Fic for Havlockvetinari: A Light in the Darkness
Title: A Light in the Darkness
Author: deepforestowl
Author: havlockvetinari
Summary: Lestrade spends an evening on lookout
Rating: PG (13 if you squint at the end)
Author's Note: Haven't ever written Lestrade before so this was a bit of a stretch for me. Hope I fulfilled at least some of your desires in a fic!
Lestrade shivered in the damp, dark, corner of an alley in Whitechapel. Not too far from here, poor Annie Chapman had been found almost four years ago. Her murderer, the so called, "Jack the Ripper" had been sent abroad in Her Majesties service and was currently in Northern Africa somewhere. Officially of course, Chapman's murderer had never been caught, unofficially, Sherlock bloody Holmes had solved the case just before going off and getting himself killed by Professor Moriarty. If Holmes had finished the job or hadn't been distracted, Lestrade wouldn't be out here pretending to be part of the brickwork. He wouldn't be out here keeping an eye on the Ten Bells Tavern pretending to fit in with the crowds. As an inspector, he usually left this kind of work to his constables, but most of them stuck out like sore thumbs. No, Lestrade knew that looking like a rat was more likely to let him pass unnoticed than any of the men at his disposal.
Though honestly, if Holmes, by some miracle of miracles was resurrected from the dead, Lestrade was going to give him a piece of his mind. Holmes had speculated that there was another killer that had been working with the Ripper but Holmes discounted the idea because there didn't seem to be a lot of evidence in that direction and he was in a hurry to go haring off to his death. It was hard for Lestrade to get to the grudge level of anger, but with Holmes, admittedly a dead man, he was there. Dr. Watson hadn't been the same since Holmes and sweet Mary died and even the force mourned the loss of the great detective. Worse, it seemed like the criminals thought that with Holmes dead, it meant open season on London. There had been a noticeable jump in crimes and though the police force was handling it pretty well, Lestrade was disturbed by the incidences of the more violent crimes, some of which even turned his stomach, and that was saying something.
For whatever reason, The Powers That Be, trusted Lestrade with People Of Importance, not just Holmes or Watson of course, but with Mycroft Holmes and members of the government. The Ripper hadn't been officially caught because he was a Royal, though quite far down on the succession line, but still, a Royal nonetheless. It irked the hell out of Lestrade to think that there were only a very small handful of people in the world that knew the Ripper had been caught. Yes, he was one of them as was the Holmes brothers, Watson, and Her Majesty, otherwise, for all the world knew, the Ripper's victims still laid in their graves, unavenged. Too bad the Ripper was packed up and sent off so quickly, he hadn't told anyone of his apprentice. Because of the nature of the subject, an envoy had been sent to intercept and question the Ripper but it was going to take valuable time, time that many a working woman might not have.
Lestrade had to give the Holmes brothers some credit. Even though both of them were clearly upper class, they never looked down on the lower classes, including Lestrade himself. A life was a life, low class or not which is why when the elder Holmes asked Lestrade to keep a watch on this area, Lestrade obliged him. He would have done it even without the official support of the Superintendent. Increased patrols in the surrounding area had made this area around the Ten Bells more attractive because the police presence wasn't nearly so heavy-handed. Lestrade wasn't a fool. If all the constables were gone, the killer would know something was up, so regular patrols still occurred. Still, Lestrade had been out here for two weeks now and nothing seemed promising. He was beginning to think that either the second Ripper was a figment of his imagination or that their best educated guess hadn't been good enough.
It was days like these that Lestrade did miss Mr. Sherlock Holmes, even if he was impossible to deal with sometimes. Holmes always relied on physical evidence to lead him to the criminal and on many levels, so did Lestrade, but Lestrade also believed in his gut. Maybe it was something that Holmes just didn't understand, but being on the streets so long and growing up in the lower classes meant that you developed almost a sixth sense about you, or you didn't last long. Holmes in many ways didn't need to have that sixth sense because of his social status, also, he was a very well trained fighter and cunning to boot. More than once, Lestrade had been grateful that Holmes was NOT a criminal. Lestrade shuddered slightly, he hated to think what going after a criminal Holmes might be like. The only word that came to mind was Hell.
Just then, a grubby street child banged into Lestrade. The child was gone in a heartbeat and in Lestrade's hand was a crumpled scrap of paper. Grumpily pulling out a cigarette, Lestrade bent his head to light it over his cupped hand and read the note: "His Lamp". Drawing in the soothing smoke, Lestrade tossed the match onto the ground, put his hands in his pockets and started to mosey his way out of the area.
