Trepidation
Full Summary: Inspector Lestrade has done something that surprises even the Great Detective. Now he is gone—and one Inspector has been looking guiltier with each passing day. Will the good doctor and our favorite detective be able to solve this puzzling affair?'
Main Characters: Holmes, Watson, Lestrade. (And the rest of the Inspectors, perhaps the Irregulars too)
This was going to be my first Sherlock Holmes story, but instead I wrote a humorous oneshot called Malicious Generosity (three reviews) But still...advice appreciated. I was trying to imitate the style of Doyle—what do you guys think?
Oh yeah...Holmes had once mentioned that there was an ongoing rivalry between Gregson and Lestrade, which is somewhat exaggerated here. (Especially in the prologue).
...
"He is the most famous detective ever to walk the corridors of Scotland Yard, yet he existed only in the fertile imagination of a writer. He was Inspector Lestrade. We do not know his first name, only his initial: G. Although he appears thirteen times in the immortal adventures of Sherlock Holmes, nothing is known of the life outside the Yard of the detective whom Dr. Watson described unflatteringly as sallow, rat-faced, and dark-eyes and whom Holmes saw as quick and energetic but wholly conventional, lacking in imagination, and normally out of his depth-the best of a bad lot who had reached the top in the CID by bulldog tenacity."-H. Paul Jeffers
...
Prologue
(Lestrade, Third Person POV)
It was with irritation that I threw down my pen, moodily staring at the blank paper on my desk. The last case of ours had gone disastrously, and had it not been for Mr. Holmes, I fear Scotland Yard would have become the laughing stock of London. However, the Great Detective had easily solved the case, and just as easily had caught the escaped murderer.
And I was to take the credit for it, and was to be praised for intelligence that I lacked. There is no better contradiction of Justice. An unintelligent man, who came to his position through not skill but bulldog tenacity takes the credit for cases that were solved by a far more deserving man!
Wallowing in self-loathing, I was so withdrawn from the world that I did not notice that Gregson had entered the office until he had been standing in front of my desk for several minutes. "Tsk. You haven't started the report yet, Lestrade?" The infuriating Inspector smirked, gesturing to the glaringly blank paper that taunted me from where it lay.
"No. And if you dare mock me I'll..." Oh...what was the point, anyway? "Never mind. Mock me all you want. I don't care, and besides, I deserve it."
At this Gregson looked at me, and I thought I saw a glimmer of...whatever it was that one saw in the eyes of one's rival and colleague. Then he slowly placed both hands on the edge of my desk, and leaned forward, and grinned at me. "Don't worry...I'm sure you'll find a way to steal another's credit. You always do."
I believe I can say with certainty that I do not easily lose my temper. When Constable Mallow—an amiable but clumsy fellow—had accidentally let a deranged grocer escape, I had managed to stay calm. During a case not very long ago, when I had been locked in a coffin at the undertaker's for several hours, and when the drunk sod finally opened it after realizing that the unusually and persistent pounding came from not his head but a coffin, I didn't unleash my rage upon him. But this was the last straw.
"Damn the case." I stood up, looking at Gregson with all the energy I could muster. "Damn you, the case, and any dignity I have left. I have nothing but shame, Inspector, for what I have done—to the Yard, my family, and Mr. Holmes. Do you think I willingly deprive Mr. Holmes of what he deserves? The superintendent himself told me that I had to take the credit because Scotland Yard, the honorable Scotland Yard would be damned before it would let an outsider take over a case and be rewarded for it. Well sir, it is time for Scotland Yard to be damned. In fact, it is overdue."
With that, I snatched up my papers, and left the room.
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It was only when I had exited the Yard when I realized that I had left both my hat and coat behind, and that I had no fare for a cab. However, I could not give Gregson the satisfaction of returning for comfort possessions, so I continued on my way home.
It seemed Lady Luck had decided that I was no longer worth helping, for it started to rain—a cacophony of thunder, lightning, and dogs yelping as they ran for cover. I hunched over slightly, in an attempt to shield what documents I held, and stuck close to the walls of the buildings beside me, hoping for the least amount of shelter from the rain. There was none.
"Lestrade? Inspector Lestrade?"
I looked up, and saw a man standing not far away, his head tilted to one side.
"Yes, that is who I am, sir. What do you-?"
I was cut off as he rushed forward, and in one move grabbed me by the collar and slammed me against a wall. I desperately clung to my papers, but it was no use, as he grabbed them and flung them to the pavement.
"No!" The cry issued forth automatically from my lips, and I reached out in a futile attempt to grab them.
"You, sir," He said, his foul breath coming in harsh gasps. "Are a menace and a threat, and that is why I ask you as a gentleman to a man to resign."
I couldn't make out his features well enough to guess about who he was, but his voice was that of one who spent his time among smoke and soot. A chimney sweep, perhaps? A factory worker?
"I was already planning on doing it-" I started, but was cut off as he punched me, a swift blow to the jaw.
"Don't make me laugh. You're not only one of the most well-known Yarders there is, but you've got respect and a good salary too. No sane man would give that willingly away."
I managed to smile at him politely. "Well sir, then I am not sane."
He delivered another blow, this time at my abdomen. "Regardless, you will resign. If you don't, I'll come after you again, and then your family, and then those close to you. Do you understand?"
"Perfectly." I managed, winded at his previous display of strength.
"You better." The man withdrew immediately, purposely stepped on one of my papers and bolted for a nearby alley.
