Re: Heart-Stopping Arguments Part 3
anonymous
December 9 2011, 18:40:59 UTC
Sherlock found his feet rooted to the ground as the ambulance pulled away. Numbly he clung to the piece of evidence he had found, planning on teasing Lestrade with it. It was just a little bit of harmless fun; Lestrade knew how to get it back, and while he had grumbled before, he hadn’t honestly thought the older man would do something like this.
“This is all your fault freak.” The woman’s hiss from behind him set his shoulders back, stiffening in preparation for the fight.
Anderson was still staring off after the police car, signs of shock setting in. He snuck a glance at Sally, and could see it written on her face as well, with dried tear tracks. She had been crying; the disappearance of the ambulance had brought back her puny brain online.
He sneered coldly. “My fault? If you had perhaps been taking better care of your leader, then it would not of come to this.”
“Are you kidding me freak? Aren’t you the one supposed to look at a person and be able to tell their entire life history? Oh, never mind, I forgot, you’re a psychopath.” She was bristling with rage, but Sherlock could more then match her.
“It’s sociopath, not psychopath. Look it up sometime if such a thing doesn’t escape your tiny brain.” The two stared at each other for a moment longer, daring the other to speak.
Anderson shook himself out of his stupor, “Sally-“
“Don’t you Sally me Anderson. If you could just do your job properly then we wouldn’t need the Freak in the first place.” She rounded on Anderson sharply.
Anderson bristled back, anger sparking in his eyes. “Like you’re doing any better- All of those meetings with Sherlock hacking into everyone’s phones to send them messages making the police look incompetent-“
“That’s because you all are incompetent.” Sherlock snapped back, bristling like an irritated cat.
“This has nothing to do with you-“ They both turned to him in a brief flash of a united front, bristling angrily.
“What’s going on? Where’s Detective Inspector Lestrade?” The loud, booming voice caught all of their attention.
Together they turned to a man striding towards them, every step sharp and angry. He was a good head taller then most, and his blond hair was carefully combed back. “Who’s in charge of this crime scene?”
Sally took a deep breath as she stepped forward. “I am sir.”
His eyes fell on her, mouth pursing in a straight line. “You’re not an inspector.”
“No sir. DI Lestrade was just taken to the hospital.”
One eyebrow jumped upwards. “Oh, so he finally kicked the bucket then has he? Hmmm…”
Startled, Sherlock turned to stare hard at the man. He couldn’t see any outward signs of tension, only just a raised brow. “Heart attack. His heart stopped beating. CPR was administered for five minutes.”
The man shrugged. “Either way, he’s not here now is he. Now then, what is your name?” He spoke directly to Sally.
“Sally Donovan sir.”
“Go put in papers to have yourself taken off the case.” Sally’s hands balled into fists, as the new DI surveyed the scene for a moment longer.
“You on Forensics? Then I suggest you do your job.” Anderson summarily dismissed, he at last turned to Sherlock.
Sherlock met his eyes squarely, taking stock of all the little things that built up a picture of the man. He was single, married twice- former alcoholic. Promoted to DI young, hit a plateau in his career, was struggling with refinding purpose in life. His lips curled in a sneer, when the man interrupted. “You had best get to the hospital yourself. You’re bleeding.”
Sherlock blinked in surprise, bringing his hands up to eye level.
His right hand, holding the evidence of the small rubrics cube that proved that the boyfriend was the murderer, had clenched hard enough to draw blood.
Heart-Stopping Arguments Part 4
anonymous
December 9 2011, 21:17:17 UTC
When they reached the hospital, there was already the world’s best heart surgeon in the world waiting for them. John was a little surprised- last he had heard, the man had been attending a conference in Etton.
He stepped back, intending to let the man take over, when the surgeon nodded at him. “I heard that you know most of his medical history?”
“Piecemeal I know it, yes.”
“Better then nothing. The files are taking awhile to get up here.” The surgeon smiled grimly. “I’d rather not let him die.”
“Ah.” John had the rather sudden, horrible vision of Mycroft sitting across from the surgeon, smiling effortlessly as he threatened painful death. “A man with an umbrella then?”
“Yes. Now then Doctor Watson, please prepare to assist me. This is not the most prepared of surgeries, but his heart rate is still irregular, and we need to stabilize it.”
What came next was the most grueling, intensive surgery he had ever seen in his life. The fact that Mycroft had a vested interest in this just made it all the worse.
Surgery pulled to a close, with John taking a step back. Tiredly he groped for his can, only to realize that he had left it abandoned on the crime scene. With a heavy groan, he leaned against the wall, and watched Lestrade be wheeled out. He needed to text Sherlock, tell him and Sally that Lestrade had been stabilized.
He levered himself off the wall, shuffling awkwardly after the woman, when a familiar man with an umbrella appeared, and holding John’s cane. “Hello John.”
“Mycroft.”
“How is the inspector doing?”
“Stabilized. But we’re going have to determine the cause.” John took his cane back, feeling the tremor slowly creep back into his hand. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, tampering on the need to curse his body. “Until then, only family members are allowed in the room.”
“He has none.”
“Then I guess he won’t be getting any visitors, then will he.”
Mycroft’s eyes were sharper now. “You’re keeping Sherlock out?”
John stared back. “I’m keeping everyone out. Seeing anyone would just bring his stress level back up. That isn’t a good thing.”
“Hmm, I see. Well I will drop by-“
“You’re not family either. And if you suddenly pop up on the family list, I’m still not allowing you in.” John crossed his arms, staring directly into Mycroft’s eyes. “Not until I decide that this is a hereditary and not stress induced. If it is stress…”
Mycroft’s mouth thinned as he instantly guessed what John was going to say; Sherlock was going have to stay away or end up driving the Inspector to an early grave. “Very well then.”
