Disclaimer: Nope, not mine. Though I wouldn't mind taking Lestrade. I'd say Sherlock but if I did John might mistake me for a cabbie.
A/N: Okay, I too was one of the proponents of the Sherlock doesn't celebrate Valentine's Day until I started this story. Sorry to all fanfiction writers but Sherlock would celebrate Valentine's Day. Maybe not in the traditional sense but he would celebrate. St. Valentine is the patron saint of beekeepers. So while he's not one for sentiment he would do something to commemorate that day.
This takes place about a year before John is shot in Afghanistan. I haven't ever tasted honey from Afghanistan…didn't even know they made honey there until I wrote this. So I've taken creative license about how good it is.
A note about Sally Donovan. In a later story you will find out that Sally's fiancé overdosed and died after years of bouncing back and forth between using drugs and being clean. Her feelings on drug use are very dim and she tends to lump all addicts together into the 'don't trust them ever' category. Her views are not mine but I have met people like her. One in fact that continued to believe someone close to me was a drunk until the day she died. This person had been sober for over twenty years by that point. I truly believe that the adage 'Once and addict always an addict' is a fallacy. Sally doesn't, so cut her a bit of slack? Anyway you'll get more details about the fiancé and what happened with him later.
"Hullo, Freak, what're you doing here?" Serjeant Sally Donovan called out. It was nearly the end of the day on a Wednesday and they had no cases involving Lestrade's pet consulting detective that she knew of. She had really wanted to go home tonight. Anderson's wife was at a conference in France until Friday and he was coming over after work tonight, though probably they'd end up at his house. He liked having his own things around him.
The Freak turned his head towards her with a faint sneer, but didn't say anything. She noticed the box held securely in his arms. The box was about twenty three centimeters by twenty three centimeters and looked heavy. He didn't stop walking and he waited until he was closer to answer her.
She waited impatiently as he made his way past the various officers, desks and criminals towards her. "I've come to bring Lestrade his package, obviously," he told her as he walked past her desk.
Sally stood up and crossed her arms over her chest. "What?" She spluttered. "How is that supposed to be obvious?"
Now the Freak did stop and turn to her, his sneer becoming full-fledged. "Do you not see his name printed across the front of the box?" He asked his voice cold.
Now that he had turned to face her she could make out the DI's name scrawled across the box's front. "When did you start working for the Royal Mail?" The Freak huffed and glared at her, not giving her any kind of answer to that question beyond the disgusted look on his face. "So what's in it, then?"
The Freak turned back around and continued towards the DI's office. "As the package isn't for you then neither are the contents and so none of your business. Aside from that does it look like I've opened it? How would I possibly know what was in it? I have theories but no solid conclusions." His voice had that smug tone that said he knew exactly what was in the box and he wasn't going to tell her.
"It is my business if that's a bomb of some kind, Freak," Sally's voice was loud enough to attract quite a bit of attention from the police milling around. "And how can you not know? I thought you knew everything." She knew her voice was sneering; she'd made it as unfriendly as she could.
The Freak never stopped moving and didn't even hesitate to knock on the DI's door with his foot. "I said I have theories, and a pretty good idea as to what the package contains as I know the sender, but I'm not positive."
"Then it could be a bomb," Sally remarked. "Especially if you know the sender."
"It is obviously not a bomb because I know the sender," was the Freak's only reassurance to the police that had suddenly taken a few steps away from him. "Ah, good, Lestrade, you are in." The DI's office door had finally opened. "Here, take this." He thrust the box into Lestrade's chest.
The DI automatically took the box. Lestrade looked confused for a moment until he read the address at the top of the box and then his eyes brightened and he grinned suddenly hugging it to his chest like a child with a teddy bear. "I know what this is." He said with relish.
"It could be a bomb, sir," Sally just had to warn him. "You should be careful, Lestrade, Freak knows who sent it to you."
"So do I," Lestrade returned. "His name is printed on the address line. It's not a bomb," he continued nonchalantly as he put the box down on his desk. He looked up at the Freak then, his expression inquisitive. "He sent me my own box full? Why?" Sally followed the two men into the office, determined to stop Lestrade's folly before he blew them all up and curious to know what was in the box.
