SH Fic.
Lestrade eased out his legs as his bike rolled to a stop. He had to admit, it wasn't as easy as it had once been. Gone were the days of riding all day and then spending the night in the pub. Gone too was his Honda CBR - his arms and wrists couldn't take the strain any more - and now he rode a far more comfortable Triumph Speed Triple. But some things remained the same - the same two friends, and his trusty biker jacket. Admittedly the friends were older - one balding, one grey, and the jacket was now scuffed, and patched up one arm and shoulder where he'd crashed some years before.
"Jamie, Mike," he held out his hand and they shook, Mike stepping in to give him a hug and a slap on the back. "All right?" he asked, leaning his helmet on his tank, stretching his legs as far as possible whilst he had the chance.
"Finally made it then," the bald one - Jamie - smiled. "After so many broken promises."
Lestrade laughed. "What can I say, I'm indispensable. I know it's been a long time, but we're here now, so what've you got planned?"
"Jaunt to the coast," Mike replied. "Down to Brighton, fish and chips on the beach and back in time to put the kids to bed."
Lestrade rolled his eyes in an exaggerated manner. "Yeah, let's remember it's not always me who calls these things off."
"You're the only one who does it for a dead body though," Mike grinned.
Lestrade decided to bring the conversation to an end by pulling his helmet back on and kicking his bike into gear. The other two followed swiftly and within no time they were cruising along the back roads, generally riding two or three abreast and shouting at each other - general banter and friendly abuse when the traffic was quiet enough.
They were walking along the promenade by the sea just over an hour later, enjoying the sunshine with their jackets slung over their shoulders.
"Remember coming down here back in the day?" Mike said. "A nice ride, a lot of beer, bit of dancing, a quick fight and then kipping on the beach. Riding back the next day wrecked."
Lestrade smiled, looking around at how much had changed. "Different world now," he mused.
"Yeah, and you've joined the old enemy - Christ, coppers were scared to touch us back then," Jamie said. "Never thought you'd answer the calling of the old blue lamp."
Lestrade shrugged. "There's always going to be criminals need catching. Always need police."
"Yeah, but you don't have to catch all of them yourself," Mike punched his shoulder. "Leave some for the others. Not a week goes by without the missus pointing out your name in the paper."
"Ah, it's just because I'm the boss. It's teamwork, not just me," Lestrade protested.
"Not the way the press tell it," Mike answered.
"Yeah, and you believe everything you read in the papers?" Lestrade mocked.
They settled on the pebbles with paper-wrapped chips and fish in crispy batter and ate, reminiscing, catching up and occasionally throwing a chip out to the ever-present gulls. Once they had finished Lestrade lay back on the beach and closed his eyes against the bright sunshine. He wondered if Sherlock had ever enjoyed a moment like it. He somehow doubted it. He suspected Sherlock would already have announced his boredom and wandered off. He smiled at the thought of Sherlock bothering the wildlife in rock pools, rather than relaxing.
"Big smile on your face, 'Stradey," Mike said. "Going to share? Or are you fantastising about the good old days when we'd get the local lasses down here and show them a good time?"
Lestrade opened an eye, shading his face with his hand. "Thinking about a friend, 's all."
"Oh yeah? Going to tell us about her? She must be a cracker if she puts a smile like that one your face just thinking about her."
"It's a bloke - a colleague," Lestrade answered, without even thinking about it.
"Oh yeah! Always knew there was something a bit queer about you," Jamie laughed. "Got to be, the number of girls throwing themselves at you, yet here you are, still single."
Lestrade threw a handful of pebbles in their vague direction. "He's a friend - he's...oh, there's not point explaining, you wouldn't believe me anyway."
"Don't have to be shy with us," Mike replied. "Don't bother us what you like getting your leg over - bike, bird or boyfriend."
Lestrade just shook his head, trying to look un-amused, but he could feel the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Then he felt his BlackBerry vibrating under his head and exhaled a long breath. He rolled over and retrieved the device, just as it vibrated again. One message from Donovan, one from Sherlock. He didn't need to be a detective to work out that his day off had just been cut short.
"Next time we come out I'm gonna ban them things," Jamie grumbled.
"Work," Lestrade responded, reading the messages.
'2 bodies on waste ground by Millennium Mills. Same MO as the ones from Warwick Rd. Need you back. Sally.' read the first one.
'I refuse to attend if you don't. Believe Anderson is responsible for my IQ dropping. Must use you as buffer. Your IQ already inconsequential. SH'
"Obviously an amusing crime," Jamie observed.
"What?" Lestrade looked around. "Oh, no, it's from Sherlock."
"Sherlock? What the fuck sort of name is that?" Mike asked.
