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: Part of the Honey 'Verse. Explains a bit of why Sally has issues with Sherlock. Also small crossover again. Borrowed the crime from an episode of Crossing Jordan. It's not exactly like that episode because I've only seen it once and now I can't remember the name of the episode to watch it again but hey, it's recognizable.
The Triple Murder
Serjeant Sally Donovan stared disinterestedly at the crowds of people gawking towards the underground parking garage behind her. Why did so many people find crime scenes fascinating? The police line was usually far enough away that they couldn't see the bodies so gawking at crime scenes seemed rather boring to her.
A pocket of movement caught her attention and she watched as the crowd moved to the sides in waves. Suddenly the waves reached where she stood at the edge of the police line and a tall dark haired man stood before her. He was handsome, in a way, she decided. Not exactly her type but still not bad. Tall, very tall, sharp features and curly dark hair that fell haphazardly into his grey eyes. His clothes were of a very good quality. The man wasn't looking at her but instead over her head at the garage. Just another gawker then.
His eyes shifted to her like a striking snake. "Where's the DI?" Sally almost didn't hear him over the crowd. "Never mind, I see him now." The tall man patiently waited in front of her without saying anything else while Sally gaped at him. How could he possibly know the DI on sight?
Sally felt Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade brush past her and then watched incredulous as he offered his hand to shake. "Sherlock, you came."
"Obviously, Lestrade," the man's voice was a deep baritone that gave Sally shivers. It was a bedroom voice.
Lestrade's smile hardened. "You still clean?" Lestrade voice was as hard as his smile. Sally felt her heart sink but she should have known. It wasn't as though she didn't have personal experience with drug addicts. She should be able to spot one, even an apparently recovering one. The man couldn't have been off the drugs for very long or the DI wouldn't have had to ask though he wasn't fidgeting or skittish so he had been clean at least a month, maybe more. Either that or he wasn't clean. She eyed him shrewdly, looking for signs of drug use and couldn't find any.
It clicked for her then though, how this junkie knew the DI. Lestrade sometimes mentored drug addicts as they tried to get clean. Not very often but occasionally he'd help out; at least until the addict could find a support system. Sally had seen and known way too many drug addicts turn back to their drugs to even attempt it but she respected the DI's attempts. She'd tried once and that had ended in tragedy. She shook the thoughts of Dirk away, again.
The tall man sneered, moments ago Sally would have found it charming now it only made his face contort in ways that made her think of a junkie missing his fix. "Of course. You and Mycroft threatened me if I wasn't. Three months yesterday, Lestrade, as promised." He pulled in a deep breath and his face blanked. "What do you have for me?"
The gray haired Detective Inspector studied the taller, younger man for a moment and then flashed him a proud grin. Another thought hit Sally with that grin and she prayed that the DI wasn't related to this junkie, it would not be good for his career, she would know. Connections to a drug addict were the reason she was still a serjeant. Then Lestrade started speaking again and Sally's thoughts screeched to a halt. "Good. We have a triple homicide."
"A triple? Really?" A smile started to form on Sherlock's face. A smile of pleasure and anticipation. "Those are fairly rare."
"Stop looking so happy, Sherlock." Lestrade scolded without any heat. "It's not decent. Yes, a triple homicide. My forensics expert says that they each shot one of the others but I don't know, Sherlock…something doesn't fit."
"Sir?" Sally interrupted as Lestrade held up the crime scene tape for Sherlock to duck under. "Is it really appropriate to give a junkie information about an active crime scene?" She couldn't keep the derision from her voice. She couldn't stand junkies. Not since Dirk…why were those memories choosing today to haunt her?
Lestrade stopped and glared at her, the tall man next to him simply glanced at her and then looked away with his blank face never even flickering. "I'm not just giving Sherlock information, Donovan; I'm giving him access to the scene itself. Lord knows he'll probably solve our little triple in one tenth of the time we could."
Sherlock started minutely and stared at Lestrade. Sally gaped at them both. "Sir…really, this is not…well, it's not wise. The Superintendent would have a fit."
Sherlock scoffed. "Not if he values his job, he won't."
"Sherlock," Lestrade's voice was warning. "Leave it alone, Donovan. The Superintendent isn't going to say anything about it. C'mon, Sherlock." He motioned the other man towards the underground parking lot.
The two men passed her and headed towards the forensics team. Sally shook her head and trailed after them. She didn't like this at all. Not only was this unprofessional but junkies were dangerous to those that cared about them. She paused for a moment on the edge of the garage and let the memories take her. Just for a moment. Lord knows she dreamed about Dirk often enough she didn't need him taking over her daytime too.
SH/JW SH/JW SH/JW
"I promise, Sally, I'm through with all of it," Dirk told her when she picked him up at the rehab center. "I swear I won't even think about touching the heroin again."
"All right, Dirk," 20 year old Sally Donovan agreed. "I believe you." Her diamond engagement ring glinted in the sun as she spun the steering wheel of the car and merged into the traffic.
