Fic for blueonblue: Perspective
Title: Perspective
Recipient: blueonblue
Author: alafaye
Characters/Pairings: Sherlock/Greg (pre), OFC
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Summary: Sherlock decides it's past time to act.
A/N: , you asked for a missing scene and while this isn't technically missing, I was thinking ahead to the next season and how this could be a missing scene between Sherlock and Greg. I hope you enjoy it!
Despite the fact that they were on either sides of the city, Greg could see his sister's frown. "You're better off, you know," his sister, Melissa, said. "Really. That man --"
"I know," Greg told her. "I know, I know, I know."
She was silent for a moment on her end of the line. "Hearts don't work that way, though, do they?" she sighed.
That was the curse of being a Lestrade. Just like he had Sherlock -- or not, as the case actually was -- she had her own tangled mess. Greg had thought it was his ex-wife, but it was only in the days after Sherlock's suicide that he had realized that his mess was the consulting detective. In retrospect, it was no wonder his marriage had failed. It might have been good -- if he hadn't been a detective who had fallen for another detective.
He took a drag on his cigarette. She clucked her tongue. "I thought you quit."
He waved his hand, even though she couldn't see him. "Sherlock."
She groaned. "If I ever meet him, I'll be sure to kill him properly."
Greg snorted. "Know what you mean."
"Well, enough about all that," she said, trying to be cheerful but sounding forced into the gallows. "Dinner on Sunday? Mark's cooking."
He smirked. "I'll remember the wine."
"You mean you're bringing take away, but I'll pretend it's wine," she teased. "Sunday. Be there."
"Will be."
Saying their goodbyes, he tossed his phone onto the coffee table and tilted his head back. Bloody Sherlock Holmes. Gone and murdered someone, exactly as everyone had expected, but Greg thought it had been for a good reason. He had heard about Magnussen -- anyone high enough up had -- and what he had heard was nothing good. Trust that Sherlock had finally gotten caught up in it all and that he had been the only one with the balls to finally end Magnussen's blackmailing.
He still wondered how Mycroft or any one of those bloody politicians had been unable to grant Sherlock a pardon for the act. Surely it had been an act of bravery, doing what no one else had been able to or was willing to. And wouldn't all those toffs finally sleep better knowing whatever secrets they were hiding would stay hidden? But rather than show any appreciation, they shipped Sherlock off to who knew where.
His phone pinged and he stared at it. It pinged again. Frowning, he picked it up.
With a swear, he got out of his chair and grabbed his jacket.
~~~
Greg glared at the no smoking sign on the wall as he paced past it. Molly was sitting nearby, waiting a bit more patiently. Sherlock was demanding answers from Mycroft in the hallway. A couple of soldiers stood at attention down the hallway -- Greg still wasn't sure to make of that. Were they just making sure that the case was being handled properly? Or were they making sure that Sherlock didn't use this to escape? Not that it would do them any good; if Sherlock wanted to, he could escape under the nose of the entire army.
"How long can it take to disinter a body?" Sherlock yelled.
Molly winced. Greg shook his head. "Not even the Queen could get the job done faster, you nutter!"
Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "And why are you here? You're not part of the terrorist department of Scotland Yard."
"But he was the leading investigator with you," Mycroft reminded him. "And, as you said once, he is, unofficially, your handler."
Greg raised an eyebrow at that. "I think I'd need a significant raise if that was case."
"No!" Sherlock growled. "Don't interfere in this Mycroft!"
Mycroft smirked. "I think the body is coming down the hall right now."
~~~
Finally outside after Molly confirmed that the body was indeed James Moriarty, Greg smoked gratefully. Now that they knew that the man was dead, the only question remained to find who had put Moriarty's face across the airwaves. He suspected one of Moriarty's network, but Sherlock had assured Greg that none of them had escaped when he'd hunted them down.
It could mean another psychopath on the rampage and Greg would take some of his vacation time to escape getting pulled into that mess. One psychopath with a penchant for domestic terrorism was enough for his lifetime.
"You're going to work this case," Sherlock announced.
Greg swore. "Won't. Had enough of it for my sanity."
