A/N: In this chapter, I'm finally introducing Laura, my OC, and, well, she wanted her daddy to tell her a story…Yeah…I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not. It was fun to write. By the way, Laura is pronounced like the name Lara, it's just a different spelling. Sorry if there are mistakes in here, but this chapter is too long to edit thoroughly.
The landlord, Robert Johnson, was a small man. His receding hair, large glasses, and ill fitting jumper made him rather peculiar looking. The man seemed perpetually anxious, as if he was always expecting something to go horribly wrong. He was a nice enough bloke though, if only a bit jumpy. Despite the fact that he had already been questioned about the murder three times previously, he agreed to talk to Lestrade one last time. The DI was grateful for his cooperation; nothing made getting information more difficult than a reluctant witness. So it was that Lestrade and Sally Donovan found themselves sitting in Johnson's kitchen, being served tea by the nervous landlord.
"So, Mr. Johnson, what can you tell me about your ex-tenant, Miss-" Greg checked his notes, having forgotten the name, "Miss Lydia Sparks."
"Well," the man swallowed uneasily. "I didn't really know her all that much. She wasn't a big talker. Lived here for years and I never really knew what was going on in her head. Wh- when she first moved in she was into all that 'new age' stuff. I remember she had all these dream catcher type things hanging all over the walls. A couple months before she left, I found them all in the rubbish bins, figured she must have grown out of it. She would do things like that, change her mind a lot I mean. She was a bit of an odd one, Lydia. I wonder if she's maybe bi-polar or something. That would make a lot of sense."
"You got the feeling she was unstable?" Sally asked, her voice kind and gentle. It never failed to amaze Lestrade how caring Donovan was to people she didn't feel threatened by.
"No, n-not really. It's just- It's just one time, I came up to bring her the mail, to make her life easier and all that, and I found her- I found her crying, just crying on the floor. I made her tea, and sat with her for a moment, and before I knew it she was laughing like nothing had happened at all. It was…strange."
"And her sudden departure? What do you know about that? Did she tell you where she was going?" Lestrade inquired.
"No, she didn't tell me anything. She just told me she was going, and I went in the next day and- and she was gone. Her rent was paid up through the rest of the month too. She could have stayed for two more weeks if she wanted. I wasn't surprise though, really. She's always been like that as long as I've known her, always changing her mind about things. And it's lucky, I suppose, that she was gone before all this dreadful murder business started." The DI and the Sergeant exchanged a look. Was this luck or something more substantial?
"How long had she been gone before the night of the murder?"
"Only a week. A week exactly, in fact. Yes, it was very lucky she was gone by then."
Donovan spoke up. "Did you notice any unusual behaviour in the weeks before her leaving?"
"No… well, a little. She started doing…things. I- I mean weird things, weirder than usual. Like she always had a fire going, and when I brought her the mail she would b-burn it. I had to start pulling the bills and important things out, because, if I didn't, she would burn those too. When I asked her why she was doing this she changed the subject, just acting like everything was normal. I- I kept having to rescue her laptop and mobile phone from the rubbish, she kept trying to throw them out. Eventually, the laptop got thrown out the window, and I found the phone floating in the toilet. She never told me why she was doing these things, and I didn't ask. She- she was like that you see. She had always been…different. The fact that she was acting stranger than usual bothered me, of course, but what could I do about it? And then she packed up and left, and that was that."
"Hmm, right." Lestrade took a moment to digest the information before asking another question. This Lydia character was turning out to be a lot more out of the ordinary than he expected her to be. "The symbol that was found above the body, do you recognize that? Was it, perhaps, something you might have seen among Lydia's possessions?"
"Oh, I- I don't know. She had a lot of things like that. Stars and moons, that kind of thing was all over her stuff. I never paid them much mind." Robert's eyes grew wider, and he looked at the police officers in alarm. "You don't think she had something to do with this, do you? Because she didn't! Sh- she was eccentric, but she would never-"
"It's alright, calm down, sir. You've got nothing to worry about. If she's innocent then you can be sure nothing bad is going to happen to her." Donovan placed a comforting hand on the man's shoulder.
