A Lestrade Fic
Since I'm up at this crazy hour, I might as well post one more fic. I've been working on this one off and on for ages. It's a Sherlock fic with a sick Lestrade. I do love me some Lestrade(and Sherlock too...)
Obviously I don't own anything related to Sherlock and I certainly am bit making any money from it :)
Once again, sorry no cut.
"Huh Choooooo!!!!" Lestrade sneezed heavily into his handkerchief and blew his nose forcefully. It felt like at least the hundredth time he had done so in the last hour. Unfortunately the blowing did next to nothing to ease the congestion and pressure in his sinuses. He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"Greg, you should really go home and go to bed." Donovan, he hadn't even heard her come into his office. He opened his eyes to see her standing beside him offering him a steaming mug of tea.
"Thanks," he croaked, clearing his throat,"I'm fine, it's just a bloody head cold." She frowned at that. She was pretty sure that it had been "just a head cold" three or four days ago, but it had progressed in to something more. "I just need to find the connection between the two victims " He sipped the tea, grateful for its soothing effect on his painful throat.
"Why don't you at least take a rest. I can run down any leads. I'll call you if there's anything new...." She began.
"I said I'm fine!" He snapped, but then added, "Sally I appreciate your concern, but I'm not as bad off as you think. Huh CHOOOO!!!! ETCHOOOO!!!!" His body betrayed his lie as two violent sneezes morphed into a series of harsh coughs.
She knew better than to push the issue even when he was so obviously lying. There was only one way to get him home to bed, solve this case as fast as possible. She took a deep breath, " Did you call him?"
"Who?" Lestrade looked up from the files confused.
"The freak."
"Now I know you're worried about me." Lestrade managed a grin. "He and John are on their way. "
She never thought she'd be glad to see Sherlock Holmes. "Maybe while they're here Dr Watson could..."
"Drop it!" The voice may have been hoarse and weak, but there was no doubt about his message.
"Fine!" She huffed throwing up her hands and retreating from the office. "You're impossible!"
He almost felt badly about speaking to Donovan so gruffly, he knew she was concerned, but the case was what was important now. At least she knew better than to bring it up in front of the team. He just needed to solve the case and then he could get some rest. As it was his head and whole face were aching with sinus pressure. He rummaged through his desk looking for a bottle of Calprofen, or paracetamol or something to take.
He looked up once again to be surprised to see Donovan beside him. "Bloody hell Donovan! You won't need to worry about my cold, you're going to kill me with a heart attack."
"You're off your game," she offered him two tablets and a glass of water.
"Thanks, 'm fine. " he gratefully took the pills and guzzled the water which felt soothing on his raw throat.
When Donovan left he picked up the tea and returned his attention to the case files on his desk. He was trying to focus, to make the connection he knew was there but the pain in his head caused the words to swim before his eyes. He felt the return of the far too familiar tickling in his nose and with a sigh reached again for his handkerchief.
"Huhhhhhh CHOOOOO!!!!!! Hehhh.......ehhhhh....chooooo!!!! Hehchoooo!!!! Etchhhh!!!!" He sniffled wetly and was about to blow his nose when he looked up a saw Sherlock standing in front of his desk. "Oh Sherlock, sorry" he sniffled and settled for quickly wiping his nose before returning his handkerchief to his pocket.
"Oh for God's sake Lestrade just blow your nose and get it over with! It will make you far less excruciating to listen to. " Sherlock rolled his eyes impatiently.
Lestrade was embarrassed but also desperately needed to blow his nose, the tea had helped to loosen his congestion. "Where's John?" He asked before pulling his handkerchief back out of his pocket.
"Donovan wanted to speak to him." Sherlock added with another eye roll.
Damn, he thought to himself. He had hoped to avoid her getting John into "doctor mode", he needed him in crime solving mode. At least he knew he didn't need to worry about distracting Sherlock from the case. He sighed to himself and blew his nose. It was a long, wet, gurgling blow that made him cringe with embarrassment, but he was grateful to notice that Sherlock's expression did not change.
"So tell me about the murders!" Sherlock demanded as John entered the office.
"Right," Lestrade cleared his throat."This is Andrew Baker, " he held up a photograph. Thirty five years old, he was murdered last night. Found stabbed in the chest in a bad neighborhood. He had no reason to be there. His fiancé was waiting for him at their dinner reservation. " He paused to clear his throat again and take the last sip of his tea. "He has a small scar on his left inner wrist, a "W" and a "3". It's an old scar, but it looked like the killer was trying to completely remove it. He seemed to be cutting around it and must have been interrupted. "
His breath hitched, "Etchhhhh!!! Eh Choooo!!!! Huh CHOOOO!!!!" He paused to catch his breath and sniffed. "Excuse me. "
"Bless you, " John offered.
"Thanks" Lestrade shot John a look, hoping to discourage any questions and resumed his briefing. He pulled out another photograph. "This is David Miller, he was murdered twenty years ago, he was eighteen at the time. He was one of my first cases as a junior officer. He was also stabbed in the chest." He paused, clearing his throat, wishing he had something to drink. John noting his discomfort, retrieved a cup of water from the cooler outside Lestrade's office.
"Thanks" the detective inspector croaked, gulping the water. "David had the same scar, in the same place. But it was fresh then, and the killer..... it's like he refreshed it....."
"What do you mean refreshed?" Sherlock asked, perplexed.
"He traced over it with a blade, it's like he was emphasizing it."
"Interesting...." Sherlock's mind was working.
Lestrade took another gulp of the water. "The thing is, look closely at these blokes, " he pulled out more photographs, these were photographs of the victims alive. "They look alike. I always remembered David's case, never solved it. Promised his parents I'd always remember and keep trying. " He paused with regret and guilt. "I keep his file in my desk, look at it ever now and then. But when I saw Baker, it was like looking at an older David Miller." Between the emotion and the illness his throat had reached his limit and he broke into a series of harsh coughs after attempting to clear his throat.
John disappeared for more water as Sherlock started looking through the case files. Lestrade turned away from his desk, coughing into his handkerchief, trying to catch his breath. He gratefully accepted the water, taking measured sips this time, trying to control his coughs.
"Thanks, John." His voice was hoarse.
John looked at the detective inspector with concern, assessing his symptoms.
"Stop." Lestrade croaked. "You're looking at me the way Sherlock looks at dead bodies. I'm fine. The case is what's important."
"If you're ill, how can you solve the case?"
"That's why you and Sherlock are here, besides I'm not that sick. Hesshhhh!!!! Ishooooo!!!!" Damn sneezes, he thought trying to smother them into his handkerchief.
"They must be related, brothers I'd say. Too many similarities to be coincidence or merely a resemblance. " Sherlock interrupted, speaking mainly to himself. "But why, the scarring, the mark....Did you look for adoption records?"