Mycroft turned sharply on his heel and left, gesturing to his assistant. “Please arrange for Sally Donovan, Anderson, and Sherlock to meet up with John at the same time. I believe John has something to say to them all.”
His assistant nodded, as Mycroft took a deep breath, mentally preparing for the barrage that Sherlock would have. “Also, arrange for any complications to be taken care of. I want the Inspectors stay at the hospital to be as pleasant and comfortable as is possible.”
Another short nod, as she walked along, heels tapping against the ground. Mycroft contemplated his umbrella for a moment longer, before tucking it beneath one arm, and moving along.
A Holmes never forgot their debts, and would always repay them a thousand times over.
Heart-Stopping Arguments Part 5
anonymous
December 9 2011, 21:18:34 UTC
John heard the three fighting down the hallway, long before they had approached the door. It was actually a good thing, because in those long five minutes, he figured out what he was going to actually say to them, and took his sentinel spot at Lestrade’s doorway, the door firmly shut against all intruders.
Sherlock came around the corner first, all stiff angles, fluttery scarf, and lordly air, with Donovan hot on his heels attempting to kill him with her eyes. Anderson followed behind, anger clouding on his face.
Moment of truth. “Stop.” His quiet, firm voice was nearly lost among the scathing insults.
“I said enough.” John snarled, physically blocking to door.
Sherlock came to a stop before him, staring down his nose. “John, I cannot enter the room unless you move.”
“Well, I’m not going to move Sherlock. Nobody is allowed into this room until you all learn to work together.”
There was a long moment of dead silence, before Sally out flung an arm, bristling, “Work? With him? I will not-“
“Is there a reason you’re all blocking the doorway?” The long drawl from behind them made all four flinch in surprise. John’s eyes rose to meet the man’s frowning slightly as he didn’t recognize him.
Sherlock, Sally, and Anderson did apparently; “You!”
The fair-haired man’s eyebrow rose. “Ah, Lestrade’s team.” He snorted, as he surged through them, holding a single lily in his hands.
“A lily is the flower of death.” Sherlock pointed out.
“I know.” The man kicked open the door, ignoring John’s terrifying look, “Oi, Rat-face!”
“Greg-son?” The DI’s voice drifted out, weakly. “What are you doing here?”
“Aw, how sweet, you remembered my name. I brought you a flower.”
“One lily? Once again your unwillingness to spend money makes itself known.” Lestrade’s voice was slowly gaining strength. “You stole this from somewhere, didn’t you?”
“Pish-paw, as if you’re worth getting an entire banquet for.” Gregson was sitting, John could hear the creak of the chair. “Anyways, what happened to our promise of pints once we finally got to meet up again?”
“And get landed with the bill you fat drunkard?” Despite the harsh words, there was a strong undercurrent of fondness and familiarity. There wasn’t even the slightest bite to the words. “Go jump into the Thames.”
“Already did. Twice. And you pushed me in three.”
“You deserved it. Besides, you pushed me in first.”
There was a brief laugh, that broke off into a pained gasp on Lestrade’s part. Sherlock shifted, while Sally winced. “Easy ferret-boy. No need to get all wound up.”
“Shut it fat-head. Don’t need you of all people mothering me.”
“Mmmhmm.” The unconvinced hum was nearly lost, and John inched closer to the door- he didn’t want to interrupt; Lestrade sounded the most relaxed he had sounded for several months now, which was actually a little sad if one thought about it for too long.
Heart-Stopping Arguments Part 6
anonymous
December 9 2011, 21:18:58 UTC
“If you were so in control you wouldn’t of had a heart attack. If anything caused it, knowing you, it would be your team.”
“That’s right- they’re-“
“Fine. I’ll take care of them.” Gregson breezed off the concern easily. “Going to sleep on me Lestrade?” His voice was slightly softer, despite its rather mocking tone.
Lestrade’s reply was lost in the answering mumble, but the rustle of clothing told John that Gregson was coming back out.
“Well then- you’re all Lestrade’s team- most of them at least.” Gregson snorted. “Ragtag bunch of groupies.”
Sally bristled instantly, as Sherlock’s arms crossed. John could feel his own defenses building in defiance to the man’s words. They weren’t groupies. “Actually, I and Sherlock are not on Lestrade’s official team.”
Sherlock didn’t correct John’s grammar, and Sally nodded triumphantly. Gregson’s eyes went heavenward for patience. “You work with Lestrade, correct? Then you’re part of his team. Now come along, we’re going to have to work to get you fit in.”
“Fit in to what?”
“Why, team-building exercises of course. Or I’m going to transfer you two out of Lestrade’s team, and convince the Super that all cases that involve Sherlock Holmes is some form or way to be transferred to a different DI.” The casual statement was just about a slap in the face judging by the look on Sherlock’s face.
“You can’t-“
“Of course I can.” Gregson snapped back, refusing to be cowed. “I heard vaunted tales of your intelligence, but nothing about your influence. I might not be able to argue Lestrade out of keeping you lot, but if worse comes to worse, I will get him transferred. I think he’d like Ipwitch, don’t you?”
“It won’t happen.” Despite Sherlock’s confident tone, there was a thoughtful look on his face. John certainly hoped such a thing couldn’t happen- Just imagining Sherlock’s face when he found that Lestrade had been transferred didn’t quite bear thinking about.
“Oh, if it’ll keep Lestrade alive, then I’ll do it. We made a vow that we’d kill each other when in a nursing home- have to keep him alive that long.” Gregson sighed heavily. “Heavens alone knows he won’t ensure it himself.”
“So then you recently transferred back to be his nanny?”
“Nooo, and Lestrade doesn’t need a nanny; he needs a team that takes care of him like they should.” Gregson snapped back. “Now come along. You lot need your team building exercises, and need them now. Before you kill off Lestrade.”
