Chapter 1

Divorce


The Lestrade family deteriorated at Christmastime. Ella noticed, on the drive to Dorset and during the party with her family, that Greg was acting strange. Disconnected, if you will.

She searched her mind for whatever it could be. There was that twinge of doubting fear that brought up the flag, wondering if her husband knew about her boyfriend. The truth was, it was unlikely at best. Greg was never home, after all, he couldn't possibly catch her. Besides, he was a lot of things, but perceptive wasn't one of them. There wasn't really anything going on with his work at the moment, as far as she knew, perhaps paperwork had him knackered. Then again, maybe he somehow found out about Heather's new habit. She had kept it from Greg when she first found their eldest daughter was spending her pocket money on fags. She had taken it upon herself to talk to Heather about it. At first, the thirteen-year-old insisted that she only wanted to try it, to get it over with, and Ella had allowed it. It was apparent that Heather had not stopped, but attributing it to peer pressure, her absentee father, and typical teenage rebellion, Ella did her best to forget about it. But, she knew Greg would not see it that way. He would puff up with air, ears turning red, and talk about the negative and addictive effects – all the while wearing a nicotine patch, the hypocrite.

She tried not to let it bother her, after all, her husband was an extremely busy man. Though, ironically, where that thought ought to have brought understanding and perspective into the relationship, it just made her resent him. One might think that being married to a Detective Inspector, but in reality it was just lonely.

Not that she didn't care about Greg anymore – she did. She really did. It was only that, those days, it seemed more like some sort of stability arrangement – as though they were simply two friends who married to keep one in the country. Though, lately, with Greg away more and more, it didn't even seem like that.

Perhaps that was why she had found solace elsewhere. Jack, her daughters' P.E teacher, had seemed to come right out of a dream. He was young, strong, and seemed to know both Heather and Paige better than Greg ever could. Not to mention he seemed to genuinely care about Ella, her wants, her needs – he made her feel adequate as a woman and a lover. Which was more than Greg ever did. Jack would never stay late at the office, or miss Christmas Eve with his family. And most certainly, Jack would be engaged at a family Christmas party, chatting with in-laws and actually watching the girls open their presents. Unlike Greg, who seemed to be rather glassed over the entire day.

She waited until that night, however, to speak to her husband about it. He was leaning back on the pillows, one finger absent-mindedly rubbing a temple, reading something on the e-reader Heather and their youngest, Paige, had bought him for Christmas.

"All right, Greg?" Ella asked, rubbing lotion into her winter-dried hands and climbing in next to him.

"Er, what?" Greg said abruptly, looking up from the screen.

Ella smiled slightly. "Is anything wrong?"

Greg sighed slightly, switching off the e-reader. He sad up and began twisting the ring on his left hand.

"You're going to chafe if you do that." Ella continued to smile, in a rather good mood from the gingerbread and company of her own siblings and parents. In fact, if not for Greg's soberness the entire evening, it might have been Ella's favourite Christmas to date.

"Tell me more about the P.E teacher."

Ella's blood froze in her veins. "Wh—what?"

Greg sighed loudly. "I thought we had it sorted, yeah? No more lies. No more cheating. You said we could make it work. Last week, wasn't it?"

"I don't expect you to understand," Ella said, trying to keep her volume low. "Having to work, make sure the girls get to school and practices and recitals, making dinner every night – not even knowing if you'll come home! I'm the one who had to explain to Paige why you couldn't go to her ballet recital – and why not to bother you with it when you come home. You're never home! It doesn't even seem like you're a part of this family. Good Lord, Greg, we haven't even had sex in months!"

"You're blaming me for your affair?"

"Well, I'm already living like a single mum. Might as well get the benefits."

Blinking angrily, Greg stood up abruptly and pulled on his jeans from earlier over his boxer shorts.

"Greg!" Ella sat up higher. "Before you just run away, like you do with everything, shouldn't we talk about this? Get it sorted?"

Shrugging on a shirt, Greg fumbled with the buttons, too furious to match them with the right hole. Deciding it was futile, he left it open, and threw his toiletries into his rucksack and swung it over his shoulder. "No. Not really."

"Where are you going?" She asked, watching him cross to the door.

"Home." Greg said angrily, opening the door. Then, he turned back to her. "Oh, and Ella? I want a divorce."


