Hi guys! Recently there was a contest on .com. This is NOT my entry. This was an idea that bloomed from it and I knew I HAD to write it. This is chapter 1. I hope you enjoy it! Leave reviews if you can!
ooooooooooooooo
Not again, Lestrade groaned internally as Sherlock dashed off. He left in his usual manner, which was realizing something his team hadn't and immediately prancing away to solve the case on his own, with John right behind him. John was like Sherlock's enabler, always ready to supply him with assistance. Whether that meant simply being astounded and amazed at Sherlock's genius or actually providing helpful input, John was Sherlock's man. Undoubtedly, Dr. Watson was now thinking of a multitude of ways to help Sherlock get a hold of something. That something was probably going to be the evidence that would help put the murderer behind bars (in this case, simply the weapon itself). Sherlock would keep it nestled in his flat, trying to deduce not who had done it but rather why and how. Meanwhile, Scotland Yard would flounder about helplessly.
Well, not today.
"Guys, I think we're going for a Code Red."
Lestrade was met with inexhaustible protests.
"Why? Why, why, why?!" Sally immediately proclaimed, throwing her hands in the air.
"Because you know he's about to withhold evidence," Lestrade reminded her.
"Yeah, but a drug's bust? Is that necessary?"
"You were eager to help last time! You volunteered!"
"Yeah, but that was before…" Anderson trailed off and looked disgusted.
Lestrade rolled his eyes, "Seriously? That's your reasoning?"
"Well—" Sally started, but Lestrade put his hand up.
"No, you guys are absolutely not about to try and resist on the basis that Sherlock and John are…an item."
"Officially," Sally laughed, "because we know they were probably shagging each other long before they went public about it."
Anderson made a vomiting sound, "God, please don't put that in my head."
Sally smirked, "Bet they've done it in the morgue."
"Donovan," Lestrade groaned.
"Maybe even on your desk," Sally kept on, pointing at Anderson's desk. He squirmed uncomfortably.
"Dear God, please stop."
"Agreed," Lestrade said, and gave Sally a stern look, "Now let's head out in about three hours or so. Sherlock will have found the weapon and stashed it by then in the flat.
A small number of Yarders gathered their things. It ended up being only Lestrade, Donovan, Anderson, and four others (and the only reason Donovan and Anderson went was because they had to). The ride involved talking over the radio about which places to search first. Donovan suggested the kitchen, as that was where most of the experiments went on. Lestrade figured the mantelpiece. Anderson thought that Sherlock was so arrogant that it wouldn't be hidden anywhere; rather, it would be sitting out in the open on a table in the sitting room.
No one said anything about bedrooms. It was an unspoken agreement that that was a last resort. Even Lestrade didn't really want to go looking.
"There be dragons," he mumbled to himself and pulled the car up next to the curb.
The seven officers got out and looked at each other, their faces set in familiar frustration. Anderson opened the outer door and cocked his head to urge them all inside. They walked up the landing and stood outside the door, each of them hesitant. None of them wanted to deal with Sherlock's reaction to them breaking into the flat. For that matter, no one wanted to deal with John either.
Lestrade breathed and set himself to getting it over with. The door was locked, but that wasn't a problem. Lestrade took out his keys and slid past his car and house key to get to 221B's.
The flat was quiet and the entire team breathed a sigh of relief. No one was home. It didn't even sound like Mrs. Hudson was there either.
"All right people," Lestrade sighed, "let's get to it."
The routine was practiced far too well. Lestrade went to work in the kitchen, starting with the fridge. Donovan went into the pantry. One of the officers even braved the bathroom. It wasn't necessarily quiet in the flat (there was some odd noises coming from somewhere, but they just sounded like regular goings on), but it was getting clear that no one was making any progress by the sighs and irritated gesturing.
It was at some point during this time that Anderson wandered out of Lestrade's sight. He must have gone up to John's room, as one of the officers had dared brave Sherlock's and had come out empty handed.
"Nothing," the man said, "and get this: his room is practically spotless. Totally clean! Organized, even."
Lestrade smirked, "That does surprise—"
He did not get to finish his sentence because suddenly there was a loud yell from upstairs:
"BLOODY FUCKING CHIRST!"
There was a lot of thumping and movement. Voices started coming from upstairs and the six people all congregated into the sitting room and waited.
"—so sorry! We didn't know-" said the voice of John Watson.
"I did," the unmistakable baritone of Sherlock Holmes made Lestrade and the rest of his team share a horrified look. Surely, no.
"You what?!" John sounded angry.
There was a loud thump and then pounding footsteps racing down the stairs. Anderson ran into the room. His coworkers were all looking at him expectantly,
Anderson sputtered a bit and then made a strangled sound.
"What is it?"
"Code red!" Anderson shouted and then promptly ran out the door.