While waiting for Lestrade an his team to arrive, Vale more or less settled down, and the rain had agitated Sherlock's hair just enough to make the tips curl up. It looked quite fetching, and John had told him so, only to be smacked on the arm with a clutch bag.
"You're no kind of lady," John told him.
"Well you aren't any kind of gentleman. I'm getting rained on! You could at least offer me your jacket."
"The sleeves would be too short. Besides, your coat is only a minute's walk away in the cloakroom. Why don't you go and get it?"
"Why don't you go and get it," Sherlock huffed.
"I'm a doctor, I've got to stay here," John replied, pointing at Vale, and they were both seconds away from really, truly inappropriate giggles when Lestrade's unmarked car rolled up, closely followed by a squad car.
Only then did it occur to John that he had no idea if Lestrade knew about Violet.
He stepped forward to meet him as the inspector clambered tiredly out of his car, Donovan getting out of the passenger door and walking back towards the squad car without even a glance in John and Sherlock's direction.
"Greg, you okay?" he asked.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm just...I...what..."
No, he hadn't known about Violet at all. Not if the goldfish impression he was now doing in Sherlock's direction was any indication.
"Greg?"
Goldfish.
"Greg!"
"That..."
"Yeah, Sherlock's in a frock. I'm sure he'll tell you all about it later."
"Oh Christ. Alright," Lestrade muttered, and he turned to his officers, something of the thousand-yard-stare in his eyes as he did so. "Addesley, get the suspect into the car and help Dr Mistry with him. Anderson, get ready to take his prints. We'll want measurements of his hands too."
An eager looking detective constable and a middle aged woman who John recognised as a criminal psychiatrist relieved them of Vale with barely a glance at Sherlock.
"His boss, Algernon Garvin, was our original suspect," John told Lestrade, peripherally aware of Sherlock glaring at him, "But it turned out that he wasn't the one. Sherlock realised he had some condition that impaired his grip, so he couldn't have strangled anyone. He may have been aware of Vale's actions though."
Lestrade nodded, glanced uncomfortably at the still silent Sherlock, then beckoned Donovan over.
"Sally, go up to this Garvin's room and sort him out, would you? Yates, go with her." Sherlock broke his silence to mutter the room number and John passed it on, then Donovan scurried off into the hotel, deliberately keeping her gaze away from Sherlock, the younger Yates having to run to keep up with her. Poor girl, John thought. He wondered if he should warn her that she was Garvin's type too.
When he turned back to Sherlock, Anderson had drifted over and was looking an unimpressed 'Violet' up and down with a raised eyebrow. He took a step back and looked up and down again, then stepped forward once more, closer this time, and John saw a smile creep slowly over Sherlock's face.
Oh God, Anderson didn't get it.
John clamped his hand over his mouth to stop any laughter or hysterical screams. Lestrade turned back to them to say something, but paused in the middle of forming a word, eyes staring half-focussed at Sherlock and Anderson as if seeing a terrible car accident in progress.
Anderson gave Sherlock a grin that John assumed he thought was charming.
"And you are?" he asked, impishly.
Sherlock smirked and held out a hand, palm down and fingers elegantly straight. "Violet," he said.
Lestrade let out an odd wheezing noise. John knew how he felt.
"My husband," Sherlock added, gesturing towards John.
Anderson frowned at that and half turned to John, the words 'you're not married' almost visibly beginning to form on his lips.
Then he got it.
He stumbled backwards so fast that he smacked into the side of Lestrade's car.
"Just get on with it Anderson," Lestrade said wearily, and Anderson, looking scandalised and disgusted but unable to tear his eyes away from Sherlock, nodded shakily and sidled off towards the squad car in which Vale and Dr Mistry were talking.
John' laughter was leaking out from behind his hand now and it almost hurt to keep it contained, but Sherlock was smiling warmly and indulgently at him and damn it but that made a lot of things worthwhile.