"It's…ah, doesn't matter. Look, I've got to go, sorry - third and fourth bodies this week." As they moved to get up too he waved at them. "No, don't ruin your day. I'm just going to blast it up the motorway, won't be any fun."
"Next time," Jamie wagged his finger at Lestrade. "The fucking phone stays at home, 'Stradey, or I'll chuck it in the sea."
Lestrade shrugged apologetically. "I'll tell all the murderers that it's my day off next time, okay?" He started crunching his way over the pebbles, back toward the road.
"Bring the boyfriend next time," Mike shouted. "Love to meet him!"
Lestrade gave them the finger over his shoulder. And wondered why murders did suddenly make him smile; now Sherlock was involved.
As he sat on the bike, engine running, he quickly sent a text confirming he was on the way to Donovan and a message to Sherlock telling him to wear a tin-foil hat around Anderson until he got there.
The needle on the speedo hovered on the speed-limit all the way back to London, as he sped up the motorway and finally weaved through the busy London traffic, fitting through impossible gaps and bundling over lights just as they changed. He reached the crime scene and slowly bumped over the rough wasteland.
It was Donovan who stepped forward, hand out, at the cordon.
"Sorry," she called, "You can't come any further."
Lestrade pulled off his helmet, grinning at her. "I'll leave the bike," he conceded, kicking the stand out.
"S…sir…I…" she stared at him, wide eyed.
"Mmm?"
"Nothing. Just…over there."
Lestrade nodded, hooked his helmet over the bike's handlebar and began walking. Anderson and Sherlock, it seemed, were already arguing over something, and Watson was off to one side, clearly trying to stay out of it.
It seemed, for a moment, as if Anderson had won when Sherlock fell silent, eyes wide, gaze fixed on Lestrade.
"You better not have solved it already," Lestrade threatened. "I've given up my bloody day off, and if you already know who did it and don't need me to be here I won't be happy."
"I..uh…no…we…"
Lestrade raised his eyebrows. He'd never heard Sherlock be anything other than fully coherent before. Then he glanced around and realised everyone was staring at him. He checked his flies. Then scrubbed a hand through his sweaty hair, making it stand up at crazy angles, feeling very self-conscious.
Sherlock abruptly turned back to the body, phone in hand, and somehow the movement broke the spell and everyone managed to find something to do, leaving Lestrade utterly bemused.
His phone vibrated in his pocket again. He pulled it out and glanced at the screen.
'Matter of some urgency. Must have discussion re you wearing leather in my presence. Unacceptable for you to be so distracting on a crime scene. SH.'
Lestrade felt himself blush.
"Jamie, Mike," he held out his hand and they shook, Mike stepping in to give him a hug and a slap on the back. "All right?" he asked, leaning his helmet on his tank, stretching his legs as far as possible whilst he had the chance.
"Finally made it then," the bald one - Jamie - smiled. "After so many broken promises."
Lestrade laughed. "What can I say, I'm indispensable. I know it's been a long time, but we're here now, so what've you got planned?"
"Jaunt to the coast," Mike replied. "Down to Brighton, fish and chips on the beach and back in time to put the kids to bed."
Lestrade rolled his eyes in an exaggerated manner. "Yeah, let's remember it's not always me who calls these things off."
"You're the only one who does it for a dead body though," Mike grinned.
Lestrade decided to bring the conversation to an end by pulling his helmet back on and kicking his bike into gear. The other two followed swiftly and within no time they were cruising along the back roads, generally riding two or three abreast and shouting at each other - general banter and friendly abuse when the traffic was quiet enough.
They were walking along the promenade by the sea just over an hour later, enjoying the sunshine with their jackets slung over their shoulders.
"Remember coming down here back in the day?" Mike said. "A nice ride, a lot of beer, bit of dancing, a quick fight and then kipping on the beach. Riding back the next day wrecked."
Lestrade smiled, looking around at how much had changed. "Different world now," he mused.
"Yeah, and you've joined the old enemy - Christ, coppers were scared to touch us back then," Jamie said. "Never thought you'd answer the calling of the old blue lamp."
Lestrade shrugged. "There's always going to be criminals need catching. Always need police."
"Yeah, but you don't have to catch all of them yourself," Mike punched his shoulder. "Leave some for the others. Not a week goes by without the missus pointing out your name in the paper."
"Ah, it's just because I'm the boss. It's teamwork, not just me," Lestrade protested.
"Not the way the press tell it," Mike answered.
"Yeah, and you believe everything you read in the papers?" Lestrade mocked.