For the next month or so, Gregory Lestrade's life was turned upside down. He'd been with Ella for nearly thirty years. It felt odd, out of place, to go on holiday without her or the girls, to go looking for flats without her, to go grocery shopping alone. It was awfully quiet in the evenings, in his own flat, without Heather practicing piano all the time and kicking her damn football inside the house without permission, and without Paige's constant whining about not understanding long division (a plight he understood quite well). He missed his daughters, despite the fact that he realised he might actually see them more now that custody was limited and pre-arranged. He thought it would be unfair, inhuman, to say that he didn't miss Ella. But, the truth was, he found it difficult to. She had become rather unbearable towards the end. It was simply strange, unknown. His life would fall into a pattern soon enough though, he knew. He just had to wait for it to establish itself.

Things seemed to be looking up for a while, he found a nice flat for a reasonable rent fee. It had an open space which doubled as a kitchen and a den. He managed to furnish it with an old secondhand sofa, a recliner, and a new, large telly. There was no dining table, though Lestrade rarely ate at home anyhow, and when he did, he ate on the tea table. The flat had bedrooms for both Heather and Paige, and while there was no master suite, Lestrade did find his own room rather cozy. His flat was simple and mostly without decoration – there were photographs of Heather and Paige under the television, on either side of a book-shelf.

No longer in a nearly-paid-for house on the outskirts of London, but three floors up in a complex, Lestrade found his life stunningly different than it had been before. He couldn't help but find a sort of optimism welling up inside him. Perhaps the way his life was now would wind up to be a good thing – after all, the possibilities were endless.

One Wednesday, perhaps a week after renting his new flat, Lestrade was carrying in a fairly high pile of Thai takeaway blocking his vision, when he bumped rather harshly into another person, coming through the front doors of the building.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry," The second party said instantly, in a mousy, girlish, and incredibly familiar voice.

"Molly?" Lestrade asked, fumbling with the boxes of takeaway, to allow them not to fall over the ground.

He shifted the boxes in his arms so as to see her. Indeed, there she was, Molly Hooper, the slender, shy forensic pathologist who cleaned up so nicely at John and Sherlock's Christmas party.

"Greg? What are you doing here?" Molly's timbre went up slightly.

Handing her a box of noodles, he nodded upwards. "I live on the third floor."

"Of this building?" She paused. "Here, let me help you carry that up."

He nodded, murmured his thanks and attempted to balance the takeaway boxes in one arm so as to find his bloody keys.

"Oh. I'm right under you, then." She instantly blanched, realising the possibly double entendre. "Oh, God."

Lestrade smiled, pushing the door open. "I know what you meant."

"So," Molly asked a flight of stairs later. "If you don't mind me asking…oh, never mind. It's rude."

"No, go on."

Sighing nervously, as in her own way, Molly asked, "What are you doing here? It's just…I…I thought that you lived outside of town."

"Right," Lestrade said, clearing his throat. He hadn't really discussed his personal life that much with colleagues. Though whether or not Molly was a true colleague was a gray area. His work often took him to the morgue, but they didn't work together that often. Either way, he hadn't even mentioned it to Donovan or Anderson. As far as everyone else was concerned, he and Ella were still together. "Well, Ella and I are signing the paperwork next week to finalise the divorce."

Over the mountain of boxes, Lestrade could've sworn he saw Molly blush an extremely deep red for her pale complexion. "Oh. I am terribly sorry. I shouldn't have asked. It's really none of my business, isn't it?"

"It's all right. I needed some help carrying up all this takeaway anyhow, right?"

Molly nodded, and then added in softly, "Are you having…friends over?"

To this, Lestrade laughed as he shook his head. A workaholic like himself did not have too much time for friends, didn't he?

"I've got my daughters, Heather and Paige, tonight," Lestrade explained. "I'm not sure if they've ever had Thai before, but the restaurant was on my way home. So, I got a bit of everything, hoping they'll find something they like."

"I see."

Reaching the third floor, Lestrade nodded. Inwardly, he added, "At least I've got this evening off, and nobody wound up dead. If that happens again, I might as well lose all custody."

Ella was pushing for nearly full custody of the girls. The main concern was the extensive hours Lestrade worked. At thirteen, Heather was old enough to be alone later in the night, but ten-year-old Paige was not. So, for six months, he had them Wednesday night through Thursday morning, and every other weekend. He was expected to be home quite often for them. Unfortunately, that was a rather unrealistic expectation.

"Are you all right?" Molly put in, throwing Lestrade back into the moment. They'd been standing in front of his door for several seconds now, and he hadn't even begun to search for his key.

"Yeah." Lestrade shook his head, opening the door and turning to take the boxes back from Molly. "Got a bit on my mind, is all."

