To Catch a Thief
Title: To Catch a Thief
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes
Characters: S. Holmes, J. Watson, G.B. Lestrade
Table:Prompt: #14. Steal
Word Count: 894 words
Rating: PG-13
Summary: "Unless the press had gotten wind of the tea thefts, but it was highly unlikely that they would even care about it, anyways."
Author's Notes: Warnings, Alternative Universe (no STUD). This was originally written as my fic entry into watsons_woes challenge 010, but it unfortunately refused to be long enough to be submitted.
I. Lestrade
"Excuse me, Inspector by there's a chap wanting to speak with you," a young constable informed Inspector Lestrade.
Lestrade frowned, because the consultant he'd hire to help catch the criminal behind a recent rash of tea thefts, Sherlock Holmes, had told him that he wouldn't have anything until tomorrow, and there wasn't anyone else he could think of who would want to speak with him right then.
Unless the press had gotten wind of the tea thefts, but it was highly unlikely that they would even care about it, anyways.
"Show them in, Constable," Lestrade commanded.
"Uh, sir, he's currently in a holding cell at the moment," the constable remarked.
"Is he asking for me by name?" Lestrade asked.
The constable nodded.
Of course, Lestrade thought bitterly. They are always asking for me by name. Why doesn't Gregson ever get asked for by name by criminals?
Even as the question took form in his mind, Lestrade knew the answer.
Gregson's days as a constable had been spent walking a beat in the more affluent sections of London, where petty criminals were pretty much nonexistent, while Lestrade's had been spent in the poorest neighborhoods, where the petty thieves, the prostitutes, and the police knew each other on a first name basis.
Standing up, Lestrade directed the constable to lead the way.
~*~
II. Watson
I glared at my flatmate of ten months as the constable left us alone in the cold, damp holding cell.
"Please tell me you have a plan to get us out of this cell, Holmes, preferably one that doesn't involve a judge," I growled.
"Of course, I do, Doctor," Holmes informed me.
"Why do I get the feeling that you've been in this cell before, Holmes?"
"Probably because I have," he replied. "How is your leg, by the way?"
"Extremely sore, no thanks to you and your stupidity," I replied. Being forced to walk around with my hands cuffed behind my back and without any sort of external assistance--the constables who had arrested us refused to allow me to keep the weight off my bad leg. They had also taken my cane. And my revolver.
"I did say that you didn't need to come with me, Watson," Holmes reminded me.
"You were eying my service revolver as you said that, Holmes."
"I didn't need you, but I did want you to come," Holmes admitted softly.
I looked sharply at my flatmate at this confession.
~*~
III. Holmes
"I didn't need you, but I did want you to come."
As those words hung in the air between us, I wondered where that had come from, what had possessed me to admit to what I felt for this man aloud--not to mention to his face.
I couldn't let him become my friend, it would only end in tragedy, his body lying lifeless in the morgue. I would have to make sure that the Doctor saw reason before it was too late, if it wasn't already too late.
But what if he saw reason and chose to be my friend anyways?
Death was no stranger to his life, both as a doctor and as a veteran of the Anglo-Afghan wars, after all.
"Even the heartless automaton wishes for friendship, is that it, then, Holmes?" the doctor asked.
I nodded.
"There's no shame in that, Holmes," he remarked.
Of course he would say that. And whatever happened to that constable, he said he would go get Inspector Lestrade for me several hours ago--at least, it feels like it has been hours since then. They took my pocket-watch, so I can't be sure of the time.
"Watson, it's too dangerous for you to be my friend," I said, as blunt as always.
The doctor rolled his eyes.
"Holmes, it's worth the danger," he informed me.
"Death is too high a price to pay."
"Death is a fact of life, Holmes," he replied. "Death will come to all of us, eventually. What matters is how you lived your life before your time is up."
~*~
IV. Lestrade
When the Inspector entered the holding cell, he found two coarsely dressed men, neither of whom he knew.
"Which of you asked to speak with me?" Lestrade asked.
"He did," the hazel-eyed man replied, indicating his companion. The man's educated accent clashed with his day laborer's clothing.
Deciding that the man was just down on his luck, a man born into money that he'd gambled away on horses and cards until he had to work an honest job for his dishonest habit, Lestrade turned to the other man in the cell.
"Well? What is it that you want of me, sir?" the inspector demanded.
"Oi was 'oping yew could spring us two jailbirds from this 'ere cell, Inspector," the man admitted.
"I don't help criminals, sir," Lestrade replied, annoyed that anyone would think such a thing of him.
"Well, then it's a good thing we ain't criminals."
The man's companion, the one who had spoken first, seemed to find his friend's behavior a bit too much for his taste at this point.
"Holmes, really," he groused.
Holmes?
"Spoilsport, Watson," grumbled Holmes.
Lestrade groaned.
"What in blazes, Mister Holmes?" the inspector demanded.
"I was trying to figure out how the thief pulled it off, and the good doctor here kindly volunteered to help me," Holmes explained.
"Who?" Lestrade asked.
"John Watson, late of her Majesty's Army Medical Corps," Holmes replied, indicating his friend.