That had been the first time Dirk made those promises but certainly not the last. It seemed as though Sally spent the next two years visiting or picking Dirk up from rehab centers and jail. Until that day, nearly the end of her first year with the Met, that she'd come home and found Dirk barely breathing in the kitchen the needle laying oh so innocently beside him.
"Dirk!" Sally shouted, fear pulsing through her.
"Sals," Dirk said so lowly she nearly didn't hear him. "I'm sorry." Sally had knelt down next to him, instinct taking over as she checked his pulse. It was slow and thready. "So sorry, Sals."
"You're going to be all right, Dirk," Sally sobbed knowing that she was lying. "Just hold on!" She quickly dialed 999 and told them the situation. Dirk's eyes rolled in his head and he slumped further against the floor. "Dirk! Wake up!"
Dirk's brown eyes fluttered. "Love you, Sals." And then his breathing had stopped. The medics couldn't do anything once they'd arrived. Dirk was gone.
SH/JW SH/JW SH/JW
Sally shook off the memories as much she ever did and hurried to catch up to the two men. She liked the DI, he was a good man. She would do what she could to save Lestrade's job after the Superintendent caught wind of this but she couldn't do much if she didn't keep an eye on the junkie.
By the time she caught up to them they were already crouching next to the first body. Tall men with their long legs were the bane of her existence.
Lestrade and Sherlock were murmuring to each other and their low voices finally caught Anderson's attention. "What's going on? Who's this?" He strode over to stand next to Sally.
"A junkie the DI brought in to prove you wrong," Sally told him. She knew she'd emphasized the junkie part but she didn't care. She also knew that the dig at Anderson's professional opinion would place the man firmly against Sherlock.
"What?" Anderson screeched. "Lestrade!" He stepped towards the two men. "Have you lost your mind? You can't bring a junkie to a crime scene!"
Lestrade rose to his full height while Sherlock stayed kneeling and observed the body as though he hadn't even heard Anderson. No one but Lestrade noticed the slight tensing of Sherlock's shoulders and it irritated Lestrade that these two would question his authority in front of the object of their ire. They had no business saying such things in front of Sherlock. "Anderson!" Lestrade barked. "Who I chose to bring onto my crime scenes in none of your business. If you have a problem with him being here on my authority then you discuss it with me later. And he's a consultant."
"And a junkie," Sally reminded. Lestrade shot her a glare.
"Lestrade!" Anderson whined again, bringing Lestrade's attention back to himself. "We don't need a consultant! I've already told you they killed each other over drugs, probably."
Sherlock had risen to his feet and was making his way to the second body. He stopped as he heard Anderson and turned around, slowly. "Over drugs, really?" He asked smoothly, his voice dark.
"You see, sir?" Sally turned to Lestrade, her expression knowing. "He's probably trying to figure out a way to steal the drugs."
Sherlock snorted. "What drugs?" He asked. He turned back around and continued on his way to the second body grabbing a pair of latex gloves as he passed them.
"What do you mean 'what drugs', Sherlock?" Lestrade called after him.
"Obvious, Lestrade." Sherlock answered.
"Not to me, it isn't!"
Sherlock crouched down on the far side of the body and glanced up at them. "Your forensics expert didn't find any drugs or any evidence of them either. He's making assumptions."
Lestrade frowned and glared at Anderson. "Anderson." He growled out.
Anderson spluttered for a moment before finally answering. "Just because we haven't found them doesn't mean this wasn't about drugs. I mean look at the three of them, a black man in his forties, an elderly woman, and a teenager. What else could these three people be meeting about?"
Lestrade's frown deepened. "Anderson, you are supposed to be a scientist. Don't make assumptions based on your preconceived notions."
"Impressive, Lestrade," Sherlock drawled. "So many multisyllabic words. How long until your tiny little brain reboots?" He gave the third body, the teenage male, a cursory glance, whipped off his gloves and pulled out his phone.
"Shut up, Sherlock." Lestrade's tone was equal parts frustration and affection.
Sherlock looked up from his phone with a smirk. "If you insist." He turned his attention back to his phone.
The three police officers stood for a few moments staring at him. "Sherlock?" Lestrade finally asked. "You got anything?"
Sherlock didn't look up from his phone as he gave a short, sharp nod.
Again silence filled the parking garage. Sally finally broke it when it became too uncomfortable. "Sir? What is this junkie supposed to be doing? I mean besides texting his dealer. He's obviously high now." She didn't actually think he was but if Lestrade believed her then maybe she could save his career before he threw it down the toilet.
"Sherlock?" Lestrade ignored her and walked over to stand across the old woman's body from the other man. "Are you going to tell me?"
Sherlock lifted his eyes to Lestrade. "You told me to shut up."
"Honestly, Sherlock, how old are you? Five?" Lestrade laughed. "Now tell me what you've deduced please."