"I did, this morning. There's nothing. The Millers never mentioned it at the time, but after seeing Baker I started looking. His fiancé doesn't know anything about it either, and she says his parents are dead. "
"Where are the Millers now?" John asked.
"In Gloucestershire. They're elderly. I was going to go and see them. Wanted input from the two of you first. "
"We'll accompany you. "Sherlock declared and neither Lestrade nor John saw reason to argue.
They were only about a half an hour into their trip when Lestrade realized the error in his stubborn refusal to take John's advice to stop at the chemists on the way to get some medicine for his cold. Sherlock had even offered the location on the closest shop in London on their way. He didn't even know what he had been trying to prove, but he wished he had listened. The pressure and congestion in his sinuses continued to build and his sneezing was becoming more and more frequent. John looked on with concern, but did his best not to comment. Sherlock carried on with a great deal of eye rolling and sighing.
By the time they arrived in Gloucestershire it was evening and Lestrade looked and sounded about as bad as he felt. The frequent sneezing had caused more irritation to his already raw throat leaving his voice hoarse and fading fast. The frequent nose blowing and wiping had left his nose reddened and chapped as were his lips. His head was pounding and the pressure in his sinuses was causing his whole face to ache. He had an overall disheveled , unwell look about him.
Upon parking the car at the Millers Lestrade sighed, once again feeling intense tickling in his nose. Breath hitching he retrieved his handkerchief from his pocket. He frowned, finding it too sodden to be of much use. He turned away from Sherlock who was sitting beside him, motioning from him to get out of the car. " Heh..Chooo!! Ishooooo!!" He sneezed into his arm and sniffled wetly.
Lestrade turned back to see Sherlock offering his own handkerchief. Lestrade nodded his thanks and then blew his nose forcefully trying to clear the congestion once again. The relief was minimal. Tucking the handkerchief in his pocket, he reached into the glove box and retrieved a small bottle of hand sanitizer. He cleaned his hands as well as he could, feeling like a walking germ bank.
He could feel both John and Sherlock watching him with concern. "Right then, let's go in." He got out of the car and headed towards the house.
"You've been he before?" Sherlock questioned.
Lestrade nodded, "They moved here a year or so after the murder. I stop by every few years or so, just so they know I still remember, I didn't stop looking. "
Before he could knock on the door it was answered by a petite elderly woman. "Officer, I mean Detective Inspector Lestrade, it's so nice to see you!" Wanda Miller's face was a mix of emotions.
Lestrade smiled warmly at her, "Now Mrs Miller, please call me Greg."
She frowned at the hoarseness in his voice. "Gregory, you don't sound well at all dear, you're ill!"
"No, ma'am, I'm fine, just a bit if a cold"
"That sounds like more than a bit of a cold to me," she tutted,"Come in, I'll make you some tea with honey. "
"That won't be necessary.." He began.
"Nonsense, you'll have tea. Now please come in. "
Lestrade introduced Sherlock and John. "I've seen you gentlemen in the papers and on the telly, it's a pleasure to meet you. "
It was only after they were all seated, having tea and biscuits that she allowed the conversation to be led where she knew it was going. "Have you found out something?"
"Possibly, " Lestrade began, dabbing at his dripping nose with Sherlock's handkerchief. "Is Mr Miller home?"
"I sent him to bed, I didn't tell him you were coming. It's just too much for him. Mr Miller's not been the same since....since....David."
"I know, I'm sorry. " Lestrade reached out and took her hand. "We think we've found.... a connection. But I need to ask you something, was David adopted?"
She looked stunned at the question. 'Would that have something to do with what happened to him?"
"A man was murdered in London last night. He....he looked so much like David" he pulled out a photograph of Andrew Baker, "He also had the same scar on his left wrist."
She gasped, "Andrew"
"You know him then?" Sherlock asked, "They were brothers?"
She nodded, "Oh..... I should have told you. Would that have changed what happened to Andrew? I'm so sorry...."
"Mrs Miller, that was so long ago. There was no connection then. It wouldn't have changed things. Certainly this isn't your fault. " Lestrade patted her arm. "We just need to know now if there's a connection. "
"We....we never told anyone he was adopted. Only family new. It was done privately, not probably totally legally I'm afraid. Henry felt there was no point in talking about it... well after David..." She trailed off, tears in her eyes.
"We couldn't have any children of our own. We, well we had accepted it. But then, my cousin, she told us about the boys. Their mother, Diana, she had....problems, with drugs, and she was ill. Their father was in prison at the time. He was very abusive, to Diana and the boys. "
She continued on to tell the tale of Diana's declining health and her desire to find homes for her boys. She wanted to be sure that they were away from their father once she was no longer able to care for them.
"We had all three of them with us for a weekend. We thought we were told old for little boys. But there was something about David, he and my husband took to each other right away. We wished we could have taken all three but it would have been too much. Andrew was adopted soon after we took David. Tommy was the youngest, he had some issues. It broke my heart but he needed more than we could give him. I'm not sure what happened to him. Diana died and we heard the father was getting out of prison. We were afraid for David so we decided to move to London. It was too easy to find us here. "
"Did you consider it may have been David's father who murdered him?" Sherlock asked bluntly. Lestrade and John both cringed, both had been trying to find a more delicate way to ask.
"I would have, but James Warwick died about six months earlier. Some type of accident I believe. "
"Did you hear anything else about Tommy at any time?" Sherlock asked.
Her eyes widened, "Do you think he could be involved?"
"Possibly, or in danger," Lestrade answered, trying unsuccessfully to stifle a sneeze. "Ishooooo!!!!" And the two that followed. "Huhchoooo!!! Etchoooo!!!!"
"Bless you dear," She frowned and reached over to feel his forehead. "A little warm maybe but not much fever. "
"Really, I'm fine" Greg insisted his voice cracking.
"Definitely not fine. You need something for that cold. Let me get you some Lemsip. "
"We really need to be getting back to London. Thank you, but please, there's no need."
"You have time for some Lemsip." It was not a question. "I'm sure these gentlemen wouldn't mind waiting just a few more minutes." She added as she put the kettle back on.
"Of course not," John replied. "I'm actually quite happy to have him get some medication in to him. " he grinned at Lestrade who glared daggers back at him.
"I'm sure it will make the ride home much more pleasant," Sherlock smirked. "For all of us." He added softly, as Lestrade made a rude gesture while Wanda Miller was out of the room.
A short while later they were back in the car starting their three hour drive back to London. As exhausted as Lestrade felt, the Lemsip had at eased his symptoms and he felt at least a little better than than he had on the earlier trip. The were still sneezes, sniffling and nose blowing but fortunately for the Detective Inspector it was on a much smaller scale. Before departing he called Donovan with an update and asked her to get him all the information she could about Tommy Warwick and email it to him.
