Fic: The Road Traffic Act 1988
Title: The Road Traffic Act 1988
Author: ununpentium
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Pairing: Sherlock/Lestrade
Rating: 15
Wordcount: 952
Read on AO3
Lestrade was lying on his front in the middle of his flat with satellites of detritus fanning outwards from his body. There were three discarded cups of coffee- all of varying strengths, four highlighters- two of which no longer worked, a notepad filled with unintelligible writing, numerous toffee wrappers and a textbook that Lestrade was peering at so intently his nose nearly touched the page. David Bowie was playing on loop on the hifi and Lestrade was contemplating how long it would take him to get up after having been lying on the floor for two hours.
A soft scratching sound came from the front door and Lestrade lifted his head. Oh, that would be Sherlock, inviting himself round. Lestrade turned his attention back to the text book as the door swung free and Sherlock strode in, full of self-importance as always and not looking at all apologetic about the fact that he had technically just broken in.
“What are you doing?”
“Deduce it, Sherlock. ‘M busy.”
Sherlock stepped closer, taking in the mess that Lestrade had made over the course of the past two hours. His eyes caught sight of the textbook Lestrade was reading from and Sherlock swooped in and picked it up.
“Hey, I’m reading that,” Lestrade growled.
Sherlock held it above his head, looking every bit like a petulant child.
“Why are you reading a manual on road policing? You’re in CID, not traffic.”
Lestrade groaned as he got to his knees and pushed himself up to a standing position.
“Maybe I’m reading a manual on road policing because I want to be in traffic.”
Sherlock narrowed his eyes.
“Why on earth would you want to do that? There’d be no murders to investigate.”
Lestrade jumped up to grab his textbook and Sherlock jerked backwards, eyes darting across Lestrade’s face.
“And if there are no murders to investigate, you wouldn’t see me anymore.” Sherlock sat down on Lestrade’s ageing sofa with a thud. Lestrade stood in front of Sherlock with his arms crossed.
“Look, Princess, not everything I do in this world is to suit your demands, believe it or not. I’ve been on CID for ten bloody years; I want a change of scenery!”
Sherlock eyed Lestrade contemplatively.
“But we met with you on CID.”
Lestrade huffed out a laugh.
“You do realise that I won’t be a copper forever? As soon as my 30 years are up I’m out of there. Plus, on traffic, I'll be in uniform again. You've never seen me in uniform- you might, uh, like it.”
Lestrade sat down carefully next to Sherlock, who would no longer meet his gaze, and placed his arm around his shoulders.
“You don’t have to worry that what we have is dependent on us working together. I love you, you daft git, and I’ll love you whether I’m in the police or not.”
Sherlock sniffed and burrowed into Lestrade’s side, his voice muffled by Lestrade’s shoulder.
“If you get any interesting crimes when you’re on traffic, you promise to still call me in?”
“Of course.”
“You have to remember the rating system, though, I don’t get out of bed for anything less than a seven.”
Lestrake poked Sherlock roughly on his shoulder.
“Oi, before you fall asleep on me, can I have my book back now?”
Sherlock threw the book backwards over Lestrade’s sofa where it hit the wall with a thud.
“How mature,” Lestrade failed to keep the amusement out of his voice as he retrieved his book, sat back down next to a rather sleepy, limpet like Sherlock and resumed reading. Half an hour passed with the two of them contentedly wrapped up together, Sherlock’s eyes were shut and his breathing even but Lestrade never could tell if Sherlock was actually asleep or not. He half thought that Sherlock was a bit like a dolphin where only half his brain was ever asleep at one time so he always had some sort of awareness of what was going on around him.
“God, I’ve forgotten most of this,” Lestrade murmured.
“Hm?”
“Did you know this? ‘Regulation 107 prohibits the leaving of a motor vehicle unattended on a road unless the engine has been stopped and the brake set; both must be done. Any person left attending the vehicle must be someone who is licenced to drive and in a position to intervene otherwise regulation 107 is breached.’ Christ. The amount of times I’ve left gone into the nick and left you nodding off in my car with the engine running. You don’t even have a driving licence. I’ll have to arrest myself!”
Sherlock, by now rapidly waking up, clambered into Lestrade’s lap, handcuffs dangling from one hand.
“I’ll do the honours, Detective Inspector,” Sherlock purred.
“Fuck, you’re quick. My handcuffs too, they were in my jacket pocket by the door!” Lestrade knew better than to be surprised by Sherlock, but he still often was.
“I lifted them on my way in. Knew they’d come in handy,” Sherlock started to undo the buttons on Lestrade’s shirt.
“Hold on, Princess, can we at least make it to my bed this time?”
Sherlock nuzzled at Lestrade’s neck and moved his hands down to the waistband of Lestrade’s trousers.
“Yes, Detective Inspector.”
“Fuck, Sherlock, you know what that does to me,” Lestrade was wriggling underneath Sherlock, trying to stand up to steer them towards his bedroom.
“And that’s why I say it. Into your bedroom, then. I’ll be performing a full strip search.” Sherlock slid off of Lestrade’s lap and sauntered into the bedroom like he owned the place.
Lestrade sat, blinking for a few seconds, before leaping up and running after Sherlock, discarding his shirt along the way.
Notes:
The excerpt that Lestrade reads out is from Blackstone's Police Training Manual 2010- Volume 3 Road Policing, page 129.
Police officers can also retire after 30 years in the police, or when they reach 55, whichever is sooner.
'The nick' is what some police officers say to mean the police station.