John didn’t dare look at anyone else’s face at that statement.
Heart-Stopping Arguments Part 7
anonymous
December 10 2011, 20:22:26 UTC
Lestrade stared at the blank wall across from him, willing it to suddenly speak up and tell him what was going on.
He hadn’t expecting anyone to be here (lie, he was expecting at least Sally) and he wasn’t really lonely (the last time it had been so quiet was when his wife died), but he could use the company (before he went insane).
“Hello Silver Ferret.” Lestrade’s head shot up when the blond-haired man slid into the room, holding a black lily. He squinted at the flower, before slowly twisting his head to where another wilted flower lay.
“Oh, isn’t this wonderful. I have a heart attack, and the only person who bothers visiting me is a man telling me to hurry up and die with lilies.” He was surprised at how exhausting just speaking was.
A slight line appeared between Gregson’s brow, smoothed away in the next blink. “Of course there’s only me; your team is quite possibly the worst I’ve ever met, and I’ve sent them off to team-building exercises.”
Lestrade, in the act of figuring which arm had the least amount of lines stuck into it, looked up. “Really? Them? How?”
“I am a very persuasive man.” Gregson pointed out, and pretended that it didn’t hurt too much when Lestrade made a wheezing noise that might’ve been a laugh. “I charmed them right into it.”
It was more like several hours of haranguing, threats, and a phone call from someone he didn’t know but spoke several words to Sherlock that did the trick more like it, but he wasn’t going to complain.
“Anyways, would you like to hear the progress?” Gregson brandished a large clipboard at Lestrade.
The man waved a finger in acknowledgement, eyes sliding to half-mast and staying there. Gregson refused to pull out his glasses, even if it was hard to make out the stupidly small print. He wasn’t that old, not yet.
“Now then- first. Ahem-“ Gregson coughed into his fist, and his deep baritone voice took on a high pitched, mock female accent, complete with the fake French thrown in for good measure. “Ze Zally Brown iz ze most interesting person, showing a high level of loyalty- zis iz offset by her unwillingness to get over a grudge.”
Sally crossed her arms as she stared at Sherlock on the top of the small platform. Sherlock stared back impassively. Beside them, a short, frazzled hair woman smiled nervously as she said, “Now then, the trust drop! Sherlock, on the count of three fall backwards, and Sally and Anderson here will catch you.”
Anderson took his position with a longsuffering sigh. Sally didn’t move. Neither did Sherlock.
“Please, you two need to work together in order to do this exercise properly.”
“Why can’t John do it?”
The man with the cane whistled innocently as he looked away. “John is only observing any physical exercise unless he states that he can do it.” There was a particularly murderous look from both Sally and Sherlock at that.
There was going to be violin screeching tonight, all night long.
Well, he had new sound-canceling headphones Mycroft had given him for Christmas. He’d have to try them.
“Now then, Sally, Sherlock, please take position.”
Sally, quite unsurprisingly to everyone, didn’t catch Sherlock, who didn’t so much as fall as he did gracefully step down.
Anderson shook his head. “That’s not how a T-Rex looks.”
John took a deep breath, reminded himself that the sculpting was his idea in the first place. “What do you mean?”
“T-rex’s have feathers, not scales. Moreover, you have it bent over too far. According to the muscular structure, It should be further up, like this.” Anderson waved a hand at his won dinosaur, looking like something from out of a graphic design spread- John could see the muscle bulges beneath what looked like feathers, even from five feet away.
“Also, I came to ask you- have any extra clay? I don’t have enough for the head.”
“Sure, go right ahead.” John motioned to his own clay.
Nobody was certain when Anderson borrowing that small bit of clay got to the point where everyone just handed their clay over to watch Anderson’s complete Dinosaur set, with the right dinosaurs from the same time, happened.
It was still amusing however to watch Sherlock’s long-suffering face as Anderson ranted about Dinosaurs, which one belonged to which period, and other things. It was totally worth it.
“Unfortunatzly, He and Mizter Vatson disagree at timez.”
Back to the clay- the woman seemed determined to make it work this time around. At least this time they were told to sculpt whatever they wanted.
John placed the tiny heart (anatomically correct) too one side, when Anderson interrupted again. “You’re missing a major artery.”
“I am not.” John snapped back, picking up his heart again. “See, look.”
“You’re not missing that one, you’re missing this one.” Anderson pointed at the back of the heart. John frowned.
“I’m just making it flat view for the chest cavity.” He pointed at the model body, with the inside scooped out. He had the intestines coiled up inside already.
What happened next was hotly contested; the end result was still the same- Sherlock and Sally stood on the sidelines as John and Anderson had the medical version of hair tugging and name calling by carving a replica of the entire human body as if it had been right in front of them.
They both refused Sherlock’s offer of creating a crime scene from it.
Heart-Stopping Arguments Part 9
anonymous
December 10 2011, 20:24:53 UTC
Lestrade interrupted Gregson at this point, “Just give it to me in your regular voice would you? You’re giving me a headache.” There was a light tilt to his lips that told Gregson the voice had been appreciated anyways.
It fell away soon, as the man struggled to keep awake. Gregson paused in his recitation, “You going to sleep on me Lestrade?”
“Keep me awake Tobias. I need to stay awake for now.” The DI shifted slightly on the bed, attempting to get comfortable.
Gregson reached across, grabbing him by the shoulder. “You know, it really shouldn’t be me doing this. It should be your team.”
“You were the one who sent them away.” Lestrade pointed out reasonably. His eyes slit back open to pin Gregson with a glare. “You did tell them my condition, right?”
“Nope, not at all.” Gregson admitted cheerfully. “Now then, Doctor Watson- trust issues, but good with putting aside differences to work with others; perhaps a little too good-“
Sherlock stared down his nose at Anderson, as Sally and John worked at the Mine Field exercise- Sally was the one blindfolded. “John!”