John drifted off to sleep fairly quickly in the backseat, but Sherlock stayed awake in the front with Lestrade. "Are you feeling better?" He asked, noticing the improvement in symptoms.
"Yes," Lestrade tried to hide his surprise at the concern. "Thanks"
"Did you want a break from driving? I could take over and you could get some rest like John." He smirked, glancing to the back seat.
Lestrade grinned as John momentarily stirred at the mention if his name. "I'm fine. But thank you for asking Sherlock. I'd be awake anyway, running the case through my head. You know what I mean" Sherlock nodded and let it go. They were both wired from the new information about the case.
It was after midnight by the time they arrived at Baker Street. "Where are you headed ?" Sherlock asked as they pulled in front of 221B.
"Back to the Yard. I need to see what Donovan's found."
"Lestrade, you really should get some rest and take care of that cold. "
Lestrade smiled faintly, "Sherlock Holmes telling me to get some rest. This must be one of those do what I say not what I do situations. "
"Sorry, I was just, well..... never mind!" He huffed and hurried out of the car.
John who had awoken by that time chimed in, "Greg, why don't you come in for a few minutes. None of us has eaten, and you could check your email from Donovan here."
"I'm betting Warwick is on the street. My homeless network may be able to help locate him." Sherlock added pulling out his phone as he opened the front door.
Lestrade looked encouraged at that, "I'll come in for a few minutes. John, I'm not really hungry mate, but thanks. "
John and Lestrade were just entering 221B when Lestrade paused, leaning against the doorway. John waited but Lestrade waved him on.
"I just....ehhhhh....have to hehhhhh......Heh Choooo!!!!!! Huh Choooo!!!! Etchooooo!!!!! sneeze." He sniffled wetly, "'Scuse me. " He pulled out his handkerchief and blew his nose once again."
They were on their way up the stairs when Mrs Hudson poked her head out of her door. "Which one of you boys is sick?" She asked a worried expression on her face. "Detective was that you?"
"I'm afraid so," His voice was even more hoarse and fading fast. "Sorry to disturb you Mrs Hudson. "
"Don't worry about that. Should I put some tea on? Maybe some soup for the detective?" She asked John.
"No thank you Mrs Hudson, I'll look after Greg. Sorry we got you out of bed so late" He apologized.
"Just call me if you need me. And Detective, you should be home in bed! No use running yourself ragged!"
"Yes ma'am." He hurried up the stairs as he felt his nose tickling once again. The last thing he needed was to have a fit in front of Mrs Hudson, that would get him much more attention and fussing than he was looking for.
"Eshoooooo!!!! Ishhhhhh!!!! ETCHOOOO!!!" He just made it into Sherlock and John's flat before the sneezing started. "Ishooooo!!! Eshoooo!!!" He paused,catching his breath before retrieving his handkerchief for another long, wet gurgling blow.
Sherlock already had put the kettle on for tea and John was rummaging in the refrigerator for sandwich ingredients and had found a tin of soup in the cabinet.
"I should really get going, no sense exposing you two to any more of my germs. " Lestrade croaked.
"It's a bit late to worry about that..." Sherlock began but John interrupted.
"Don't be ridiculous Greg. The kettle's on, have a seat and relax for a few minutes. "
The Detective Inspector reluctantly agreed and pulled up his email to see what Donovan had found. He forwarded the photos and last known address to Sherlock who went out to make contacts with his homeless network.
John made a plate of sandwiches knowing he probably be the only one eating them. He brought them out with the tea and then returned with a bowl of soup for Lestrade.
"John, " he protested, his voice at the level of a harsh whisper.
John shushed him. "Save your voice Greg, and eat the damn soup. " his tone was all army doctor, leaving no room for discussion.
As Lestrade ate he questioned him about his symptoms and retrieved his medical kit from his bedroom to do a quick evaluation. He left no room for debate or discussion. The exam confirmed his preliminary diagnosis of a sinus infection, he was pleased that Lestrade's lungs were clear and his fever was only low grade. He had some limited supplies of antibiotics(one never knew what might get infected when you lived with Sherlock Holmes) and was pleased to find he had the appropriate drug on hand. He also had some prescription strength Ibuprofen and some Sudafed to help with the pain and pressure.
"Take these," he offered the pills to Lestrade. "Antibiotics for the sinus infection - one pill twice a day until they're all gone, pain medication, and a decongestant. "
Lestrade took the pills willingly and gratefully. He decided it was ridiculous to insist he was fine at that point, plus he was too exhausted and too miserable to even argue about it.
"Thanks John" he had finished the soup and was sipping on the tea. Both had a soothing effect on his throat and were working to loosen his congestion. He was about to blow his nose again with another soggy handkerchief when John produced a box of tissues. He blew his nose forcefully and repeatedly and at least felt a small measure of relief.
He was exhausted, he wanted nothing more than to lean back on the sofa and close his eyes. He hadn't slept in at least 40 hours but he needed to catch a murderer. He struggled to stay awake and alert.
"Greg, you might as well relax until Sherlock's back" John suggested.
Lestrade debated with himself mentally for a moment before agreeing. In his current state he knew that Sherlock would be much more likely to find Warwick than he would. He allowed himself to relax and was snoring in minutes.
John pulled the blanket off the back if the sofa and gently covered the detective before settling into his chair to await Sherlock's return. He was dozing lightly a couple of hours later when he heard the door to the flat open.
"Tea? " he offered heading to the kitchen.
"Thanks, "Sherlock cast an appraising look at Lestrade as he followed John to the kitchen. "How is he?"
John shrugged, "Sick"
"Sinus infection?"
John nodded, "Luckily that's all...for now. Started him on antibiotics." Sherlock nodded.
"What did you find out about Warwick?" John asked.
"He is on the street, I have people looking for him. We should know where he is by morning." Sherlock sipped his tea. "You might want to go up and get some sleep, I'll wake you once I hear anything. "
"I was thinking I'd just kip in the chair down here in case Greg needs anything."
"I will be awake John," Sherlock offered.
"Yeah, but sometimes you're a bit......distracted when you're thinking. "
Sherlock nodded, "I guess you're right, sorry. "
"It's no problem, can you just help me getting him more comfortable?"
Sherlock nodded and John lifted the detectives feet as Sherlock slid his shoulders so that he was laying down. He stirred slightly but was snoring again in moments. Sherlock covered him again with the blanket and shut off the light beside him and settled into his chair. He was aware of light snoring from John a few minutes later. He looked over to see his friend semi curled up in an awkward position in his chair. He went to his own bedroom, pulled the duvet off his bed and brought it out, draping it gently over the sleeping man.
