Everybody Likes Chocolate
They hauled Leonard in for questioning based on Sherlock Holmes' deductions. It took two long hours but finally Leonard broke down and confessed; he'd killed the woman, Mary Alexander, because she didn't return his sexual needs. Something about jumpers and cricket bats that Lestrade didn't want to think about.
Greg yawned and leaned against the wall in the hallway, just needing a minute to compose himself. He felt so tired and out of it. Christmas was fast approaching and what did he have to look forward to? Beer, microwavable food and a Doctor Who Christmas special. Nothing too exciting.
Though he supposed it would be better than last year. The previous Christmas Lestrade had been in hospital with Sherlock. John Watson had been their only visitor, having escaped any serious injury himself. He'd brought food and presents, even getting a gift for Lestrade. Despite the horrible pain from his broken leg it had been an alright day.
Lestrade yawned and headed for his office, swinging by the break room to grab some coffee. It was horrible shit that left a bitter taste in your mouth but it was caffeine and Lestrade needed a hit. He'd already stuck a new nicotine patch on and was waiting for the small buzz to hit. He wished smoking wasn't so unhealthy.
He winced as he took his coffee into his office, the black sludge tasting no better with sugar. He spotted a box on his desk and frowned, head tilted as he approached.
It was a box of assorted chocolates; an expensive box. Still frowning, Lestrade pulled the red ribbon from the box and picked up the plain white paper that had been stuck to the front.
Everybody likes chocolate.
It was written in the same flowing, perfect script as the last note, the one he'd found on Dustin Leonard. Lestrade fell into his seat and sipped his coffee, too used to the taste to gag like he once had.
Okay, this was a little creepy. Someone powerful had taken down and delivered Leonard to him and Donovan. Now they'd left a box of chocolates on his desk.
Lestrade wandered if it was Sherlock. No, he would have made a big fuss about catching Leonard. Watson? Definitely not. He was more prone to shooting bad guys than catching them. Secret admirer?
Lestrade snorted. Right, some all-powerful figure was secretly in love with him and was making his Christmas Eve weird with cryptic little notes. He was in his late forties; no secret admirers for Lestrade.
He glanced at the chocolates again. They were very expensive, too expensive for chocolate. Lestrade had tried them before and loved them. He ran a finger over the box, wondering if they were poisoned.
Well, gone was the image of stuffing his face with chocolate-y goodness. He pushed the chocolates into his desk draw and sipped his coffee.