The Freak sniffed disdainfully. "After you and those irritants you deem children devoured half of my last package he decided that it would be the best idea to supply you with your own. So leave mine alone, Lestrade." His voice was warning.
The DI grinned, completely unperturbed by the implied threat, and sliced open the box. Sally cringed back but nothing happened. Mustering up her courage she took a few steps forward to check out the box's contents. It was full of six glass jars, each wrapped in bubble wrap so they wouldn't break.
"Lestrade, I've brought the reports on…" Anderson's head poked around the door jamb. "What are you doing here?" He screeched at the Freak.
The Freak only rolled his eyes and looked back over at Lestrade who was sighing in pleasure and unwrapping one of the jars. Anderson advanced into the office intent on arguing with the Freak again but Sally stopped him with a hand on his arm.
"What is it?" She asked and Anderson's attention switched to the box and the jar in DI Lestrade's hands.
"Where did that come from?" Anderson spit out before Lestrade could answer her. "Don't tell me you're accepting gifts from that psychopath, now! It's probably a bomb or it's been poisoned."
"It's not from the Freak," Sally told him. "But both he and the DI know who sent it and neither of them are worried about it."
"Of course he's not worried about it," Anderson shouted gesturing wildly at the Freak. "He's a psychopath!"
"High-functioning sociopath, Anderson. Really how many times must I tell you to do your research?" The Freak drawled. Lestrade rolled his eyes with a snort of disbelief.
Sally patted Anderson's arm. "Maybe he is, but Lestrade knows who sent it and he actually seems happy to get whatever it is." She turned back to the DI. "What is it?"
Lestrade returned his gaze back to the jar in his hands, his dark brown eyes lighting up. "Afghani honey," he breathed reverently. Sally could make out a second layer of jars under the first. "The best honey on the planet."
"They make honey in Afghanistan?" Anderson asked surprised.
"They have flowers don't they?" The Freak rolled his gray…wait, his weird eyes were a beautiful sky blue today. Why were they blue, Sally wondered? She'd only ever seen them that strange gun metal gray color. "Where there are flowers, even poppies, there are honey bees. Honey bees make honey. Even a five year old knows that."
"I know they have poppies! I just didn't know that the Afghans used the bees to make honey." Anderson scowled.
"Humans don't make honey, Anderson." The Freak retorted. "The bees make it and the Afghans simply take some and put it in jars and then sell it."
"There's more to making honey than that," Anderson scoffed.
"In some cases, yes. But this honey is raw and comes straight from the hive."
Lestrade held up the jar to show the honeycomb inside it. "It's hideously expensive, too." He said. "But Sherlock and I know a guy who knows a guy who's getting married to the daughter of an Afghani beekeeper so he gets a deal on the honey."
"Took nearly his whole month's pay, even with the discount," the Freak confirmed. "So tell the demons to go easy on the honey. It has to last."
Lestrade snorted. "Those vultures will eat enough to make themselves sick. I'll hide some for me and the wife though." He carefully wrapped the jar back up and place it gently back in the box and then turned his attention back over to the Freak. "What else did he send you?"
The Freak sat down in one of the chairs in front of the DI's desk and held out his hand, palm down. "He found a custom watch maker." He pulled his sleeve up a little bit and showed off a steel watch made in the shape of a honey bee and held on with a leather strap. He pushed a button on the side and the bee popped up to reveal the watch face. "He had him make it out of steel so that it would be harder to damage." He pushed the bee back down until it locked in place.
The DI grinned. "Sounds about right for you, doesn't it?"
"Late Christmas presents then?" Sally asked. She was oddly curious about this strange present from someone in Afghanistan. "Who would send you honey from Afghanistan? Who would give you Christmas presents late or otherwise?"
"These aren't for Christmas," Lestrade laughed, shaking his head. "The watch is a Valentine's Day present. And so is the honey, technically, though John sends honey about twice a year."
"But Valentine's is over a month away," Sally protested. "And who is John?"
Lestrade stared at her surprised. "John is Sherlock's husband." His look of astonishment plainly said that he thought she already knew that fact about the Freak.
"You're married?" Sally burst out.
"You're gay?" Anderson screeched.