John looked at him inquisitively, missing Sally’s stumble. She straightened with a snarl, “John!”
“Sally?”
Sherlock’s scowl grew blacker. “John, switch with me.”
John’s head turned mid-instruction. “Sherlock, I’m trying-“
Sally tripped over the chair, and went down swearing like an old sailor.
Gregson paused, the therapists words trailed off into something a little more incomprehensible. “And it ends with Sherlock, something about impossible, and help.”
“That’s Sherlock alright.”
Sherlock wrapped up his last text to the lady, perfectly satisfied that she would write something well.
“This has to be the most eloquent resignation letter I have ever seen.” Gregson murmured, setting it aside. Lestrade smiled crookedly at that.
Gregson sat back. “Well, I didn’t want to do this, but I guess we’ll have to call him.”
Lestrade’s eyes shot open. “Him?”
“Him.”
“You’re joking.”
“No, I’m not.”
“But-“
“It’ll work.” Gregson was confident. “It worked for us, didn’t it?”
“I’m absolutely certain it’ll be illegal.”
“Oh, no, it wasn’t. Just… annoying. At no point were our lives in mortal danger. Kind of. Nothing that could be proven at least.”
“Our sanity?”
“Now that is another matter entirely.” Gregson admitted. “You have to admit, with your team like it is, their not going to get any better without someone a little more strenuous.”
“I know, I know…” Lestrade sighed, head falling back. “I don’t really-“
“You aren’t failing as a leader if you do it Lestrade.” Gregson easily picked up on the hidden objection. “Besides, you have no say in this.”
“Why did I ever even begin to think that you coming back to London was a good thing?” Lestrade mumbled, eyes sinking shut despite the fact he was clearly struggling to stay awake.
Gregson didn’t stick around to watch him fall asleep- that would imply he cared. And he didn’t. Not really.
And the Thames was a crystal clear swimming pool surrounded by hot chicks.
Heart-Stopping Arguments Part 10
anonymous
December 11 2011, 21:21:03 UTC
Sherlock wasn’t really surprised when the lady resigned as the team builder exercise leader. She clearly didn’t have the inner steel required to stand up to Sally, and she had just about broken down into tears after listening to the two of them bicker for fifteen minutes straight.
“Come on Sherlock. We’re doing this until we can work together with all of them without breaking into a gigantic fight for at least thirty minutes.”
Sherlock scowled. “Boring. I will simply use you as a relay for all information.”
“Ah-ha-ha, no. Come along Sherlock, or I’ll tell Mrs. Hudson to hide your chemistry set.” John had pulled on his most comfortable jumper, and had already collected his cane. There was no telling what was going to happen today; all they knew was that Gregson was pulling in someone from the country side.
They arrived at the scene, all four of them, completely and utterly miserable in their own way.
John hadn’t really had a chance to think yesterday, being thrown straight from the DI having a heart attack to trust exercises- it allowed him to pretend it wasn’t happening. That tomorrow Lestrade would be found in his usual spot in the Yard, running his hands through graying hair and scolding Sherlock.
He wasn’t.
The cold reality was beginning to set in, and judging by the looks on the other’s faces, he wasn’t the only one.
Lestrade was a good man, solid and dependable; but completely gray, fading into the background generally speaking. What did John know about the man anyways?
Nothing, absolutely nothing.
I’d like to know more Lestrade. Not just as a patient, but as a man.
Sherlock shifted on his feet, coat wrapped against the early-morning chill. This was ridiculous. He should be out solving the case that had given Lestrade the heart attack. But, no.
Mycroft had called, and said only one word, “Please.”
Mycroft didn’t beg; but this time he sounded perilously close, just as close as when he had been on drugs, and he had gone to Lestrade to get him through those times. There was no reminder about a Holmes duty, but Sherlock knew why Mycroft had called.
A Holmes didn’t forget their debts.
I can do this in exchange for Lestrade. I simply have to analyze all available data to reach a good conclusion.
Sally glowered at Sherlock as she touched her hair- she hadn’t bothered doing it today. Who was there to look pretty for? The Freak? As if. Anderson? No. She was done with Anderson, done with the fact that he had actually enjoyed himself when he was working with John on the clay body.
It was those two outsider’s fault that her DI was in the hospital, probably heavily sedated, and completely alone.
She knew alone. She really did- Being the only woman in a group of men was hard. She had worked hard to even climb this far, and because of her mouth, had been kicked off to Lestrade’s team. He was the first DI to actually grin at her insolence, and tell her cheerfully that she was going to be his PR person.
This was a sign of a very, very good relationship; until Freak moved in and messed it all up.
I don’t want to loose this boss, please, not for awhile. I want to become a DI while under him.
Anderson fidgeted in his own corner, eyes sliding across the three nearby, before his eyes went back to fall upon the non-threatening van. What am I even doing here?
He wasn’t really part of Lestrade’s team. Yes, technically he was around long enough to be part of it, but he was a forensic scientist. He dealt with the dead bodies only generally speaking.
In fact, he was rapidly finding himself becoming redundant. Doctor Watson only had to take one step onto the crime scene, and he just took over. He might as well stand around with nothing more then a clipboard and record whatever John said.
John really was good at what he did, and Anderson quietly admitted to his own jealousy concerning the man’s talents. But John couldn’t do all of the bodies like he did, and Lestrade never told him to simply accept John’s word.
I don’t want to transfer to another DI, I want mine. But it’s not going to work unless we learn how to get along.
Heart-Stopping Arguments Part 11
anonymous
December 11 2011, 21:24:35 UTC
Gregson twirled his pen in one hand as he stared at the police officer that had apparently been the one to help Doctor Watson at the Crime Scene with Lestrade. The Constable stared back, shifting uneasily in his seat. “Name?”
