A/N: This was originally written for the Laud Lestrade fest on LJ which was started to redress the criminal lack of DI Lestrade in SiB.
This piece takes place during and just after the ill fated Christmas party at Baker Street and focus on what our favourite DI might have been thinking.
Many thanks must go to Blooms84 for her time and input and for whipping this story into shape.
These characters aren't mine…yadda…yadda…yadda
221b Baker Street was the last place I'd expected to find myself on Christmas Day but an invitation from Sherlock Holmes is a rare thing indeed and so, obviously, I went.
He doesn't really have 'friends,' so I was honoured that he'd think of me as somebody he might want to spend time with, although with Sherlock I'm never sure that he doesn't want me hanging around just so that he can show off how clever he is!
It was a small gathering – John and his new girlfriend, whose name Sherlock claimed to forget just so he could insult her a little by calling her a boring teacher. I'm sure he did it just so that he could see her reaction – to see if she was good enough to share his 'blogger'.
Mrs Hudson was there, of course. She is such a saint to put up with Sherlock and all the experiments he seems to take pleasure in doing all over the flat. Now he's 'famous' it must be a never ending stream of weird and wonderful individuals who turn up at Baker Street at all hours looking for help from the world's only consulting detective. I'm not sure I would have her patience!
It's obvious she loves both Sherlock and John – in a motherly way – and I think in their own way they love her back. Not that Sherlock would ever admit to having feelings for anything or anyone other than maybe himself.
The mood was light, Sherlock had just finished his rendition of 'We Wish You A Merry Christmas' on the violin – which was all the better for the couple of large drinks I'd already had - and then Molly Hooper arrived and….well even at Christmas Sherlock just couldn't stop himself.
Sometimes that man is the biggest fucking prick on the planet!
Molly had arrived laden down with presents for everybody and dressed to kill. I hadn't got anybody anything and had come straight from the Yard…made me feel like a bit of a scruffy cheapskate!
Sherlock had been fiddling with John's laptop on and off all night – he kept checking John's blog – which, by the way, is required reading at Scotland Yard – and I could only assume it had something to do with a case. He barely glanced up when he heard Molly and me talking. I was telling her that my wife and I were reconciled and going away tomorrow.
"No, she's sleeping with a PE teacher."
It was like the world spiralled down on top of me and all the air rushed from my lungs. I was dimly aware of a rush of conflicting emotions and reactions.
Denial – We'd both had affairs, but I thought we were past that now. How long had she been lying to me again? How long had she been playing me for a fool and why…oh God… why did Sherlock bloody Holmes know before I did?
Anger – not so much at my wife, although I suspect that will come in time. Anger at Sherlock for choosing this time and this place to drop his little bombshell. How long had he known? How long had he had to find a way to tell me? And yet with his usual lack of social aptitude he'd chosen now.
Shame – I must look like a complete prat. A cuckold. An inept man who can't even hold his marriage together. I could feel all the eyes in the room spin towards me and I hoped I didn't blush or look too shocked. I could see the pity in their faces and I hated Sherlock for making them feel uncomfortable for me.
Bastard!
Molly, bless her, tried to deflect the attention from me by asking John about his sister. As I listened with half an ear to the conversation, I tried to pull all my emotions back in check and work out what to do next and not spoil the party mood and….oh so many things at once. I knocked back the rest of my drink just as John was commenting on how Harry was finally getting her life on track and was off the booze.
"Nope." This time Sherlock didn't even look up from whatever it was he was doing, it was almost as if he didn't care, or didn't think, or probably both.
That man has NO idea that what to him is a cold logical fact might be something so much more to everybody else. He really is a sociopath.
"Shut up, Sherlock" John told him swiftly.
Knowing that John wasn't going to be good sport for his….observations… Sherlock turned his attention to Molly. Molly is a sweet girl who only the blind wouldn't have noticed has a soft spot for Sherlock. I don't know why she does, given that most of the time Sherlock uses that to get what he needs from her and yet still treats her like a simpleton and she is far from that.
Tonight though he went just a little too far even for Sherlock Holmes and launched into a belittlement of Molly that was crude, coarse and certainly uncalled for.
"Miss Hooper has 'love' on her mind"
Molly was humiliated by his words and I should have pulled myself from my own self-pity, grabbed the sharp suited bastard by the lapels and punched him!
When to his surprise he found that he was the object of Molly's affection he was forced into a previously unheard of apology. I thought 'sorry' wasn't a word that existed in Sherlock Holmes's vocabulary. When he then asked her to forgive him I was…dumbfounded!
I had no doubt that the chaste kiss he placed on Molly's cheek would do little to ease her discomfort or her embarrassment, and I wished I'd said something or done something other than look down into the dregs of my drink and wish for another.
None of us deserved the sharp-tongued unthinking edge of Sherlock's so-called intelligence. He might have a level of deductive reasoning that I could only ever dream about but he was, when it came to human relationships and feelings, a complete ignoramus.
I once said that I thought that one day Sherlock could become a good man and yet at times like this, when he behaves in this way, I seriously doubt that he ever will. And that is shame because maybe with a little humility and compassion he might be an even greater detective than he is now.
The growing tension was broken by a low breathy gasp.
Molly looked mortified in case we thought it was her. It was, in fact, Sherlock's new text alert, and within a minute of reading his message he'd discovered a small package on his mantelpiece and disappeared into his room.
