In the episode 2-1, Lestrade fidgets nervously, while John and Sherlock argue about their blog and webpage - Speckled Blonde. It prompted this story. Thank you for your comments and support;)
Snow swirled and danced before it covered the ground. After drinking his coffee, Greg Lestrade was about to walk out from crowded donut shop when his eyes found someone he had met before from his previous case, a notorious serial murders of a taxi driver. Holding two glazed donuts and two coffees, John Watson was making his way back to his table when he spotted the Inspector.
"Inspector Lestrade!"
His voice was warm.
"Dr. Watson. Isn't it? Sherlock's flat mate..."
"John, please."
"Yes, John. What brought you here? It's quite far from your flat."
Smiling a little, John pointed towards a table at the right corner of the shop. A man in a dark blue coat and a navy scarf was sitting there, half hidden behind a pillar.
"Sherlock's here?"
"Just to grab a bite. It's quite chilly for February, isn't it?"
Lestrade's eyes wandered from the food on the tray to the detective who hadn't noticed the DI. The doctor seemed puzzled at the silence and Lestrade spoke in a hurry.
"Yes, yes, the mercury's going to fall to 10 degrees below zero tonight."
"Why don't you join us? I can order one more cup of coffee."
Lestrade, taken back at John's amicability, turned down the invitation politely.
"Well, no, thank you. I need to go back to work now. Enjoy your coffee, John and say hello to Sherlock for me."
The DI headed out of the door, looking as if he had a question.
Lestrade thought that Sherlock had brought John Watson, an ex-army doctor, to the pink lady's crime scene just to annoy Anderson. He certainly didn't expect the doctor's continued presence at other crime scenes because Sherlock always worked alone. Donovan had betted that Dr. Watson would move out in a week – she had given Dr. Watson a "friendly" advice- to stay away from the Freak.
Well, they were simply wrong. To everybody's surprise, John stayed put.
A few weeks later, Lestrade was listening to Sherlock's deduction. A lottery winner, Mrs. Smithson, had died from acute respiratory failure three weeks after she won 200,000 pounds. She was allergic to nuts. Her death was initially believed to be accidental – the police believed that she accidentally ate peanut butter somehow. However, according to Sherlock, it was a cold-blooded murder and her estranged husband was the murderer.
"Mr. Smithson is your man. Motive? Greed. The recent coming-out of Mrs. Smithson was the last straw in the Smithson marriage. The husband wanted a divorce and researched about the new lover of his wife, Miss. Laura Bond. Then the lottery winning of 200,000 pounds changed his mind from a divorce to a murder. He wanted all of it."
John's about to ask a question, but Sherlock continued as if he was in a hurry.
"Mr. Smithson anonymously sent peanut-butter sandwich treat to Miss. Laura's office twice. No credit records; cash payment, but the sandwich shop owner recognized Mr. Smithson from a picture that I showed him. The first time, the husband failed. The second time, he succeeded. His wife died from shocks – Miss. Laura must have dated Mrs. Smithson that day after a peanut-butter sandwich and tea. It takes just one kiss, just one, but it was enough to kill Mrs. Smithson. Go and arrest Mr. Smithson. He must be asleep, dreaming about his fortune. "
Sally Donovan glared at the detective while everyone else, including Lestrade, failed magnificently to hide their awe-struck faces. Barely recovering his "normal" face, Lestrade ordered his officers to go to Mr. Smithson's flat, while Donovan rolled her eyes. She knew what was to follow: listening to the Freak's rambling and insulting of their "pea-sized" brains. Ten seconds passed and nothing happened. Instead, Sherlock ignored the officers, turned around, and walked to the doctor. He glanced at his wrist.
"We'd better go."
John shook his head and exclaimed, "Brilliant!"
Lestrade could see a wisp of a grin around Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock took his phone out and sent a text.
"It's about 9:30. Angelo's cousin, Mike, opened a pasta restaurant near here, two blocks away. I texted Mike. If we hurry, we can get something to eat before it's closed."
Lestrade's ears perked up. He couldn't believe what he just heard! Sherlock offering someone to dinner? John's reply was more shocking.
"Yes, I'm starving. Well, the hamburgers we had last Friday were terrible."
Hamburgers and Sherlock Holmes? Are they dating?
Glancing at the text message he just received, Sherlock spoke.
"Fettuccine Alfredo, John. Let's go."
The two men disappeared around the corner. Donovan stared at the corner.
"What's wrong with the Freak?"
Lestrade cleared his throat and got inside his car. Sergeant Donovan followed and fastened her seatbelt. When Lestrade started the car, Donovan spoke.
"Inspector. You know the Freak..."
Lestrade warned.
"Don't call him a freak, Donovan. He is helping us."
Unabashed, Donovan continued.
"He has a website, right? The Science of deduction – he made it just to boast off how brilliant his brain is. Well, I found his colleague's blog the other day."
Uninterested, Lestrade drove the car to the office.
"Blogs, homepages, face book, twitters…. People's life's getting too much complicated…"
"John's Watson's blog. It's hilarious. Do you remember the first case that the Fr…Sherlock Holmes brought the doctor along? Mr. Watson titled it as Study in Pink. You're not going to believe it. "
Back to the office, Lestrade's mouth fell open in disbelief when Sally opened the doctor's blog.
"He doesn't know the earth goes around the sun?"
Donovan and Anderson burst into derisive laughter.
"We've already bookmarked John Watson's blog. It will make us feel much better."
Briefly, rumors that the Freak and the doctor might be a couple went around but soon died down fast. John Watson was straight. He was seen having a date with ever-changing girls by some officers, while Sherlock Holmes was literally asexual, paying no attention to anything emotional.