“C-Clarke sir.”
“Clarke then.” Gregson stared down at his paper. “Tell me Clarke, who’s your DI?”
“Oh, that’d be Inspector Bradstreet sir.”
“Oh good, I should be able to urge him just fine. Do you know Inspector Lestrade?”
‘Yes sir, I’ve worked with his team when they need extra hands at the crime scene before.”
“Oh good, get along with him?”
“I- haven’t really talked much to him sir. But he seems like a good leader.”
“Right, think you can get along with his consultant?” Gregson knew he was being heavy handed, knew that it would probably circulate around. He didn’t really care. If Lestrade’s team was bad enough to warrant him by the first day, then he was going to pull out all stops as well and get Lestrade’s new team waiting in the wings to swoop in.
“Well- I suppose sir.” Clarke paused. “Why are you the one arranging this sir?”
“Oh, I can forge Lestrade’s signature rather well. Now then, I think the lot of them should be meeting him. I wonder just how long they’ll last.” Gregson purposely evaded the question. He didn’t care about Lestrade; not at all.
“This is all your fault freak.” The woman’s hiss from behind him set his shoulders back, stiffening in preparation for the fight.
Anderson was still staring off after the police car, signs of shock setting in. He snuck a glance at Sally, and could see it written on her face as well, with dried tear tracks. She had been crying; the disappearance of the ambulance had brought back her puny brain online.
He sneered coldly. “My fault? If you had perhaps been taking better care of your leader, then it would not of come to this.”
“Are you kidding me freak? Aren’t you the one supposed to look at a person and be able to tell their entire life history? Oh, never mind, I forgot, you’re a psychopath.” She was bristling with rage, but Sherlock could more then match her.
“It’s sociopath, not psychopath. Look it up sometime if such a thing doesn’t escape your tiny brain.” The two stared at each other for a moment longer, daring the other to speak.
Anderson shook himself out of his stupor, “Sally-“
“Don’t you Sally me Anderson. If you could just do your job properly then we wouldn’t need the Freak in the first place.” She rounded on Anderson sharply.
Anderson bristled back, anger sparking in his eyes. “Like you’re doing any better- All of those meetings with Sherlock hacking into everyone’s phones to send them messages making the police look incompetent-“
“That’s because you all are incompetent.” Sherlock snapped back, bristling like an irritated cat.
“This has nothing to do with you-“ They both turned to him in a brief flash of a united front, bristling angrily.
“What’s going on? Where’s Detective Inspector Lestrade?” The loud, booming voice caught all of their attention.
Together they turned to a man striding towards them, every step sharp and angry. He was a good head taller then most, and his blond hair was carefully combed back. “Who’s in charge of this crime scene?”
Sally took a deep breath as she stepped forward. “I am sir.”
His eyes fell on her, mouth pursing in a straight line. “You’re not an inspector.”
“No sir. DI Lestrade was just taken to the hospital.”
One eyebrow jumped upwards. “Oh, so he finally kicked the bucket then has he? Hmmm…”
Startled, Sherlock turned to stare hard at the man. He couldn’t see any outward signs of tension, only just a raised brow. “Heart attack. His heart stopped beating. CPR was administered for five minutes.”
The man shrugged. “Either way, he’s not here now is he. Now then, what is your name?” He spoke directly to Sally.
“Sally Donovan sir.”
“Go put in papers to have yourself taken off the case.” Sally’s hands balled into fists, as the new DI surveyed the scene for a moment longer.
“You on Forensics? Then I suggest you do your job.” Anderson summarily dismissed, he at last turned to Sherlock.
Sherlock met his eyes squarely, taking stock of all the little things that built up a picture of the man. He was single, married twice- former alcoholic. Promoted to DI young, hit a plateau in his career, was struggling with refinding purpose in life. His lips curled in a sneer, when the man interrupted. “You had best get to the hospital yourself. You’re bleeding.”
Sherlock blinked in surprise, bringing his hands up to eye level.
His right hand, holding the evidence of the small rubrics cube that proved that the boyfriend was the murderer, had clenched hard enough to draw blood.
~_~_~
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He stepped back, intending to let the man take over, when the surgeon nodded at him. “I heard that you know most of his medical history?”
“Piecemeal I know it, yes.”
“Better then nothing. The files are taking awhile to get up here.” The surgeon smiled grimly. “I’d rather not let him die.”
“Ah.” John had the rather sudden, horrible vision of Mycroft sitting across from the surgeon, smiling effortlessly as he threatened painful death. “A man with an umbrella then?”
“Yes. Now then Doctor Watson, please prepare to assist me. This is not the most prepared of surgeries, but his heart rate is still irregular, and we need to stabilize it.”
What came next was the most grueling, intensive surgery he had ever seen in his life. The fact that Mycroft had a vested interest in this just made it all the worse.
Surgery pulled to a close, with John taking a step back. Tiredly he groped for his can, only to realize that he had left it abandoned on the crime scene. With a heavy groan, he leaned against the wall, and watched Lestrade be wheeled out. He needed to text Sherlock, tell him and Sally that Lestrade had been stabilized.
He levered himself off the wall, shuffling awkwardly after the woman, when a familiar man with an umbrella appeared, and holding John’s cane. “Hello John.”
“Mycroft.”
“How is the inspector doing?”
“Stabilized. But we’re going have to determine the cause.” John took his cane back, feeling the tremor slowly creep back into his hand. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, tampering on the need to curse his body. “Until then, only family members are allowed in the room.”
“He has none.”
“Then I guess he won’t be getting any visitors, then will he.”
Mycroft’s eyes were sharper now. “You’re keeping Sherlock out?”
John stared back. “I’m keeping everyone out. Seeing anyone would just bring his stress level back up. That isn’t a good thing.”