Sherlock spent the night in his chair thinking and receiving a fairly steady stream of texts from his homeless network. He periodically glanced at the two sleeping men, trying to pay attention to the condition of the Detective Inspector. His snores were congested but he seemed to be sleeping peacefully.
Lestrade woke with a start around 6:00am, "Bloody hell Sherlock! Why didn't you wake me up?" The words scraped painfully against his throat causing him to wince .
Sherlock was out of his chair on his way to the kitchen for a glass of cool water before he replied, "My homeless network has been looking all night. I expect to have his location in the next hour, two at most. It made no sense to wake you if there was no useful information.
Lestrade was about to reply when Sherlock handed him the water. He nodded his thanks and gulped it down. Relishing the coolness on his dry, painful throat.
"How are you feeling Greg?" John asked sleepily from his chair.
Lestrade shrugged, " 'Bout the same." His voice was rough and gravelly. He was about to get up and get himself another glass of water but before he even realized it, Sherlock had taken his glass and was headed back to the kitchen to refill it.
John nodded, frowning slightly. "It'll probably be tonight or tomorrow before you get much relief from the antibiotics. You're due for meds again anyway, and I'll make some tea. "
"John, you don't need to.."
"Don't be silly Greg, I'd be making tea anyway. Are you hungry?"
Lestrade shook his head between sips of water. "You should have something in your stomach with the meds, I'll make you toast at least. " John pushed aside his warm nest of blankets and made his way into the kitchen.
The detective inspector thought to argue, but realized the futility of such an argument with John and decided to save his voice. He thanked John and decided to call Donovan with an update. He wanted a team on standby ready to move as soon as they learned Tom Warwick's location.
Sherlock got his text about an hour later. Warwick was in a large park in central London. As much as they hoped to apprehend him quickly that was not the case. The park was large with wooded areas and Warwick seemed to be constantly on the move. Sherlock's homeless network confirmed he was in the park and Lestrade's officers were at all exits but locating him was no easy task.
While Lestrade was fueled by adrenaline at the start of the day, his exhaustion and illness became more and more pronounced as the day wore on. He was careful to minimize his illness and maintain an air of command and control when anyone was watching, but when alone he wilted. Both John Watson and Sally Donovan saw through his performance and watched him with increasing concern as the day wore on. Sherlock was far too involved with determining the suspects location to remember to look after the Detective Inspector.
It was Lestrade who came upon the suspect late in the day. He was seated on a bench at the edge of a wooded area. He paused silently, carefully considering his approach. He knew that with the way he was feeling, any kind of chase would leave him at an overwhelming disadvantage.
He approached the bench slowly and sat at the opposite end. "Tommy" was all he said.
Tom Warwick seemed not to notice him but replied, "I did a bad thing....." Lestrade remained silent. "I killed my brothers...."
"I know son, I know some terrible things happened to you..."
Lestrade sat quietly beside the younger man as he told the detective his story. Lestrade felt a form of pity for the killer beside him, it seemed the tortured path of his life left him few options for any kind of "normal" life. He was struck also by his appearance, some features so clearly like his brothers, some smaller, and different, yet still somehow familiar looking to Lestrade.
Tom Warwick told Lestrade of the abuse of his parents, the boys homes he had been sent to and the pact he and his brothers had made before they were adopted away from him. The W 3 scarring had been their pledge, the three Warwick brothers would stay together. Only his brothers didn't stay with him, they had been adopted and he'd been left alone with his father.
Once he seemed to be finished Lestrade stood, "Come on son, come with me we'll get you some help."
His face remained calm, "No sir, I just can't" Lestrade's instincts told him what was happening before it did. Tom reached into his pocket and pulled out his knife.
"Now Tommy, "Lestrade spoke calmly, "you know that's not what you want to do" he was aware of the guns pointing at the man before him, his officers demanding the knife be dropped.
Lestrade felt helpless to stop what was happening before him. He tried to tell his men not to fire. Warwick made a half hearted attempt to stab him, the gunshots that found him being his goal.
Lestrade kneeled beside the dying man, hand on his shoulder speaking softly to him. "Call an ambulance!" He croaked to his team.
Once the ambulance arrived it was Sherlock who discreetly helped the Detective Inspector to his feet, speaking intently to him, about the case John imagined. The doctor looked on with concern, seeing the signs of illness, exhaustion and fever on Lestrade's face. He knew better than to call attention to it while Lestrade was in front of his team and at a crime scene.
"He looks bloody awful!" Donovan was beside him, a look of worry on her face. John nodded. "Can't you use your doctorly influence to get him to go home and to bed where he belongs?"
"Wish I could, he needs it. I did start him on antibiotics last night....."
The conversation was interrupted as Sherlock approached, Sally said goodbye to John and started to walk away. "Sally, "Sherlock called. "Could I speak to you for a moment please. "
She paused wondering what he would want to ask her. "Could you finish everything here if we took Detective Inspector Lestrade home?"
She was stunned,"Oh....of course. I can, absolutely. "
"Excellent, thank you" Sherlock turned to walk away.
"Wait......" She called once she recovered from the shock. "Thank you....Sherlock." He nodded and made his way back to Lestrade with John walking beside him.
Lestrade had felt too defeated and miserable to even argue with Sherlock about going home. He knew that Donovan was more than capable of wrapping everything up at the scene. It just wasn't something he would normally pass to another officer.
The ride to Lestrade's place was devoid of conversation, the only sounds being those of illness from Lestrade. He attempted to wave off the others once they arrived at his home telling them they could take his car, but Sherlock and John were having none of it. They insisted of following him and being sure he was settled.
Sherlock put the kettle on for tea, while John questioned Lestrade thoroughly about his symptoms and examined his as best he could without his bag and equipment. He gave him specific instructions about medications and when he should call him. He dosed him again with all his medications and left him tea and soup ready at the kitchen table.
Lestrade both exhausted and miserable, was grateful for the care and attention. John promised to check back in the following day despite his protest. Surprisingly to both other men, it was Sherlock who worried about leaving the ill Detective Inspector alone and offered to stay. John reassured him that Lestrade would be fine, he was sure he'd be sleeping as soon as he hit the bed. For his part Lestrade was stunned at the offer. Before the case he had never had Sherlock show him any consideration, let alone concern. It just wasn't his way. It gave him a feeling of some comfort as he drifted into sleep.
It was more than a week before Lestrade recovered enough both physically and mentally to make his final trip to see the Millers. It was with mixed emotions that he told them their sons murder had finally been solved. He told them only that it was a man with "mental problems" who had been killed while attacking an officer. He knew it could at least give some kind of closure, though he struggled with the outcome himself.
Wanda Miller walked him to the car and asked if it was Tommy. He struggled mentally before replying no, that unfortunately Tommy had been killed by the same disturbed person. He knew he himself felt he should have done more to save the troubled man, he didn't want Wanda Miller to have guilt on top of sadness for the rest of her days.
