FILL: No Smoke Without Fire
anonymous
June 22 2011, 16:02:50 UTC
Ignore the fact the title doesn't quite make sense? Kthnx. _____________
Lestrade got home, kicked his shoes off, threw himself onto the empty couch and lit a cigarette. Immediately, he put it out again and dropped it in the bin by the sofa. It would be an hour before the hypnotherapist arrived. Another hour after that and he’d never need a bloody smoke again.
He’d been trying to stop for months, but he wasn’t sure what exactly had prompted him to try something quite as - well, out there - as hypnosis. He’d regularly seen the car parked outside the coffee shop behind Scotland Yard, the words “Hypnotherapist - Stop smoking in one hour!” printed in red across the door with the universally-recognised no smoking sign. The company had some generic New-Age-y sort of name, one he’d never looked at twice.
Until last week, a Tuesday when everything had gone wrong and he was bloody pissed off and he needed a cigarette and he didn’t have any. And he’d walked out of work and seen the car parked in its usual spot - and well, it couldn’t hurt, could it? He’d saved the number in his mobile, and somehow that had become this; sat on the sofa waiting for that last hour to tick by, unsure what would be waiting for him when the therapist finally arrived.
All Lestrade knew about hypnosis had been gleaned from TV shows when he was a child. Perhaps that explained why he was uncharacteristically nervous about what was to come - the butterflies in his stomach would probably disappear once he saw that the hypnotist wasn’t a criminal mastermind with an evil laugh and a twirly moustache.
He watched a bit of telly for a while, but couldn’t concentrate on it. Just one more ciggie, he decided, one more before he got off them for good... It would be no good going into this hypnosis session if he was craving a smoke anyway. Yeah, that would do for an excuse. He went into his bedroom, sat on the bed, lit up and closed his eyes. Last one, he thought.
He was paying enough for this hypnotherapy. It had better be his last one.
When he’d finished, he stood on his bed and put the lighter and the box of cigarettes on top of the wardrobe, and pushed them to the back, beyond his reach. He vowed that when he retrieved them, they’d be going straight in the bin.
It was as Lestrade left his room that the doorbell rang. He looked at his watch. They weren’t due for another ten minutes! He quickly changed his shirt (the smell of smoke was lingering on his work shirt) and then hurried to glance out of the front window. There was the familiar car with the familiar slogan on it. And stood at his front door, a small man with dark hair and, thankfully, no twirly moustache. He saw Lestrade at the window and waved at him. Lestrade immediately stepped back, embarrassed, and went to the front door to let him in.
“Hey, I’m Greg,” he said as he opened the door. “Nice to meet you, come in.”
“Hi Greg,” the man said in a cheerful Irish voice. “I’m Jim, and I’m your hypnotherapist.”
FILL: No Smoke Without Fire Part 2a/?
anonymous
June 24 2011, 10:07:27 UTC
Thank you all for your lovely comments! :) _______________________________
It had been ridiculously easy for Moriarty to land himself here. He had some sort of influence in almost every one of the big umbrella companies in the city - the larger corporations that owned the smaller ones. One of Moriarty’s puppets could be found along every line, and the lines of business and retail were no exception, no matter what their products. There were certain people he kept a close eye on, and they could buy nothing, go nowhere, consult nobody, without the information being available to him.
And when he’d discovered that Gregory Lestrade had booked a hypnotherapy session...
Jim had more than just a passing knowledge of hypnosis. He had practised while at university, and made a name for himself by giving the odd stage hypnosis show - as well as the occasional less moral application of the method. He hadn’t hypnotised anyone in several years, but after a few trial runs on Moran, and a thoroughly enjoyable morning of street hypnosis, he was happy to find that he hadn’t lost the knack.
There was something quite delectable about the prospect of hypnotising D.I Lestrade, however. He knew enough of Lestrade’s work, his talents, and his relationship with a certain Sherlock Holmes to know that he was one of the best minds in Scotland Yard. It would be a pleasure to seize that mind and control it.
