Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Characters: D.I. Greg Lestrade, John Watson, Sherlock Holmes
Summary: March 31st, 2010, after a couple of frantic days Lestrade and John finally find a moment to themselves...
Note: now also available on AO3.
First Chapter: ( Chapter One )
Previous Chapter: ( Chapter Ten )
March 31st, 2010
March 31st, 2010
Lestrade yawned and rolled his head from side to side, stretching his neck muscles. Even by his standards it had been a very long couple of days.
Fake companies, fake paintings, fake deaths, all mixed in with far too real deaths and hostages and victims.
At least they finally had a name - Moriarty - but that was about they all they had, beside the fact he had a soft voice. All his dirty work had been carried out by others; others like Oscar Dzunda, 'The Golem'.
The autopsy on Dr Cairns wouldn't come in until tomorrow but no-one doubted it was the same cause of death as the security guard; the constellation of bruises across her face showed the same hand at work, literally.
A bloody massive hand it was too - that Czech bloke must be huge - and according to Sherlock's statement, John had grabbed him round the neck and clung on "like a terrier." ("More like a hobbit riding a cave troll," John had muttered. Lestrade had laughed and fought down a sudden urge to grab John by his jumper and tell him he should stop being so bloody perfect and so bloody reckless.)
About the only bright spot to the day had been the call Lestrade had taken earlier from two very grateful parents. He'd been sure to let them know where the credit really should go. Even if Sherlock didn't want their gratitude, he deserved it.
And then, when he'd just started on the mountain of paperwork from that case, he'd received another call.
Sherlock - not content with the bomber having them dash all over the city like blue-arsed flies - had somehow found the time to fit in a little freelance work and identified another completely unrelated murder, previously chalked up as a suicide.
Which was why, instead of being home getting ready for Arsenal's European clash later that night, Lestrade was in the living room of a poky little suburban house, taking yet another statement from the two occupants of 221B Baker Street.
"Why the hell were you even looking into this?" he asked Sherlock.
"My client was convinced Mr West would never have committed suicide."
"And they were right, " John added.
"And your client is?" Lestrade said, more in hope than any expectation of a straight answer.
"Not relevant to your investigation."
"Course they're not." Lestrade checked his notes. "So Harrison and West quarrelled about something, Harrison pushed West down the stairs, killing him, then tried to dump the body by sticking it on top of a train which stopped by his back window?"
"Don't suppose you can tell me what they were fighting about? Something to do with the sister?"
"I couldn't say," Sherlock replied - which could equally mean I don't know or I'm not telling you.
"He's made a full confession so it's not really important - I was just curious." Lestrade tucked his notebook away.
"Are we free to go?"
"Hmm? Oh, yes - I think that's everything. I'll call if it's not."
Sherlock turned to John. "John, I have a small errand to run. I'll see you back at the flat."
John nodded. "Understood."
Sherlock departed and suddenly Lestrade found himself on his own with John Watson - and there were no hostages to save, no clues to be chasing after and nowhere either of them had to be right this very second.
John looked around, as if to make sure they were indeed alone, before he smiled and said simply, "Hello."
Lestrade returned the smile. "Hello."
"This has been bloody frustrating, you know? I must've seen you twenty times in the past couple of days but we've never had a chance to stop and talk."
"Yeah. Been a bit hectic."
John laughed. "Just a bit."
"I'm glad that Golem bloke didn't pulp you."
"Me too! God, he was massive!" John said, his eyes widening. "He made Sherlock look short!"
"Didn't stop you both having a go though, did it?" Lestrade replied fondly.
"For all the good that did. It was like trying to tackle an elephant."
"You sure you're OK though?"
John moved closer to where Lestrade was standing. "You mean - do I have anything you could lick to make me feel better? I'm sure I could think of something..."
"How do you do that?" Lestrade asked.
"Convince everybody you're so nice when you're completely wicked."
"Years of practice, mate." John slid his hands under Lestrade's coat and around his back, pulling their bodies closer. "I believe you and I have some unfinished business, Inspector."
"John..." Lestrade leaned back. "This isn't exactly the appropriate time or place."
"Fuck appropriate," John swore, "Can't keep my hands off you another minute."
"That's nice, but there's going to be a dozen FSIs in here shortly. I'd rather they not find us like this."
"OK. Point taken." John withdrew his hands from under Lestrade's coat and put them back round his waist but this time on the outside. "You're done here, right?"
"Harrison's already on his way to the nick to get processed. There'll be the usual reams of paperwork but nothing that can't wait - or that I can't delegate. I just have to hand over the scene to Forensics and they should be here any minute."
"Good. In that case, I'm going to go wait in your car until you're free to give me a lift home." John stepped back and held up Lestrade's car keys with a flourish.
"What the--?" Lestrade felt in his pockets and snorted in disbelief. "You're definitely spending too much time around Sherlock."
John turned and walked up the hall. "Well you know how you can sort that, don't you? Persuade me to spend more time with you."
"And how do I do that?"
John opened the door, innocently said "Handcuffs?" in far too loud a voice, and vanished down the stairs.
Lestrade followed him down to the street and the line of tape separating the pavement from Harrison's front garden. He called over one of the uniforms to tell them he was leaving and no-one was to enter the house until Forensics arrived.
Once that was done he walked over to where John was lounging against his car and held out his hand.
John dropped the keys into Lestrade's palm and walked round the back of the car to the other side.
Lestrade unlocked the car and and got in. "So," he asked as John got in the passenger side and they both put their seat belts on, "Where to?"
"Well one of us has a flatmate with no sense of personal boundaries. So whose place do you think we should go to for a little privacy?"
Lestrade turned the key in the ignition and the engine roared to life.
"Besides, my bed squeaks really badly," John added.
The car lurched forward as Lestrade stalled it.
"You driven one of these before?" John asked, grinning.
"Shut it, smart-arse." Lestrade tried to get both the car and his brain back into gear and they set off, possibly a little quicker than was strictly legal...
( Chapter Twelve )