“Hmm, I see. Well I will drop by-“
“You’re not family either. And if you suddenly pop up on the family list, I’m still not allowing you in.” John crossed his arms, staring directly into Mycroft’s eyes. “Not until I decide that this is a hereditary and not stress induced. If it is stress…”
Mycroft’s mouth thinned as he instantly guessed what John was going to say; Sherlock was going have to stay away or end up driving the Inspector to an early grave. “Very well then.”
Mycroft turned sharply on his heel and left, gesturing to his assistant. “Please arrange for Sally Donovan, Anderson, and Sherlock to meet up with John at the same time. I believe John has something to say to them all.”
His assistant nodded, as Mycroft took a deep breath, mentally preparing for the barrage that Sherlock would have. “Also, arrange for any complications to be taken care of. I want the Inspectors stay at the hospital to be as pleasant and comfortable as is possible.”
Another short nod, as she walked along, heels tapping against the ground. Mycroft contemplated his umbrella for a moment longer, before tucking it beneath one arm, and moving along.
A Holmes never forgot their debts, and would always repay them a thousand times over.
~_~_~
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Sherlock came around the corner first, all stiff angles, fluttery scarf, and lordly air, with Donovan hot on his heels attempting to kill him with her eyes. Anderson followed behind, anger clouding on his face.
Moment of truth. “Stop.” His quiet, firm voice was nearly lost among the scathing insults.
“I said enough.” John snarled, physically blocking to door.
Sherlock came to a stop before him, staring down his nose. “John, I cannot enter the room unless you move.”
“Well, I’m not going to move Sherlock. Nobody is allowed into this room until you all learn to work together.”
There was a long moment of dead silence, before Sally out flung an arm, bristling, “Work? With him? I will not-“
“Is there a reason you’re all blocking the doorway?” The long drawl from behind them made all four flinch in surprise. John’s eyes rose to meet the man’s frowning slightly as he didn’t recognize him.
Sherlock, Sally, and Anderson did apparently; “You!”
The fair-haired man’s eyebrow rose. “Ah, Lestrade’s team.” He snorted, as he surged through them, holding a single lily in his hands.
“A lily is the flower of death.” Sherlock pointed out.
“I know.” The man kicked open the door, ignoring John’s terrifying look, “Oi, Rat-face!”
“Greg-son?” The DI’s voice drifted out, weakly. “What are you doing here?”
“Aw, how sweet, you remembered my name. I brought you a flower.”
“One lily? Once again your unwillingness to spend money makes itself known.” Lestrade’s voice was slowly gaining strength. “You stole this from somewhere, didn’t you?”
“Pish-paw, as if you’re worth getting an entire banquet for.” Gregson was sitting, John could hear the creak of the chair. “Anyways, what happened to our promise of pints once we finally got to meet up again?”
“And get landed with the bill you fat drunkard?” Despite the harsh words, there was a strong undercurrent of fondness and familiarity. There wasn’t even the slightest bite to the words. “Go jump into the Thames.”
“Already did. Twice. And you pushed me in three.”
“You deserved it. Besides, you pushed me in first.”
There was a brief laugh, that broke off into a pained gasp on Lestrade’s part. Sherlock shifted, while Sally winced. “Easy ferret-boy. No need to get all wound up.”
“Shut it fat-head. Don’t need you of all people mothering me.”
“Mmmhmm.” The unconvinced hum was nearly lost, and John inched closer to the door- he didn’t want to interrupt; Lestrade sounded the most relaxed he had sounded for several months now, which was actually a little sad if one thought about it for too long.
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“That’s right- they’re-“
“Fine. I’ll take care of them.” Gregson breezed off the concern easily. “Going to sleep on me Lestrade?” His voice was slightly softer, despite its rather mocking tone.
Lestrade’s reply was lost in the answering mumble, but the rustle of clothing told John that Gregson was coming back out.
“Well then- you’re all Lestrade’s team- most of them at least.” Gregson snorted. “Ragtag bunch of groupies.”
Sally bristled instantly, as Sherlock’s arms crossed. John could feel his own defenses building in defiance to the man’s words. They weren’t groupies. “Actually, I and Sherlock are not on Lestrade’s official team.”
Sherlock didn’t correct John’s grammar, and Sally nodded triumphantly. Gregson’s eyes went heavenward for patience. “You work with Lestrade, correct? Then you’re part of his team. Now come along, we’re going to have to work to get you fit in.”
“Fit in to what?”
“Why, team-building exercises of course. Or I’m going to transfer you two out of Lestrade’s team, and convince the Super that all cases that involve Sherlock Holmes is some form or way to be transferred to a different DI.” The casual statement was just about a slap in the face judging by the look on Sherlock’s face.
“You can’t-“
“Of course I can.” Gregson snapped back, refusing to be cowed. “I heard vaunted tales of your intelligence, but nothing about your influence. I might not be able to argue Lestrade out of keeping you lot, but if worse comes to worse, I will get him transferred. I think he’d like Ipwitch, don’t you?”
“It won’t happen.” Despite Sherlock’s confident tone, there was a thoughtful look on his face. John certainly hoped such a thing couldn’t happen- Just imagining Sherlock’s face when he found that Lestrade had been transferred didn’t quite bear thinking about.
“Oh, if it’ll keep Lestrade alive, then I’ll do it. We made a vow that we’d kill each other when in a nursing home- have to keep him alive that long.” Gregson sighed heavily. “Heavens alone knows he won’t ensure it himself.”
“So then you recently transferred back to be his nanny?”
“Nooo, and Lestrade doesn’t need a nanny; he needs a team that takes care of him like they should.” Gregson snapped back. “Now come along. You lot need your team building exercises, and need them now. Before you kill off Lestrade.”
John didn’t dare look at anyone else’s face at that statement.