A short time later, Lestrade arrived at the Diogenes Club. The doorman took him to the Strangers Room. Lestrade thought that the whole club was rather queer but who was he to understand the ways of rich folks? Still, he was fond of Mycroft Holmes. The man was a genius but he also had a sense of humor about him and in some ways was kinder than his younger brother.
Being careful to pick a leather chair lest his grubby clothing permanently destroy something expensive, Lestrade sat quietly, his mind quiet for once. An eye blink later, a hand was shaking his shoulder gently, "Wake up dear man" a comfortingly familiar voice rumbled. Lestrade's eyes snapped open. He blushed slightly and embarrassingly stammered an apology for falling asleep. Mycroft looked at him somewhat amusedly, and said gently, "Your double duties on night watch have come to an end I am afraid Lestrade. There's been a Ripper-esque murder in New York City, a Miss Carrie Brown. She similarly had her throat sliced like Frances Coles, though Brown was mutilated. It looks like the apprentice has slipped our net. I've forwarded on our information to the New York Police as well as an operative. I'm sorry that your time in Whitechapel was in vain."
"Twas nothing Mr. Holmes. Perhaps it was police presence that encouraged the bastard to hunt elsewhere though I am sincerely sorry that we weren't able to catch him." Lestrade sighed. He accepted the proffered glass of whiskey and downed it in one go. Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "Sorry Sir. It's been a long year." Mycroft nodded, "I understand all too well Lestrade. Go home. I'll have your Superintendent notified that you will be taking the rest of the week off. Get drunk. Read a book. Have a home cooked meal. I'll contact you soon about another project if you are interested."
Lestrade nodded, "Thank you Mr. Holmes and yes, I'm always interested. A appreciate the good word to the Super." Nodding, Mycroft came forward and briefly squeezed Lestrade's shoulder, then he went back into the club. It took a moment to realize that Mycroft had touched him. In a club where no one said anything and certainly no one touched anyone else, Mycroft had certainly been very friendly. Warmed for some unknown reason, Lestrade took his leave to return home to a well deserved respite, at least for now. Crime and criminals wouldn't wait for long.
Author: deepforestowl
Author: havlockvetinari
Summary: Lestrade spends an evening on lookout
Rating: PG (13 if you squint at the end)
Author's Note: Haven't ever written Lestrade before so this was a bit of a stretch for me. Hope I fulfilled at least some of your desires in a fic!
Lestrade shivered in the damp, dark, corner of an alley in Whitechapel. Not too far from here, poor Annie Chapman had been found almost four years ago. Her murderer, the so called, "Jack the Ripper" had been sent abroad in Her Majesties service and was currently in Northern Africa somewhere. Officially of course, Chapman's murderer had never been caught, unofficially, Sherlock bloody Holmes had solved the case just before going off and getting himself killed by Professor Moriarty. If Holmes had finished the job or hadn't been distracted, Lestrade wouldn't be out here pretending to be part of the brickwork. He wouldn't be out here keeping an eye on the Ten Bells Tavern pretending to fit in with the crowds. As an inspector, he usually left this kind of work to his constables, but most of them stuck out like sore thumbs. No, Lestrade knew that looking like a rat was more likely to let him pass unnoticed than any of the men at his disposal.
Though honestly, if Holmes, by some miracle of miracles was resurrected from the dead, Lestrade was going to give him a piece of his mind. Holmes had speculated that there was another killer that had been working with the Ripper but Holmes discounted the idea because there didn't seem to be a lot of evidence in that direction and he was in a hurry to go haring off to his death. It was hard for Lestrade to get to the grudge level of anger, but with Holmes, admittedly a dead man, he was there. Dr. Watson hadn't been the same since Holmes and sweet Mary died and even the force mourned the loss of the great detective. Worse, it seemed like the criminals thought that with Holmes dead, it meant open season on London. There had been a noticeable jump in crimes and though the police force was handling it pretty well, Lestrade was disturbed by the incidences of the more violent crimes, some of which even turned his stomach, and that was saying something.
