Lestrade slings his arm through the sleeve as he puts his coat on; he ignores the uneasy feeling brewing in the pit of his stomach. He doesn't trust the newbie, Harris or something, the guy's only been working with him for two weeks and Lestrade doesn't like him. Maybe it's too early to judge, it's only been two weeks and Lestrade's not really a judgemental type. Except there's something about Harris that he can't quite put his finger on – his abrupt manner when discussing things with the witnesses and members of the team, how he seems to know the way a murderer would work and how the killing would happen, for someone that's only spent a year in police work (as according to his CV, which Lestrade finds equally suspicious) and has no history of anything even possibly related to murderers and how to kill a person, it's unlikely he'd know so much about these things. The whole atmosphere that surrounds him is really unnerving for Lestrade, but it's not something he can openly discuss with others he works with – considering he's only recently re-earned his status as a well-respected Detective Inspector, he doesn't want to destroy it too soon – he needs to wait for Harris to do something, except that could take weeks. Months, even. If Sherlock was here then they'd know within the first few minutes who Harris is, but as Sherlock's never going to return again, it's up to him to find out. Lestrade closes his eyes and lets out a slow breath, everything's been so much harder since Sherlock left, cases can take weeks instead of days, occasionally they take months, several have become cold because they're unsolvable, finding the criminals is harder than it ever was before. The strain and the stress of the job became much more apparent and he discovered just how much he relied on Sherlock for help. Not forgetting how he was demoted to a sergeant and it took him months to earn the respect of his co-workers once more.
"Everything okay, Sir?" Palmer asks uncertainly as she stands by the open door.
Lestrade opens his eyes and looks at her, he holds back the mild look of surprise, he really wishes Palmer wouldn't be so silent, at least with Donovan you could hear her shoes clacking against the ground. "Yes, everything's fine." He nods, reassuring her, "What is it you wanted, Palmer?"
Palmer stares at him, not quite believing him, but doesn't question him on it. "Anderson says that they've identified the hair follicles on the victim."
Lestrade nods feeling somewhat relieved, they've been at this case for five days with nothing, it's about time they discovered something. "That's good, get..." Lestrade waves his hand around in a circular motion several times as he tries to remember the name, "Harris on discovering this person. I need to go." Lestrade orders as he walks quickly towards his door.
Palmer frowns, her blonde eyebrows knitting together, "Where are you going?"
Lestrade stops directly before her. "For one," Lestrade responds looking down at his watch as he does, "lunch, for another, I agreed to give John a lift." He knows John won't go if he didn't give him a ride there, that won't take longer than twenty minutes and he can easily pop to Subway for a sandwich, although one can never trust London traffic. With that, Lestrade leaves without saying another word.
He almost walks into someone on his way out of the Yard. He goes to side-step around them when he notices the confusion on the person's face as he looks down at the package within his hands, squinting as if he can barely make out the words written down.
"Need any help?" Lestrade asks, stopping in his steps to ask.
The man looks up at him, dark eyes startled; he nearly jumps back in surprise before it's quickly covered by a shake of the head and a friendly smile.
"No, everything's fine, Inspector." He says as he shakes his head, his voice is deeper than expected and with a soft tone, it sounds vaguely familiar.
Lestrade frowns at the other man and looks him over. The sad gaze in his dark eyes as if he's reminiscing about something, the paleness of his face only made worse by the darkness of his beard and the dark circles under his eyes, the postman uniform almost seems too big for him and the bag seems ready to fall off his shoulder, he can almost make out a thin, jagged scar running down his neck and disappearing under the large clothes. The poor lad clearly hasn't had a decent meal and rest in a while. Lestrade tilts his head to the side slightly, there's something oddly familiar about this man, but he can't tell what.
"Are you sure?" Lestrade asks, he doesn't want anyone getting lost in here and he most certainly doesn't want them to come across classified information.
"Quite sure." The man replies as he looks over Lestrade's shoulder, his eyes widen when he spots something and Lestrade notices sweat forming on the other man's forehead.
Lestrade frowns harder and turns his head around to see what the man is looking at; it must be the person he's looking for as there are only people working at their desks, he takes note of Harris, eagerly working through the files Anderson must have given him. Turning back to the man in front of him, he opens his mouth to ask him again if everything's okay, but he is quickly cut off.
"Excuse me, Inspector," He says somewhat impatiently, his eyes hardening as he looks down at his wrist for the time clearly not realising that he isn't wearing a watch, "I have post to deliver and I'm short on time." He finishes barging past Lestrade, his bag hitting Lestrade's waist.
Lestrade simply shakes his head, feeling confused and frustrated. There is something clearly wrong with that person and that bag felt far too empty for there to be any post in it. Lestrade sighs and continues walking towards the door; he can't let John miss his appointment with Ella again, not after last time.
"I've been talking with your physiotherapist, John," Ella starts, "he says you're doing better, but he feels something's holding you back."
John nods and stares at her gravely, "I keep having these dreams," John says slowly, almost uncertainly, "about the war, the crash, and..." John falters and sighs slowly, "Sherlock." Just saying his name almost brings tears to his eyes, he thought that after two and a half years he'd be able to say the name, but he can't, he's not getting better, he's getting worse.