"Yes to both," the Freak drawled. "Neither of you ever noticed these?" He pulled a set of dog tags out of his shirt. "Granted they're not a traditional wedding band but they mean a lot more to me than a silly circle of metal." He tucked them back into his shirt where they made a familiar clink that Sally had never paid attention to before.
"How could we notice them if they're under your shirt?" Anderson spat.
Lestrade turned amused brown eyes onto his forensics technician. "He fiddles with them when he's pacing at a crime scene." He pointed out. "How could you not have seen that?"
Sally had but the significance had never registered.
"What's your husband doing in Afghanistan?" Anderson sneered the word 'husband' with all the disgust he could muster.
Sally sighed and rubbed at her brow. Lestrade pinched the bridge of his nose and the Freak simply looked smugly satisfied. "Dog tags usually mean a soldier, Anderson. My husband is an army doctor. A good one."
"Joined the army to get away from you, did he? Rather be shot at than deal with you?" Anderson asked scornfully.
"No," the Freak said curtly. He checked his honey bee watch and stood. "Donovan asked about the Valentine's Day reference earlier, Lestrade. It's Wednesday and I need to get back to the flat." The Freak got up and headed for the door.
"Tell John I said thanks for the honey, Sherlock." Lestrade called after him.
"Of course," the Freak nodded as he walked out the door. "I'm sure there's a letter in the box for you," he called out.
Lestrade stood and closed the door to his office before turning back to Anderson and Sally. His glare was fierce as he stared at Anderson. "That was uncalled for, inappropriate, unprofessional and insensitive, Anderson. You may not like Sherlock and that's your choice. However, his husband is away fighting so that you can continue to have the option to dislike Sherlock. I'd better never hear you say anything like that again or I'll see you suspended and fired. Understand?"
Anderson gulped at the look on Lestrade face and nodded. "Yes sir."
"Good." Lestrade nodded sharply and sat down at his desk again. "Now get out, Anderson. I don't want to see your face anymore today."
Anderson left quickly.
"Have a seat, Sally," Lestrade told her. "You wanted to know about the Valentine's Day thing?" Sally nodded and sat down. "Sherlock likes bees. Well, they fascinate him anyway. Now he's not Catholic but he found out that there are three patron saints of bees and beekeepers. St. Ambrose's feast day is on December 7. St. Gobnait's is February 11. And finally St. Valentine's on February 14. They split the difference because Sherlock isn't into the whole romance and sentiment stuff. Christmas and Sherlock's birthday are in there too but John insists on celebrating those on their own and Sherlock lets him. They don't strictly speaking celebrate Valentine's Day, but that's what we call it."
"That actually makes some sense," Sally considered. She shook her head to try to clear some of the fog of shock. "How would he meet an army doctor, though?"
Lestrade went back to the contents of his box as he contemplated his answer. Tucked between the jars and the side of the box was a letter. Lestrade grinned and pulled it out. Lestrade settled himself behind his desk and opened his letter. "He didn't. They've been together since they were kids. The way the story goes John decided that he was going to be beside Sherlock for eternity the day Sherlock was born. I don't know if that's true and John was only five at the time so who knows. But they've been married oh, about ten years or so. John joined the army so that he could go to medical school."
"And Fr…sorry, Sherlock was all right with that?"
"Not really," he said as he set the letter on his desk and looked her in the eye. "Why do you think he started using?"
"Oh." Sally suddenly felt a bit bad for the consulting detective.
"John is also why he stopped." Lestrade informed her. "John asked him too. It was as simple as that. John is one hundred percent behind Sherlock. They adore each other and when they are together their affection for each other is plainly visible if you know to look for it. Sherlock says he's a high-functioning sociopath but that's just a mask because he lacks people skills and doesn't care to learn them."
Sally thought about that for a moment and then shook her head. "I'm sorry; sir, but I just can't see it."
"Most can't until it's shoved in their faces."
Sally cleared her throat and asked another question. "What does the day have to do with anything?"
"Sorry?"
"When he left he said that it was Wednesday."
"Oh, when John can call he calls him on Wednesdays."
Sally left the DI's office shaking her head. Honey from Afghanistan and watches shaped like bees for Valentine's Day a month early. Wasn't it sad that she found that romantic? Maybe she'd call up Rona over in robbery and have a girl's night out. Forget Anderson at least for tonight. He really could be an insensitive jerk at times.