Bad Romance - Part One

It had been a long and tedious night from the start. Lestrade didn't particularly think himself all that high and mighty, but he was a Detective Inspector for Scotland Yard for Pete's sake, and babysitting some old trout's jewels wasn't exactly what he considered worthy of his time. Still, he found himself mingling at a high society party all the same – the likes of which he might never have found himself at under normal circumstances – looking around for anyone who was acting 'suspiciously'. So far, no such luck. Some people were a little drunk, but no one looked as if they were getting ready to steal Lady Dorchester's most prized possession.

Rumour had it that the gem – a diamond – had been three times the size it was now when it had been found, and Lestrade thought it was a pretty hefty rock as it was. It was set into some intricate metalwork over a century ago. He could hardly see the point – it wasn't the kind of jewellery that you wore. It was the kind that sat behind glass, on a velvet pillow, and that's exactly where Lady Dorchester had left it.

She wouldn't normally have plain clothes policeman roaming the rooms of her home when she threw a party (heaven, no) but the recent bizarre jewellery thefts that had occurred over the last few months had put the spooks up the old hag and she'd come storming into the Yard, demanding that they sent some men to protect what she described as a "treasure of the Empire".

It didn't matter that there was no Empire. Lady Dorchester was married to Lord Dorchester and he had his fingers in a lot of pies. Pies that financed a lot of government and police private sector deals. If Dorchester put her foot down, all Lestrade could do was jump.

He had to feel slightly put out though as he thought about the case he'd just wrapped up with a certain consulting detective. The only way Sherlock Holmes would find himself having to endure this level of tedium was if it was "interesting" enough. He supposed the case had some intrigue – the burglar had made four previous attempts to steal various precious gems, but not made away with any of them. But while that might seem odd to some, that just made Lestrade think the criminal just wasn't any bloody good. Fantastic, he was wasting an evening here for someone who more than likely couldn't pull their heist off. Well, he thought to himself, sipping a water (being on the job meant he couldn't even approach the free bar unless it was to arrest the bartender), it'd all be over soon enough.

He didn't realise how true that was.

XXXXX

Damn it, they cursed under their breath. What was it about the rich and wary that made them use alarms that were so ostentatious? No doubt, the policemen who had remained at Scotland Yard could have heard the loud, shrill wail. No matter, the criminal thought, pulling their pliers from the pocket of their suit jacket and disconnecting the wire that had caused it. Detective Inspector Lestrade would be on his way up – oh yes, they knew all about him and the men he'd brought with him. There was one positioned at the end of the corridor, surreptitiously sipping a glass of water. He'd be the first to the room.

Sure enough, the door opened and a young man walked into the dimly lit room. The person stayed their breath from their hiding place, holding it lest it give them away. The man paused by the case and frowned – naturally he would. The alarm had gone off and the Dorchester Diamond was still on its pillow. He yanked a radio out of his pocket. "It's Kent – false alarm. The rock's fine."

"Are you sure?"

The man scoffed. "I'm looking right at it." He bent low to the case and stared hard at it as if to check it wasn't an illusion. The voice on the end of the radio crackled an affirmative and the figure, crouching low, thought it best to creep past while they could – after all, they'd heard the all clear, and slipping away would be a synch now. Just as they reached the door, the young sergeant turned as he switched the radio off and caught the sight of the dark figure out of the corner of his eyes. "Hey!" he yelled rather unoriginally, but the figure had already shot out through the crack in the door and bolted.

"This is Kent!" they heard the young man saying loudly into the radio. "I need all units – assailant is on the premises..."

They didn't hear the rest as they darted around the corner and down a longer corridor. No doubt Kent was in hot pursuit, and Lestrade and the rest of his cronies would be soon. Damn – it had all been going so smoothly, but when you played with fire you had to expect a few burns. However, this criminal didn't intend on going up in flames just yet. At least, not tonight.

They opened an unlocked door that they knew was a room with two exits – thank you blueprints – and locked it behind them. They had seconds but that was they needed, shredding off their clothes.

XXXXX

"I don't bloody believe this," Lestrade muttered to himself after he directed all his men to various corridors. They'd had him, followed him to a door, and when they'd finally got it open, the room was empty. He'd shot out of the other door to the room and gone goodness knows where. Damn it, why did high society folk have to have such large houses? Like a labyrinth. Luckily for them, there were groundsmen on the lookout in the garden so he doubted the crook they were after would try any abseiling as means of escape. Not if he wanted to get away unseen. Kent had said it was a man, average height, fairly thin and in a suit.

Fantastic. At a party like this, he was looking for a needle in a haystack.

"Excuse me," a young woman said to him as she brushed past him on the landing before the great staircase, arm in arm with another woman. She quickly turned her attentions back to her friend. "Anyway, the audacity of it – the guy just barged past me and knocked me clean over!"

"Sorry," Lestrade said, pulling her arm as the words caught his ear. "What did you say?"

The woman, dark haired and in a black dress, glanced reproachfully at his hand on her skin. He let go and folded his arms, waiting for her reply. "I was just saying that a man knocked me over in the corridor," she told him, a little haughtily. "Didn't even stop to say sorry. He was in a hurry for whatever reason, but there's no need to be rude is there?"

"Which corridor?"

She pointed. "That one, and he darted into one of the rooms."

"Did you see his face?"

"Oh yes, tall, tanned dark hair. He was in a white shirt if that helps?"

"Thank you," Lestrade said, already walking away and motioning for Jenkins and Wilson to follow.

"You're welcome," the woman called after him. "I wonder what that was all about?" she said to her blonde friend as they scaled the stairs to rejoin the fray.