Molly turned, beginning to leave, but then she turned back on herself. "It…it can't be easy." She said softly. "If…if you need me…for anything…you can…well, you know where to find me."

"Thanks, Molls." Lestrade said, smiling at the younger woman, noticing for the first time in his life that her eyes were brown. "I'll remember that."

Truthfully, he wasn't even sure if he meant whatever it was she just said, or if he meant that he'd remember her eye colour.

She smiled slightly, and turned away, beginning to descend down the staircase. Lestrade waited for the top of her head to disappear underneath the floor before turning back and walking into his own flat.


The takeaway was cold by the time Ella pulled up next to the building, buzzed him to announce their presence and walked the girls up the stairs, an hour and a half late. She stepped through the threshold, and instantly crinkled her nose.

"How's unpacking going, Greg?" She asked, looking around at the boxes shoved into corners and secondhand furniture tastelessly assembled in the room.

"You're late," Lestrade said, cutting greetings.

Ella lowered her brows. "Of course. You didn't expect me to pull Heather out of her game early just to get her on time, did you?"

"Heather had a game?" Lestrade said, eyes instantly on his oldest daughter, dressed in full football uniform, still in cleats and shin-guards.

"Yes." Ella said shortly. "I actually expected you to come to just take her and Paige here on your own."

"She never told me."

"Yes, I did." Heather grumbled, passing her father abruptly and shutting the door to her room with a little too much force.

"Wait. Now hang on, young lady—"

"Just let her go." Ella sighed. "You know, Greg, you actually have to try to get them to like you. It's not automatically programmed in – especially since they don't live with you."

With this, she gave Paige a quick hug and a kiss, told her she'd see her after school tomorrow, and promptly slammed the door behind her.

Lestrade shook his head slightly, and then turned to his youngest daughter. Putting his hands together, he said, "Well, since you're late, we might have to nuke it a bit. But I've got takeaway."

Paige looked up at her father with big gray eyes, her eyebrows furrowed slightly as she put her hands on her hips. "Again?"

Sighing from exasperation, Lestrade shook his head. "Great to see you too, girls."

An hour passed. It had taken some serious effort, but eventually, Paige managed to eat, and even enjoy her curry, although she maintained that it was a bit too spicy. Then she sprawled out in front of the telly and began delving into long division.

With Paige taken care of, Lestrade spooned some rice and curry onto a plate, along with something that looked like noodles covered in sauce, nuked it, and then knocked on Heather's door.

"Go away." She said sharply.

"Brought you dinner."

"I'm not hungry."

"Heather," Lestrade said, the same annoyance welling up in him that normally occurred in conversations with Sherlock. "If you don't eat now, you'll have to wait until breakfast."

"Didn't I tell you I'm not hungry?"

Sighing audibly, Lestrade backed away from Heather's door and began packing up the takeaway back into the original Styrofoam containers, and placed them back into the refrigerator.

Cracking open a beer, Lestrade shook his head solemnly and walked over to the sofa, whereupon he quickly sunk back into the cushions. He wanted to turn on the telly, but Paige was still working on homework. Thus, he lifted open his laptop, hoping to find something to busy himself with. Instead, he promptly found his mind swarming.

As much as he hated to admit it, he did not really know the best way to be a father. He'd always been so busy, it had always been Ella who had taken care of them during the day, and who dealt with discipline. Sure, he'd given a few fatherly lectures through the years, but somehow, they never seemed to stick. Yet, parenting had to be something of a learned skill. After all, so many people did it. He'd have to learn – he did not want to be stuck with limiting visitation rights. He was their father, dammit. Maybe not the best one in the world, but the only one they had.

He must have had a rather troubling look on his face, for Paige stood up in front of him. "Dad?" She said, "I didn't mean to be rude about the takeaway. Actually I wound up liking it. So I'm sorry for how I acted at first."

Lestrade smiled at his youngest daughter. "Thank you, Paige."

Paige grinned and let her eyes slide to his laptop. "Do you suppose I could get on in a bit? I need to feed my Webkin."


Author's Note:

I wanted to attempt a Molly x Lestrade story that takes a little bit of a different perspective than most people take this. This won't be solely Molly x Lestrade, and mostly Lestrade centric. Because…well…he's a sex kitten.

So, I hope you enjoyed. Please leave a review.

And, well, let me know what you want. This story could swing two ways. A: Just a short family drama sort of thing. Limited Sherlock, I'm afraid. Or B: With a whole mystery and crime involved, too, for our favourite consulting detective solving it as a subplot.

- Ingenious Insomniac