'I Was Mugged By An Old Lady!'
"So, you're saying that the assailant was… six foot three, hunched over, wearing a rain-cap, had grey, curly hair and wrinkles. A bass voice, muscles and was wearing a pair of Nike trainers? "
"... you f'rgot thez'mmer…"
"Pardon me?"
"He said that you forgot the zimmer!"
Lestrade was currently attempting to hold an interview with one Samuel Walker, a twenty-seven year old journalist, who had apparently been mugged by an old, Nike-wearing, body-building woman in the past few hours. Of course, the data-gathering would be going a lot smoother if that bloody unnameable female officer hadn't appeared and spent the last half an hour laughing at everything that came out of the embarrassed man's mouth.
"She had a gun!"
"Did she have an iPod too? Was she hip? Did she have a bus pass?"
Graeme grimaced, actually wishing that it were Sherlock sat beside him and not the unnamed woman. At least Sherlock got down to business, whereas this pain in the backside lived just to make his job a nightmare.
"I – I'm not really – do I need to answer that?"
"No. Listen, I think I've got all I need right now… If I need to talk to you again, we have your details. I had Sargent Donovan call your friend, so if you'd just like to wait out –"
"Oh, oh! I'll wait with him –"
"No! I mean… Sherlock is coming in soon, I wanted you to go find that file on… that case."
"Okay!"
Lestrade shook his head. He hadn't even said which case file he needed. She probably already knew. She had, of course, broken into his apartment when he was filling it out, offering to 'go ask Sherlock personally for that information, but only if you want.' As if she needed an excuse to break into 221B Baker Street.
One thing that was amusing the Detective Inspector was that Sherlock was just as nonplussed about her name as he was. Graeme knew her badge was legit, and the gun she had was standard police issue, not to mention that she even had all the correct paperwork, but somehow she'd got it all past him without his ever seeing (or observing) her name.
"I got it!"
The older officer started in his seat, and he realised that he was now mercilessly alone with the unidentified female officer.
"You… got what?"
"The Blind Banker case file!"
"Oh, right. Where did the journalist go?"
"Sally-Sally put him in the waiting room… He looked a bit upset, so I gave him some tissues and an encouraging pep talk, but that only seemed to upset him further, and then Sherlock appeared –"
"Wait, Sherlock's here?"
"Yep. He's telling Sally-Sally how he knows that she was at Anderson's last night again. I texted him."
"I doubt he got it."
"What do you mean?"
"He switched phones. Again."
"But I texted that stupid doctor."
"You're only jealous of the doctor because he's legally allowed within one-hundred feet of Sherlock Holmes."
"Nuh-uh."
"Unfortunately, it's very true."
Lestrade had stood by this point, staring down at the sparse notes made on this latest 'criminal.' He could make neither head nor tail of it – a six foot three grandmother mugging 'innocent' journalists on the streets of London?
He snorted.
"Stop laughing, it's not funny. If Mrs Hudson hadn't caught me in their flat and phoned that stupid other detective-man, this would never have happened."
"You broke into their flat. Which is illegal. As a police officer, you should really know this," Graeme stated with a sigh as he moved past the sulking woman to head out to the waiting room where, sure enough, Sally Donovan was glaring at a smirking Sherlock Holmes whilst a rather confused Samuel Walker was sitting by himself, fidgeting with a tissue that had apparently been plucked from the top of the pile of tissues sitting on the chair beside him.
"Did you take all of the tissues out of the box again?"
"I thought that was being nice."
"He's in his late twenties, I'm pretty sure he's capable of taking a tissue out of a box."
"And you're perfectly capable of telling me not to turn up at your flat every night for hot chocolate and snuggles in bed, but you don't."
"Actually, I do."
"Well."
"Go put that on my desk and tell Sherlock to go through to my office before Anderson turns up, will you?"
"Oh, oh! Lookie! Is that the wimpy-journalist's boyfriend-thingy?"
DI Lestrade turned to settle his eyes on Samuel Walker as he walked out, a taller bloke by his side with an arm slung around his waist. The unnamed officer was waving a hand at him in exasperation.
"Is that guy groping his arse?" the Unidentified Female Officer asked.
"I told you he was gay," the ever irritating Sherlock Holmes muttered in passing to the ever aggravating UFO.
"No, you said he might be gay," UFO replied heartily – he was talking! To her! – as she followed Sherlock into Lestrade's office and nudged the door shut with her hip.
Both Donovan and Lestrade were left staring at the closed door.
"Want to go out for coffee, then?"
"Oh, God, yes," came Graeme's instant reply.
Sally and Graeme enjoyed their coffee for twelve minutes and thirty-four seconds before Sherlock texted the latter complaining of sexual harassment.
UFO later received her second restraining order.