Hmm, yes, sorry (again!) for how slow I'm being. I'll try to pick up the ol' pace here. Really, I just want to write some lovely fluff and keep getting stuck having to write all this filler business about kidnapping and robbery and stuff. Lame! Ha, anyway, I don't actually speak Slovenian at all (with the exception of greetings and 'Can I have two green clothespegs, please?'. Don't ask.) so the language games are down to a bare minimum this chapter. However, if you ever get the chance, go visit! (plug plug) It is such a beautiful country. Anyway, glad people are still enjoying it, and thanks, really, for all the wonderful stuff you guys have said. I appreciate it!

ps. I totally just realised I've never actually written a fanfic this long before so wahoo for 18 chapters!

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Chapter Seventeen: Of Monks and Monographs

Once again, our fearsome threesome found themselves standing outside a building and staring up at it for all they were worth.

Lestrade huffed and crossed her arms. ''This is just ridiculous! First a brothel, now this?''

Watson, on the other hand, looked relieved.

Holmes quirked an eyebrow. ''Well, she certainly moves through a... varied society. ''

Lestrade just snorted, banging the old fashioned knocker.

A shaven-headed young man in brilliant orange robes opened the door, smiling in welcome. ''Dobrodan, prosim?''

''Uh...'' Lestrade glanced at Watson. ''What's he saying?''

The monk laughed. ''I said: Hello, how can I help you? Though, if New Scotland Yard droids come equipped with a Slovenian translation program, I'm very impressed.''

''Well, he speaks New Guinea Pidgin so Slovenian should be no- hey, just hold on a minute. How the zed would you know he's a Yardie droid?'' Lestrade glared, hands on her hips.

''Because I've been expecting you. Inspector Lestrade, yes? I'd shake your hand but we aren't allowed to touch women. My name is Andraj Bubnic. Pleasure to meet you. And you of course, Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson.'' The young monk nodded to them in turn. ''Won't you please come in? Our monastery is renowned for its cheese gnocchi. You must stay for lunch. It's the least I can do to make this trip more enjoyable, as I'm afraid you're not quite done yet.''

''Oh yeah?''

''Lestrade, don't be difficult. We haven't had breakfast yet, and I can never deal with you on an empty stomache, you require too much stamina.'' Holmes ushered her into the temple ahead of him.

Watson muttered a sly remark about stamina under his breath and Andraj, the only one who heard, snickered into his robes. Watson was glad at least someone appreciated his outlook on the situation.

Andraj led them to a large, sunny courtyard with a stone table sitting under one of the many fruit trees. Lestrade sat down, staring. She 'd never seen fruit trees in her life. Fruit was something that came prewrapped in cellophane, if it came at all.

''You guys... grow... your own food?''

''Yes, we are entirely self sustained, with the exception of flour which we trade for with the Buddhist nunnery on the other side town. But, if you would please excuse me, I have to go get what you came for. Your food will be here in one moment.''

''Well, he's certainly very polite.'' Watson watched bemusedly as Andraj turned a corner.

''I wonder if the nunnery here is anything like the nunnery Gizelle's girlfriend lives in.'' Lestrade mused with a smile.

''I doubt it.'' replied Holmes. ''Hers , I'm assuming, would be a Catholic one.''

''No, I meant... oh never mind. Though, come to think of it, what the zed is a Buddhist monastery doing in Slovenia, anyway?'''

''Human migration is an astonishing thing. I once wrote monograph on...'' Holmes let the sentence trail away into oblivion as two apprentice monks arrived carrying bowls of the steaming potato pasta. They eyed Lestrade like skittish colts, pushing her bowl to her from the far side of the table before scampering away, rattling off high pitched Slovenian at a mile a minute and nearly colliding with Andraj as he returned. He raised an eyebrow at them and they froze, bowing, before running off in the other direction.

Chuckling, he passed Lestrade a letter, just as carefully, but much more gracefully, as the boys had. She was beginning to feel like she had cooties. It didn't help that the letter was certainly not big enough to be holding her suitcase.

''Actually, I'm looking for-''

''I know.'' Andraj smiled. ''But this is all there is for you. And, though I know you will not believe me, this is really for you own good. I feel that she is going about it a very... silly manner.''

Lestrade gave him a look that spoke several novels on her opinion of their black mailer's 'manner'. Holmes only smiled a little, to himself, when he was sure she wouldn't see. He needn't have bothered, she was too absorbed in the letter to notice anything.

''What does it say, Inspector?'' Watson asked, only half interested, eyeing the gnocchi with connoisseurial appraisal. Would they give him the recipe?

Lestrade pouted, groaning. ''Whaddya think it says Watson? We've got to be in Turkey by Tuesday.''

''Tuesday?'' Holmes mirrored Lestrade's childish expression. ''I suppose a little leisure time would be too much to ask.''