"What happens in these dreams, John?" Ella asks, looking down at her notebook, looking over the information from the previous session and getting ready to write more down.
John takes a deep breath, "There are guns, people are fighting each other, it's hot and I can feel sweat run down my face, but then I'm suddenly in a car and it's crashing and there's glass everywhere. I can feel the pain in my leg, it's deep and agonising, and suddenly Sherlock saying goodbye." John sighs and rubs a hand across his eyes, ridding himself of the tears beginning to show. It's hard, knowing that the nightmares have returned, the phantom pain that will return with the pain of weakened and damaged muscles, and that he's going backwards instead of forwards like he was before.
Ella looks up from her notebook. "I want you to try something else, John," She says calmly, a thoughtful look upon her face, "once you've awoken, I want you to try altering the end of your dreams, change the outcome of what happened, manipulate it into being a happy dream."
John frowns at her as she suggests this, how could altering the end of his dreams possibly help? Manipulating a dream by making Sherlock survive it would surely only make things worse.
"It will take time, John, but I want you to try it."
John shakes his head and refuses to believe it, "How is pretending something never happened supposed to help at all?"
"It's not pretending, John." Ella explains quietly, slowly in an attempt to help him understand, "These dreams are impeding in your development, I've spoken to your physiotherapist and he says that you shouldn't need that cane if there wasn't something holding you back. Your negative mind-set is affecting your physical well-being."
John closes his eyes and rests his hand above his right eye and sighs as he feels frustration building up inside him, like he needs to be reminded of that.
"In one of these dreams, you've explained to me that you're being chased by something, and this something has been chasing you since the war." She explains, taking note of his reluctance, being careful to write it subjectively and not objectively. She looks back at the notes from a previous session quickly after, "Next time you dream about this, I want you to stop and face them, stop them from chasing you, and morph them into something else."
"But what if it doesn't work?" John says slowly, his voice shaking slightly, he still hasn't opened his eyes to look at her. He knows exactly who he's being chased by and that is exactly why he doesn't want to face them.
Ella takes note of the tremor in his voice and looks back up at him. "Again, it will take some time, many things do, John. I've tried this method with many others suffering nightmares and it worked for them, it didn't happen immediately, but it still worked." She neglects to mention how it doesn't work on them all and hopes John wouldn't be among that small percentage. "We'll get through this together." She says with a small smile, "Even if it takes another year."
John lets out a long breath and opens his eyes to look at her. He doesn't want to try it, the idea sounds preposterous! What good could come from changing a dream? It's like asking him to ignore what really happened! If he changes the ending to a dream in which Sherlock dies to Sherlock surviving, then he's just going to be reminded of the cruel reality that Sherlock's still dead and isn't going to return simply because he changed one of his nightmares. That certainly wouldn't lighten his mood. But if he wants to finish these therapy sessions, which are certainly burning a hole in his bank account, then he needs to at least try.
"I'll do it." John says softly as he nods at her, "I'll give it an attempt tonight."
Harris closes his front door behind him, a dark smile forms at his thin lips and a gleeful feeling builds up in his stomach. It has to be him! Who else would send an unmarked package with a clock inside? Really, he mustn't be as smart as the boss has always said to do something as stupid as that. His fingers tremble from excitement as he pulls his phone out to call someone, his other hand rubbing small circles into his dark hair out of habit. It only takes three rings for the other man to answer.
"Find anything?" The voice asks, he sounds stern and rough with a hard edge that would make a man tremble in fear if they heard it.
"Yes," Harris answers, his voice equally stern as he fights to keep his hands steady and walks to the kitchen. "It's him, I think it's him. It has to be him." He heads towards the drawers and pulls out pen and paper; he needs to write down the details before he forgets them.
"I don't want you to think it's him, I need you to know it's him." He responds, his voice growing harder and with annoyance in his tone. "You know what our orders are; we can't afford any screw ups."
Harris nods despite how the other man can't see him. He's scribbling down notes hastily with his right hand, if he forgets what he's seen then they won't progress with their mission.
"Give me some time, if he knows who I am then he'll likely return and try to study my life, I can take him down and bring him to you. And he didn't look healthy earlier, so it won't be too hard." Harris says confidently.
"You know what our orders are." He repeats angrily, "Don't get ahead of yourself, especially if he turns out to be somebody else. Don't call me again until you know it's him."
Harris puts his phone in his back pocket when the other man hangs up, still scribbling down some notes. They're so close, as soon as they can stop him, they can rebuild their web and return to being master criminals. He just very much hopes it is him. Contempt and disgust flashes across his face, he hates having to work for the police but he is glad that Lestrade's too stupid to see through his disguise.
AN: Franzi86: Thank you so much for your support in that review, I greatly appreciate it!
I'm back! Sorry for the ultra-long wait, my mind and muse never seem to be satisfied with what I've planned mainly concerning Mary which is aided by how nowhere sells ACD's books. Aha, this is troublesome.
Sorry, I'm not too sure how a therapy session would go, I've never had therapy and I certainly can't use NBC's Hannibal for a reference.
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this, do let me know if you did or didn't. Have a nice day!
~Steffii