This fic is an extension on the lovely LastSaskatchewanSpacePirate's wonderful fic 'Things You Didn't Know About Greg Lestrade'. She wrote a backstory to Lestrade,made up of little drabbles and traits of Lestrade. [its amazing].The bold at the beginning is her drabble.I'm only adding a bit more detail to the ones that touched me. This is all due to her work so if you like anyone of them please,inbox her and tell her. Pleasepleaseplease read her fics, they're so cool. :)
Oh and I'm using OpenOffice for the first time so possibility of errors :)
Disclaimer : This time,I own nothing. Sherlock Holmes belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle,BBC Sherlock belongs to the BBC and this fic was inspired by LastSaskatchewanSpacePirate. I have nothing ! :'(
He hates the way Sherlock treats Molly.
Sherlock's cruel to her. And he knows it. He knows this girl is head over heels in love with him ,(which breaks his heart a little bit too because Sherlock is attractive and tall and mysterious and rich and posh and everything Lestrade will never be) and he treats her like another insignificant little creature.
She's not.
She will never ,ever be nothing.
Watching him make her think she's worthless makes Lestrade upset, and what's more, angry.
It's a Monday morning ,and they're all crowded round a body found in the early hours of the day. Yes . All of them ; the whole team: Apparently Sherlock wanted to teach them something , it seemed he was in one of those moods;the 'I've spent 2 months clean ; bored and irritable, so PISS OFF!' days.
It was getting on Lestrades nerves, if he was honest.
"Molly! Molly HOOPER! What are you DOING! Are you a certified MORON? How did you get this job anyway? I'd always suspected you gave the interviewer a tip ,but I'd ignored it, clearly now…"
And on and on it went. By lunchtime ,even Anderson and Donovan were looking slightly bothered by it, Lestrade was seething and Molly was flushed pink and desparately trying to wipe her eyes dry both subtly and without getting disinfectant in them.
That was was done with his nonsense for today.
"Molly! Are you even listening to me? I said the square edged tongs,you fool,do you even-"
"OUT! NOW!"
Lestrade forced his way to the operating table,suddenly grabbing Sherlock by the ruff and pushed him backwards, not caring that he stumbled,ignoring the whimper that escaped Sherlock's lips,ignoring the little voice reminding him Sherlock had been strangled on his neck the week before and Lestrade was putting pressure on it.
Good. Smug bastard.
Greg dragged him out into the corridor, packing a fairly solid punch to Sherlock's gut when he tried to wriggle free. That quietened him for a bit so Greg was able to throw him into an empty nearby lab.
"What is the matter Lestrade? Coming down from a high? I know this guy, supplies excellent narcotics, I can give you his det-"
Lestrade spoke softly and threateningly. "If you ever,ever speak to her like that again,I will arrest you on the spot for violent and abusive behaviour towards police personnel.
What are you,a child? I thought you were supposed to be intelligent! How DARE you even think it acceptable to speak to anyone, let alone a lady, like that? Sometimes, Sherlock,you horrify me. What would your grandmother say?"
Sherlock went silent. Until that point he had been struggling and writhing, trying to [futilely] escape Greg's iron grip so he could return to the case. Upon hearing Lestrade's words, he went limp and Greg could see the betrayal in his eyes. I trusted you with that. Never again.
Sherlock got up from the floor ,rubbing at his stomach where Lestrade had punched. He glared at Lestrade , an icy ,murderous glare that only a Holmes can pull of,flings open the door and let it slam shut. Lestrade has to stand for a moment or two,regretting his stupid mouth and ,rubbing his eyes, followed.
When he returned to the lab in which everyone was, Sherlock was still preaching and showing off and commanding Molly about. Greg stood mutely at the back as Sherlock taught how to age a dead body 'in a way far more elegant and quicker than those foolish professors at Oxford'. Greg wants to cry; it seems some things never change.
But…as Molly packs up and tidies up the blast Sherlock has made of her lab, Lestrade sees something that makes him pinch himself. Sherlock swanning through, actually aiding Molly, whispering something in her ear, something that makes me blush and smile and nod furiously to, and kisses her cheek softly.
He should be happy; Sherlock is being human and gentlemanly and kind but it just makes his heart ache a little bit; Sherlock can kiss her and he can't.
El fin.
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