Sally and the Terrier
Hate might be too strong a word. It conjured up images of crimes and atrocities committed against others simply for the way they were born; feelings and actions that stemmed from things like racism, misogyny, bigotry, and the like. Sally Donovan's feelings toward the Freak definitely stemmed from firsthand experience, not from any preconceived notions. If Sally ever tried to articulate her feelings toward Sherlock Holmes, she might use the word "resentment."
As a Black woman in a career still dominated by White men, Sally had an outsider's resentment of privilege attained without sacrifice. She had climbed the Met ladder through hard work, long hours, and determination, coping along the way with the innuendoes, the mansplaining, the "get-me-coffees," not to mention the not-as-occasional-as they-should-have-been boob or arse grab. Those were just things a woman trying to establish a place for herself in a hierarchy had to deal with, and Sally had dealt.
So when some toff swanned into a crime scene, belittled the team, solved the case and then disappeared—all without any of the blood, sweat, toil, and tears that were par for the course—then yes, that pissed her off.
But Sally could have held her resentment in check if the Freak had limited his scorn to herself and the other lads in the squad. Sure, she would have hurled a few of his insults back in his face, but that would be expected. But the Freak's disrespect didn't stop with the team. He also disrespected their DI, and that was something Sally would never make peace with.
It hadn't taken newly-minted Detective Sergeant Sally Donovan long to realize that her assignment to Lestrade's team had been the biggest stroke of luck in her career. Her early fears were soon relieved: Lestrade was completely oblivious to her color and gender. If anything, he seemed to view himself as some kind team Dad. Even more important, Lestrade was everything a good copper should be—thorough, tough, fair, and above all, determined. He had high standards, and he led by example: always the first one in the office and the last to leave; never willing to delegate an unpleasant task, like informing next-of-kin, to an underling; and tenacious as a terrier in his unwillingness to give up on a case.
Sally sometimes imagined him as a wiry-haired little cairn, setting his teeth into the heel of a much larger animal—an elephant, maybe, or a lion—and worrying away at it, growling all the while. Sometimes he caught her at it and demanded to know what was so funny.
So it enraged her when the Freak slagged her boss. To his face. In front of their team. Usually over a dead body. And it enraged her when Lestrade quietly accepted the ill-treatment. In front of their team. Because there was a dead body. Whatever it took to close the case, Greg Lestrade would do it. And if that meant making himself a target for some smug, self-satisfied bastard, then that's what was going to happen.
That's why he was a such a good copper.
And that's why Sally Donovan hated Sherlock Holmes.
For all the Freak's supposed genius, he couldn't see the quality that was right in front of his face. Without Lestrade, there would be no opportunities for him to show off at a crime scene. Without the far less glamourous evidence-gathering and legwork, there would be no foundation on which to build the cases. Genius didn't bring cases to court, nor did it provide the Crown with the evidence to win them. And DI's who didn't provide evidence for winnable cases didn't have the leverage—or the stones—to bring in consulting detectives off-record.
Greg Lestrade would never stand up for himself, force the Freak to acknowledge what he had misprized for years. Bloody Hell, Lestrade was fond of the man! He tried to hide it—didn't blokes always, when it was another bloke?—but Sally could see it, clear as day. Another kid in Lestrade's hodge-podge, non-biological family.
Sally guessed she couldn't begrudge the Freak's addition to the family, when she herself was a beneficiary of Lestrade's tendency to adopt without judgment. But she didn't consistently wound the man who had done so much for her. Yes, Sherlock Holmes always brought down the elephant or lion or whatever, but he did so with complete disregard to the terrier already clinging to its heel. And sometimes the terrier got whacked or smacked or even fallen upon when the large beast was brought down. But the Freak didn't care about the terrier, as long as he was seen to be the one bringing the beast down. And as long as the great beast was brought down, the terrier, however damaged, would happily wag its tail.
No, the Waters case had shown her that Greg Lestrade would never take a step to get the appreciation he deserved from anyone, let alone Sherlock Holmes. And he certainly wouldn't hate the man. He just didn't have it in him.
But Sally could.