~_~_~
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He hadn’t expecting anyone to be here (lie, he was expecting at least Sally) and he wasn’t really lonely (the last time it had been so quiet was when his wife died), but he could use the company (before he went insane).
“Hello Silver Ferret.” Lestrade’s head shot up when the blond-haired man slid into the room, holding a black lily. He squinted at the flower, before slowly twisting his head to where another wilted flower lay.
“Oh, isn’t this wonderful. I have a heart attack, and the only person who bothers visiting me is a man telling me to hurry up and die with lilies.” He was surprised at how exhausting just speaking was.
A slight line appeared between Gregson’s brow, smoothed away in the next blink. “Of course there’s only me; your team is quite possibly the worst I’ve ever met, and I’ve sent them off to team-building exercises.”
Lestrade, in the act of figuring which arm had the least amount of lines stuck into it, looked up. “Really? Them? How?”
“I am a very persuasive man.” Gregson pointed out, and pretended that it didn’t hurt too much when Lestrade made a wheezing noise that might’ve been a laugh. “I charmed them right into it.”
It was more like several hours of haranguing, threats, and a phone call from someone he didn’t know but spoke several words to Sherlock that did the trick more like it, but he wasn’t going to complain.
“Anyways, would you like to hear the progress?” Gregson brandished a large clipboard at Lestrade.
The man waved a finger in acknowledgement, eyes sliding to half-mast and staying there. Gregson refused to pull out his glasses, even if it was hard to make out the stupidly small print. He wasn’t that old, not yet.
“Now then- first. Ahem-“ Gregson coughed into his fist, and his deep baritone voice took on a high pitched, mock female accent, complete with the fake French thrown in for good measure. “Ze Zally Brown iz ze most interesting person, showing a high level of loyalty- zis iz offset by her unwillingness to get over a grudge.”
Sally crossed her arms as she stared at Sherlock on the top of the small platform. Sherlock stared back impassively. Beside them, a short, frazzled hair woman smiled nervously as she said, “Now then, the trust drop! Sherlock, on the count of three fall backwards, and Sally and Anderson here will catch you.”
Anderson took his position with a longsuffering sigh. Sally didn’t move. Neither did Sherlock.
“Please, you two need to work together in order to do this exercise properly.”
“Why can’t John do it?”
The man with the cane whistled innocently as he looked away. “John is only observing any physical exercise unless he states that he can do it.” There was a particularly murderous look from both Sally and Sherlock at that.
There was going to be violin screeching tonight, all night long.
Well, he had new sound-canceling headphones Mycroft had given him for Christmas. He’d have to try them.
“Now then, Sally, Sherlock, please take position.”
Sally, quite unsurprisingly to everyone, didn’t catch Sherlock, who didn’t so much as fall as he did gracefully step down.
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Anderson shook his head. “That’s not how a T-Rex looks.”
John took a deep breath, reminded himself that the sculpting was his idea in the first place. “What do you mean?”
“T-rex’s have feathers, not scales. Moreover, you have it bent over too far. According to the muscular structure, It should be further up, like this.” Anderson waved a hand at his won dinosaur, looking like something from out of a graphic design spread- John could see the muscle bulges beneath what looked like feathers, even from five feet away.
“Also, I came to ask you- have any extra clay? I don’t have enough for the head.”
“Sure, go right ahead.” John motioned to his own clay.
Nobody was certain when Anderson borrowing that small bit of clay got to the point where everyone just handed their clay over to watch Anderson’s complete Dinosaur set, with the right dinosaurs from the same time, happened.
It was still amusing however to watch Sherlock’s long-suffering face as Anderson ranted about Dinosaurs, which one belonged to which period, and other things. It was totally worth it.
“Unfortunatzly, He and Mizter Vatson disagree at timez.”
Back to the clay- the woman seemed determined to make it work this time around. At least this time they were told to sculpt whatever they wanted.
John placed the tiny heart (anatomically correct) too one side, when Anderson interrupted again. “You’re missing a major artery.”
“I am not.” John snapped back, picking up his heart again. “See, look.”
“You’re not missing that one, you’re missing this one.” Anderson pointed at the back of the heart. John frowned.
“I’m just making it flat view for the chest cavity.” He pointed at the model body, with the inside scooped out. He had the intestines coiled up inside already.
What happened next was hotly contested; the end result was still the same- Sherlock and Sally stood on the sidelines as John and Anderson had the medical version of hair tugging and name calling by carving a replica of the entire human body as if it had been right in front of them.
They both refused Sherlock’s offer of creating a crime scene from it.
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It fell away soon, as the man struggled to keep awake. Gregson paused in his recitation, “You going to sleep on me Lestrade?”
“Keep me awake Tobias. I need to stay awake for now.” The DI shifted slightly on the bed, attempting to get comfortable.
Gregson reached across, grabbing him by the shoulder. “You know, it really shouldn’t be me doing this. It should be your team.”
“You were the one who sent them away.” Lestrade pointed out reasonably. His eyes slit back open to pin Gregson with a glare. “You did tell them my condition, right?”
“Nope, not at all.” Gregson admitted cheerfully. “Now then, Doctor Watson- trust issues, but good with putting aside differences to work with others; perhaps a little too good-“
Sherlock stared down his nose at Anderson, as Sally and John worked at the Mine Field exercise- Sally was the one blindfolded. “John!”
John looked at him inquisitively, missing Sally’s stumble. She straightened with a snarl, “John!”
“Sally?”
Sherlock’s scowl grew blacker. “John, switch with me.”
John’s head turned mid-instruction. “Sherlock, I’m trying-“
Sally tripped over the chair, and went down swearing like an old sailor.
Gregson paused, the therapists words trailed off into something a little more incomprehensible. “And it ends with Sherlock, something about impossible, and help.”
