Disclaimer: I do not own any characters featured here (not for lack of trying).
A/N Rated M at the moment for swearing, graphic violence, and alcohol use. This fanfiction will be a longer fic (10+ chapters), updated about once a week. Please comment for advice/concerns!
"Look at me, John." The voice emanated from a dark corner of John Watson's apartment.
"Look at me." John squeezed his eyes shut, determined not to look.
"Look." Cold, wet fingers forced open John Watson's eyelids.
John stared at the mutilated face that was looking down at him.
"You owe me, John. You owe me a lot of them."
No, this wasn't his fault. It was the heat of the moment, he had panicked, and-
"You owe me."
Greg Lestrade swirled the drink in his glass, watching the brown liquid dance. He grimaced and swallowed the remainder of his whiskey. This was what- his fifth or sixth tonight? He didn't know, he had lost count. It certainly wasn't enough. Then again, it never was.
This wasn't the type of bar where people go to celebrate their successes- this was where people went to drown their woes. He looked at his empty glass, remembering what he had come here to forget. God-damned Lucy. They had both seemed so happy. They didn't fight. Everything had seemed like it was supposed to be. It wasn't so much that she had run off with someone else. That he might be able to get over. But a god-damned PE teacher. That was just insulting. Who would go after a PE teacher when their husband was a police detective? She had said it was because drinking and work had left him no time for her. Insulting.
He looked around the seedy bar. It was packed tonight- everyone was drinking away their week's earnings. Peopled milled about, harassing the bartender for another drink. He looked over to his left and saw a familiar face. Where had he seen that face before? Oh right. Eric. Alcoholics Anonymous. He had once been in an Alcoholics Anonymous group. That hadn't lasted long. Should he say hello? No. It would only remind both of them of their failure to get clean.
Greg considered buying another drink. He had driven to the bar, but he was already far past the point of being able to drive back. He was a police officer. Being pulled over for drunk driving would be especially embarrassing. Greg checked his wallet to see if he had had enough to get a taxi. Nope. Looked like he'd be walking home.
On his way out the door, Lestrade knocked a man's glass into his shirt. Shit. The man drew himself to full height, barely an inch shorter than Lestrade. "Oi, mate, what did-what did you just do?"
Greg considered his options. This man looked like he was in better shape than him, but also more drunk. His thoughts were cut short by a hand closing around his neck. Well, only one thing to do now. Greg grabbed a half-full bottle and brought it down on the man's head. The man collapsed as the bottle shattered. Poor waste of a good drink. Lestrade staggered out of the bar, opened the drunk's wallet, and checked inside.
Just enough for a taxi home.