Welcoming in the New Year With Fic
This is an old pagan tradition that encourages good spirits to enter the home by offering them smut and character development for their favourite works of fiction.
It's also an excuse to have some fun like last year. I don't really do New Year's Eve, but I found that sitting around, writing fic with degr00ve provided the best one I've yet had.
Of course, I ( Read more... )
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It's not easy, being a professional and a werewolf.
You can barely turn your hide, for one thing, with so many prying eyes about. And it's certainly not something you can put on your CV: "1980 - Manchester - transferred files to London office - contracted lycanthropy from dodgy fellow in Internal Affairs; duties included data entry, archiving and chasing after cats on a full moon".
Not that he needs a full moon now. Lestrade is a very composed wolfman. That took practice, but it paid off - he now changes exactly when he wants and where he wants.
Except in the office. He used to, but then Anderson complained of something setting off his dog hair allergy one morning.
He'd always hoped the werewolf thing would come in more handy - pick up a scent, track down a bad guy - but giant monster canines are generally kept off crimescenes, and you can't really maul perpetrators to death, especially if all they've done is rob a newsagent.
Occasionally, very rarely, he will pick up a scent from an evidence locker in his nightly excursions, and the trail will lead him through the city to some unsuspected flat somewhere. The next day there'll be a completely incidental police inspection that just happens to catch someone who'd almost gotten away with it.
But not often.
Mostly, he just wanders the city, chases a pigeon or two and sneaks food from the rubbish bin of chip wagons. These walks clear his head and allow him some free time to roll theories around in his head.
On one particular night, the streets wet with mushy snow, he picks up a very familiar scent: books, chemicals, blood, dust, tea and nicotine patches, in a specific and unique combination.
He passes by the two men, presses a wet nose against Watson's hand, like a dog, making him startle.
""Uh . . . hello," John says, lamely. "Oh. Wow. You're a big boy, aren't you?"
Lestrade smiles, as much as a werewolf can. He looks at Sherlock, who is, as ever, restless. Lestrade sniffs at the doctor's sleeve, smelling -- not just Sherlock's flat, not just Sherlock's things -- but just Sherlock. Sherlock and Sherlock-With-John.
Lestrade wishes werewolves could raise their eyebrows knowingly. As it stands, that's an interesting tidbit of information to keep up his sleeve later.
Satisfied, he continues on down the street.
"Do you suppose he belongs to somebody?" Watson asks, distantly.
"Doesn't look it," says Sherlock.
"Should we do something?"
Sherlock shrugged and lightly shook his head 'no'. "Someone'll call the police. It'll give Lestrade something to do."
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My head-canon is littered with characters who happen to be werewolves, thanks to someone. I think Lestrade's just joined them. :B
(Sorry if I'm slow to comment, by the way - it takes quite a while to do anything on this computer.)
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Am so glad you enjoyed it! I had a hard time getting going on this one, I wasn't properly warmed up, but it got me going with all my other fics tonight so that's good, and if it was enjoyable besides, that's perfect :)
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