Second Fill: Keeping Secrets (3/?)
anonymous
August 2 2010, 21:18:08 UTC
He's not sure what it is that gives it away to Sherlock, he doesn't like to ask and, strangely, Sherlock doesn't tell him. He's been so careful to keep his sleeves pulled down over the marks on his wrist, and he thinks he's covered the slight limp almost perfectly. None of his colleagues have noticed, so he thought he was doing a reasonably good job. Not good enough to fool Sherlock though, he can feel the man assessing him as he glances up from the dead body on the floor in front of him - the second this week.
"Well, whoever gave you those cracked ribs is not the killer," Sherlock announces. "But then they never resist arrest if they're innocent, you'd better find out what they are guilty of."
It feels as though the whole room as stopped, in reality it hasn't. John Watson, of course, has turned his attention to Lestrade, and Donovan's eyebrows have shot up and there's a look somewhere between concern and confusion on her face, but everyone else is getting on with their jobs.
"Except it wasn't a suspect, or Donovan here would know," Sherlock realises. Then, without warning, he spins around to look at the body again. "Oh, of course!" he exclaims. "Forget their work; it has nothing to do with work. Find out which orchestra she played in, see if there's a link there."
Before Lestrade can process that they've skipped from his cracked ribs - which he's sure are just a little bruised - to the dead woman playing in an orchestra, Sherlock is gone; disappearing out of the front door. John hesitates for a moment; Lestrade can see his instincts as a doctor warring with his desire to follow Sherlock.
"I'm fine," he assures John. "Slipped on some stairs, already been checked out by a doctor. Nothing to worry about."
It doesn't sound very believable to him, but both John and Donovan seem to buy it. They disappear off in different directions, Donovan muttering about the freak leaving them with cryptic clues and how can anyone tell if she even plays an instrument, while John races after Sherlock. Lestrade stands for a moment over the body of the young woman, composing himself. It's going to be another late night. He has a family to inform of their daughter's death, the press to deal with, paperwork, evidence, more paperwork. It'll be easier to sleep at his desk again, not very comfortable with sore ribs but easier. He pulls out his mobile and leaves a message for Paul, he won't be home tonight, can't get away. He refuses to let himself think about the real reason he's staying, refuses to acknowledge that sleeping at his desk will be safer
Re: Second Fill: Keeping Secrets (3/?)votesaxonxAugust 3 2010, 09:22:07 UTC
Most definetely looking forward to the fourth part :) This is so fantastic so far, seriously, they are quickly becoming the highlight of my day...what that says about me as a person, I'm not quite sure, but it is a sad fact.
So anyway - PLEEEEAAASE!!!! update soon, I'm waiting with bated breath :)
Second Fill: Keeping Secrets (4/?)
anonymous
August 8 2010, 01:01:21 UTC
"You don't want to go home," Sherlock announces out of nowhere. Its weeks since the 'cracked ribs' incident and Lestrade had, stupidly, hoped that Sherlock had forgotten. But then, to the best of his knowledge, Sherlock's never really forgotten anything. Things slip his mind occasionally but they always come back.
"Not 'till we've caught this guy," Lestrade answers. It's the truth after all, he wants this guy caught. Too many people terrified, too much money at stake, his bosses breathing down his neck. He more than wants him caught, he needs him caught.
"It's a woman," Sherlock says. "This case, you're looking for a woman. The reason you don't want to go home though, that's a man."
Lestrade almost stops breathing. There's nobody within hearing distance but that's not really the point. Before he can pull himself together enough to form an answer, to deny - whatever it is that Sherlock is insinuating - Sherlock has spotted something on the other side of the room and is gone.
---
"Have you got a moment?" John is suddenly standing over his desk, Lestrade hadn't even noticed him arrive.
"In private?" John prompts.
"Sherlock come up with something?" Lestrade asks, as he gingerly pulls himself out of his desk chair. Sleeping in it has done nothing for his back, let alone any of the bruises.
"No," John replies, watching Lestrade critically. As they head for an empty interview room, Lestrade can practically feel John studying him, a doctor's gaze taking in the stiff way he moves trying to avoid pain. Except that this is John, not Sherlock. Sherlock might be a genius who can figure out more in one glance than most people could in an hour of study, but John isn't. John won't be looking for his injuries because he has no reason to think they exist. He's just being paranoid. The reassurances last him until he closes the door of the interview room behind them and turns to see what it is John wishes to talk about.
"Sherlock thinks someone is hurting you," John says, his expression is half apologetic and half assessing. He clearly wants to believe, just this once, that Sherlock is wrong. Lestrade is prepared to give him that, after all he's fine. Paul is getting better, they even talked about anger management last night. Before he can deny it though, John continues, "He's at least partly right, you're definitely hurt. You're limping, and you've clearly hurt your back."
Lestrade raises an eyebrow at that, he's used to Sherlock announcing things, deducing facts out of next to nothing, from John it's something new.
"I'm not Sherlock, but I'm a damn good doctor," John tells him, correctly interpreting his expression. "Let me help?"
For a fraction of a second, Lestrade almost says something he shouldn't. He almost asks for help. John is so sincere and professional and calm that it would be easy, but he can't. He can't let them know they're right, Sherlock will gloat and hold it over him, he'll spend the rest of his life waiting to see which crime scene or other inappropriate moment this will be revealed at. Besides, it's going to be fine. Paul was so sorry last night, they're going to talk some more tonight and it'll all be sorted before long.