CID is the Criminal Investigation Department to which plain clothes detectives belong.
Author: ununpentium
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Pairing: Sherlock/Lestrade
Rating: 15
Wordcount: 952
Read on AO3
Lestrade was lying on his front in the middle of his flat with satellites of detritus fanning outwards from his body. There were three discarded cups of coffee- all of varying strengths, four highlighters- two of which no longer worked, a notepad filled with unintelligible writing, numerous toffee wrappers and a textbook that Lestrade was peering at so intently his nose nearly touched the page. David Bowie was playing on loop on the hifi and Lestrade was contemplating how long it would take him to get up after having been lying on the floor for two hours.
A soft scratching sound came from the front door and Lestrade lifted his head. Oh, that would be Sherlock, inviting himself round. Lestrade turned his attention back to the text book as the door swung free and Sherlock strode in, full of self-importance as always and not looking at all apologetic about the fact that he had technically just broken in.
“What are you doing?”
“Deduce it, Sherlock. ‘M busy.”
Sherlock stepped closer, taking in the mess that Lestrade had made over the course of the past two hours. His eyes caught sight of the textbook Lestrade was reading from and Sherlock swooped in and picked it up.
“Hey, I’m reading that,” Lestrade growled.
Sherlock held it above his head, looking every bit like a petulant child.
“Why are you reading a manual on road policing? You’re in CID, not traffic.”
Lestrade groaned as he got to his knees and pushed himself up to a standing position.
“Maybe I’m reading a manual on road policing because I want to be in traffic.”
Sherlock narrowed his eyes.
“Why on earth would you want to do that? There’d be no murders to investigate.”
Lestrade jumped up to grab his textbook and Sherlock jerked backwards, eyes darting across Lestrade’s face.
“And if there are no murders to investigate, you wouldn’t see me anymore.” Sherlock sat down on Lestrade’s ageing sofa with a thud. Lestrade stood in front of Sherlock with his arms crossed.
“Look, Princess, not everything I do in this world is to suit your demands, believe it or not. I’ve been on CID for ten bloody years; I want a change of scenery!”
Sherlock eyed Lestrade contemplatively.
“But we met with you on CID.”
Lestrade huffed out a laugh.
“You do realise that I won’t be a copper forever? As soon as my 30 years are up I’m out of there. Plus, on traffic, I'll be in uniform again. You've never seen me in uniform- you might, uh, like it.”
Lestrade sat down carefully next to Sherlock, who would no longer meet his gaze, and placed his arm around his shoulders.
“You don’t have to worry that what we have is dependent on us working together. I love you, you daft git, and I’ll love you whether I’m in the police or not.”
Sherlock sniffed and burrowed into Lestrade’s side, his voice muffled by Lestrade’s shoulder.
“If you get any interesting crimes when you’re on traffic, you promise to still call me in?”
“Of course.”
“You have to remember the rating system, though, I don’t get out of bed for anything less than a seven.”
Lestrake poked Sherlock roughly on his shoulder.
“Oi, before you fall asleep on me, can I have my book back now?”
Sherlock threw the book backwards over Lestrade’s sofa where it hit the wall with a thud.
“How mature,” Lestrade failed to keep the amusement out of his voice as he retrieved his book, sat back down next to a rather sleepy, limpet like Sherlock and resumed reading. Half an hour passed with the two of them contentedly wrapped up together, Sherlock’s eyes were shut and his breathing even but Lestrade never could tell if Sherlock was actually asleep or not. He half thought that Sherlock was a bit like a dolphin where only half his brain was ever asleep at one time so he always had some sort of awareness of what was going on around him.
“God, I’ve forgotten most of this,” Lestrade murmured.
“Hm?”
“Did you know this? ‘Regulation 107 prohibits the leaving of a motor vehicle unattended on a road unless the engine has been stopped and the brake set; both must be done. Any person left attending the vehicle must be someone who is licenced to drive and in a position to intervene otherwise regulation 107 is breached.’ Christ. The amount of times I’ve left gone into the nick and left you nodding off in my car with the engine running. You don’t even have a driving licence. I’ll have to arrest myself!”
Sherlock, by now rapidly waking up, clambered into Lestrade’s lap, handcuffs dangling from one hand.
“I’ll do the honours, Detective Inspector,” Sherlock purred.
“Fuck, you’re quick. My handcuffs too, they were in my jacket pocket by the door!” Lestrade knew better than to be surprised by Sherlock, but he still often was.
“I lifted them on my way in. Knew they’d come in handy,” Sherlock started to undo the buttons on Lestrade’s shirt.
“Hold on, Princess, can we at least make it to my bed this time?”
Sherlock nuzzled at Lestrade’s neck and moved his hands down to the waistband of Lestrade’s trousers.
“Yes, Detective Inspector.”
“Fuck, Sherlock, you know what that does to me,” Lestrade was wriggling underneath Sherlock, trying to stand up to steer them towards his bedroom.
“And that’s why I say it. Into your bedroom, then. I’ll be performing a full strip search.” Sherlock slid off of Lestrade’s lap and sauntered into the bedroom like he owned the place.
Lestrade sat, blinking for a few seconds, before leaping up and running after Sherlock, discarding his shirt along the way.
Notes:
The excerpt that Lestrade reads out is from Blackstone's Police Training Manual 2010- Volume 3 Road Policing, page 129.
Police officers can also retire after 30 years in the police, or when they reach 55, whichever is sooner.
'The nick' is what some police officers say to mean the police station.
CID is the Criminal Investigation Department to which plain clothes detectives belong.