I scrambled for the documents, picking them up and attempting to wipe of the mud with my sleeve. To my dismay, there was a large, muddy footprint across a crude but loving drawing my youngest daughter had drawn for me. And then I realized—I knew someone who could perhaps give me more information on that man—Mr. Holmes.
Could I even go to him in this state? The guilt I already possessed had grown since Gregson visited me in the office, and I was loathe to visit the man I had robbed so much from. Nevertheless...I would go. Just this once, and then I would leave the man be, and with my absence I hoped he would rise to the success and fame that was rightly his, and not mine.
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I knocked on the door of 221b Baker Street, and then moved out of the answerer's peripheral range.
"Hello? Who's there?" Mrs. Hudson's voice came clearly from the inside of the house, and warm light spilled out of the entrance, contrasting greatly with the weather.
"Please—, don't be alarmed by my appearance—again." I replied, and stepped up to the door.
The poor landlady gasped, her hand flitting involuntarily to her mouth. "What have you done this time, Inspector! Your face...?" I reached up a hand, and winced when I toughed my cheek. A bruise must have already started to form, then. "You're dripping wet again, too! Really, Inspector, you must learn to take better care of yourself."
"Is Mr. Holmes busy?" I asked quietly, stepping inside. I would almost be relieved if he was, for then I would not have to face him, and I would not have to show him a personal object.
"I believe he is experimenting," she said with a sniff, and I got the impression she didn't like his 'experimenting' very much. "But I will gladly interrupt him."
"I do not wish to trouble you nor him..." I quickly assured her.
"Nonsense. You are not troubling anybody. I disapprove of the practice anyway, and by the Good Lord, he will see you after you have come all this way in the rain...without a hat and coat, too!" She had closed the door, and she then made her way up the stairs to The Great Detective and his Boswell.
I waited patiently by the stairs, and as I did I began to hear raised voices from the upper landing.
"I do not wish to see the good Inspector at this moment! I am conducting an experiment on-"
"I do not care what reason you have for endangering our residence again, Mr. Holmes, but I shall do whatever it takes to make you see him—I can't begin to imagine what's he's been through to get here, I mean, you should see the state he is in."
"...Did he bring a case?"
"I do not know, but from his appearance it would seem he has been in a bit of trouble..."
"Fine, Mrs. Hudson. Bring him up."
There came a pause, and then the landlady appeared at the top of the stairs.
"Come on up, Inspector."
I slowly made my way up the seventeen steps, realizing for the first time that my head was aching from when it had hit against the wall. I hesitated at the door, behind which was the detective and doctor—I couldn't do it, I-
"Go on, Inspector." Mrs. Hudson came up from behind me. I swallowed and pushed open the door, feeling very much like a schoolboy about to be punished.
Mr. Holmes must have finished or put aside his experiment, for he now sat on the couch, smoking a pipe. Doctor Watson was reading in an armchair, and stood upon my entrance.
"Hullo, Inspector—what happened to your face?"
"It is nothing." I dismissed the bruise with a wave of my hand, and made my way to the detective.
"But you are without coat and hat!" The Doctor continued, shocked.
"I say again, it is nothing, Doctor. I am sincerely sorry for bothering you, Mr. Holmes, but I will be quick, and then I shall leave you to your peace."
"Yes, yes, what is it?" Holmes snapped.
I hesitated, holding the drawing in my hand—showing him a drawing of my child's was the last thing I wanted to do—especially because of the picture's contents. I was stuck between personal privacy and bringing a possible criminal to justice. Mr. Holmes then made the decision for me, snatching the paper out of my hands to look at it.
"Is it possible for you to determine the origin of the mud from the footprint?" I inquired, praying that he would not remark on the paper itself.
"Of course." He huffed, raising an eyebrow, indicating that to think he could not was ridiculous. I colored slightly, and the good Doctor spoke up.
"Lestrade, why don't you stay and have a drink? Surely you must be freezing, after being out in the rain..."
I shook my head, although I was secretly pleased that the Doctor cared enough about my welfare to offer. "I must be getting home, Doctor—although that is very kind of you." Doctor Watson was looking at me in concern, exhaustion and worry both showing clearly in his expression.
"But you'll be walking, won't you? You would have been dry, or at the very least only slightly wet if you had taken a cab."
I smiled. "No, you see, I like to walk in the rain."
He snorted. "Nonsense. Let us pay your-"
"I won't hear of it!" I exclaimed. "Mr. Holmes, how soon will you be able to give me the results?" He had cast the paper aside, and had returned to his experiment.
"Tomorrow, Lestrade, tomorrow." He impatiently gestured to the door. "Tomorrow!"
I bade the Doctor goodbye, and left the room, only to be immediately accosted by the landlady.
"Inspector! Where do you think you're going? You cannot possibly go out again in this weather!"
I smiled at her concern, and replied that I must be going, regardless of what the weather was.
"You must eat something then." She said firmly. "Something hot."
I insisted that she should not go to the trouble on my account, but she continued. "Don't you dare, Inspector. I already made the soup besides, and you are not going to let it go to waste."
It was a very good soup, which I ate heartily, and thanked Mrs. Hudson for it profusely. "It was nothing, dear." She replied affectionately, and stood at the doorway to watch me leave—bless her heart.
I walked down the street, not bothering to protect the rest of the papers, which were ruined. My thoughts then strayed to my children and wife, all of whom must have been worried about my whereabouts at this time tonight. Of course I was going to return home...but first I had to make one last, final stop at the Yard.
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Yeah...much different then my other Sherlock Holmes story, although in both I tried to mimic Doyle's style.
I am also proud to say that I believe this is my longest first chapter ever, with a total of 2100 words and five pages.