Author's notes: Just a small little attempt at a Ripper Street fic. I've been wanting to write one for a long time but have only managed it now. Not my best work but I hope you enjoy anyway!
A Little Lost a Little Found.
Jackson was heading down the hall with a determined look on his face. Artherton's eyes followed his path and realised where the American was headed, Reid's office. Some hours before, the Inspector had blown in like a storm, his face dark and the door to his office had slammed with quite a force. Artherton considered warning Jackson but it was already too late.
"Reid! Just you wait till you hear what I disc-.." Jackson's enthusiastic voice stopped short as he swung the door open. Reid himself was sitting in front of his desk, his jacket discarded and waistcoat unbuttoned. His hair was dishevelled and the dark circles under his eyes betrayed his lack of sleep. Jackson's mouth hung open for a moment, stalled. He then cleared his throat and regained some composure under Reid's steely glare.
"I've found something that you need to see." He continued more seriously. The Inspector looked at the opened bottle of Scotch in front of him then back at Jackson.
"Can it not wait?" His voice carried no conviction.
"No, it cannot!" Jackson moved around the desk to behind Reid's chair. "On your feet man!" he physically dragged the Inspector onto his feet.
"Fine." Was the only response, both men made their way towards the Dead Room, albeit one more enthusiastically than the other. Artherton watched in silence, feeling it better not to comment. When Reid reached the Dead Room his eyes were met by a tumultuous mess. Boxes and junk were everywhere. Every surface seemed covered; the only bare floor was a small path from the door to a chair near Jackson's desk. Jackson stood there now, his hands on his hips looking about at the chaos with a grin. "Wh-what IS all this?" Reid asked shocked.
"Hm? Oh, this? It's the stations lost property!" It seemed to take a moment for this to sink in then the Inspector's face fell back into the stony mask it had been before.
"You wanted me to see this? I do not appreciate my time being wasted, Captain." He turned to leave but somehow Jackson got past him and blocked his exit.
"For God's sake! You sitting in your office sulking, don't tell me that ain't a waste of time Reid! Just stay here and give me a hand. Besides, you would be surprised at what people lose." Reid didn't have the energy to fight so he walked and sat down in the chair, then he nodded his head for the American to begin. "Good."
"Why is it all here anyway?" Reid asked
"Oh some old crone came in lookin' for something, there's so much junk that we couldn't help. I have nothin' else to do so why not? Besides, finder's keeper's right?" There was no reply from Reid so Jackson started to rummage through the debris. He soon produced not four but five bottles of various spirits. He gave a grin as he poured two shot glasses. "Bottoms up."
Some hours later Drake arrived at the station to find the Inspector. The office door was still open and the room lay empty. He walked over to Artherton, leaning on the desk casually. He gave a nod in the direction of the office.
"No one 'ome?" Artherton pointed a thumb down the hall.
"They went that way." He widened his eyes for added effect. Drake frowned in question but Artherton just raised his hand. "It's none of my business." The Sergeant's frown deepened while he started down the hall. As he got closer to the Dead Room he could hear raised voices and a lot of guffawing. He pushed the door open cautiously and the noise got louder.
The scene with which he was met will stay with him for the rest of his days. The room was full of junk but a space had been cleared in the middle of the floor. It was here that Reid was standing, a lady's bonnet on his head, and an eye patch over his left eye. He was brandishing a wooden leg with one hand and sloshing a bottle of what appeared to be whiskey in the other. Across from him Jackson was wearing a monocle. He had a ribbon wrapped around one of his arms and on the other was a white silk, elbow length glove. He was spinning a parasol above his head. They were both making a lot of noise but most of it was garbled. Drake stood aghast in the doorway taking it in.
"DRA hic KE!" Jackson shouted, spotting the man in the door. Drake jumped at the sound of his name. Jackson started to stumble towards him, tripping on the various items on the floor and his own feet. Reid had sat down and was now giggling at the wooden leg in his hand; he was shaking it up and down, making the knee joint flop about and would occasionally squeak something in a high voice. It appeared he was making it talk and obviously wasn't aware of anyone else arriving. Jackson had reached the sergeant and flung a silk covered arm around his shoulders. "Hey, hey Reid! Looook."
Reid did, for a moment he smiled blearily then realisation crept in and he hurriedly pulled the bonnet from his head and clutched it in his lap, the leg forgotten. His already ruddy face darkened by some way. "Bennet. I er I washhh helpin' the capt'n urm tidy."
"I see that, Sir. Come on, best get you to bed." Drake removed Jackson's arm and helped the Inspector onto his unsteady legs, then he lead him out while the American complained. Drake only got his load to the office. Reid flopped down onto the makeshift bed with a grin on his face. Drake straightened and looked over him with concern.
"Thank, tha- you Drake." Reid mumbled patting the Sergeant on the arm.
"Yes, sir." He turned to leave.
"Thank Jacksoohn" Reid's eyes flickered shut. Drake shook his head as the inspector started to snore softly. He went off to find the American with the mind to reprimand him but when he reached the room again Jackson had also fallen asleep, cuddling the wooden leg in the middle of the floor. Drake decided not to disturb him and left the station in Artherton's capable hands. It was a night none of them would forget and Drake had a feeling the morning after would be memorable too.
The End.