Lestrade shook his head firmly and reached into the car to take a packet of Aspirin from the glove box.
The door swooshed open and Donovan emerged looking annoyed. Her eyes cut from John's red face over to Anderson, then back to Sherlock with a malevolent gleam. Luckily she seemed to remember her boss was right there, and didn't unleash the spleen just at that moment.
"Yates is going to bring him downstairs in a minute sir," she reported tensely. "He seems a bit agitated, but he isn't violent."
"Of course he isn't," Sherlock told her airily. "As far as he's concerned, he's just been ditched and now the police have shown up. A man like him after an evening like this, he's too confused to be violent."
Donovan narrowed her eyes at him. "I think I'm going to throw up," she snarled.
Sherlock smirked. "Just try not to splash it near these shoes Sally, the Met couldn't afford to replace them."
Donovan's eyes darkened and, before she could return the volley, John stepped smartly out of the line of fire and made his way over to the squad car and its open rear door.
Vale seemed to have become very compliant; he was sitting slumped and boneless in the back seat of the car, listening passively to Dr Mistry, who spoke calmly, telling him what was going to happen to him. He spoke once or twice, his voice hoarse from crying, just a few words in answer to questions. There was still dried blood on his top lip. Anderson hovered outside the door next to him, waiting for an opportunity to take his fingerprints.
Lestrade appeared beside John, holding his phone. "The doctor got his real name from him first. I just called it in and got his records. Social services."
John nodded, not entirely sure that he wanted to hear this. He didn't want to feel too sorry for a man who'd just tried to strangle him. Dr Mistry gave them a very vocal look, and Lestrade drew John away from the car so Vale wouldn't hear them talking about him. They both glanced over at Sherlock, who was peering through the hotel door looking dangerously bored, but by silent agreement neither of them called him over. John could tell him the necessary information later. He'd just be a pain at this point and make them both cross with him.
"Real name's Edward Dyer," Lestrade began, looking at his notebook. "He grew up in a home with abusive parents. When he was fourteen, his older sister moved in with her boyfriend and he went to live with them to try and get away from it. But the boyfriend was abusing his sister, and eventually started on Dyer too. Apparently he asked his sister to go somewhere else with him, so they'd be safe. She kicked him out the house."
"Christ," John murmured.
"Social services decided to take him into care, gave him some therapy and such but he was calm and sensible so they didn't really pursue it far. They haven't kept track of him since."
John sighed and looked over at the squad car, at Vale's head just visible over the top of the back seat. Poor bugger.
A hand landed heavily on his shoulder, making him jump.
"Don't feel sorry for him John," Sherlock said quietly, and back came that psychic flatmate paranoia. "He made the decision to kill, and to attack you."
"Decisions impaired by mental and emotional trauma, Sherlock."
"Doesn't change the fact that it was his hands around your neck," Sherlock replied, eyeing John's no-doubt reddened throat. "Don't be foolish and start feeling sentimental over him John. It won't help either of you."
John saw Lestrade, to his surprise, nodding agreement, and sighed deeply again. Sherlock had somehow found a moment to go to the cloakroom and was wrapped in his coat, its little pink-stitched buttonhole looking incongruously cheerful. He was about to say something when a familiar voice reached his ears and the door flew open again, spilling out Yates and Garvin.
"What on earth is going on?" Garvin cried. He zeroed in on Lestrade and the two men stepped up to each other, clearly preparing for an argument.
"Mr Algernon Garvin? Detective Inspector Lestrade. You employ Mr Vale, correct?"
"Yes. This officer tells me you arrested him for some silly thing. Now listen; that man-" he pointed at John. "That man has been viciously beating his wife and if Norman Vale decided to pick a fight with him, well I say good on Norman Vale!"
"Mr Garvin," Lestrade interrupted sternly, "Norman Vale has confessed to several murders including the attempted murder of John Watson this evening. He also has been living under a false name."