“Did you - um - want a cup of tea or anything before we start,” Lestrade asked, leading Jim through to the front room, “or shall we just get on with it?”
“Tea would be great, thank you, Greg,” Jim replied. “Make one for yourself too, we’ll have a chat before we start. No sugar, thanks.”
Jim settled himself in an armchair and looked around him as Greg disappeared to the kitchen. It was a nice enough house, cheap telly, lots of books, guitar case and several amplifiers in one corner. Pictures on the walls, the majority of them old, the more recent ones all of work events, so no current family to speak of. Old, blue wallpaper, peeling at the corners, but not yellowing, suggested Greg didn’t smoke in this room. To keep it nice for guests? Probably, even though guests were clearly a rare occurrence.
Greg came back with two cups of tea and put them on the coffee table. He sat down on the sofa and smiled awkwardly. Too tense, too nervous. It was vital Jim got him relaxed and comfortable before he attempted any hypnosis.
“They tell me you’re a policeman, Greg,” he started casually, picking his tea up.
“Yeah,” Lestrade replied. “Near on twenty years I’ve been doing it now.” His smile was already less forced. This was a good subject to talk about.
FILL: No Smoke Without Fire Part 2b/?
anonymous
June 24 2011, 10:08:18 UTC
“Wouldn’t give it up for the world,” Lestrade said earnestly. “I mean sure, it’s not exactly the most peaceful life. And I work with some proper pillocks.” He laughed, and Jim smiled too, knowing exactly who he meant. “But I like helping people. It’s simple as that. I don’t do much, but I like knowing I’m doing my bit. Serving the community and all that.”
“I’m sure you do more good than you realise,” Jim said, and Lestrade nodded in gratitude as he sipped his tea. “Must take it out of you, though. As you say, not a peaceful life.”
“Exhausting,” Lestrade agreed. “And unfortunately, I’m not the kind who can live on two hours sleep and half a can of beans for a whole case.”
“And stressful too, I’m sure?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Lestrade said. “I mean, I didn’t smoke until I started with the Met.”
“I see,” Jim said. This was exactly the sort of information a therapist would need, so he ran with it. “So you think you started smoking to relieve the stress of your work?”
“Well, that and - other things.” Lestrade shuffled a little in his seat. Jim didn’t push him to continue. Eventually Lestrade said, “I got married, soon after I joined the force. Lovely girl, Kim was her name. Sweetest, most beautiful person I ever knew. I didn’t love her. I don’t think she ever really loved me either. God knows how we got all the way to the altar before either of us realised that.”
He didn’t continue for a few moments, so Jim asked, “What happened to Kim? You divorced?”
“We gave it a go for about a year, but it didn’t work. So yeah, we split. No kids,” he added, before Jim could ask. “About another year after that, she got married again. The last time I saw her was at the wedding.”
Jim nodded sympathetically. “So the cigarettes were a coping mechanism for that as well?” he said, making sure to sound suitably understanding and compassionate, as well as clinically curious.
Lestrade made a noise to the affirmative and picked up his tea again. When he put it down, he said, “It wasn’t that I missed her, as such. I already told you I didn’t love her. I just missed having someone there to sort things out for me.”
“Someone to take a bit of responsibility off your shoulders,” Jim put in. “To make decisions for you.”
“Exactly.” Lestrade seemed glad that Jim understood, and Jim grinned at him widely.
They talked about the smoking for a little while longer, and then the conversation moved on to other things - Greg had been in a band several years ago, hence the guitar. They chatted amicably about work, hobbies and life. After fifteen minutes or so, the conversation reached a pause and Jim, fully satisfied that Greg was at ease in his company, said, “Shall we get started, then?”
Re: FILL: No Smoke Without Fire Part 2b/?
anonymous
June 25 2011, 15:53:54 UTC
Author anon here.