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Do you really think the Yard will assign anyone else to work with me on this large of a case? Your name is very prominent and they all remember your part in taking down Moriarty."
Greg snorted. "A compliment? Must be a new century."
Sherlock walked closer, looking... well, if the man could get nervous, Greg would call it so, but Sherlock had never, not once, seemed nervous. "I was not given time enough between murdering Magnussen and being packed up to the air strip. Not enough time to say things that should have been said."
Greg raised an eyebrow. "You not saying something? Forget century, this is a whole new millennium."
Sherlock bristled. "If you want to belittle me, perhaps I should go back inside."
"Go on then, tell all. We're riveted."
Sherlock smiled, a little shyly. "Aside from John, you are my most attentive audience. You never once turned me away, even when you should have. I realised when I was playing dead... well, I realised something about myself and I do regret I could not say anything before I was shipped off."
Greg raised an eyebrow. "Been listening to romances, have you?"
Sherlock opened his mouth, but the door slammed open and the two soldiers who had been shadowing Sherlock peered out, looking panicked. Greg smirked. Sherlock huffed. "Mycroft assures me that if I catch this terrorist, I will be given a pardon and allowed to remain in London. Once this is wrapped up, I wondered if you would have dinner with me?"
Greg sniffed and pretended to give it a great deal of thought. Sherlock rocked on his heels, impatiently. "I had tried to ask sooner, but I wanted the moment to be right. A moment that never appeared so I thought it best to just ask and see what happens."
"Dinner sounds wonderful," Greg said. "Don't take too long catching this one, yeah? Been waiting a good decade for you to get your head out of your arse."
Sherlock grinned and spun on his heel. "This will be going on your records,” he addressed the soldiers. “I've no doubt that Mycroft is writing a recommendation to your superior officers as we speak and a shift change will be along shortly."
As the soldiers exchanged worried glances, Greg smirked and breathed deep. He took out his phone and sent a text to his sister.
Sorting it out.
Finally asked him out? Good. Did he actually accept your invite, though?
He asked me. And yes, I did :)
Recipient: blueonblue
Author: alafaye
Characters/Pairings: Sherlock/Greg (pre), OFC
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Summary: Sherlock decides it's past time to act.
A/N: , you asked for a missing scene and while this isn't technically missing, I was thinking ahead to the next season and how this could be a missing scene between Sherlock and Greg. I hope you enjoy it!
Despite the fact that they were on either sides of the city, Greg could see his sister's frown. "You're better off, you know," his sister, Melissa, said. "Really. That man --"
"I know," Greg told her. "I know, I know, I know."
She was silent for a moment on her end of the line. "Hearts don't work that way, though, do they?" she sighed.
That was the curse of being a Lestrade. Just like he had Sherlock -- or not, as the case actually was -- she had her own tangled mess. Greg had thought it was his ex-wife, but it was only in the days after Sherlock's suicide that he had realized that his mess was the consulting detective. In retrospect, it was no wonder his marriage had failed. It might have been good -- if he hadn't been a detective who had fallen for another detective.
He took a drag on his cigarette. She clucked her tongue. "I thought you quit."
He waved his hand, even though she couldn't see him. "Sherlock."
She groaned. "If I ever meet him, I'll be sure to kill him properly."
Greg snorted. "Know what you mean."
"Well, enough about all that," she said, trying to be cheerful but sounding forced into the gallows. "Dinner on Sunday? Mark's cooking."
He smirked. "I'll remember the wine."
"You mean you're bringing take away, but I'll pretend it's wine," she teased. "Sunday. Be there."
"Will be."
Saying their goodbyes, he tossed his phone onto the coffee table and tilted his head back. Bloody Sherlock Holmes. Gone and murdered someone, exactly as everyone had expected, but Greg thought it had been for a good reason. He had heard about Magnussen -- anyone high enough up had -- and what he had heard was nothing good. Trust that Sherlock had finally gotten caught up in it all and that he had been the only one with the balls to finally end Magnussen's blackmailing.