Garvin paled, his mouth dropping open, and pushed past Lestrade to get towards the squad car. Vale, or rather Dyer, had pushed open the door on his side and was sitting quietly while Anderson inked his fingertips. He looked up as Garvin approached and an expression of horror crossed his face.
"No!" he cried, getting to his feet and facing Lestrade. "Mr Garvin had nothing to do with it, I swear! Don't arrest him, please. He's too kind!"
"It is true Norman?" Garvin asked.
Vale stared at him for a long, silent moment, then let out a sob and receeded back into the car, huddling in the centre of the back seat.
"Oh Norman," Garvin breathed. "Oh dear."
Lestrade drew him back away from the car a little. "Mr Garvin, we need to ask you a few things, and I've like to see if you can recall certain dates and the events that took place on them so-"
"You said something about Watson," Garvin interrupted. "Who is that?"
"This is John Watson," Lestrade answered, gesturing at John. "He and his partner are consulting detectives who have been investigating this case with our approval. He-"
"He's a brute who has been beating that partner of his!" Garvin roared, making Lestrade jump. He turned on his heel and stalked towards John, fury radiating from him like a mist.
"You even had the nerve to call the police? You think that they won't take action because you help them? Well I have every intention of making sure they prosecute, and you'd best prepare for the worst! You're going to prison you little rat!"
Despite John's attempts to interrupt him, Garvin managed to deliver all of this in one breath, with volume and resonance that Brian Blessed would have been proud of. Before John could retort, Garvin brushed him to one side and approached Sherlock, hands outstretched.
Everyone in the alley, except possibly Vale, stared with perverse fascination.
"Violet, I've never met a woman like you," Garvin told her earnestly. "Leave that rotten creature that lured you into marriage, I beg of you. I'll marry you, I swear it in front of all these law officers. You'll never have to worry for money, nor for your safety. I promise you-"
"I'm a man," Sherlock said in his normal voice.
Garvin stalled, mouth open in mid speech.
"Um, he and John were pretending to be married," Lestrade pointed out. "John was pretending to be abusive. He-"
"I think he gets it Greg," John noted, because really, Garvin wasn't stupid.
He did look a bit green about the gills, however.
With a start he turned on the spot and sprinted – no mean feat for a man his size – back through the door into the hotel, Donovan and Yates hot on his heels.
"Fucking hell," Lestrade breathed, rubbing his hands over his face.
"John, let's go," Sherlock said.
"What? But-"
"I'm hungry."
John shared a weary glance with Lestrade, then nodded. "Okay, we'll go home."
"The only food at home is those pasta-tubes-in-cheese-powder things, John. We'll go to a restaurant."
"Oh alright! We'll go home and change, then go-"
"I'm starving John, I can't wait. I'll go like this."
"What? But-"
"I'll expect you in my office to give a statement tomorrow morning," Lestrade ordered, always quicker than John to give in. "I'm serious Sherlock, don't just send John in with a letter again."
Sherlock rolled his eyes in acknowledgement and turned to the road. A couple of taxis had pulled into the side street, then seen the police car and hung back from the rank. Sherlock beckoned the first one to come forwards, and with a sigh John trudged over to join him.
"You should feel honoured to be escorting me to dinner, John," Sherlock told him with a smirk. "I'm clearly very desirable. I did just get proposed to."
"Mm. And Anderson quite liked you too," John noted, and Sherlock gave him a dirty look before getting in to the cab.
::
I wasn't going to make such a big deal of this scene initially, but people kept leaving comments that they wanted to see various character's reactions, so I decided to go for it.
I adore Brian Blessed. I don't know how well known he is outside the UK, but possibly his most famous American role is as Vultan in Flash Gordon ("Gordon's alive?"), which alone will give you some idea of how amazing his voice is. As well as an actor, he is an explorer, mountaineer, athlete, and overall a real Rennaisance man, sort of like Benedict Cumberbatch might grow into if he's a good boy.
See you next week :D