“That’s Sherlock alright.”
Sherlock wrapped up his last text to the lady, perfectly satisfied that she would write something well.
“This has to be the most eloquent resignation letter I have ever seen.” Gregson murmured, setting it aside. Lestrade smiled crookedly at that.
Gregson sat back. “Well, I didn’t want to do this, but I guess we’ll have to call him.”
Lestrade’s eyes shot open. “Him?”
“Him.”
“You’re joking.”
“No, I’m not.”
“But-“
“It’ll work.” Gregson was confident. “It worked for us, didn’t it?”
“I’m absolutely certain it’ll be illegal.”
“Oh, no, it wasn’t. Just… annoying. At no point were our lives in mortal danger. Kind of. Nothing that could be proven at least.”
“Our sanity?”
“Now that is another matter entirely.” Gregson admitted. “You have to admit, with your team like it is, their not going to get any better without someone a little more strenuous.”
“I know, I know…” Lestrade sighed, head falling back. “I don’t really-“
“You aren’t failing as a leader if you do it Lestrade.” Gregson easily picked up on the hidden objection. “Besides, you have no say in this.”
“Why did I ever even begin to think that you coming back to London was a good thing?” Lestrade mumbled, eyes sinking shut despite the fact he was clearly struggling to stay awake.
Gregson didn’t stick around to watch him fall asleep- that would imply he cared. And he didn’t. Not really.
And the Thames was a crystal clear swimming pool surrounded by hot chicks.
~_~_~
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“Come on Sherlock. We’re doing this until we can work together with all of them without breaking into a gigantic fight for at least thirty minutes.”
Sherlock scowled. “Boring. I will simply use you as a relay for all information.”
“Ah-ha-ha, no. Come along Sherlock, or I’ll tell Mrs. Hudson to hide your chemistry set.” John had pulled on his most comfortable jumper, and had already collected his cane. There was no telling what was going to happen today; all they knew was that Gregson was pulling in someone from the country side.
They arrived at the scene, all four of them, completely and utterly miserable in their own way.
John hadn’t really had a chance to think yesterday, being thrown straight from the DI having a heart attack to trust exercises- it allowed him to pretend it wasn’t happening. That tomorrow Lestrade would be found in his usual spot in the Yard, running his hands through graying hair and scolding Sherlock.
He wasn’t.
The cold reality was beginning to set in, and judging by the looks on the other’s faces, he wasn’t the only one.
Lestrade was a good man, solid and dependable; but completely gray, fading into the background generally speaking. What did John know about the man anyways?
Nothing, absolutely nothing.
I’d like to know more Lestrade. Not just as a patient, but as a man.
Sherlock shifted on his feet, coat wrapped against the early-morning chill. This was ridiculous. He should be out solving the case that had given Lestrade the heart attack. But, no.
Mycroft had called, and said only one word, “Please.”
Mycroft didn’t beg; but this time he sounded perilously close, just as close as when he had been on drugs, and he had gone to Lestrade to get him through those times. There was no reminder about a Holmes duty, but Sherlock knew why Mycroft had called.
A Holmes didn’t forget their debts.
I can do this in exchange for Lestrade. I simply have to analyze all available data to reach a good conclusion.
Sally glowered at Sherlock as she touched her hair- she hadn’t bothered doing it today. Who was there to look pretty for? The Freak? As if. Anderson? No. She was done with Anderson, done with the fact that he had actually enjoyed himself when he was working with John on the clay body.
It was those two outsider’s fault that her DI was in the hospital, probably heavily sedated, and completely alone.
She knew alone. She really did- Being the only woman in a group of men was hard. She had worked hard to even climb this far, and because of her mouth, had been kicked off to Lestrade’s team. He was the first DI to actually grin at her insolence, and tell her cheerfully that she was going to be his PR person.
This was a sign of a very, very good relationship; until Freak moved in and messed it all up.
I don’t want to loose this boss, please, not for awhile. I want to become a DI while under him.
Anderson fidgeted in his own corner, eyes sliding across the three nearby, before his eyes went back to fall upon the non-threatening van. What am I even doing here?
He wasn’t really part of Lestrade’s team. Yes, technically he was around long enough to be part of it, but he was a forensic scientist. He dealt with the dead bodies only generally speaking.
In fact, he was rapidly finding himself becoming redundant. Doctor Watson only had to take one step onto the crime scene, and he just took over. He might as well stand around with nothing more then a clipboard and record whatever John said.
John really was good at what he did, and Anderson quietly admitted to his own jealousy concerning the man’s talents. But John couldn’t do all of the bodies like he did, and Lestrade never told him to simply accept John’s word.
I don’t want to transfer to another DI, I want mine. But it’s not going to work unless we learn how to get along.
~_~_~
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“C-Clarke sir.”
“Clarke then.” Gregson stared down at his paper. “Tell me Clarke, who’s your DI?”
“Oh, that’d be Inspector Bradstreet sir.”
“Oh good, I should be able to urge him just fine. Do you know Inspector Lestrade?”
‘Yes sir, I’ve worked with his team when they need extra hands at the crime scene before.”
“Oh good, get along with him?”
“I- haven’t really talked much to him sir. But he seems like a good leader.”
“Right, think you can get along with his consultant?” Gregson knew he was being heavy handed, knew that it would probably circulate around. He didn’t really care. If Lestrade’s team was bad enough to warrant him by the first day, then he was going to pull out all stops as well and get Lestrade’s new team waiting in the wings to swoop in.
“Well- I suppose sir.” Clarke paused. “Why are you the one arranging this sir?”
“Oh, I can forge Lestrade’s signature rather well. Now then, I think the lot of them should be meeting him. I wonder just how long they’ll last.” Gregson purposely evaded the question. He didn’t care about Lestrade; not at all.
~_~_~
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