''Well, you know Holmes, I am being threatened with massively illegal international drug running.'' Lestrade handed him the paper so he could peer at it to his heart's content. ''With all due respect,'' she nodded to Andraj in a tone that belied her wording. ''I somehow doubt our little puppeteer holds our good close to her heart.'' To Holmes she added. ''Just so long as that suitcase doesn't end up in customs we can country hop every hour on the hour for all I care.''

Andraj just smiled, in an aggravatingly zen sort of way. ''You would like some time to sight see Mr. Holmes?''

Holmes mumbled something incoherent as he made a show of sniffing the paper. Lestrade rolled her eyes muttering 'drama queen'. Watson came out his gnocchi dreamland and translated for Andraj.

''He's been wanting to tour the art museums. Ever since the Tate's was shut down for repairs last summer, our mmm... traditional art options are quite thin on the ground you might say. Though I wouldn't mind spending some time researching local cuisine, it's such a pleasure to expand my repertoire.'' He paused, grinning, then threw in. ''And I'm sure Lestrade could always go for a bit of continental shopping.

''Zed you.'' She muttered around a mouthful of gnocchi.

Their host nodded sympathetically. ''And it must be very tiring, always having to be on the move. Well, since you do not have to go until tomorrow, let me offer you rooms here. We always keep space open for travellers. As long as you don't mind the morning chants. We get up rather early. You could spend the rest of today in the city if you like, we haven't got any Louvres, but there is an excellent museum housed in the castle on the hill in the city center. Of course, you will have to walk. The whole center is off limits to all motorized vehicles.''

Holmes tucked the letter away into an inner pocket of his jacket, smiling. ''The very thing! Thank you, Mr. Bubnic, for the directions and the accommodation. That is a wonderful idea. Come along Lestrade, stop dilly dallying with your meal, one must make the most of these things.'' He hauled her up by the elbow, as she hastily downed the last of her meal, and the three of them trotted back out into the street.

The noise of the outside world hit Lestrade with a jolt after the peace of the inner courtyard. She rubbed her face grumpily. ''Jeeze Holmes, what's your rush anyway?''

He gave her a wide smile. ''Rush? I never rush. I just want to see the city. And it's not often we have the chance to enjoy each other's company in such a relaxing fashion.'' He took her by the elbow and guided them down the sidewalk, still grinning away.

She gave him a look of deep mistrust. ''Yeah, sure, Holmes. The last time you told me you wanted to 'enjoy my company' was when you tried to con me into doing undercover work on the visiting secretary general of the UN.''

'' You enjoyed every minute of it.''

''Oh yeah, and us getting reamed out by Greyson for five hours after the fact was really romantic.''

''A true bonding moment.''

Lestrade threw up her arms in exasperation. ''Have it your way then!''

He chuckled. ''Did it ever occur to you, my dear Lestrade, that sometimes I simply like to... what is that expression? Deidre put it so well... ah yes, 'yank your chain' a bit?''

''Sure. And sometimes I just like dismembering you.''

''I only do it because I care.''

She growled at him, but let her arm be reclaimed as they walked, pretending to be too distracted by her efforts to endure Watson's blatant guffawing with dignity to notice Holmes' hands.

---

Tennyson gnawed his lower lip absent mindedly as his fingers scurried over the keyboard. He was dredging up ID codes for the computer that had busted the New England Bank during the kidnapping. Deidre watched over his shoulder, not really sure at all what he was doing, despite a fancy, multi-coloured diagram he had drawn for her. All she knew was that when he got the codes, and traced them back to a computer, she was going to have to do some serious B and E and get into said computer's hardrive. No wait, mainframe. No... motherboard? Well, whatever it was, she was going to break into it find the missing funds and the incriminating files and copy all that information onto a disc and anonymously send said incriminating little specimen to New Scotland Yard post haste.

Now, any logical person would ask, well, if Tennyson can trace this hacker thief, surely the Yard could as well. And, that being the case, why didn't they just let them handle it? As to the latter, I'm sure we all know why the Irregulars weren't about to let anyone handle anything, least of all the Yard. As to the former, let's just say that Tennyson had recently acquired some not quite legal, so hot off the conveyor belt it burned, technology from a really very handy friend who was a member of a Guerrilla group in Southern Kenya.

Bingo! Tennyson beeped out. We got 'em. Quickly he cross checked the codes with a physical address, and scribbled it out on a scrap of paper for Deidre. Thank goodness he had her and Wiggins to handle all that Real World stuff, it was so tedious!

''Wotcher!'' Deidre did a little dance. ''The inspector would blow a fuse for real if she knew what we were up to.''

Which is why, Tennyson remarked pointedly, you are going to do this professionally and avoid any stupid risks, right?

Deidre rolled her eyes. ''God Tennyson, what are you? My zedding mother? I am nothing, if not a professional.'' She gave him a wink and a wave and sauntered out.

Tennyson crossed his fingers and muttered something to the heavens.