*evil smiley*
I think there's a part of Lestrade, or indeed anyone with as much responsibility in their job as him, that would quite like to just come home from a day at work and be told what they're having for tea and what they're watching on telly and what time they ought to go to bed because they've got to be up eary for work tomorrow. It's hardly at the stage where he's going to take orders from any old person at the drop of a hat, but you can bet Moriarty was mentally laughing his most evil laugh when he found that chink in Lestrade's armour.
On the other hand, it does seem a bit of an odd description of a capable, responsible DI, so I hope it didn't sit too oddly. More on the way soon! :)
"Asterfa bathed", says Mycroft. Good for Asterfa, I say.
FILL: No Smoke Without Fire Part 3/?
anonymous
June 27 2011, 15:58:56 UTC
"He-is-so-fucked" anon. Possibly my favourite anon identification ever. :D Again, thanks all for comments! :) _____________ “Oh, yes, of course,” Lestrade said, as if he had almost forgotten why Jim was actually here. “Do I - erm - should I lie down or...?”
“You’re fine to sit, Greg, as long as you’re comfortable.” Lestrade sat back a little in his seat and took a slightly shaky breath.
“OK? There’s no need to be nervous, Greg. All I want you to do is pick a point on the wall, and just focus on that point,” Jim intoned, easily working the pace of his voice into a slow regular rhythm. Greg sat up a little straighter as he stared ahead of him at the wall. “And as you just focus on that point, I want you to take a couple of deep breaths for me, in... and out. And again, breathe in... and breathe out. Very good, Greg. Keep breathing nice and slowly like that, as you focus on that point on the wall and listen to my voice and just let it start to relax you. That’s right, just allow yourself to relax, let all the tension in your body go, all the muscles in your body, right down to the tips of your toes and your fingers, getting more and more relaxed as you sit there and focus on that point on the wall and focus on my voice, just letting it relax you more and more.”
Jim was pleased to see how well it was working; Lestrade’s head was already beginning to nod sleepily. He was blinking slowly, as if lifting his eyelids each time was becoming more difficult, and Jim decided to pick up on this.
“And as you sit there and feel yourself becoming more and more relaxed, you start to notice your eyes getting heavier, wanting to close, but don’t close them just yet, Greg, just keep focusing on that point on the wall and listening to my voice. That’s right, Greg, you’re doing so well.”
Lestrade’s facial muscles were going limp, but his relaxed mouth tugged up at the corner slightly in a dopey smile at the praise Jim gave him. His blinks were becoming more rapid, each time his eyelids staying open for shorter and shorter intervals before they sank down again. He looked, Jim decided, quite beautiful like this, face slack, eyelashes fluttering, head slowly nodding down to his chest as he struggled to keep staring at the wall in front of him.
“More and more relaxed, the sound of my voice taking you deeper and deeper, and your mind is becoming wonderfully clear, wonderfully blank, just following my voice and my words, perfectly comfortable and relaxing further and further. And now you can let your eyes drift shut-” Lestrade’s eyes closed almost immediately, gladly surrendering to the inexorable heaviness of his eyelids. “-and just focus completely on my voice, still relaxing you further and further, and in a moment I’m going to count down from five to zero, and each number will relax you more and more, and when I reach zero you’ll be completely and blissfully relaxed and in a very deep trance. Relaxing more and more as I count down from five... Four... Three...”
Lestrade’s shoulders slumped, too relaxed to hold themselves up...
“Two...”
His breathing was so slow it was barely perceptible any more...
“One...”
Lestrade’s chin touched his chest as his neck gave up its last efforts to support his heavy head.
“And zero. Completely relaxed now, feeling so good and so relaxed and completely focused on my voice.”
Jim took a moment to admire his handiwork. Lestrade was sat completely motionless with one arm resting on the arm of the sofa, and his other hand in his lap. His head was bowed low and turned towards Jim, allowing his face to rest against one shoulder. He looked so helpless and delicate and utterly exquisite.
“Very good, Greg,” Jim told him smoothly. “Now, while you’re in this deeply relaxed state, I want you to think back to a time when you were a child, when you’d never tried a cigarette...”
There’d be plenty of time to admire how beautiful the hypnotised DI was later. For now, Jim was being paid to cure an addiction, so he’d better get on with it.