They settled on the pebbles with paper-wrapped chips and fish in crispy batter and ate, reminiscing, catching up and occasionally throwing a chip out to the ever-present gulls. Once they had finished Lestrade lay back on the beach and closed his eyes against the bright sunshine. He wondered if Sherlock had ever enjoyed a moment like it. He somehow doubted it. He suspected Sherlock would already have announced his boredom and wandered off. He smiled at the thought of Sherlock bothering the wildlife in rock pools, rather than relaxing.
"Big smile on your face, 'Stradey," Mike said. "Going to share? Or are you fantastising about the good old days when we'd get the local lasses down here and show them a good time?"
Lestrade opened an eye, shading his face with his hand. "Thinking about a friend, 's all."
"Oh yeah? Going to tell us about her? She must be a cracker if she puts a smile like that one your face just thinking about her."
"It's a bloke - a colleague," Lestrade answered, without even thinking about it.
"Oh yeah! Always knew there was something a bit queer about you," Jamie laughed. "Got to be, the number of girls throwing themselves at you, yet here you are, still single."
Lestrade threw a handful of pebbles in their vague direction. "He's a friend - he's...oh, there's not point explaining, you wouldn't believe me anyway."
"Don't have to be shy with us," Mike replied. "Don't bother us what you like getting your leg over - bike, bird or boyfriend."
Lestrade just shook his head, trying to look un-amused, but he could feel the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Then he felt his BlackBerry vibrating under his head and exhaled a long breath. He rolled over and retrieved the device, just as it vibrated again. One message from Donovan, one from Sherlock. He didn't need to be a detective to work out that his day off had just been cut short.
"Next time we come out I'm gonna ban them things," Jamie grumbled.
"Work," Lestrade responded, reading the messages.
'2 bodies on waste ground by Millennium Mills. Same MO as the ones from Warwick Rd. Need you back. Sally.' read the first one.
'I refuse to attend if you don't. Believe Anderson is responsible for my IQ dropping. Must use you as buffer. Your IQ already inconsequential. SH'
"Obviously an amusing crime," Jamie observed.
"What?" Lestrade looked around. "Oh, no, it's from Sherlock."
"Sherlock? What the fuck sort of name is that?" Mike asked.
"It's…ah, doesn't matter. Look, I've got to go, sorry - third and fourth bodies this week." As they moved to get up too he waved at them. "No, don't ruin your day. I'm just going to blast it up the motorway, won't be any fun."
"Next time," Jamie wagged his finger at Lestrade. "The fucking phone stays at home, 'Stradey, or I'll chuck it in the sea."
Lestrade shrugged apologetically. "I'll tell all the murderers that it's my day off next time, okay?" He started crunching his way over the pebbles, back toward the road.
"Bring the boyfriend next time," Mike shouted. "Love to meet him!"
Lestrade gave them the finger over his shoulder. And wondered why murders did suddenly make him smile; now Sherlock was involved.
As he sat on the bike, engine running, he quickly sent a text confirming he was on the way to Donovan and a message to Sherlock telling him to wear a tin-foil hat around Anderson until he got there.
The needle on the speedo hovered on the speed-limit all the way back to London, as he sped up the motorway and finally weaved through the busy London traffic, fitting through impossible gaps and bundling over lights just as they changed. He reached the crime scene and slowly bumped over the rough wasteland.
It was Donovan who stepped forward, hand out, at the cordon.
"Sorry," she called, "You can't come any further."
Lestrade pulled off his helmet, grinning at her. "I'll leave the bike," he conceded, kicking the stand out.
"S…sir…I…" she stared at him, wide eyed.
"Mmm?"
"Nothing. Just…over there."
Lestrade nodded, hooked his helmet over the bike's handlebar and began walking. Anderson and Sherlock, it seemed, were already arguing over something, and Watson was off to one side, clearly trying to stay out of it.
It seemed, for a moment, as if Anderson had won when Sherlock fell silent, eyes wide, gaze fixed on Lestrade.
"You better not have solved it already," Lestrade threatened. "I've given up my bloody day off, and if you already know who did it and don't need me to be here I won't be happy."
"I..uh…no…we…"
Lestrade raised his eyebrows. He'd never heard Sherlock be anything other than fully coherent before. Then he glanced around and realised everyone was staring at him. He checked his flies. Then scrubbed a hand through his sweaty hair, making it stand up at crazy angles, feeling very self-conscious.
Sherlock abruptly turned back to the body, phone in hand, and somehow the movement broke the spell and everyone managed to find something to do, leaving Lestrade utterly bemused.
His phone vibrated in his pocket again. He pulled it out and glanced at the screen.
'Matter of some urgency. Must have discussion re you wearing leather in my presence. Unacceptable for you to be so distracting on a crime scene. SH.'
Lestrade felt himself blush.