When he didn't come out, we were left with the awkward silence of the aftermath of all his revelations and so I offered to walk Molly home. John tried to apologise for Sherlock.
"It's not your fault – he's just….Sherlock," I told him.
"What will you do?" he asked
"About what?"
"You know." John at least had the good grace to look uncomfortable. Your…err...your marriage."
I shrugged, I hadn't really thought about it, but deep down I knew that this was the end. "I don't know…."
"Well, if you ever need to talk…."
"Yea, thanks John," I told him patting him on the arm before pulling on my coat and heading off into the snow with Molly on my arm.
We walked in companionable silence in the lightly falling snow, both lost in our own thoughts, courtesy of Sherlock, a man who was infuriating and brilliant in equal measures.
I was certain that no matter how much we both thought we hated him right now, we would both be back at his beck and call the next time he needed or wanted us.
Damn him and damn my need for him.
Maybe I should go to Dorset and not bother coming back. I'm a bloody good detective, and I'd manage perfectly well without Sherlock second - guessing my every move. A lot better, I'd predict, than he would if his access to cases and crime scenes disappeared.
And yet…that held no appeal.
If the truth be told I'd miss him. I'd miss those lightning fast deductions, the way he sees the importance of the little things that most of us wouldn't even notice. I had to admit it WAS impressive and if he wasn't such a prick I might be inclined to tell him that once in a while.
Before long we were at Molly's door. She still looked sad, and I really wished I'd stood up for her more.
"He's a prat," I told her. "He doesn't deserve you."
"Thanks," she sniffed, "And yes he is, but he's also the most brilliant man I've ever met."
"Insufferable bastard."
We both smiled, albeit a little weakly, at that.
"You going to be OK?" I asked her.
She glanced around her at the snow falling and nodded. "I'll be fine." The sound of distant revelry drifted through the night air. "I'll call Bart's and put myself on call, let somebody else have the night off."
"What about you? I mean…do you want to come in, I've got some wine and I can find us something to eat."
I knew that if I did, then we would both regret it in the morning. It wasn't what either of us really wanted
She mistook my hesitation for another put down.
"No...sorry...of course you don't, how silly of me," she said far too quickly, rummaging in her bag for her keys to cover her embarrassment.
"Molly…stop." I told her putting my hand on her arm "Thank you, thank you so much for the offer, but…" I stumbled over how to tell her that right now a sweet vulnerable young woman was the LAST thing I needed, "It wouldn't be right. I can't…you know…look another time maybe, but now…I have…things… I need to sort out."
"Right, yes of course you do. Go…I'll be fine." She saw me hesitate "Really, " she added by way of an affirmation for both of us.
I took hold of her hand and bent in to kiss her. It felt like Molly Hooper, sweet and uncomplicated.
"I should have said you look great tonight." I told her.
She blushed and turned away to unlock her door.
"Goodnight Greg."
"Goodnight Molly and Happy Christmas."
I turned back into the snowy night and began an aimless walk that I expected would take me home. As I strolled through the cold crisp night my thoughts turned to what….or who…I needed that night. I pulled my phone from my pocket.
The last time we had seen each other we hadn't parted on the best of terms. Too many demands, too much intensity, everything moving too far and too fast for me. But now, now I felt the need to have that intensity again, to have the pleasure of feeling nothing but a pain I wanted to endure. A pure, uncompromising, unquestioning pain that wiped out everything else.
To be allowed to do nothing more than be who I was.
I turned the phone over and over in my hand as I walked, looking for a reason, any reason why I shouldn't call, why I shouldn't ask for forgiveness for what I said and did last time we were together. Ask for another chance.
Tonight I had found out that my wife was still, STILL, cheating on me, and so why, WHY should I not do the same?
There was only one person who really understood me, who would know just what I needed right now.
I looked around me; I had wandered without realizing quite where I was going—and was now just one street away from… It seemed as if my mind was made up and I scrolled through the phone until I found the name - a pseudonym, for safety's sake - I was looking for. Before I could change my mind, I pressed the call button.
It only rang twice before a low voice answered:
"Hello Gregory. This is an unexpected, but not unpleasant, surprise."
A brief moment of silence. The voice was as I remembered it, and I could picture the body beneath it - languid, powerful, beautiful. Skin as smooth as satin, lips as cool as ice, power as immeasurable as I wanted or needed it to be.
"Can I see you again?" I asked.
"I don't have long. There are certain things I need to do rather urgently."
"Please." I said trying not to sound as desperate as I now suddenly felt.
"Where are you?"
I looked around "About a minute away."
There was a sigh, a whisper, a promise of….something… and then the voice was back, hard, cold, demanding, and just what I needed.
"Have you been a bad boy, Gregory?"
"Yes, yes I have." And I had. Six months ago I'd turned my back on the one person who for a year or more had been the ONLY person who knew that to stay sane amongst the daily grind of murder, serious crime and Sherlock Holmes I needed to be able to forget, even for just an hour. To forget everything but the sweet, heady mix of pleasure, pain and obedience.
"Then you had better come right over."
I was more relieved to hear those words than I could have imagined.
"Thank you."
"Gregory." The voice admonished and memories that I'd tried to bury rushed to the surface, prompting me.
"Thank you… Miss Adler."