_____________
Lestrade got home, kicked his shoes off, threw himself onto the empty couch and lit a cigarette. Immediately, he put it out again and dropped it in the bin by the sofa. It would be an hour before the hypnotherapist arrived. Another hour after that and he’d never need a bloody smoke again.
He’d been trying to stop for months, but he wasn’t sure what exactly had prompted him to try something quite as - well, out there - as hypnosis. He’d regularly seen the car parked outside the coffee shop behind Scotland Yard, the words “Hypnotherapist - Stop smoking in one hour!” printed in red across the door with the universally-recognised no smoking sign. The company had some generic New-Age-y sort of name, one he’d never looked at twice.
Until last week, a Tuesday when everything had gone wrong and he was bloody pissed off and he needed a cigarette and he didn’t have any. And he’d walked out of work and seen the car parked in its usual spot - and well, it couldn’t hurt, could it? He’d saved the number in his mobile, and somehow that had become this; sat on the sofa waiting for that last hour to tick by, unsure what would be waiting for him when the therapist finally arrived.
All Lestrade knew about hypnosis had been gleaned from TV shows when he was a child. Perhaps that explained why he was uncharacteristically nervous about what was to come - the butterflies in his stomach would probably disappear once he saw that the hypnotist wasn’t a criminal mastermind with an evil laugh and a twirly moustache.
He watched a bit of telly for a while, but couldn’t concentrate on it. Just one more ciggie, he decided, one more before he got off them for good... It would be no good going into this hypnosis session if he was craving a smoke anyway. Yeah, that would do for an excuse. He went into his bedroom, sat on the bed, lit up and closed his eyes. Last one, he thought.
He was paying enough for this hypnotherapy. It had better be his last one.
When he’d finished, he stood on his bed and put the lighter and the box of cigarettes on top of the wardrobe, and pushed them to the back, beyond his reach. He vowed that when he retrieved them, they’d be going straight in the bin.
It was as Lestrade left his room that the doorbell rang. He looked at his watch. They weren’t due for another ten minutes! He quickly changed his shirt (the smell of smoke was lingering on his work shirt) and then hurried to glance out of the front window. There was the familiar car with the familiar slogan on it. And stood at his front door, a small man with dark hair and, thankfully, no twirly moustache. He saw Lestrade at the window and waved at him. Lestrade immediately stepped back, embarrassed, and went to the front door to let him in.
“Hey, I’m Greg,” he said as he opened the door. “Nice to meet you, come in.”
“Hi Greg,” the man said in a cheerful Irish voice. “I’m Jim, and I’m your hypnotherapist.”
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*cheers on the fabulous author and pitches a tent to camp out for more*
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OMGOMGOMGOMGOMG!!!
OP here - and you can take your own sweet time if it's all going to be this good!
I do love that Jim is going for the personal touch! (And I'm hoping for lots of personal touching!)
I LOVE non-conny/dub-conny why-am-I-doing-this-and-why-am-I-enjoying-it brainwashing fic so epic levels of detail will be adored.
*sets up tent in a good pitch before it gets Glastonbury-busy*
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_______________________________
It had been ridiculously easy for Moriarty to land himself here. He had some sort of influence in almost every one of the big umbrella companies in the city - the larger corporations that owned the smaller ones. One of Moriarty’s puppets could be found along every line, and the lines of business and retail were no exception, no matter what their products. There were certain people he kept a close eye on, and they could buy nothing, go nowhere, consult nobody, without the information being available to him.
And when he’d discovered that Gregory Lestrade had booked a hypnotherapy session...
Jim had more than just a passing knowledge of hypnosis. He had practised while at university, and made a name for himself by giving the odd stage hypnosis show - as well as the occasional less moral application of the method. He hadn’t hypnotised anyone in several years, but after a few trial runs on Moran, and a thoroughly enjoyable morning of street hypnosis, he was happy to find that he hadn’t lost the knack.