Obviously I don't own anything related to Sherlock and I certainly am bit making any money from it :)
Once again, sorry no cut.
"Huh Choooooo!!!!" Lestrade sneezed heavily into his handkerchief and blew his nose forcefully. It felt like at least the hundredth time he had done so in the last hour. Unfortunately the blowing did next to nothing to ease the congestion and pressure in his sinuses. He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"Greg, you should really go home and go to bed." Donovan, he hadn't even heard her come into his office. He opened his eyes to see her standing beside him offering him a steaming mug of tea.
"Thanks," he croaked, clearing his throat,"I'm fine, it's just a bloody head cold." She frowned at that. She was pretty sure that it had been "just a head cold" three or four days ago, but it had progressed in to something more. "I just need to find the connection between the two victims " He sipped the tea, grateful for its soothing effect on his painful throat.
"Why don't you at least take a rest. I can run down any leads. I'll call you if there's anything new...." She began.
"I said I'm fine!" He snapped, but then added, "Sally I appreciate your concern, but I'm not as bad off as you think. Huh CHOOOO!!!! ETCHOOOO!!!!" His body betrayed his lie as two violent sneezes morphed into a series of harsh coughs.
She knew better than to push the issue even when he was so obviously lying. There was only one way to get him home to bed, solve this case as fast as possible. She took a deep breath, " Did you call him?"
"Who?" Lestrade looked up from the files confused.
"The freak."
"Now I know you're worried about me." Lestrade managed a grin. "He and John are on their way. "
She never thought she'd be glad to see Sherlock Holmes. "Maybe while they're here Dr Watson could..."
"Drop it!" The voice may have been hoarse and weak, but there was no doubt about his message.
"Fine!" She huffed throwing up her hands and retreating from the office. "You're impossible!"
He almost felt badly about speaking to Donovan so gruffly, he knew she was concerned, but the case was what was important now. At least she knew better than to bring it up in front of the team. He just needed to solve the case and then he could get some rest. As it was his head and whole face were aching with sinus pressure. He rummaged through his desk looking for a bottle of Calprofen, or paracetamol or something to take.
He looked up once again to be surprised to see Donovan beside him. "Bloody hell Donovan! You won't need to worry about my cold, you're going to kill me with a heart attack."
"You're off your game," she offered him two tablets and a glass of water.
"Thanks, 'm fine. " he gratefully took the pills and guzzled the water which felt soothing on his raw throat.
When Donovan left he picked up the tea and returned his attention to the case files on his desk. He was trying to focus, to make the connection he knew was there but the pain in his head caused the words to swim before his eyes. He felt the return of the far too familiar tickling in his nose and with a sigh reached again for his handkerchief.
"Huhhhhhh CHOOOOO!!!!!! Hehhh.......ehhhhh....chooooo!!!! Hehchoooo!!!! Etchhhh!!!!" He sniffled wetly and was about to blow his nose when he looked up a saw Sherlock standing in front of his desk. "Oh Sherlock, sorry" he sniffled and settled for quickly wiping his nose before returning his handkerchief to his pocket.
"Oh for God's sake Lestrade just blow your nose and get it over with! It will make you far less excruciating to listen to. " Sherlock rolled his eyes impatiently.
Lestrade was embarrassed but also desperately needed to blow his nose, the tea had helped to loosen his congestion. "Where's John?" He asked before pulling his handkerchief back out of his pocket.
"Donovan wanted to speak to him." Sherlock added with another eye roll.
Damn, he thought to himself. He had hoped to avoid her getting John into "doctor mode", he needed him in crime solving mode. At least he knew he didn't need to worry about distracting Sherlock from the case. He sighed to himself and blew his nose. It was a long, wet, gurgling blow that made him cringe with embarrassment, but he was grateful to notice that Sherlock's expression did not change.
"So tell me about the murders!" Sherlock demanded as John entered the office.
"Right," Lestrade cleared his throat."This is Andrew Baker, " he held up a photograph. Thirty five years old, he was murdered last night. Found stabbed in the chest in a bad neighborhood. He had no reason to be there. His fiancé was waiting for him at their dinner reservation. " He paused to clear his throat again and take the last sip of his tea. "He has a small scar on his left inner wrist, a "W" and a "3". It's an old scar, but it looked like the killer was trying to completely remove it. He seemed to be cutting around it and must have been interrupted. "
His breath hitched, "Etchhhhh!!! Eh Choooo!!!! Huh CHOOOO!!!!" He paused to catch his breath and sniffed. "Excuse me. "
"Bless you, " John offered.
"Thanks" Lestrade shot John a look, hoping to discourage any questions and resumed his briefing. He pulled out another photograph. "This is David Miller, he was murdered twenty years ago, he was eighteen at the time. He was one of my first cases as a junior officer. He was also stabbed in the chest." He paused, clearing his throat, wishing he had something to drink. John noting his discomfort, retrieved a cup of water from the cooler outside Lestrade's office.
"Thanks" the detective inspector croaked, gulping the water. "David had the same scar, in the same place. But it was fresh then, and the killer..... it's like he refreshed it....."
"What do you mean refreshed?" Sherlock asked, perplexed.
"He traced over it with a blade, it's like he was emphasizing it."
"Interesting...." Sherlock's mind was working.
Lestrade took another gulp of the water. "The thing is, look closely at these blokes, " he pulled out more photographs, these were photographs of the victims alive. "They look alike. I always remembered David's case, never solved it. Promised his parents I'd always remember and keep trying. " He paused with regret and guilt. "I keep his file in my desk, look at it ever now and then. But when I saw Baker, it was like looking at an older David Miller." Between the emotion and the illness his throat had reached his limit and he broke into a series of harsh coughs after attempting to clear his throat.
John disappeared for more water as Sherlock started looking through the case files. Lestrade turned away from his desk, coughing into his handkerchief, trying to catch his breath. He gratefully accepted the water, taking measured sips this time, trying to control his coughs.
"Thanks, John." His voice was hoarse.
John looked at the detective inspector with concern, assessing his symptoms.
"Stop." Lestrade croaked. "You're looking at me the way Sherlock looks at dead bodies. I'm fine. The case is what's important."
"If you're ill, how can you solve the case?"
"That's why you and Sherlock are here, besides I'm not that sick. Hesshhhh!!!! Ishooooo!!!!" Damn sneezes, he thought trying to smother them into his handkerchief.
"They must be related, brothers I'd say. Too many similarities to be coincidence or merely a resemblance. " Sherlock interrupted, speaking mainly to himself. "But why, the scarring, the mark....Did you look for adoption records?"