"Fine. You should be looking for the fourth member of this little group. The four of them somehow came into possession of a diamond and pearl necklace from a jewelry store heist a few weeks ago. The thieves were caught and all of the jewelry recovered except this necklace." He held his phone up with a picture of an expensive diamond and pearl necklace on the screen. "These three were killed somewhere else and brought here to stage a supposed three way killing. The trajectories are wrong for them to have shot each other. They're close but not exact and they were all three shot by the same gun not the three different ones here." He paused as his phone beeped but he ignored it. "You'll also want to talk to the hostess at Hawksmoor Seven Dials that was on duty last night. They ate there not long before they were killed. I'd estimate they were killed around midnight last night. Have you identified them yet? And where is the woman's purse?"
Lestrade, completely unsurprised, opened his mouth to respond but Anderson cut him off. "How could you possibly know all that?"
Sally couldn't even get her tongue to work.
Lestrade snapped his mouth shut and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Go ahead, Sherlock."
Sherlock's smile became a predatory grin, the phone went in his pocket and he started pacing. One hand made grand gestures while he went back and forth and the other held onto something silver that was on a chain around his neck. "I know there's a fourth member because the old woman here has a strand of hair on her shoulder that doesn't match either of the others. She wears her wedding ring but it hasn't been cleaned though the center of the inside is shiny so she twists it. It hasn't come off of her finger in a very long time, meaning she's most likely a widow. She has children but lives alone, there's no smell of a man's cologne or a woman's perfume. The hair isn't anything like hers; it's finer and red, whereas hers was black before it went white. So the hair had to come from someone she was comfortable enough with to allow to hug her. It's also short and no sign of product so probably male."
"Could have been a son-in-law," Lestrade pointed out.
"Possible, but doubtful," Sherlock conceded. "Still check with that hostess and there will be a fourth member or our party here."
"How do you know it's that specific restaurant?" Sally scoffed. "There are only a thousand in London."
"Hawksmoor makes its own steak sauce. It's very distinctive. Our gentleman over here has a spot on his shirt of this sauce as does our teenager over there. The sauce is on his thigh most likely where he dropped a bite on his lap. Messy eater then. I know about the robbery because it was on the news. The lost necklace, however, was not widely publicized. The news reporter said that there was a piece still missing and the insurance company is paying out for that necklace. There is no blood splatter around the bodies so they were obviously not killed here but moved after they were dead. The bullet wounds are too small to be from that .45 and too large to be from the two .22's. Now," Sherlock took a breath and tucked the metal thing back in his shirt. "Have they been identified and where is her purse?"
"Yes, they have been identified. What purse?" Lestrade answer the rapid fire deduction and questions.
"Idiot," Sherlock replied. "What woman leaves her house without a purse? Especially one her age." He cocked his head, whirled around and grabbed another pair of gloves.
"Just what do you think you're doing?" Anderson bellowed as Sherlock began to rifle through the old woman's coat. "I've already checked all the pockets!"
"Evidently not well enough," Sherlock sneered and held up a small piece of paper.
"What is that?" Lestrade asked as Sherlock put the paper in an evidence bag.
"It's a receipt," Sherlock told him. "From, oh look! From Hawksmoor Seven Dials. Looks like I was right. Four meals. Time stamped at 23:10 last night. And signed for by an Etta James."
"That would be our female victim." Lestrade sighed. "Well, we'll look into the fourth member and I'll let you know. Thanks, Sherlock."
Sherlock nodded curtly. "You know where to find me. Oh, and Anderson? You might want to check the cuffs of your teenager's jeans. I suspect you'll find a few joints in there."
Lestrade chuckled, Anderson squawked and Sally gasped. "We need to search him, sir. Before he leaves. He probably took the drugs with him."
"Donovan!" Lestrade barked again. "Sherlock Holmes just solved our triple, show a bit of respect."
"Once an addict, always an addict, Lestrade," Sally retorted.
"Look, I'm only going to give the two of you one warning and then you're on your own. Sherlock has a tongue like a razor and he can read everything about you from the clothes on your back, the way you do your hair and makeup and what fragrance you're wearing." Lestrade rubbed the bridge of his nose again. "Don't insult him again or I'll let him say what he wishes to both of you. He was on his best behavior today because he'd made a promise. I'll rescind that promise if you push him again. Yes, he was a drug addict. But, he has three months clean. Leave that one be. Don't drive him back to the drugs just because you can't believe a junkie can get clean for good. Don't call him a junkie again or I'll report the both of you." Lestrade leveled a glare at both of them and walked off.
"I can't believe the DI brought that junkie in here," Anderson muttered.
"Did you see the way he smiled at the bodies? It's like he's glad they're dead. And the way he rattled all that stuff off? It's freaky." Sally nodded.
Anderson patted her shoulder. "He's probably some kind of psychopath."
"Psychopath or junkie, he's a freak, is what he is. Are you going to report this to the Superintendent?"
Anderson thought for a moment. "Not yet. Let's see how much time and energy the DI puts into investigating the psycho's predictions. Then, after he spends time and man hours chasing down a false lead we'll report Lestrade to the Superintendent. That way we'll have proof."
Sally nodded with a frown. "I don't want to get the DI in trouble, but…"
"If he's consorting with psychopaths and allowing them to tamper with evidence then he needs to be stopped. The DI needs help, Sally." Anderson's voice dripped comfort and concern.
Sally nodded again and stared pensively after the DI.