There was something quite delectable about the prospect of hypnotising D.I Lestrade, however. He knew enough of Lestrade’s work, his talents, and his relationship with a certain Sherlock Holmes to know that he was one of the best minds in Scotland Yard. It would be a pleasure to seize that mind and control it.
“Did you - um - want a cup of tea or anything before we start,” Lestrade asked, leading Jim through to the front room, “or shall we just get on with it?”
“Tea would be great, thank you, Greg,” Jim replied. “Make one for yourself too, we’ll have a chat before we start. No sugar, thanks.”
Jim settled himself in an armchair and looked around him as Greg disappeared to the kitchen. It was a nice enough house, cheap telly, lots of books, guitar case and several amplifiers in one corner. Pictures on the walls, the majority of them old, the more recent ones all of work events, so no current family to speak of. Old, blue wallpaper, peeling at the corners, but not yellowing, suggested Greg didn’t smoke in this room. To keep it nice for guests? Probably, even though guests were clearly a rare occurrence.
Greg came back with two cups of tea and put them on the coffee table. He sat down on the sofa and smiled awkwardly. Too tense, too nervous. It was vital Jim got him relaxed and comfortable before he attempted any hypnosis.
“They tell me you’re a policeman, Greg,” he started casually, picking his tea up.
“Yeah,” Lestrade replied. “Near on twenty years I’ve been doing it now.” His smile was already less forced. This was a good subject to talk about.
“You like your job, then?” Jim asked.
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“I’m sure you do more good than you realise,” Jim said, and Lestrade nodded in gratitude as he sipped his tea. “Must take it out of you, though. As you say, not a peaceful life.”
“Exhausting,” Lestrade agreed. “And unfortunately, I’m not the kind who can live on two hours sleep and half a can of beans for a whole case.”
“And stressful too, I’m sure?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Lestrade said. “I mean, I didn’t smoke until I started with the Met.”
“I see,” Jim said. This was exactly the sort of information a therapist would need, so he ran with it. “So you think you started smoking to relieve the stress of your work?”
“Well, that and - other things.” Lestrade shuffled a little in his seat. Jim didn’t push him to continue. Eventually Lestrade said, “I got married, soon after I joined the force. Lovely girl, Kim was her name. Sweetest, most beautiful person I ever knew. I didn’t love her. I don’t think she ever really loved me either. God knows how we got all the way to the altar before either of us realised that.”
He didn’t continue for a few moments, so Jim asked, “What happened to Kim? You divorced?”
“We gave it a go for about a year, but it didn’t work. So yeah, we split. No kids,” he added, before Jim could ask. “About another year after that, she got married again. The last time I saw her was at the wedding.”
Jim nodded sympathetically. “So the cigarettes were a coping mechanism for that as well?” he said, making sure to sound suitably understanding and compassionate, as well as clinically curious.
Lestrade made a noise to the affirmative and picked up his tea again. When he put it down, he said, “It wasn’t that I missed her, as such. I already told you I didn’t love her. I just missed having someone there to sort things out for me.”
“Someone to take a bit of responsibility off your shoulders,” Jim put in. “To make decisions for you.”
“Exactly.” Lestrade seemed glad that Jim understood, and Jim grinned at him widely.
They talked about the smoking for a little while longer, and then the conversation moved on to other things - Greg had been in a band several years ago, hence the guitar. They chatted amicably about work, hobbies and life. After fifteen minutes or so, the conversation reached a pause and Jim, fully satisfied that Greg was at ease in his company, said, “Shall we get started, then?”
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Augh, this is nail-biting, edge-of-my-seat good.
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*evil smiley*
I think there's a part of Lestrade, or indeed anyone with as much responsibility in their job as him, that would quite like to just come home from a day at work and be told what they're having for tea and what they're watching on telly and what time they ought to go to bed because they've got to be up eary for work tomorrow. It's hardly at the stage where he's going to take orders from any old person at the drop of a hat, but you can bet Moriarty was mentally laughing his most evil laugh when he found that chink in Lestrade's armour.
