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Re: FILLED: Restore Us To Sanity Part 2/?
anonymous
May 3 2014, 00:26:59 UTC
‘Oy-oy, careful there!’ Lestrade shouts as he grabs his arm to stabilise him. Strange. Mycroft had not even noticed that he was there. He tries to scramble away, but he is too weak to succeed. To his utter mortification, he starts to retch. He dry-heaves, mostly, but he can smell the reek of the whisky from the night before. Some of the vomit lands on Lestrade’s shoe rather inelegantly. Mycroft would like to be swallowed by the ground, or shrivel up, crawl into a hole and die, not necessarily in that order. But he knows he can’t disappear.
Slowly, he comes to his senses, and starts to see the world normally again, instead of the blackness and the spots which were swimming through his vision a minute ago. He can still feel Lestrade’s sure hands, which are practically holding him up, in his bent position, keeping him dangerously close. He straightens up slowly, as eloquently as he can manage.
‘My sincerest apologies. You may send me the bill for the dry-cleaning, Anthea will take care of it.’ Mycroft says curtly, trying to sound calm. He rips himself away and starts trotting back to his private car as fast as he can, without appearing to be in a haste. Sadly, Lestrade keeps following him, talking nonsense at him.
‘Don’t mention it… wait! What was that? Are you sure, you’re okay now? That was quite sudden there, you might want to see a doctor -’ Mycroft cleans his mouth with the sleeve of his coat and turns back to take one final look at Lestrade with as much dignity as he can muster.
‘I do not find it particularly peculiar that I had a natural reaction to the foul scent of a 2 weeks old corpse. Goodbye, Gregory. Good luck with the case.’
Lestrade is so shocked by Mycroft’s accurate estimation of the victim’s time of death that he forgets to say goodbye. The car screeches away.
Afterwards he goes back to where he had left Sherlock, feeling slightly pissed off. Of course all Holmes’s are ungrateful bastards, but this was uncharacteristically rude, even coming from Mycroft.
‘Your brother is a right bastard.’ He says to Sherlock heatedly. Sherlock seems a bit amused, instead of being offended, which somehow only makes Lestrade angrier.
John pats his arm sympathetically.
‘What you did was bloody nice. He would have hit his head on the ground if you didn’t catch him.’
‘Right, right…’ Lestrade nods, half-lost in his thoughts. ‘What the hell was he doing here anyway? He looked as pale as a ghost. Should have stayed home, instead of contaminating the crime scene… bugger, my boss will have me for this one!’ Says Lestrade, just to prove his point. Sherlock looks at him with an enigmatic expression.
‘Yes, that was rather uncharacteristic of my brother. He is slipping.’ He says the last word very quietly, eyeing at Lestrade in a peculiar way. Lestrade would almost say ‘with intent’. The DI wants to ask Sherlock what he has meant by that, but now it’s Sherlock’s part to pretend deaf with him, rushing off to god-knows where on a clue with John in tow.
Slowly, he comes to his senses, and starts to see the world normally again, instead of the blackness and the spots which were swimming through his vision a minute ago. He can still feel Lestrade’s sure hands, which are practically holding him up, in his bent position, keeping him dangerously close. He straightens up slowly, as eloquently as he can manage.
‘My sincerest apologies. You may send me the bill for the dry-cleaning, Anthea will take care of it.’ Mycroft says curtly, trying to sound calm. He rips himself away and starts trotting back to his private car as fast as he can, without appearing to be in a haste. Sadly, Lestrade keeps following him, talking nonsense at him.
‘Don’t mention it… wait! What was that? Are you sure, you’re okay now? That was quite sudden there, you might want to see a doctor -’
Mycroft cleans his mouth with the sleeve of his coat and turns back to take one final look at Lestrade with as much dignity as he can muster.
‘I do not find it particularly peculiar that I had a natural reaction to the foul scent of a 2 weeks old corpse. Goodbye, Gregory. Good luck with the case.’
Lestrade is so shocked by Mycroft’s accurate estimation of the victim’s time of death that he forgets to say goodbye. The car screeches away.
Afterwards he goes back to where he had left Sherlock, feeling slightly pissed off. Of course all Holmes’s are ungrateful bastards, but this was uncharacteristically rude, even coming from Mycroft.
‘Your brother is a right bastard.’ He says to Sherlock heatedly. Sherlock seems a bit amused, instead of being offended, which somehow only makes Lestrade angrier.
John pats his arm sympathetically.
‘What you did was bloody nice. He would have hit his head on the ground if you didn’t catch him.’
‘Right, right…’ Lestrade nods, half-lost in his thoughts. ‘What the hell was he doing here anyway? He looked as pale as a ghost. Should have stayed home, instead of contaminating the crime scene… bugger, my boss will have me for this one!’ Says Lestrade, just to prove his point. Sherlock looks at him with an enigmatic expression.
‘Yes, that was rather uncharacteristic of my brother. He is slipping.’ He says the last word very quietly, eyeing at Lestrade in a peculiar way. Lestrade would almost say ‘with intent’. The DI wants to ask Sherlock what he has meant by that, but now it’s Sherlock’s part to pretend deaf with him, rushing off to god-knows where on a clue with John in tow.
Lestrade hates the Holmes family.
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