Fic: Bad Day
Summary: Lestrade has a bad day. But it gets better.
Type: Gen
Rating: PG
Word Count: 800
This was originally written as part of a 5 times fic but I decided I didn't like much of that and pulled it. So I post the parts I did like separately.
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Some people said Lestrade could be a bit short-tempered. Perhaps even a little inclined to running towards punchups rather than away.("You can take the boy out of Southwark...." his DCI had been heard to mutter.)
But he did pick his time and place, and however much he may have wanted to beat the living shit out of the bod running this seminar on "Modern Policing An Internal Drive For Change", and however much his fellow victims would have applauded him, he didn't.
Even though he knew Ted would have held the bastard down for him.
So he sat through four hours of turgid pointless prose, Powerpoint slides, and unrealistic "case studies". (What copper ever said that? What crim ever did that?).
He even managed to pretend a vague interest in the "audience participation exercises" that were supposed to "inculcate the appropriate mindset". (Meaning he didn't actually sabotage them, settling for being as non-participatory as he could and glaring at any of the "facilitators" who might think about trying to jolly him into getting involved. Maybe they'd heard about him, maybe they weren't as jolly as they pretended, anyway the glare worked.)
To really rub it in, those four hours had been at the end of a day
involving:
It was a very tired, very hungry, and exceedingly fed up inspector who came out of the Yard two hours after his official shift end to be met by huge bus queues outside and far too many people on the street by Westminster station for this time of night. Which meant, yes, a bloody breakdown on the Jubilee line.
He leaned against a lamppost, put his head back, and considered howling at the injustice of it all. But that took both thought and energy, so instead he just groaned. It was going to be a long walk home.
So when the black car nosed its way to the kerb and sat with its door open it took him a while to notice.
When he did, it was the first good thing that had happened to him all day.
The next good thing was waiting inside the car in the form of one Mycroft Holmes who handed him a bottle of Youngs Bitter almost before he'd sat down. And a shoulder to lean against while he drank it. And a hand to rub away the tension in his neck.
The third good thing was a decent dinner at a place that served excellent steak with all the trimmings and a Tiramisu cake for dessert that had his eyes crossing in pure pleasure.
The fourth good thing that happened was going back to Mycroft's place (instead of his own flat) to have a shower in the bathroom-that-should-be-illegal-it-was-so-sinfully-decadent. (Mycroft Holmes could be quite the sybarite, which for some reason surprised people.) And finding a set of clean clothes ready for tomorrow
The fifth good thing that happened to him is none of your business. It isn't your business how often it happened, how long each time lasted, who did what to who and how, or who should be arrested for eating a cream doughnut in that particular way.
Just rest assured that the fifth good thing was a very good thing indeed.
Type: Gen
Rating: PG
Word Count: 800
This was originally written as part of a 5 times fic but I decided I didn't like much of that and pulled it. So I post the parts I did like separately.
========================
Some people said Lestrade could be a bit short-tempered. Perhaps even a little inclined to running towards punchups rather than away.("You can take the boy out of Southwark...." his DCI had been heard to mutter.)
But he did pick his time and place, and however much he may have wanted to beat the living shit out of the bod running this seminar on "Modern Policing An Internal Drive For Change", and however much his fellow victims would have applauded him, he didn't.
Even though he knew Ted would have held the bastard down for him.
So he sat through four hours of turgid pointless prose, Powerpoint slides, and unrealistic "case studies". (What copper ever said that? What crim ever did that?).
He even managed to pretend a vague interest in the "audience participation exercises" that were supposed to "inculcate the appropriate mindset". (Meaning he didn't actually sabotage them, settling for being as non-participatory as he could and glaring at any of the "facilitators" who might think about trying to jolly him into getting involved. Maybe they'd heard about him, maybe they weren't as jolly as they pretended, anyway the glare worked.)
To really rub it in, those four hours had been at the end of a day
involving:
- Meeting with Human Resources about Donovan's inability to suffer fools gladly. (He ran interference for her easily enough because he'd had a lot of practice)
- Meeting with a CPS "prosecutor" who was apparently much more a non-prosecutor because every bloody case he was given he knocked back for minor procedural problems or staffing issues or not the right colour ink.
- A "shepherd's pie" from the canteen that seemed to involve very old very smelly German shepherd and potato substitute made of hide glue and papier mache.
- No less than seven different requests from seven different departments requesting the same statistics sliced up and presented in seven different (and mutually incompatible) ways. Of which four were marked "Senior Level" meaning he had to do them himself and not pass them onto the nearest DC.
- Another meeting with Human Resources about his request for a DC to replace Halverson who had tested up and was now a DS in Fraud, but apparently due to the hiring freeze he could bloody whistle for one. And he mustn't increase the overtime bill either. His DCI had managed to absent himself from that meeting, which skill was probably why he was a DCI.
- The coffee machine on their floor gasping its last and expiring in a pool of lukewarm water and cheap coffee concentrate leaving a smell they were not going to get out of the carpet any time soon
It was a very tired, very hungry, and exceedingly fed up inspector who came out of the Yard two hours after his official shift end to be met by huge bus queues outside and far too many people on the street by Westminster station for this time of night. Which meant, yes, a bloody breakdown on the Jubilee line.
He leaned against a lamppost, put his head back, and considered howling at the injustice of it all. But that took both thought and energy, so instead he just groaned. It was going to be a long walk home.
So when the black car nosed its way to the kerb and sat with its door open it took him a while to notice.
When he did, it was the first good thing that had happened to him all day.
The next good thing was waiting inside the car in the form of one Mycroft Holmes who handed him a bottle of Youngs Bitter almost before he'd sat down. And a shoulder to lean against while he drank it. And a hand to rub away the tension in his neck.
The third good thing was a decent dinner at a place that served excellent steak with all the trimmings and a Tiramisu cake for dessert that had his eyes crossing in pure pleasure.
The fourth good thing that happened was going back to Mycroft's place (instead of his own flat) to have a shower in the bathroom-that-should-be-illegal-it-was-so-sinfully-decadent. (Mycroft Holmes could be quite the sybarite, which for some reason surprised people.) And finding a set of clean clothes ready for tomorrow
The fifth good thing that happened to him is none of your business. It isn't your business how often it happened, how long each time lasted, who did what to who and how, or who should be arrested for eating a cream doughnut in that particular way.
Just rest assured that the fifth good thing was a very good thing indeed.