Unforeseeable Relations
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters; they are the property of BBC and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I only play with them:) Also, initial plot ideas belong to ArthurDent2.
Author's Note: This is my first published fanfic, and I am excited to submerse myself into the writing world! I want to specially thank my beta, Marauder52611. She's an awesome writer. Go check out her stories too. I also want to thank Arthur Dent2 for giving me the inspiration to write this fic. Lastly, I want to thank BBC for creating this awesome couple. (Even though they are not a real couple in the show, the evidenvce obvious.)
Chapter1
Lestrade POV
It was another routine day at the Yard. Well, as routine as a day can be spending it with Sherlock. In the year that he had known the man, it was quite clear that he would never change. His genius was admirable but it was sometimes outshone by his amazing tendency to act like a pompous ass. Really, that man had no regard for emotion or human sentiment. Of course, today was no different. There had been another homicide that was seemingly unsolvable (Well, according to Sherlock, they were all idiots who could hardly find a clue with a neon sign pointing to it. *cough *cough -pompous ass). This time it was a middle aged women who had been murdered in three possible ways; there were lacerations and bruising on her neck, evidence of a severe blow to her cranium, and multiple stab wounds inflicted on her torso. (It was not a pretty sight.) So, inevitably they called in the consulting detective to form one of his brilliant deductions, while simultaneously insulting the intelligence of Lestrade's entire team, and tell them who to arrest.
It was not until near noon when something out of the ordinary happened. Sherlock was in the middle of telling them why to arrest the brother if the neighbor had an aquamarine car when he got a phone call, which was not in itself unusual; however what Sherlock proceeded to do next was. Now, usually Sherlock would ignore it with an air of slight irritation and carry on his rant. This time, though, he stopped and checked the caller ID. Huh, must have been expecting a client to call or something, thought Lestrade. A look of anticipation and excitement-unusual for Sherlock-crossed his face as he strode off to answer it. Again, Lestrade just dismissed it as a client with a particularly puzzling murder or something. Lord knows what kind of morbid things excite that man.
Forty minutes passed and, and Sherlock had still not returned. Lestrade was starting to wonder if he had found something more interesting and abandoned Scotland Yard. "The Freak's probably up and left by now, leaving us high and dry. No sane person would be on the phone with him that long. This is probably some practical joke to him or something." remarked Sgt. Donovan. "Yeah, Sally's right. S'not like he cares about us standing out here, freezing like one of his experiments. (The last drugs bust they performed saw them thoroughly disgusted with what the consulting detective slash self-diagnosed sociopath kept in his freezer). " said Anderson, predictably agreeing with Donovan when it came to their mutual animosity for the detective. "Now, now," said Lestrade, as if he were talking to children (which was not far off considering these two), "I'll go look for him. I'm sure he just lost track of time or something." Donovan rolled her eyes, and Anderson muttered sarcastically, as he turned to set off in search of the elusive younger Holmes man.
The longer he search, the less Lestrade actually believed he would locate Sherlock. If that man didn't want to be found, he wouldn't be. He was just about to give up when he heard a voice. The low baritone drawl could only belong to Sherlock. He must've still been on the phone, which was exceedingly curious for Sherlock as the man had little patience and was very concise in his phone calls. Lestrade quickly assessed that he was close enough to hear his voice but not enough to decipher what he was saying. In an attempt to remedy that, he followed the sound. What he proceeded to overhear shocked him.
"I want you to return in one piece, John." John? He never mentioned a John. thought Lestrade suspiciously. There was something odd though in Sherlock's voice. If it were any other man, he would say that it was filled with genuine concern, worry, and love; however, such emotions would surely by scoffed upon by the self-diagnosed sociopath, right? He was jarred from his thoughts when Sherlock spoke again, "I love you too." With that sentence he ended the call and Lestrade's capacity for rational thought through the weight of the utterly astounding realization that accompanied the obvious sentiment. Reality set in as Lestrade began to attempt to figure out who was on the other end of the call. Before he could get any further, however, Sherlock addressed him in his usual condescending tone, "I can hear you stumbling over your words, even in your thoughts, Lestrade. So let me answer your painfully obvious inquires. Who would it be, that I would express such emotion toward? It is obviously not my brother, as you have seen my displays of animosity towards him and his name is not John. It is also clearly not my father, I would not address him by his first name. You have considered that I would disregard cultural norms and call him by his first name but this is not the case. Friends or acquaintances? None that I would express such a sentiment to, so the question is who? My husband."
Lestrade could only stutter his response as his mind tried to process the revelation that Sherlock cared about someone that deeply (It sounded cruel, he knew, but this was the self-proclaimed sociopath they were talking about), "Y-y-your husband? Since when? And why didn't I know about this?" "To answer your questions, Detective Inspector, I didn't feel it necessary to divulge all the details of my personal life to the likes of Scotland Yard, particularly Anderson and Donovan. As to the amount of time, I have been married for three years." Said the consulting detective almost sharply. Lestrade was only capable of responding with another question, "Why don't you wear a ring?" Sherlock answered the inquiry by pulling a necklace of some sort out from under his shirt. Attached to the chain was a gleaming silver band with some sort of inscription on it. At the Detective Inspector's inquisitive look, Sherlock answered his unspoken question with a slightly annoyed expression, "John is an army doctor serving in Afghanistan. He is frequently in battle and would easily lose something as small as a wedding ring. Therefore, it is logical for him to wear it on his dog tags. In the same spirit, I wear mine around my neck. It would also be very easily lost or damaged in my line of work." Lestrade could manage a congratulations as he processed the implications of this confession. To his surprise, he heard an almost inaudible thank-you from the world's only consulting detective as he strode away, coat billowing behind him. Today was full of unexpected discoveries. Sherlock's absence left Lestrade full of questions while he pondered how to explain the detective's leaving to his team, who had been waiting for him for twenty minutes...Oops.