"I did, this morning. There's nothing. The Millers never mentioned it at the time, but after seeing Baker I started looking. His fiancé doesn't know anything about it either, and she says his parents are dead. "
"Where are the Millers now?" John asked.
"In Gloucestershire. They're elderly. I was going to go and see them. Wanted input from the two of you first. "
"We'll accompany you. "Sherlock declared and neither Lestrade nor John saw reason to argue.
They were only about a half an hour into their trip when Lestrade realized the error in his stubborn refusal to take John's advice to stop at the chemists on the way to get some medicine for his cold. Sherlock had even offered the location on the closest shop in London on their way. He didn't even know what he had been trying to prove, but he wished he had listened. The pressure and congestion in his sinuses continued to build and his sneezing was becoming more and more frequent. John looked on with concern, but did his best not to comment. Sherlock carried on with a great deal of eye rolling and sighing.
By the time they arrived in Gloucestershire it was evening and Lestrade looked and sounded about as bad as he felt. The frequent sneezing had caused more irritation to his already raw throat leaving his voice hoarse and fading fast. The frequent nose blowing and wiping had left his nose reddened and chapped as were his lips. His head was pounding and the pressure in his sinuses was causing his whole face to ache. He had an overall disheveled , unwell look about him.
Upon parking the car at the Millers Lestrade sighed, once again feeling intense tickling in his nose. Breath hitching he retrieved his handkerchief from his pocket. He frowned, finding it too sodden to be of much use. He turned away from Sherlock who was sitting beside him, motioning from him to get out of the car. " Heh..Chooo!! Ishooooo!!" He sneezed into his arm and sniffled wetly.
Lestrade turned back to see Sherlock offering his own handkerchief. Lestrade nodded his thanks and then blew his nose forcefully trying to clear the congestion once again. The relief was minimal. Tucking the handkerchief in his pocket, he reached into the glove box and retrieved a small bottle of hand sanitizer. He cleaned his hands as well as he could, feeling like a walking germ bank.
He could feel both John and Sherlock watching him with concern. "Right then, let's go in." He got out of the car and headed towards the house.
"You've been he before?" Sherlock questioned.
Lestrade nodded, "They moved here a year or so after the murder. I stop by every few years or so, just so they know I still remember, I didn't stop looking. "
Before he could knock on the door it was answered by a petite elderly woman. "Officer, I mean Detective Inspector Lestrade, it's so nice to see you!" Wanda Miller's face was a mix of emotions.
Lestrade smiled warmly at her, "Now Mrs Miller, please call me Greg."
She frowned at the hoarseness in his voice. "Gregory, you don't sound well at all dear, you're ill!"
"No, ma'am, I'm fine, just a bit if a cold"
"That sounds like more than a bit of a cold to me," she tutted,"Come in, I'll make you some tea with honey. "
"That won't be necessary.." He began.
"Nonsense, you'll have tea. Now please come in. "
Lestrade introduced Sherlock and John. "I've seen you gentlemen in the papers and on the telly, it's a pleasure to meet you. "
It was only after they were all seated, having tea and biscuits that she allowed the conversation to be led where she knew it was going. "Have you found out something?"
"Possibly, " Lestrade began, dabbing at his dripping nose with Sherlock's handkerchief. "Is Mr Miller home?"
"I sent him to bed, I didn't tell him you were coming. It's just too much for him. Mr Miller's not been the same since....since....David."
"I know, I'm sorry. " Lestrade reached out and took her hand. "We think we've found.... a connection. But I need to ask you something, was David adopted?"
She looked stunned at the question. 'Would that have something to do with what happened to him?"
"A man was murdered in London last night. He....he looked so much like David" he pulled out a photograph of Andrew Baker, "He also had the same scar on his left wrist."
She gasped, "Andrew"
"You know him then?" Sherlock asked, "They were brothers?"
She nodded, "Oh..... I should have told you. Would that have changed what happened to Andrew? I'm so sorry...."
"Mrs Miller, that was so long ago. There was no connection then. It wouldn't have changed things. Certainly this isn't your fault. " Lestrade patted her arm. "We just need to know now if there's a connection. "
"We....we never told anyone he was adopted. Only family new. It was done privately, not probably totally legally I'm afraid. Henry felt there was no point in talking about it... well after David..." She trailed off, tears in her eyes.
"We couldn't have any children of our own. We, well we had accepted it. But then, my cousin, she told us about the boys. Their mother, Diana, she had....problems, with drugs, and she was ill. Their father was in prison at the time. He was very abusive, to Diana and the boys. "
She continued on to tell the tale of Diana's declining health and her desire to find homes for her boys. She wanted to be sure that they were away from their father once she was no longer able to care for them.
"We had all three of them with us for a weekend. We thought we were told old for little boys. But there was something about David, he and my husband took to each other right away. We wished we could have taken all three but it would have been too much. Andrew was adopted soon after we took David. Tommy was the youngest, he had some issues. It broke my heart but he needed more than we could give him. I'm not sure what happened to him. Diana died and we heard the father was getting out of prison. We were afraid for David so we decided to move to London. It was too easy to find us here. "
"Did you consider it may have been David's father who murdered him?" Sherlock asked bluntly. Lestrade and John both cringed, both had been trying to find a more delicate way to ask.
"I would have, but James Warwick died about six months earlier. Some type of accident I believe. "
"Did you hear anything else about Tommy at any time?" Sherlock asked.
Her eyes widened, "Do you think he could be involved?"
"Possibly, or in danger," Lestrade answered, trying unsuccessfully to stifle a sneeze. "Ishooooo!!!!" And the two that followed. "Huhchoooo!!! Etchoooo!!!!"
"Bless you dear," She frowned and reached over to feel his forehead. "A little warm maybe but not much fever. "
"Really, I'm fine" Greg insisted his voice cracking.
"Definitely not fine. You need something for that cold. Let me get you some Lemsip. "
"We really need to be getting back to London. Thank you, but please, there's no need."
"You have time for some Lemsip." It was not a question. "I'm sure these gentlemen wouldn't mind waiting just a few more minutes." She added as she put the kettle back on.
"Of course not," John replied. "I'm actually quite happy to have him get some medication in to him. " he grinned at Lestrade who glared daggers back at him.
"I'm sure it will make the ride home much more pleasant," Sherlock smirked. "For all of us." He added softly, as Lestrade made a rude gesture while Wanda Miller was out of the room.
A short while later they were back in the car starting their three hour drive back to London. As exhausted as Lestrade felt, the Lemsip had at eased his symptoms and he felt at least a little better than than he had on the earlier trip. The were still sneezes, sniffling and nose blowing but fortunately for the Detective Inspector it was on a much smaller scale. Before departing he called Donovan with an update and asked her to get him all the information she could about Tommy Warwick and email it to him.