For whatever reason, The Powers That Be, trusted Lestrade with People Of Importance, not just Holmes or Watson of course, but with Mycroft Holmes and members of the government. The Ripper hadn't been officially caught because he was a Royal, though quite far down on the succession line, but still, a Royal nonetheless. It irked the hell out of Lestrade to think that there were only a very small handful of people in the world that knew the Ripper had been caught. Yes, he was one of them as was the Holmes brothers, Watson, and Her Majesty, otherwise, for all the world knew, the Ripper's victims still laid in their graves, unavenged. Too bad the Ripper was packed up and sent off so quickly, he hadn't told anyone of his apprentice. Because of the nature of the subject, an envoy had been sent to intercept and question the Ripper but it was going to take valuable time, time that many a working woman might not have.
Lestrade had to give the Holmes brothers some credit. Even though both of them were clearly upper class, they never looked down on the lower classes, including Lestrade himself. A life was a life, low class or not which is why when the elder Holmes asked Lestrade to keep a watch on this area, Lestrade obliged him. He would have done it even without the official support of the Superintendent. Increased patrols in the surrounding area had made this area around the Ten Bells more attractive because the police presence wasn't nearly so heavy-handed. Lestrade wasn't a fool. If all the constables were gone, the killer would know something was up, so regular patrols still occurred. Still, Lestrade had been out here for two weeks now and nothing seemed promising. He was beginning to think that either the second Ripper was a figment of his imagination or that their best educated guess hadn't been good enough.
It was days like these that Lestrade did miss Mr. Sherlock Holmes, even if he was impossible to deal with sometimes. Holmes always relied on physical evidence to lead him to the criminal and on many levels, so did Lestrade, but Lestrade also believed in his gut. Maybe it was something that Holmes just didn't understand, but being on the streets so long and growing up in the lower classes meant that you developed almost a sixth sense about you, or you didn't last long. Holmes in many ways didn't need to have that sixth sense because of his social status, also, he was a very well trained fighter and cunning to boot. More than once, Lestrade had been grateful that Holmes was NOT a criminal. Lestrade shuddered slightly, he hated to think what going after a criminal Holmes might be like. The only word that came to mind was Hell.
Just then, a grubby street child banged into Lestrade. The child was gone in a heartbeat and in Lestrade's hand was a crumpled scrap of paper. Grumpily pulling out a cigarette, Lestrade bent his head to light it over his cupped hand and read the note: "His Lamp". Drawing in the soothing smoke, Lestrade tossed the match onto the ground, put his hands in his pockets and started to mosey his way out of the area.
A short time later, Lestrade arrived at the Diogenes Club. The doorman took him to the Strangers Room. Lestrade thought that the whole club was rather queer but who was he to understand the ways of rich folks? Still, he was fond of Mycroft Holmes. The man was a genius but he also had a sense of humor about him and in some ways was kinder than his younger brother.
Being careful to pick a leather chair lest his grubby clothing permanently destroy something expensive, Lestrade sat quietly, his mind quiet for once. An eye blink later, a hand was shaking his shoulder gently, "Wake up dear man" a comfortingly familiar voice rumbled. Lestrade's eyes snapped open. He blushed slightly and embarrassingly stammered an apology for falling asleep. Mycroft looked at him somewhat amusedly, and said gently, "Your double duties on night watch have come to an end I am afraid Lestrade. There's been a Ripper-esque murder in New York City, a Miss Carrie Brown. She similarly had her throat sliced like Frances Coles, though Brown was mutilated. It looks like the apprentice has slipped our net. I've forwarded on our information to the New York Police as well as an operative. I'm sorry that your time in Whitechapel was in vain."
"Twas nothing Mr. Holmes. Perhaps it was police presence that encouraged the bastard to hunt elsewhere though I am sincerely sorry that we weren't able to catch him." Lestrade sighed. He accepted the proffered glass of whiskey and downed it in one go. Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "Sorry Sir. It's been a long year." Mycroft nodded, "I understand all too well Lestrade. Go home. I'll have your Superintendent notified that you will be taking the rest of the week off. Get drunk. Read a book. Have a home cooked meal. I'll contact you soon about another project if you are interested."
Lestrade nodded, "Thank you Mr. Holmes and yes, I'm always interested. A appreciate the good word to the Super." Nodding, Mycroft came forward and briefly squeezed Lestrade's shoulder, then he went back into the club. It took a moment to realize that Mycroft had touched him. In a club where no one said anything and certainly no one touched anyone else, Mycroft had certainly been very friendly. Warmed for some unknown reason, Lestrade took his leave to return home to a well deserved respite, at least for now. Crime and criminals wouldn't wait for long.