Ever since, Lestrade came across Sherlock and John in unexpected places like coffee shops, Sushi restaurants, donuts houses, and Korean restaurants. Sherlock looked "out-of-place" while John urged his flatmate to eat. Something was different but Lestrade couldn't pinpoint what it was.
Sherlock was still tall and lanky with an ego that was the size of Big Ben. He sadistically enjoyed himself while humiliating Anderson or other officers, which often made the tension between the sleuth and Sergeant Donovan unbearable. Sometimes, Sherlock's "honest" deductions made his companion, John uncomfortable. Unlike others who rolled their eyes or shot glares at the detective, the doctor always stopped Sherlock, chiding him for his bad timing or inappropriate choice of words or inability of glossing over ugly truth. The doctor seemed to be determined to teach his flat-mate "social etiquettes for dummies". Some were convinced that John was a saint because of his tolerance and patience.
Sherlock still ignored all kinds of rules: evidence crucial to the case was lost and found; confidential reports mysteriously turned up at Baker Street 221B. The DI had to renew his ID again after he "lost" his. Working side by side, Lestrade had to suppress his desire to punch the man in the face. Whenever Sherlock took on other cases, not his, Lestrade always contacted the officer in charge and gave a "warning" about Sherlock Holmes.
Something about the detective was changing if subtly. When the bomb disposal unit of Metropolitan Police of London was retrieving the explosives in the pool, John was sitting inside an ambulance, draped with a shock blanket. Sherlock tersely summarized that night's event: a maniac had kidnapped John, threatened Sherlock to stay out of his business, and walked away. Then the detective hurried to John's ambulance, ignoring Lestrade's follow-up questions. Lestrade saw an odd look fleeting through Sherlock's face; maybe from adrenaline from the incident? After the bomb was safely removed, Lestrade found the two men; well, more like one man and a bundle of orange blankets: John was covered with at least three shock blankets from head to knees.
It didn't stop there. Lestrade was amazed when he saw Sherlock pout after John insisted that his blog was more popular than the sleuth's homepage. The old Sherlock wouldn't have even cared. At the Christmas party, Sherlock's apology was received by an astounded Molly Hooper alongside an equally doubtful Lestrade, John, and Mrs. Hudson. Over the years that Lestrade worked with Sherlock, he had never heard that Sherlock offered an apology unless it was part of the "acting" necessary to solve a case. "I'm sorry. Forgive me." The two lines almost made Lestrade forget Sherlock's slip-up on his wife's affairs. That's when Lestrade believed that the detective was becoming a human at last. His belief was strengthened when Sherlock reported a break-in at his flat a few days later. Lestrade investigated the break-in further because the burglar was "too badly injured" for "one" fall from Sherlock's flat. Sherlock didn't elaborate, but the DI could see that Mrs. Hudson had been attacked by the burglar.
One remarkable feat was that Sherlock was somehow forced to go cold turkey and quit the habit of smoking cigarettes or overusing nicotine patches. A normal person in his right mind would've walked out when Sherlock got very nasty from his need. However, John Watson wasn't a typical man. He never gave up. The doctor played cluedo to shake his flat mate's boredom off when there was no case. Upon hearing this, Lestrade shook his head and took John to the pub: they joined some other Yarders at the table and all of them sympathized with John when he complained, "He bloody changed the rules. That git!"
It was after his vacation when he started to see the "change" clearly. Sherlock had abused his brother's stolen ID to gain access to the top-secret military facilities, Baskerville and Mycroft Holmes sent the DI to Grimpen Village to "watch" Sherlock. In the end, Sherlock, John, and Lestrade solved the mystery of the Baskerville beast; the 20-year-old murder case of Henry Knight's father was closed with the death of Dr. Frankland.
The next day, Lestrade was looking out the window of the inn, relishing the fresh air of the country side. He saw John eating his breakfast and was thinking about joining the doctor. Then, Sherlock walked out with two mugs in his hand. Lestrade's eyes widened when he saw Sherlock put one mug gently near John, drinking his own, talking and laughing with the doctor. John seemed to be upset over something and Sherlock looked slightly "guilty" but soon the two men laughed it out. He also overheard Sherlock talk about the "killed beast" to Billy, one of the innkeepers. His voice was sincere and warm.
To come to think of it, there were so many changes since the army doctor had moved into 221B. Sherlock didn't carry the skull anymore. Instead, John Watson was at his side when Sherlock tackled crime after crime. It was Sherlock's genius that solved a mystery yet its inspiration came from John. Sherlock Holmes wasn't an apathetic machine or a psychopath who celebrated violent murders or impossible crimes; he wasn't indifferent to humans any more despite his pretence. Someone taught the detective what it means to be human, and Lestrade knew who had changed him. Who would have thought it was a weary ex-soldier?
Lestrade glanced at the two men from time to time while driving his car back to London from the Grimpen Village. They were silent. John dozed off at times – last night's adventure wasn't without its prices. Sherlock looked tense and preoccupied, while staring out the tinted window and not talking at all. When John woke from his nap, Sherlock's face relaxed instantly. John mumbled about dinner - should they eat out later or get some take-out to their flat? Then it dawned on Lestrade that Sherlock was the one who saw to it that the doctor was fed properly, not the other way around. Lestrade remembered all those restaurants and coffee places that he met Sherlock and John unexpectedly. The detective really did care about his friend in his peculiar way. The DI could only hope that the two men would treasure their friendship forever.
Indeed, he had no doubt about it when he grinned at Sherlock who was wearing the deerstalker – a gift from Yarders- and posing for photos with John.
Months later, Lestrade received an order from the Chief Constable himself that the Ambassador to the U.S., Rufus Bruhl, had requested Sherlock Holmes specifically to find his two kidnapped children. When the DI walked into 221B followed by Sergeant Donavan with the Bruhl case file, he never imagined that was to be the last case of the consulting detective and the doctor.