"Look, Mr. Johnson." Lestrade started. "Did Laura have any friends or family we could contact? We've been trying to track her down, but it's like she's disappeared. There's not a trace of her anywhere. Now, we don't think she's done anything wrong, but we are concerned for her safety. Any help you could give us would be greatly appreciated."
"Sh- she never mentioned any family, and any friends she had never came to the flat while I was there. She didn't talk much about herself. Was more of a listener really." Robert wrung his hands nervously. "You don't think something's happened do you, to her?"
"We don't know, but hopefully we'll find her and she'll be just fine." Lestrade stood and Donovan mimicked him. "Well, if you can't help us we'll get out of your hair. I'll be in touch if we need your help." The two police officers made their way out of the building and to the car, Donovan settling into the driver's seat and Lestrade collapsing in the passenger seat next to her.
"Well, now what?" Donovan asked, the calm, kind exterior gone, replaced by her stressed, tense self. Lestrade ran a hand through his silver hair, exhaling slowly. The information he had gained from Mycroft hadn't turned out as helpful as he had hoped it would be. The name Lydia Sparks was nowhere to be found in their records, it was like the woman never existed. Lestrade suspected that it was an alias of some kind, and, judging by the description he had just been given, that hypothesis was not an unreasonable one. Unfortunately, it meant the Yarders really didn't have a shot at tracking her down, and they were, once again, left with no leads.
"We'll head back to the yard, and regroup with the rest of the team. Perhaps one of them will have new information for us." He said, his voice not holding much hope. Sally nodded, putting the car into drive. Greg rested his head in his hand, leaning heavily against the car door. His insomnia had been getting worse with this new case, and he was honestly exhausted. Donovan could, no doubt, see this, but that didn't stop her from complaining loudly as they drove down the crowded street.
"Do you really have to take the day off tomorrow?"
"I've told you already, my daughter's staying with me for the weekend. I can't bail out again, like last time. It would give Amy another chance to try for full custody. And I can't lose Laura, Sally, I really can't." He looked up at her, willing her to understand so that he could, for once, have some peace and quiet. He had no such luck.
"But with you gone, I'll be working alone with Anderson all day! Do you understand how horrible that is going to be?"
"What's going on between the two of you anyway? You used to get on just fine, now it's like you can barely stand to be in the same room as each other!" At first, he hadn't minded the chilly silences between the two, but now, after several days, the cold behaviour was beginning to get on Lestrade's nerves.
"I don't want to talk about it." Sally muttered, focusing her eyes on the road. The older police officer shrugged, letting the matter go. If his subordinates wanted to hate each other that was their business, he certainly wasn't going to play therapist for them.
Greg got home later than he had anticipated, it was amazing how many false leads you could dig up when you had no idea what you were doing. He supposed it didn't make all that much of a difference; it wasn't like he would have slept any longer if he had been home on time. He went to the kitchen and heated up a can of ravioli, while simultaneously discarding his jacket and shoes in a slapdash manner. Taking his meal into his living room, he retired to his chair. He flipped on the television, but quickly shut it off when the first thing he saw was a news report about the murder of Victoria Hudgens. Work always seemed to follow him home, whether it was through newspapers or other forms of media. It never left him alone. Sitting in silence, he attempted to eat the ravioli. His mind apparently had other ideas, and continued to wander back to that dinner he had shared with Mycroft. Compared to that meal, this canned monstrosity was vaguely disgusting.
