couldn't she rememb-- oh dear god please no!

Holmes saw the confusion leave Lestrade's face and be instantly replaced with horror.

"You remember me, doncha, Beth?"

Lestrade's mind was all for running very, very quickly out of the room, out of New London preferably. Of course, her pride wouldn't hear of it; it would be damned if it let that jerk know she was terrified out of her wits. Besides, it reasoned, you can take him on. You're an expert fighter.

Well, you didn't last that long last time you fought him, some cynical part of her brain reminded her.

I was eight!

Riiiight! That's why you're scared out of your wits...makes sense!

Oh please! SHUT UP!

Lestrade's head shot up as a laserbeam burnt a hole in the wall beside her shoulder.

"Excuse me, sir, but what exactly do you think you're doing?" Holmes was as polite as ever.

"It's none of your business, I'll tell you that much," the man snarled and shot again.

Lestrade had had enough. She jumped and attacked. The man looked at her in fear as she slashed out at him.


It had only taken Lestrade several minutes to successfully crunch most of the man's important bones. She was now huddled on the floor of a faraway hallway. Once the man had gone she had run away. Holmes was sitting beside her, trying to figure out what was going on. It was interesting, really, because being left in the dark just wasn't something that happend to him.

Lestrade's vision was blurry, and why was everything so red? She smiled. That had been fun, pounding him into the floor. She could still hear him screaming. Holmes had stopped her from killing him. The bastard had run away. Lestrade shuddered. What was she thinking?

"Lestrade? What's going on?" Holmes was very worried. He had never seen her so angry. It was almost like she enjoyed beating that man up.

Lestrade coughed; she felt like she was going to throw up. Her body was numb and she was covered in blood.

"W-when I was eight, my father murdered my mother." She stopped and wrapped her arms around her knees. The floor was freezing. "My father went to jail and I was sent to live with my uncle. He hated me. Two months later he left me in the Underground. I was freaked out, I had no idea what to do. A week later that man found me. He took me back to his 'house'; he said it was all right and I-I believed him. It wasn't all right. He took me home and it -- do you know how HEAVY crates of drugs are?" She smirked, talking more to herself now. "I was only eight! How could he expect me to carry that?! He had this...laser whip, too. Every time some thing went wrong, he'd-" She couldn't finish. She turned her head and looked over her shoulder. As she grimaced down at the almost invisible scars on her back she could still remember all the pain.

Holmes' eyes widened.

Lestrade looked at her feet. "I ran away. I learnt martial arts. I learnt any type of fighting I could, but the fear never went away, no matter how good I got. I didn't really like fighting; I was afraid -- afraid that I would enjoy it. Enjoy hurting people. In the end I loved it. I lived for that one moment of ecstasy when I killed them. I'm a monster. I know you're probably horribly disgusted with me. I didn't want to tell you. I would've told anyone else, but not you. I valued your opinion. It hurt when you didn't believe me. I never wanted you to know, but it's too late for that now." She didn't have the courage to meet his eyes.

"Lestrade..." Holmes was dumbfounded; never in a million years would he have thought....

"It's all right; everybody who knew loathed and despised me. I don't blame you for hating me."

"Who said I hated you? Don't put words in my mouth, Beth Lestrade." Suddenly he leaned down and kissed her.

Lestrade's eyes widened. "Why did you do that? Are you trying to rub it in!?" She was getting dizzy, "I told you already I liked you, I valued your opinion; why don't you just tell me you hate me?" She was starting to feel VERY nauseous.

"My dear Lestrade! How many times are am I going to have to tell you I DON'T hate you?!"

Lestrade smiled weakly, "Really? Please don't lie."


"Thank-cough, cough-" Lestrade had started coughing up blood. "I don't think I'm O.K." she murmured as she collapsed.


Holmes didn't like hospital chairs. Of course it might have had something to do with the fact that when he sat in them he had usually just come back from an emotionally trying day.

He sighed. Not that sighing helped. He sighed again. His train of thought was very odd today. Mabye he should go home and get some sleep like everyone else.He shook his head. He knew even if he could, he wouldn't.

"Why won't you just wake up?!" Lestrade's hospital room door didn't answer. Not that he thought it would have.

Lestrade wasn't going to wake up. Holmes knew that as soon as she collapsed. But he had hoped that maybe with modern technology.... He shook his head sadly. Dr. Lennet had said it would be an easy procedure, waking her up from that coma, but no matter what, she stayed unconscious.

The Irregulars had somehow found out. They had come rushing to the hospital with Watson. Deidre had been in a trance. Holmes had never thought she cared so much about the Inspector.

He sighed, again. Of course this WAS a time when someone would be expected to sigh. A LOT.

It had only been a few laser wounds; they should have been able to cure that! Unwillingly his eyes began to water.


His head snapped up. Lestrade was sitting on the ground in front of him, still wearing her tattered evening dress. He looked at her quizzically; they had put her in a hospital gown and thrown out that dress. She seemed almost see-through.

She smiled."Thank you. For still being there after you found out."

"What are you doing?"

"I'm dying, stupid. I'm finally going somewhere where I can be at peace -- no more fighting." She smiled and then frowned. "You're crying. Are you sad?"

Holmes swallowed. "Yes, but I'm happy that you can be at home now."

"You don't want me to die, do you?"

Holmes shook his head. "I'll miss you."

"I'm sorry. After all you've done for me, I manage to repay you be making you cry. I'm sorry."

"You're repeating yourself."

She smiled. "Yeah, it's a hard habit to break. I know I've let you down, but will you do me a favour?"

"Of course!"

She really couldn't seem to stop smiling. "Will you have me cremated?"

He nodded.

"Thank you. I have to go now... goodbye. Say goodbye for me, please, especially Deidre...." She was fading guickly. "Oh, and Holmes, ya know what? I love you..." Her voice echoed around the room for at least a minute after she had disappeared.

Holmes smiled.

(Author's Note: I always thought Deidre and Lestrade could be great friends. They've got the same kinda attitude and they're the only girls of the bunch.)

***Two years later***

Holmes really was never really the same, no matter what he said or did. Even Greyson noticed it. So really, when he caught an epidemic flu sweeping New London, it didn't surprise Watson or the Irregulars that the usually very healthy detective never got better.

"Watson?" Holmes coughed from his bed.

"Yes, Holmes?"

"Would you do some-" *cough,cough* "....something for me?"

"Of course!"

"Would you have me cremated?"

Watson nodded sadly as he watched Holmes smile, close his eyes and fall asleep one last time.


Deidre, being closer to the Inspector than anyone had thought, had insisted on keeping Lestrade's ashes until THE right time. She decided that Holmes' funeral was that time. Now, a week after Holmes had asked to be cremated, the Irregulars and Watson were at the beach.

Deidre sighed as the wind whipped the last of the ashes away. It was raining. Hard.

Wiggins thought Deidre was crazy -- why have a funeral on a day like this? But she had been adamant. Oh, well.

"You know, I think really they're both happy now. They're always gonna be there with us, though. Right?" Deidre looked at her companions.


"Beep, whurr."

"I always knew they would make a perfect couple."

Wiggins, Tennyson and Watson rolled their eyes.

Then they could've sworn they heard two familiar voices having a familiar conversation:

"See? I told you they were intelligent children, Lestrade."

"Yeah. And for once, Holmes, you were right! Zed!"

Of course it was probably just the wind....



There you go! Hope you like it!


*Runs off stage hiding her head under her arms. Don't throw rotten vegetables at me! Please?!*

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