"Sherlock?" called Lestrade as he entered the dark front room of 221B. It was unnecessary, really. The man in question was just sitting in that leather chair, alternating glances between a syringe and the exposed skin at the crook of his arm.
"Did you really have to use the sirens?" he asked monotonously.
"'Course I did, idiot." Lestrade answered, leaning against the doorframe. "Why d'ya ask? Afraid it'll upset the neighbors?"
Sherlock snorted in response. "A little cheeky today, aren't we Lestrade?"
"Your deductive powers are overwhelming me Mr. Holmes," he replied with a grin.
Sherlock lifted his eyes to meet Lestrade's briefly. "Aren't you going to take this away from me?" he asked, shifting his gaze back to the elephant in the room.
"My jaw still hasn't forgiven me for the last time I tried that," he said, rubbing his jaw in memory. Sherlock might be a skinny slip of a man, but he's deceptively strong. He can sure pack a punch. Lestrade grabbed a chair and set it a few feet in front of Sherlock. "You're gonna have to give it to me." He sat down and stretched out his hand, palm up.
Sherlock flinched away from Lestrade's hand and gripped the needle tighter. Lestrade simply shrugged and withdrew the hand, letting it drop to his lap. Sherlock relaxed momentarily, only to abruptly tense up a second later. He heard the distinct, slow struggle of someone coming up the stairs to the flat.
"Anna's here?" It was more of an angry statement than a question. He didn't want her to see him like this.
Lestrade didn't bother to mention that Anna had seen him like this before. Many times in fact. He twisted his upper half toward the doorway, and then glanced back at Sherlock. Deciding that things would probably go downhill fast if Sherlock had to face Anna right now, Lestrade shifted so he could get up and tell Anna to wait.
"Don't bother," Sherlock said quickly.
Lestrade raised an eyebrow, but he didn't move. If Sherlock thought he could deal with it, far be it for Lestrade to argue with him. A few moments of tense silence ensued. Sherlock deliberately looked anywhere but at the cool, glass syringe in his hand. Lestrade closed his eyes and strained to hear Anna's progress up the stairs.
"She'll be fine," Sherlock remarked, almost offhandedly. "She sounds as if she's got her balance."
Lestrade's eyes snapped open, and he resisted the impulse to scoff in disbelief. Sherlock wasn't there when Anna's knee had given out a scant half an hour ago, but Lestrade knew that this was fairly new ground for the man and appreciated the attempt at comfort that Sherlock offered him. "Yeah, sure," Lestrade said after a moment.
The door downstairs opened and shut, and John's voice carried up the stairs. It was now or never for Sherlock and his syringe, and he was definitely leaning toward the 'now' side of things.
Lestrade sat down opposite Sherlock again. He was simultaneously working out how he could possibly prevent Sherlock's immanent relapse and praying that the awkward, one- sided conversation that was about to take place between John and his daughter wouldn't leave her hyperventilating in the stairwell. Then he heard a thud and a flurry of apologies from John. Lestrade was at the top of the staircase on seconds, leaving Sherlock to his own devices.
"What happened here?" Anna was trying to sit up on the stair she'd landed on after falling, and silent tears tracked down her face. John looked up from his careful examination of her now swollen right ankle. If he was surprised by Lestrade's appearance, he didn't show it.
"I was trying to offer this young lady-"
"My daughter," Lestrade interrupted with a bit more force than he intended. As he knelt down to wipe the tears from Anna's eyes (she rolled them in response), he saw surprise flicker on the doctor's face before returning to its former smoothness.
"Right, your daughter," he said, still wrapping his mind around the idea. "Well, I was just trying to offer your daughter my assistance, but I ended up startling her, and she fell forward. She must have put her foot down wrong on the next stair and ended up twisting it."
"Obviously."
Now it was Lestrade's turn to be surprised. He turned around to see Sherlock standing in the doorway. Sherlock looked on the scene before him with a sort of detached interest. The syringe was gone, presumably hidden somewhere on his person.
"Right, well, we should probably move into the flat now. Get some ice on this," John said, gesturing to the purpling joint.
Lestrade scooped his daughter into his arms and carried her to the couch while John grabbed an ice pack from the freezer. John walked up to the couch and leaned down, but before he could place the pack on her ankle, she flinched away from him. She jostled her injured ankle in the process, which caused fresh tears to spring to eyes. She angrily wiped them away while glaring at John. He took a step back and splayed his hands in a yielding gesture.
"It's alright John," Lestrade said. "I've got it." He took the ice pack from the other man and gently placed it on Anna's ankle. Then he knelt down near her ear and whispered, "Give the guy a break, Anna. It was an accident. I know he offended your honor by daring to assume that you might need some help, but John's a good guy."
Anna was still angry, but she did look away from John, and that was a far sight better than glaring at him.
To his credit, John steadfastly ignored the malice directed toward him and continued on his medical train of thought. "As soon as the swelling goes down a bit, we should wrap the ankle. I think I've got an ACE bandage in my room." He left the room to go search for it.
As soon as John was out of earshot, Lestrade marched up to Sherlock. "Where is it?" he asked in a harsh whisper.
Sherlock looked away from Lestrade's penetrating gaze and reached into the back pocket of his trousers, pulling out the syringe. He dropped it into the older man's hand.
Lestrade's face fell when he saw it was empty. His suspicion was confirmed when their eyes briefly met. Sherlock's pupils were dilated. The syringe had won this round, but Lestrade was far from giving up. Because Sherlock is a great man, and Lestrade was determined to see him become a good one.
A/N: Sorry this took forever to get up. There were so many ways this could've gone, and I had trouble choosing a direction. (Seriously. You should see the file with all the rejected story lines.) I hope I haven't disappointed. There will be an epilogue of sorts, and then this story will be officially over. It might take me a while to get up because I have a few Doctor Who related plot bunnies jumping around in my head. Have a great day.
