Greg & Danae

Greg shifted in the uncomfortable seat, fingers spayed together to halt the self-conscious twitching. Beside him, Danae was the picture of professional decorum. The Irish Wolfhound laid on the floor to the right of the table, exuding an air of practiced disinterest and yet appearing attentive, which was far more then could be said for Tharin. Sally's daemon was under the table, long ears twitching in annoyance and agitation.

A camera flash went off as the reporters murmured quietly together, their daemons weaving together as they exchanged pleasantries and theories. Clearing her throat Detective Sergeant Donovan addressed the group while her European Hare daemon paced under the table. "The body of Beth Davenport, Junior Minister for Transport, was found late last night on a building site in Greater London. Preliminary investigations suggest that this was a suicide.

"We can confirm that this apparent suicide resembles those of Sir Jeffrey Patterson and James Phillimore. In light of this, these incidents are now being treated as linked. The investigation is ongoing, but Detective Inspector Lestrade will take questions now."

Just like that, the silence broke. A flood of sound engulfed the room as reporters jockeyed to get their questions answered. The noise level was beginning to give him a headache so Greg pointed at a young woman in the front, trying to restore order.

"Detectives Inspector, how can suicides be linked?"

Greg shuffled his papers around, briefly wishing he could have had a set speech like Donovan. "Well, they all took the same poison. Um…they were all found in places they had no reason to be. None of them showed prior indication of-"

The same reporter interrupted him, impatiently brushing her short blonde hair from her eyes as she stood from her seat. "But you can't have serial suicide!" Her voice was loud enough to carry out into the hall, turning several heads to the conference room.

"Well, apparently you can," Lestrade argued back, teeth grinding as Danae swiveled her attention, ears upright and poised as she stared down the woman's small magpie daemon. The reporter retook her seat and said not another word.

"These three people…" another journalist began, breaking the tension that had risen in the room. "There's nothing that links them?"

"There's no link been found yet, but we're looking for it. There has to be one," Lestrade and every other person in the room reached for their mobiles as they trilled and chirped with text alert. The text left Greg annoyed and strangely impressed.

Donovan nearly threw her phone down as Tharin became absolutely still. Danae looked over in concern, neck outstretched as she lightly touched the hare with her nose. At the contact, Tharin relaxed, ears twitching, and Donovan's hand unclenched. "If you've got texts please ignore them."

"Just says 'Wrong'."

"Yeah, well, just ignore that," Sally did not quite snap at the balding man. "Okay, if there are no more questions for Detective Inspector Lestrade, I'm going to bring this session to an end."

"But if they're suicides," another interrupted before the two detectives could beat a hasty retreat. "What are you investigating?"

"As I said," Lestrade began and Danae lifted her head to lay it across her human's lap. Greg felt the agitation leech out of him and he continued in a much calmer tone. "These suicides are clearly linked. It's an…unusual situation. We've got our best people investigating-"

The room was filled with the sounds of buzzing and chirping. Neither Greg nor Sally reached for their phones. "Says 'Wrong' again."

Eyes sliding to the left, he gave Sally a desperate, pleading look and she felt Tharin climb into her lap. "One more question."

An elder man near the back stood and Donovan acknowledged him with a nod. "Is there any chance that these are murders? And if they are, is this the work of a serial killer?"

What followed felt like a three ringed circus. His semi not-answer was followed by a question. Greg socially blundered and spent the next minute trying to back track before the text alerts drowned out the response. When his mobile buzzed after everyone else, he grabbed it while Donovan wrapped up the interview.

You know where to find me.

SH

~ x ~ Page Break ~ x ~

"You've got to stop him doing that," Sally told him, annoyance and underlying anger coloring her tone. She walked as if affronted, steps short and quick, curly hair bouncing with every step she took. The up button for the elevator could have cracked with how hard she pressed it and Greg winced at the sound. They entered the fully packed elevator and ascended in almost silence as she fumed. Seconds after the door opened, she continued her rant. "He's making us look like idiots."

Danae trotted over to Tharin, nudging him as they exited the elevator and walked through the offices of Scotland Yard. Greg saw Donovan deflate some as Tharin bounced around the Irish Wolfhound's long legs.

"If you can tell me how he does it, I'll stop him," he replied diplomatically. They paused at the threshold of his office and Sally sighed before she angrily stomped to her desk. Danae and Tharin briefly touched noses before the hare departed after his human before she had gone too far.

They stood there a moment longer, watching as Sally started to aggressively type her report and Tharin supervise from his perch on her desk; Greg could hear her keyboard nearly fifteen feet away as she pounded on the keys. "It was rather impressive," Danae commented as they made their way into the office. Greg hummed in a questioning tone as he hung up his coat. "The text messages," Danae elaborated, settling into the large dog bed by the desk.

"That man is infuriating," Greg replied, not quite collapsing into his chair as he ruffled through the case file of the last suicide.

"Doesn't mean you weren't impressed," Danae countered. Greg turned to her and fixed her with a glare. His daemon met it with her own steady gaze and the detective soon turned away in defeat. She was right, of course. "So…are we going?"

"Going where?"

Danae let out an undignified huff. "Don't play dumb, Greg. Are we going to get Sherlock and Atalanta?"

"I thought you didn't like her," he commented, booting up his laptop while he scratched the back of his head. He had more gray hair every time he looked in the mirror. This job was making him old.

"I don't even know her," she replied, laying her head on her giant paws as she gazed out of the office door. "We've known them for four years, Greg, and in all that time Atalanta has only talked to me once."

"Really?!" Greg was truly surprised and yet at the same time, he was not. Danae was an intimidating daemon, with her size and all, nearly six feet nose to tail and standing almost four feet to the shoulder. Most daemons were apprehensive until they got to know her; Danae had a gentle heart and a kind disposition. But Sherlock's daemon was just plain odd, and Greg did not believe for one second that Atalanta was even remotely intimidated by Danae. "What did she say?"

Danae turned to him, amusement and annoyance coloring her tone as she answered. "Don't be stupid."

Greg was not surprised at all.