Random Sherlock/SGA snippet.
He'd been perfectly happy and on his way to a promotion when he'd gotten transferred.
To bloody Antarctica. And even that much he'd had to figure out for himself as his escorts were a tight-lipped bunch of tossers. Though it wasn't that difficult once they'd landed in Christchurch and he'd been tossed a fucking ton of Antarctic clothing.
The first familiar sight he gets is Sherlock Holmes throwing things at a wall and ranting about the "ignorance of the pompous ancients."
He'd stopped for a moment when he'd met Lestrade's eyes. Stared at him with that analytical gaze. "Go home and do tell Mycroft I don't need a babysitter, hmm?" he said before turning back to whatever experiment he was concocting on a base in Antarctica.
Lestrade didn't realize he was moving until hands were holding him back.
"Sir, I know it's difficult, but refrain from assaulting Holmes."
Lestrade stopped and shook off the hands. A young bloke, under thirty, with a patch of the Australian flag on his arm approached him.
"I'm Lt. Angsuvarn, sir. I'm supposed to debrief you."
It took him awhile to come to terms.
Not so much with the existence of aliens and the idea of a Stargate, but with finding out that no one on the fucking base knew what to do with him.
Sherlock had it right. He was a fucking nursemaid.
----
He's been conscripted into an intergalactic journey and it's his last day in London. He's spent his leave with his sister and stayed away from the Yard. Too many questions. He spared a brief thought to the idea of running, but knew it was futile before he'd even finished the thought. People who knew the secrets he did wouldn't be let go and he knew that the government had a longer reach than any normal citizen realized.
He couldn't do anything but enjoy the last digestive he'd have for awhile then kiss his sister and niece goodbye with a smile on his face and lies about calling and staying safe coating his tongue.
He came back to Antarctica with a few person items and the belief that he was going to die very far from home.
Sherlock returned with an Army medic who had the ATA gene in tow.
----
The entire base pretended they weren't interested in the heated tantrum Sherlock was throwing at Dr. Weir and General O’Neill. Lestrade wished he could switch places with one of them. Sherlock had no people skills and once he knew he couldn't charm them he'd tried brow-beating them into allowing him to take John Watson with him.
"Haven't you already chosen your bathroom buddy, Holmes?" the General asked with a glance to Lestrade.
Sherlock didn't even spare him that. "Not my choice. Can I switch them?"
Lestrade stamped out that traitorous flicker of hope. Mycroft Holmes didn't let people go.
----
The desperate and impossible situation in the Pegasus galaxy actually made Sherlock and John seem to blossom. They were in their element.
It wasn’t so easy for Lestrade. They’d been put on the same team, mostly because no one else could stand Watson and Holmes together. Watson was dead useful; military man, medic, and Sherlock tamer all in one. The man deserved more than hazard pay. With Sherlock handling the scientific bits, that left Lestrade at a loss about his contributions to the team besides Wraith bait and body shield.
He’d read the manual and had chats with as many of the natives as he could and he wasn’t perfect, but neither Sherlock nor John could do the job.
Lestrade stepped forward to meet the approaching group. “Greetings, we’re explorers…”
Maybe he could actually survive this galaxy without being lunch.
To bloody Antarctica. And even that much he'd had to figure out for himself as his escorts were a tight-lipped bunch of tossers. Though it wasn't that difficult once they'd landed in Christchurch and he'd been tossed a fucking ton of Antarctic clothing.
The first familiar sight he gets is Sherlock Holmes throwing things at a wall and ranting about the "ignorance of the pompous ancients."
He'd stopped for a moment when he'd met Lestrade's eyes. Stared at him with that analytical gaze. "Go home and do tell Mycroft I don't need a babysitter, hmm?" he said before turning back to whatever experiment he was concocting on a base in Antarctica.
Lestrade didn't realize he was moving until hands were holding him back.
"Sir, I know it's difficult, but refrain from assaulting Holmes."
Lestrade stopped and shook off the hands. A young bloke, under thirty, with a patch of the Australian flag on his arm approached him.
"I'm Lt. Angsuvarn, sir. I'm supposed to debrief you."
It took him awhile to come to terms.
Not so much with the existence of aliens and the idea of a Stargate, but with finding out that no one on the fucking base knew what to do with him.
Sherlock had it right. He was a fucking nursemaid.
----
He's been conscripted into an intergalactic journey and it's his last day in London. He's spent his leave with his sister and stayed away from the Yard. Too many questions. He spared a brief thought to the idea of running, but knew it was futile before he'd even finished the thought. People who knew the secrets he did wouldn't be let go and he knew that the government had a longer reach than any normal citizen realized.
He couldn't do anything but enjoy the last digestive he'd have for awhile then kiss his sister and niece goodbye with a smile on his face and lies about calling and staying safe coating his tongue.
He came back to Antarctica with a few person items and the belief that he was going to die very far from home.
Sherlock returned with an Army medic who had the ATA gene in tow.
----
The entire base pretended they weren't interested in the heated tantrum Sherlock was throwing at Dr. Weir and General O’Neill. Lestrade wished he could switch places with one of them. Sherlock had no people skills and once he knew he couldn't charm them he'd tried brow-beating them into allowing him to take John Watson with him.
"Haven't you already chosen your bathroom buddy, Holmes?" the General asked with a glance to Lestrade.
Sherlock didn't even spare him that. "Not my choice. Can I switch them?"
Lestrade stamped out that traitorous flicker of hope. Mycroft Holmes didn't let people go.
----
The desperate and impossible situation in the Pegasus galaxy actually made Sherlock and John seem to blossom. They were in their element.
It wasn’t so easy for Lestrade. They’d been put on the same team, mostly because no one else could stand Watson and Holmes together. Watson was dead useful; military man, medic, and Sherlock tamer all in one. The man deserved more than hazard pay. With Sherlock handling the scientific bits, that left Lestrade at a loss about his contributions to the team besides Wraith bait and body shield.
He’d read the manual and had chats with as many of the natives as he could and he wasn’t perfect, but neither Sherlock nor John could do the job.
Lestrade stepped forward to meet the approaching group. “Greetings, we’re explorers…”
Maybe he could actually survive this galaxy without being lunch.