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes
Characters: S. Holmes, J. Watson, G.B. Lestrade
Table:Prompt: #14. Steal
Word Count: 894 words
Rating: PG-13
Summary: "Unless the press had gotten wind of the tea thefts, but it was highly unlikely that they would even care about it, anyways."
Author's Notes: Warnings, Alternative Universe (no STUD). This was originally written as my fic entry into watsons_woes challenge 010, but it unfortunately refused to be long enough to be submitted.
I. Lestrade
"Excuse me, Inspector by there's a chap wanting to speak with you," a young constable informed Inspector Lestrade.
Lestrade frowned, because the consultant he'd hire to help catch the criminal behind a recent rash of tea thefts, Sherlock Holmes, had told him that he wouldn't have anything until tomorrow, and there wasn't anyone else he could think of who would want to speak with him right then.
Unless the press had gotten wind of the tea thefts, but it was highly unlikely that they would even care about it, anyways.
"Show them in, Constable," Lestrade commanded.
"Uh, sir, he's currently in a holding cell at the moment," the constable remarked.
"Is he asking for me by name?" Lestrade asked.
The constable nodded.
Of course, Lestrade thought bitterly. They are always asking for me by name. Why doesn't Gregson ever get asked for by name by criminals?
Even as the question took form in his mind, Lestrade knew the answer.
Gregson's days as a constable had been spent walking a beat in the more affluent sections of London, where petty criminals were pretty much nonexistent, while Lestrade's had been spent in the poorest neighborhoods, where the petty thieves, the prostitutes, and the police knew each other on a first name basis.
Standing up, Lestrade directed the constable to lead the way.
~*~
II. Watson
I glared at my flatmate of ten months as the constable left us alone in the cold, damp holding cell.
"Please tell me you have a plan to get us out of this cell, Holmes, preferably one that doesn't involve a judge," I growled.
"Of course, I do, Doctor," Holmes informed me.
"Why do I get the feeling that you've been in this cell before, Holmes?"
"Probably because I have," he replied. "How is your leg, by the way?"
"Extremely sore, no thanks to you and your stupidity," I replied. Being forced to walk around with my hands cuffed behind my back and without any sort of external assistance--the constables who had arrested us refused to allow me to keep the weight off my bad leg. They had also taken my cane. And my revolver.
"I did say that you didn't need to come with me, Watson," Holmes reminded me.
"You were eying my service revolver as you said that, Holmes."
"I didn't need you, but I did want you to come," Holmes admitted softly.
I looked sharply at my flatmate at this confession.
~*~
III. Holmes
"I didn't need you, but I did want you to come."
As those words hung in the air between us, I wondered where that had come from, what had possessed me to admit to what I felt for this man aloud--not to mention to his face.
I couldn't let him become my friend, it would only end in tragedy, his body lying lifeless in the morgue. I would have to make sure that the Doctor saw reason before it was too late, if it wasn't already too late.
But what if he saw reason and chose to be my friend anyways?
Death was no stranger to his life, both as a doctor and as a veteran of the Anglo-Afghan wars, after all.
"Even the heartless automaton wishes for friendship, is that it, then, Holmes?" the doctor asked.
I nodded.
"There's no shame in that, Holmes," he remarked.
Of course he would say that. And whatever happened to that constable, he said he would go get Inspector Lestrade for me several hours ago--at least, it feels like it has been hours since then. They took my pocket-watch, so I can't be sure of the time.
"Watson, it's too dangerous for you to be my friend," I said, as blunt as always.
The doctor rolled his eyes.
"Holmes, it's worth the danger," he informed me.
"Death is too high a price to pay."
"Death is a fact of life, Holmes," he replied. "Death will come to all of us, eventually. What matters is how you lived your life before your time is up."
~*~
IV. Lestrade
When the Inspector entered the holding cell, he found two coarsely dressed men, neither of whom he knew.
"Which of you asked to speak with me?" Lestrade asked.
"He did," the hazel-eyed man replied, indicating his companion. The man's educated accent clashed with his day laborer's clothing.
Deciding that the man was just down on his luck, a man born into money that he'd gambled away on horses and cards until he had to work an honest job for his dishonest habit, Lestrade turned to the other man in the cell.
"Well? What is it that you want of me, sir?" the inspector demanded.
"Oi was 'oping yew could spring us two jailbirds from this 'ere cell, Inspector," the man admitted.
"I don't help criminals, sir," Lestrade replied, annoyed that anyone would think such a thing of him.
"Well, then it's a good thing we ain't criminals."
The man's companion, the one who had spoken first, seemed to find his friend's behavior a bit too much for his taste at this point.
"Holmes, really," he groused.
Holmes?
"Spoilsport, Watson," grumbled Holmes.
Lestrade groaned.
"What in blazes, Mister Holmes?" the inspector demanded.
"I was trying to figure out how the thief pulled it off, and the good doctor here kindly volunteered to help me," Holmes explained.
"Who?" Lestrade asked.
"John Watson, late of her Majesty's Army Medical Corps," Holmes replied, indicating his friend.