Inevitably, he gave up and set his bowl aside, leaning back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. Mycroft had been in his thoughts quite a lot lately. He knew it was foolish to think about the man too often, for the chances of them meeting again anytime soon were rather pitiful. If he wasn't careful he would start to miss the strangely captivating Government Official. Unfortunately, however, Lestrade couldn't seem to control his thoughts on the matter. Constantly, he found himself thinking of things he'd like to tell Mycroft; filing away conversation starters, just in case he needed them in the future. Multiple times, he caught himself right before sending the man a text. The increasing insomnia wasn't helping either. Each time he would stop himself just a little later than before, and it was only a matter of time before he finally slipped up and actually hit the send button. Somehow, he figured that accidentally sending Mycroft a text wouldn't go over so well, especially if he happened to interrupt an important meeting with some foreign dignitary.
In all honesty, Greg was more than a little embarrassed about his current preoccupation with Sherlock's older brother. It wasn't as if he really knew the man, but he thought about him near constantly. It wasn't Lestrade's fault really. He couldn't help it if he found Mycroft extremely charming, in a rather curious way. The three pieced suits, the umbrella, and the posh attitude, all combined with Mycroft's fierce intelligence, were overwhelming. If Mycroft had been anyone else Greg would have called this fixation of his a crush. This wasn't just anyone, however, this was Mycroft Holmes. And, if his brother was anything to go by, a crush on a Holmes was not something Lestrade particularly wanted to have. So, in a behaviour which could have been termed denial, Gregory ignored his fascination with the elder Holmes brother; only paying it enough attention to keep from making a fool of himself by texting the man insistently.
He must have fallen asleep sitting there, for he was awakened abruptly by the ringing of the doorbell. He vaulted out of the chair, trying to gain his bearings. A quick glance at the clock told him he had slept in far too long. It was already time for Amy to be dropping off Laura, and unquestionably that was her ringing the bell. Making his way to the door, he pulled on his rumpled clothing and ran his hands through his hair, trying to look like he hadn't just woken up. It was all in vain though, for as he opened the door it was clear from the disapproving scowl his ex-wife sent him that she knew exactly where he had been sleeping. Despite their differences, Amy did care about Greg. When they had been together she had always been on about him overworking himself, even during the bad times. Falling asleep in the chair would have earned him several hours' worth of lecturing back in those days. Now, he was simply given a threatening glare. And then she was gone, leaving a very sleepy Laura in her wake.
"Hey, kiddo. Did you eat breakfast yet?" Laura mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like 'doughnut' as she allowed herself to be lead into the house. Greg chuckled, "You hungry?" The four year old nodded vigorously. "Alright, you sit down right here, and I'll be back with some cereal for you in just a minute."
The detective sat his daughter down on the couch, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders. Then, he flipped on the telly, snagged the crusted over ravioli from where it lay next to the chair, and went to the kitchen. Luckily, he never really had time for breakfast on normal days, so there was still a box of sugar cereal lurking in the back of his cupboard. It might have been a little stale, but Laura didn't notice. She was too pleased at the fact that she was being allowed to eat on the couch to pay attention to anything other than not making a mess (if she spilled the milk daddy might not let her eat in front of the television anymore). Meanwhile, her dad quickly showered and got dressed, not wanting to leave her unsupervised for too long. He then joined her on the couch, officially marking the start of their day together.
Lestrade didn't get to see Laura as often as he would have liked. This day was the second time he had seen her in the last month. Only seeing her every other weekend was tough. It may just have been his imagination, but it seemed like every time he saw her she was a bit taller. Her personality was certainly changing. Like today, for instance, she seemed much more subdued than he had ever seen her before. Normally, Laura was a little ball of energy that could not, under any circumstances, be contained. Today, however, Laura was quiet, almost melancholy. Greg found the change disturbing. At first, he thought she was just a little tired and would perk up as the day progressed. Her low mood continued they when to the park, and he became concerned. When she seemed indifferent to the ducks swimming in the duck pond, not even asking if she could feed them, he knew something was desperately wrong. Lestrade steered his daughter to the nearest bench, intending to figure out what was going on in her head. There they sat for a moment, overlooking the pond.