He still wondered how Mycroft or any one of those bloody politicians had been unable to grant Sherlock a pardon for the act. Surely it had been an act of bravery, doing what no one else had been able to or was willing to. And wouldn't all those toffs finally sleep better knowing whatever secrets they were hiding would stay hidden? But rather than show any appreciation, they shipped Sherlock off to who knew where.
His phone pinged and he stared at it. It pinged again. Frowning, he picked it up.
With a swear, he got out of his chair and grabbed his jacket.
~~~
Greg glared at the no smoking sign on the wall as he paced past it. Molly was sitting nearby, waiting a bit more patiently. Sherlock was demanding answers from Mycroft in the hallway. A couple of soldiers stood at attention down the hallway -- Greg still wasn't sure to make of that. Were they just making sure that the case was being handled properly? Or were they making sure that Sherlock didn't use this to escape? Not that it would do them any good; if Sherlock wanted to, he could escape under the nose of the entire army.
"How long can it take to disinter a body?" Sherlock yelled.
Molly winced. Greg shook his head. "Not even the Queen could get the job done faster, you nutter!"
Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "And why are you here? You're not part of the terrorist department of Scotland Yard."
"But he was the leading investigator with you," Mycroft reminded him. "And, as you said once, he is, unofficially, your handler."
Greg raised an eyebrow at that. "I think I'd need a significant raise if that was case."
"No!" Sherlock growled. "Don't interfere in this Mycroft!"
Mycroft smirked. "I think the body is coming down the hall right now."
~~~
Finally outside after Molly confirmed that the body was indeed James Moriarty, Greg smoked gratefully. Now that they knew that the man was dead, the only question remained to find who had put Moriarty's face across the airwaves. He suspected one of Moriarty's network, but Sherlock had assured Greg that none of them had escaped when he'd hunted them down.
It could mean another psychopath on the rampage and Greg would take some of his vacation time to escape getting pulled into that mess. One psychopath with a penchant for domestic terrorism was enough for his lifetime.
"You're going to work this case," Sherlock announced.
Greg swore. "Won't. Had enough of it for my sanity."
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Do you really think the Yard will assign anyone else to work with me on this large of a case? Your name is very prominent and they all remember your part in taking down Moriarty."
Greg snorted. "A compliment? Must be a new century."
Sherlock walked closer, looking... well, if the man could get nervous, Greg would call it so, but Sherlock had never, not once, seemed nervous. "I was not given time enough between murdering Magnussen and being packed up to the air strip. Not enough time to say things that should have been said."
Greg raised an eyebrow. "You not saying something? Forget century, this is a whole new millennium."
Sherlock bristled. "If you want to belittle me, perhaps I should go back inside."
"Go on then, tell all. We're riveted."
Sherlock smiled, a little shyly. "Aside from John, you are my most attentive audience. You never once turned me away, even when you should have. I realised when I was playing dead... well, I realised something about myself and I do regret I could not say anything before I was shipped off."
Greg raised an eyebrow. "Been listening to romances, have you?"
Sherlock opened his mouth, but the door slammed open and the two soldiers who had been shadowing Sherlock peered out, looking panicked. Greg smirked. Sherlock huffed. "Mycroft assures me that if I catch this terrorist, I will be given a pardon and allowed to remain in London. Once this is wrapped up, I wondered if you would have dinner with me?"
Greg sniffed and pretended to give it a great deal of thought. Sherlock rocked on his heels, impatiently. "I had tried to ask sooner, but I wanted the moment to be right. A moment that never appeared so I thought it best to just ask and see what happens."
"Dinner sounds wonderful," Greg said. "Don't take too long catching this one, yeah? Been waiting a good decade for you to get your head out of your arse."
Sherlock grinned and spun on his heel. "This will be going on your records,” he addressed the soldiers. “I've no doubt that Mycroft is writing a recommendation to your superior officers as we speak and a shift change will be along shortly."
As the soldiers exchanged worried glances, Greg smirked and breathed deep. He took out his phone and sent a text to his sister.
Sorting it out.
Finally asked him out? Good. Did he actually accept your invite, though?
He asked me. And yes, I did :)