John drifted off to sleep fairly quickly in the backseat, but Sherlock stayed awake in the front with Lestrade. "Are you feeling better?" He asked, noticing the improvement in symptoms.
"Yes," Lestrade tried to hide his surprise at the concern. "Thanks"
"Did you want a break from driving? I could take over and you could get some rest like John." He smirked, glancing to the back seat.
Lestrade grinned as John momentarily stirred at the mention if his name. "I'm fine. But thank you for asking Sherlock. I'd be awake anyway, running the case through my head. You know what I mean" Sherlock nodded and let it go. They were both wired from the new information about the case.
It was after midnight by the time they arrived at Baker Street. "Where are you headed ?" Sherlock asked as they pulled in front of 221B.
"Back to the Yard. I need to see what Donovan's found."
"Lestrade, you really should get some rest and take care of that cold. "
Lestrade smiled faintly, "Sherlock Holmes telling me to get some rest. This must be one of those do what I say not what I do situations. "
"Sorry, I was just, well..... never mind!" He huffed and hurried out of the car.
John who had awoken by that time chimed in, "Greg, why don't you come in for a few minutes. None of us has eaten, and you could check your email from Donovan here."
"I'm betting Warwick is on the street. My homeless network may be able to help locate him." Sherlock added pulling out his phone as he opened the front door.
Lestrade looked encouraged at that, "I'll come in for a few minutes. John, I'm not really hungry mate, but thanks. "
John and Lestrade were just entering 221B when Lestrade paused, leaning against the doorway. John waited but Lestrade waved him on.
"I just....ehhhhh....have to hehhhhh......Heh Choooo!!!!!! Huh Choooo!!!! Etchooooo!!!!! sneeze." He sniffled wetly, "'Scuse me. " He pulled out his handkerchief and blew his nose once again."
They were on their way up the stairs when Mrs Hudson poked her head out of her door. "Which one of you boys is sick?" She asked a worried expression on her face. "Detective was that you?"
"I'm afraid so," His voice was even more hoarse and fading fast. "Sorry to disturb you Mrs Hudson. "
"Don't worry about that. Should I put some tea on? Maybe some soup for the detective?" She asked John.
"No thank you Mrs Hudson, I'll look after Greg. Sorry we got you out of bed so late" He apologized.
"Just call me if you need me. And Detective, you should be home in bed! No use running yourself ragged!"
"Yes ma'am." He hurried up the stairs as he felt his nose tickling once again. The last thing he needed was to have a fit in front of Mrs Hudson, that would get him much more attention and fussing than he was looking for.
"Eshoooooo!!!! Ishhhhhh!!!! ETCHOOOO!!!" He just made it into Sherlock and John's flat before the sneezing started. "Ishooooo!!! Eshoooo!!!" He paused,catching his breath before retrieving his handkerchief for another long, wet gurgling blow.
Sherlock already had put the kettle on for tea and John was rummaging in the refrigerator for sandwich ingredients and had found a tin of soup in the cabinet.
"I should really get going, no sense exposing you two to any more of my germs. " Lestrade croaked.
"It's a bit late to worry about that..." Sherlock began but John interrupted.
"Don't be ridiculous Greg. The kettle's on, have a seat and relax for a few minutes. "
The Detective Inspector reluctantly agreed and pulled up his email to see what Donovan had found. He forwarded the photos and last known address to Sherlock who went out to make contacts with his homeless network.
John made a plate of sandwiches knowing he probably be the only one eating them. He brought them out with the tea and then returned with a bowl of soup for Lestrade.
"John, " he protested, his voice at the level of a harsh whisper.
John shushed him. "Save your voice Greg, and eat the damn soup. " his tone was all army doctor, leaving no room for discussion.
As Lestrade ate he questioned him about his symptoms and retrieved his medical kit from his bedroom to do a quick evaluation. He left no room for debate or discussion. The exam confirmed his preliminary diagnosis of a sinus infection, he was pleased that Lestrade's lungs were clear and his fever was only low grade. He had some limited supplies of antibiotics(one never knew what might get infected when you lived with Sherlock Holmes) and was pleased to find he had the appropriate drug on hand. He also had some prescription strength Ibuprofen and some Sudafed to help with the pain and pressure.
"Take these," he offered the pills to Lestrade. "Antibiotics for the sinus infection - one pill twice a day until they're all gone, pain medication, and a decongestant. "
Lestrade took the pills willingly and gratefully. He decided it was ridiculous to insist he was fine at that point, plus he was too exhausted and too miserable to even argue about it.
"Thanks John" he had finished the soup and was sipping on the tea. Both had a soothing effect on his throat and were working to loosen his congestion. He was about to blow his nose again with another soggy handkerchief when John produced a box of tissues. He blew his nose forcefully and repeatedly and at least felt a small measure of relief.
He was exhausted, he wanted nothing more than to lean back on the sofa and close his eyes. He hadn't slept in at least 40 hours but he needed to catch a murderer. He struggled to stay awake and alert.
"Greg, you might as well relax until Sherlock's back" John suggested.
Lestrade debated with himself mentally for a moment before agreeing. In his current state he knew that Sherlock would be much more likely to find Warwick than he would. He allowed himself to relax and was snoring in minutes.
John pulled the blanket off the back if the sofa and gently covered the detective before settling into his chair to await Sherlock's return. He was dozing lightly a couple of hours later when he heard the door to the flat open.
"Tea? " he offered heading to the kitchen.
"Thanks, "Sherlock cast an appraising look at Lestrade as he followed John to the kitchen. "How is he?"
John shrugged, "Sick"
"Sinus infection?"
John nodded, "Luckily that's all...for now. Started him on antibiotics." Sherlock nodded.
"What did you find out about Warwick?" John asked.
"He is on the street, I have people looking for him. We should know where he is by morning." Sherlock sipped his tea. "You might want to go up and get some sleep, I'll wake you once I hear anything. "
"I was thinking I'd just kip in the chair down here in case Greg needs anything."
"I will be awake John," Sherlock offered.
"Yeah, but sometimes you're a bit......distracted when you're thinking. "
Sherlock nodded, "I guess you're right, sorry. "
"It's no problem, can you just help me getting him more comfortable?"
Sherlock nodded and John lifted the detectives feet as Sherlock slid his shoulders so that he was laying down. He stirred slightly but was snoring again in moments. Sherlock covered him again with the blanket and shut off the light beside him and settled into his chair. He was aware of light snoring from John a few minutes later. He looked over to see his friend semi curled up in an awkward position in his chair. He went to his own bedroom, pulled the duvet off his bed and brought it out, draping it gently over the sleeping man.
Sherlock spent the night in his chair thinking and receiving a fairly steady stream of texts from his homeless network. He periodically glanced at the two sleeping men, trying to pay attention to the condition of the Detective Inspector. His snores were congested but he seemed to be sleeping peacefully.
