fic: Reasonable Force
S3-trailer-inspired 221b nonsense written as a belated birthday gift for warriorbot. Spoilers for the S3 trailer, if there is anyone left in the world who still hasn't seen that...
“Serves you right, you prat,” Lestrade says, glaring at the familiar dark-haired figure lying in a heap at the top of 221b's stairs. “Honestly, what did you expect?”
Wasting his breath, obviously. Sherlock wouldn't listen even if he was conscious. Never does. Never did.
Just as well the stupid fucker hadn't tried sneaking up on Watson like that: he'd be lucky to escape with his life. Again. Watson will probably try to throttle him as it is, when he finds out Sherlock's back from the dead.
Lestrade's quite tempted to have a go himself, but he doesn't fancy doing a stretch for GBH. The last two years have been tough enough without that.
“Sorry I screamed, dear,” Mrs Hudson says. “But really, what was I supposed to think, a strange man lurking in the shadows like that?”
Too bloody right, Lestrade thinks.
“Are you sure you won't have a brandy? Did me the world of good.”
Lestrade shakes his head; he wants to have his wits about him when Sherlock finally comes round.
Meanwhile, he pulls out his phone and takes a snapshot. Probably nothing ever will cure Sherlock of being theatrical, but if anything could it's this: the world's only consulting detective, mistaken for a burglar and knocked out cold by his ex-landlady with a well-aimed saucepan to the bonce.
Also posted at http://fengirl88.dreamwidth.org/139449.html with
comments.
“Serves you right, you prat,” Lestrade says, glaring at the familiar dark-haired figure lying in a heap at the top of 221b's stairs. “Honestly, what did you expect?”
Wasting his breath, obviously. Sherlock wouldn't listen even if he was conscious. Never does. Never did.
Just as well the stupid fucker hadn't tried sneaking up on Watson like that: he'd be lucky to escape with his life. Again. Watson will probably try to throttle him as it is, when he finds out Sherlock's back from the dead.
Lestrade's quite tempted to have a go himself, but he doesn't fancy doing a stretch for GBH. The last two years have been tough enough without that.
“Sorry I screamed, dear,” Mrs Hudson says. “But really, what was I supposed to think, a strange man lurking in the shadows like that?”
Too bloody right, Lestrade thinks.
“Are you sure you won't have a brandy? Did me the world of good.”
Lestrade shakes his head; he wants to have his wits about him when Sherlock finally comes round.
Meanwhile, he pulls out his phone and takes a snapshot. Probably nothing ever will cure Sherlock of being theatrical, but if anything could it's this: the world's only consulting detective, mistaken for a burglar and knocked out cold by his ex-landlady with a well-aimed saucepan to the bonce.
Also posted at http://fengirl88.dreamwidth.org/139449.html with
comments.