"I'm fine," he brushes John off. "Sherlock is a genius, but even he gets things wrong. The only thing that's hurting me is too many hours sitting in that chair," it's not strictly a lie after all. He has been sitting in it far too much. "Tell him to stop thinking about me and start thinking about the case a little more. We need a result on this one."
It's only hours later, as he prepares to go home, that Lestrade considers the fact that Sherlock sent John to have a private conversation with him instead of announcing his conclusions in front of onlookers. Perhaps he had been wrong then, Sherlock might not have gloated, might not have held it over him. It didn't change anything else though; John can't help him because he doesn't need help.
"Well, whoever gave you those cracked ribs is not the killer," Sherlock announces. "But then they never resist arrest if they're innocent, you'd better find out what they are guilty of."
It feels as though the whole room as stopped, in reality it hasn't. John Watson, of course, has turned his attention to Lestrade, and Donovan's eyebrows have shot up and there's a look somewhere between concern and confusion on her face, but everyone else is getting on with their jobs.
"Except it wasn't a suspect, or Donovan here would know," Sherlock realises. Then, without warning, he spins around to look at the body again. "Oh, of course!" he exclaims. "Forget their work; it has nothing to do with work. Find out which orchestra she played in, see if there's a link there."
Before Lestrade can process that they've skipped from his cracked ribs - which he's sure are just a little bruised - to the dead woman playing in an orchestra, Sherlock is gone; disappearing out of the front door. John hesitates for a moment; Lestrade can see his instincts as a doctor warring with his desire to follow Sherlock.
"I'm fine," he assures John. "Slipped on some stairs, already been checked out by a doctor. Nothing to worry about."
It doesn't sound very believable to him, but both John and Donovan seem to buy it. They disappear off in different directions, Donovan muttering about the freak leaving them with cryptic clues and how can anyone tell if she even plays an instrument, while John races after Sherlock. Lestrade stands for a moment over the body of the young woman, composing himself. It's going to be another late night. He has a family to inform of their daughter's death, the press to deal with, paperwork, evidence, more paperwork. It'll be easier to sleep at his desk again, not very comfortable with sore ribs but easier. He pulls out his mobile and leaves a message for Paul, he won't be home tonight, can't get away. He refuses to let himself think about the real reason he's staying, refuses to acknowledge that sleeping at his desk will be safer
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So anyway - PLEEEEAAASE!!!! update soon, I'm waiting with bated breath :)
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I wouldn't worry about what it says about you, what does it say about me that I'm writing this?
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"Not 'till we've caught this guy," Lestrade answers. It's the truth after all, he wants this guy caught. Too many people terrified, too much money at stake, his bosses breathing down his neck. He more than wants him caught, he needs him caught.
"It's a woman," Sherlock says. "This case, you're looking for a woman. The reason you don't want to go home though, that's a man."
Lestrade almost stops breathing. There's nobody within hearing distance but that's not really the point. Before he can pull himself together enough to form an answer, to deny - whatever it is that Sherlock is insinuating - Sherlock has spotted something on the other side of the room and is gone.
---
"Have you got a moment?" John is suddenly standing over his desk, Lestrade hadn't even noticed him arrive.
"In private?" John prompts.
"Sherlock come up with something?" Lestrade asks, as he gingerly pulls himself out of his desk chair. Sleeping in it has done nothing for his back, let alone any of the bruises.
"No," John replies, watching Lestrade critically. As they head for an empty interview room, Lestrade can practically feel John studying him, a doctor's gaze taking in the stiff way he moves trying to avoid pain. Except that this is John, not Sherlock. Sherlock might be a genius who can figure out more in one glance than most people could in an hour of study, but John isn't. John won't be looking for his injuries because he has no reason to think they exist. He's just being paranoid. The reassurances last him until he closes the door of the interview room behind them and turns to see what it is John wishes to talk about.
"Sherlock thinks someone is hurting you," John says, his expression is half apologetic and half assessing. He clearly wants to believe, just this once, that Sherlock is wrong. Lestrade is prepared to give him that, after all he's fine. Paul is getting better, they even talked about anger management last night. Before he can deny it though, John continues, "He's at least partly right, you're definitely hurt. You're limping, and you've clearly hurt your back."
Lestrade raises an eyebrow at that, he's used to Sherlock announcing things, deducing facts out of next to nothing, from John it's something new.
"I'm not Sherlock, but I'm a damn good doctor," John tells him, correctly interpreting his expression. "Let me help?"
For a fraction of a second, Lestrade almost says something he shouldn't. He almost asks for help. John is so sincere and professional and calm that it would be easy, but he can't. He can't let them know they're right, Sherlock will gloat and hold it over him, he'll spend the rest of his life waiting to see which crime scene or other inappropriate moment this will be revealed at. Besides, it's going to be fine. Paul was so sorry last night, they're going to talk some more tonight and it'll all be sorted before long.
"I'm fine," he brushes John off. "Sherlock is a genius, but even he gets things wrong. The only thing that's hurting me is too many hours sitting in that chair," it's not strictly a lie after all. He has been sitting in it far too much. "Tell him to stop thinking about me and start thinking about the case a little more. We need a result on this one."
It's only hours later, as he prepares to go home, that Lestrade considers the fact that Sherlock sent John to have a private conversation with him instead of announcing his conclusions in front of onlookers. Perhaps he had been wrong then, Sherlock might not have gloated, might not have held it over him. It didn't change anything else though; John can't help him because he doesn't need help.
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I'll be F5ing now XD
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More plz?!
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will keep checking back!
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