Lestrade woke with a start around 6:00am, "Bloody hell Sherlock! Why didn't you wake me up?" The words scraped painfully against his throat causing him to wince .
Sherlock was out of his chair on his way to the kitchen for a glass of cool water before he replied, "My homeless network has been looking all night. I expect to have his location in the next hour, two at most. It made no sense to wake you if there was no useful information.
Lestrade was about to reply when Sherlock handed him the water. He nodded his thanks and gulped it down. Relishing the coolness on his dry, painful throat.
"How are you feeling Greg?" John asked sleepily from his chair.
Lestrade shrugged, " 'Bout the same." His voice was rough and gravelly. He was about to get up and get himself another glass of water but before he even realized it, Sherlock had taken his glass and was headed back to the kitchen to refill it.
John nodded, frowning slightly. "It'll probably be tonight or tomorrow before you get much relief from the antibiotics. You're due for meds again anyway, and I'll make some tea. "
"John, you don't need to.."
"Don't be silly Greg, I'd be making tea anyway. Are you hungry?"
Lestrade shook his head between sips of water. "You should have something in your stomach with the meds, I'll make you toast at least. " John pushed aside his warm nest of blankets and made his way into the kitchen.
The detective inspector thought to argue, but realized the futility of such an argument with John and decided to save his voice. He thanked John and decided to call Donovan with an update. He wanted a team on standby ready to move as soon as they learned Tom Warwick's location.
Sherlock got his text about an hour later. Warwick was in a large park in central London. As much as they hoped to apprehend him quickly that was not the case. The park was large with wooded areas and Warwick seemed to be constantly on the move. Sherlock's homeless network confirmed he was in the park and Lestrade's officers were at all exits but locating him was no easy task.
While Lestrade was fueled by adrenaline at the start of the day, his exhaustion and illness became more and more pronounced as the day wore on. He was careful to minimize his illness and maintain an air of command and control when anyone was watching, but when alone he wilted. Both John Watson and Sally Donovan saw through his performance and watched him with increasing concern as the day wore on. Sherlock was far too involved with determining the suspects location to remember to look after the Detective Inspector.
It was Lestrade who came upon the suspect late in the day. He was seated on a bench at the edge of a wooded area. He paused silently, carefully considering his approach. He knew that with the way he was feeling, any kind of chase would leave him at an overwhelming disadvantage.
He approached the bench slowly and sat at the opposite end. "Tommy" was all he said.
Tom Warwick seemed not to notice him but replied, "I did a bad thing....." Lestrade remained silent. "I killed my brothers...."
"I know son, I know some terrible things happened to you..."
Lestrade sat quietly beside the younger man as he told the detective his story. Lestrade felt a form of pity for the killer beside him, it seemed the tortured path of his life left him few options for any kind of "normal" life. He was struck also by his appearance, some features so clearly like his brothers, some smaller, and different, yet still somehow familiar looking to Lestrade.
Tom Warwick told Lestrade of the abuse of his parents, the boys homes he had been sent to and the pact he and his brothers had made before they were adopted away from him. The W 3 scarring had been their pledge, the three Warwick brothers would stay together. Only his brothers didn't stay with him, they had been adopted and he'd been left alone with his father.
Once he seemed to be finished Lestrade stood, "Come on son, come with me we'll get you some help."
His face remained calm, "No sir, I just can't" Lestrade's instincts told him what was happening before it did. Tom reached into his pocket and pulled out his knife.
"Now Tommy, "Lestrade spoke calmly, "you know that's not what you want to do" he was aware of the guns pointing at the man before him, his officers demanding the knife be dropped.
Lestrade felt helpless to stop what was happening before him. He tried to tell his men not to fire. Warwick made a half hearted attempt to stab him, the gunshots that found him being his goal.
Lestrade kneeled beside the dying man, hand on his shoulder speaking softly to him. "Call an ambulance!" He croaked to his team.
Once the ambulance arrived it was Sherlock who discreetly helped the Detective Inspector to his feet, speaking intently to him, about the case John imagined. The doctor looked on with concern, seeing the signs of illness, exhaustion and fever on Lestrade's face. He knew better than to call attention to it while Lestrade was in front of his team and at a crime scene.
"He looks bloody awful!" Donovan was beside him, a look of worry on her face. John nodded. "Can't you use your doctorly influence to get him to go home and to bed where he belongs?"
"Wish I could, he needs it. I did start him on antibiotics last night....."
The conversation was interrupted as Sherlock approached, Sally said goodbye to John and started to walk away. "Sally, "Sherlock called. "Could I speak to you for a moment please. "
She paused wondering what he would want to ask her. "Could you finish everything here if we took Detective Inspector Lestrade home?"
She was stunned,"Oh....of course. I can, absolutely. "
"Excellent, thank you" Sherlock turned to walk away.
"Wait......" She called once she recovered from the shock. "Thank you....Sherlock." He nodded and made his way back to Lestrade with John walking beside him.
Lestrade had felt too defeated and miserable to even argue with Sherlock about going home. He knew that Donovan was more than capable of wrapping everything up at the scene. It just wasn't something he would normally pass to another officer.
The ride to Lestrade's place was devoid of conversation, the only sounds being those of illness from Lestrade. He attempted to wave off the others once they arrived at his home telling them they could take his car, but Sherlock and John were having none of it. They insisted of following him and being sure he was settled.
Sherlock put the kettle on for tea, while John questioned Lestrade thoroughly about his symptoms and examined his as best he could without his bag and equipment. He gave him specific instructions about medications and when he should call him. He dosed him again with all his medications and left him tea and soup ready at the kitchen table.
Lestrade both exhausted and miserable, was grateful for the care and attention. John promised to check back in the following day despite his protest. Surprisingly to both other men, it was Sherlock who worried about leaving the ill Detective Inspector alone and offered to stay. John reassured him that Lestrade would be fine, he was sure he'd be sleeping as soon as he hit the bed. For his part Lestrade was stunned at the offer. Before the case he had never had Sherlock show him any consideration, let alone concern. It just wasn't his way. It gave him a feeling of some comfort as he drifted into sleep.
It was more than a week before Lestrade recovered enough both physically and mentally to make his final trip to see the Millers. It was with mixed emotions that he told them their sons murder had finally been solved. He told them only that it was a man with "mental problems" who had been killed while attacking an officer. He knew it could at least give some kind of closure, though he struggled with the outcome himself.
Wanda Miller walked him to the car and asked if it was Tommy. He struggled mentally before replying no, that unfortunately Tommy had been killed by the same disturbed person. He knew he himself felt he should have done more to save the troubled man, he didn't want Wanda Miller to have guilt on top of sadness for the rest of her days.