On the other hand, it does seem a bit of an odd description of a capable, responsible DI, so I hope it didn't sit too oddly. More on the way soon! :)
"Asterfa bathed", says Mycroft. Good for Asterfa, I say.
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It sits perfectly with me, and not odd at all. Quite realistic. :)
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_____________
“Oh, yes, of course,” Lestrade said, as if he had almost forgotten why Jim was actually here. “Do I - erm - should I lie down or...?”
“You’re fine to sit, Greg, as long as you’re comfortable.” Lestrade sat back a little in his seat and took a slightly shaky breath.
“OK? There’s no need to be nervous, Greg. All I want you to do is pick a point on the wall, and just focus on that point,” Jim intoned, easily working the pace of his voice into a slow regular rhythm. Greg sat up a little straighter as he stared ahead of him at the wall. “And as you just focus on that point, I want you to take a couple of deep breaths for me, in... and out. And again, breathe in... and breathe out. Very good, Greg. Keep breathing nice and slowly like that, as you focus on that point on the wall and listen to my voice and just let it start to relax you. That’s right, just allow yourself to relax, let all the tension in your body go, all the muscles in your body, right down to the tips of your toes and your fingers, getting more and more relaxed as you sit there and focus on that point on the wall and focus on my voice, just letting it relax you more and more.”
Jim was pleased to see how well it was working; Lestrade’s head was already beginning to nod sleepily. He was blinking slowly, as if lifting his eyelids each time was becoming more difficult, and Jim decided to pick up on this.
“And as you sit there and feel yourself becoming more and more relaxed, you start to notice your eyes getting heavier, wanting to close, but don’t close them just yet, Greg, just keep focusing on that point on the wall and listening to my voice. That’s right, Greg, you’re doing so well.”
Lestrade’s facial muscles were going limp, but his relaxed mouth tugged up at the corner slightly in a dopey smile at the praise Jim gave him. His blinks were becoming more rapid, each time his eyelids staying open for shorter and shorter intervals before they sank down again. He looked, Jim decided, quite beautiful like this, face slack, eyelashes fluttering, head slowly nodding down to his chest as he struggled to keep staring at the wall in front of him.
“More and more relaxed, the sound of my voice taking you deeper and deeper, and your mind is becoming wonderfully clear, wonderfully blank, just following my voice and my words, perfectly comfortable and relaxing further and further. And now you can let your eyes drift shut-” Lestrade’s eyes closed almost immediately, gladly surrendering to the inexorable heaviness of his eyelids. “-and just focus completely on my voice, still relaxing you further and further, and in a moment I’m going to count down from five to zero, and each number will relax you more and more, and when I reach zero you’ll be completely and blissfully relaxed and in a very deep trance. Relaxing more and more as I count down from five... Four... Three...”
Lestrade’s shoulders slumped, too relaxed to hold themselves up...
“Two...”
His breathing was so slow it was barely perceptible any more...
“One...”
Lestrade’s chin touched his chest as his neck gave up its last efforts to support his heavy head.
“And zero. Completely relaxed now, feeling so good and so relaxed and completely focused on my voice.”
Jim took a moment to admire his handiwork. Lestrade was sat completely motionless with one arm resting on the arm of the sofa, and his other hand in his lap. His head was bowed low and turned towards Jim, allowing his face to rest against one shoulder. He looked so helpless and delicate and utterly exquisite.
“Very good, Greg,” Jim told him smoothly. “Now, while you’re in this deeply relaxed state, I want you to think back to a time when you were a child, when you’d never tried a cigarette...”
There’d be plenty of time to admire how beautiful the hypnotised DI was later. For now, Jim was being paid to cure an addiction, so he’d better get on with it.
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He looked so helpless and delicate and utterly exquisite.
They're not even touching and I'm so turned on right now... Holy Hell! The whole flow of this part was hypnotic in itself!
Oh, Jim - much as I admire your restraint - please please lose it soon!
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Sorry to say this, OP, but Moriarty's a patient man... :P I'm so glad you're enjoying this so far, thank you!
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