Greg knew that Amy's boyfriend was quickly becoming a big part of Laura's life. He hoped not, but it was possible that this man was the source of his daughters changed attitude. "Do you like Kyle, Laura?" he asked cautiously. The young girl merely shrugged, eyes looking down at the ground. "Is he nice to you?"
"Yeah, I guess." Laura kicked her feet out, swinging them back and forth. "It's just…He doesn't tell any stories!" She blurted out, frustration clear in her voice.
"No stories!" Lestrade exclaimed in mock astonishment. "Well that's no good, is it?" Laura shook her head gravely, completely missing his joking tone. "Well, you know, you can always call me if you ever need a story."
Laura's head snapped up, her expression taken aback. "Really?"
"Of course really!"
"But mummy said you were too busy when I wanted to call you!" Well, that explained the downhearted attitude. Laura had been feeling betrayed, assuming that her mother had been telling the truth; that her daddy really was just too busy to talk to her. Count on Amy to plant something like that in their child's mind.
"Well, your mum was wrong, wasn't she?" he responded. "I'm never too busy for a good story."
Immediately, Laura's countenance brightened. "Will you tell me a story now? About the consulting detective?" She turned her body to face him, leaning forward and beaming. Greg chuckled at her enthusiasm.
The stories about the amazing consulting detective had started up when Laura was not even a year old. She had been so young at the time she hadn't understood a word her father was saying. She just liked to watch his facial expressions and body language. As she grew older, she came to appreciate the stories for themselves. Sherlock made a wonderful hero. Laura loved hearing about his adventures, even if Lestrade did make most of the stories up off of the top of his head. Her love for stories expanded into a love for books and movies. As four year olds go, she was definitely one of the more literate. She couldn't read, exactly, but she could pick out words and phrases here and there. However, even as she grew older and learned of different types of stories of storytelling, her dad's detective stories were always her favourite.
Her love for the consulting detective was only increased with the introduction of his lovable sidekick, Dr. Watkins, who quickly became her favourite character. Countless hours were spent between the father and daughter, crafting these stories. Stories about friendship and love, about good and evil, about triumph and failure; all were loved dearly. Happy stories, sad stories, and everything in between. Each tale was full with vibrant characters and fantastical adventures. The detective's intelligence and wit, the doctor's bravery and loyalty, and the dedication of the clueless police officer, Inspector Graves, all were part of a extraordinary world shared between Laura and her father, a world that meant a great deal to both of them.
"Ah, the amazing consulting detective it is then." Lestrade adjusted himself into a more comfortable position. "Well, I've told about Dr. Watkins, Inspector Graves, and the esteemed Mrs. Huddleston. They're the consulting detective's family of choice. But did I ever tell you about his brother, the government man?" Laura shook her head, her eyes shining with delight. It wasn't every day she got a new character. "I haven't! Well, sit yourself down missy, and have I got a story for you.
The government man was a very powerful man. He could do anything he wanted if he put his mind to it. He was tall and impressive, but he wasn't frightening, not unless he wanted to be. He always carried an umbrella with him, even when it wasn't raining outside. No one really knew why, but I think that umbrella was really a secret weapon of some kind. He was older than his brother, the consulting detective, and they didn't really like each other. I could tell you why, but that would be a very long and boring story. So let's just leave it at that, they didn't like each other, not at all. Anyway, one day Dr. Watkins was surprised to find the government man having a staring contest with the consulting detective when he got home from work. Of course, they weren't really having a staring contest, but that was what it looked like. It turns out the government man needed the consulting detective's help. There had been a crime of national importance committed…"
Mycroft had been speaking the truth when he told Lestrade he was going to be on a plane for a long period of time. It had been a taxing sixteen hour flight in his private jet. The voyage wasn't enjoyable, necessarily, but this meeting was an imperative one. Then, when he arrived at his destination, disaster struck. One of the important officials meant to be attending the conference was unable to be there due to untimely health issues. The meeting was postponed and relocated, so Mycroft found himself in for yet another long, exhausting flight. The British Government Official was not pleased, to say the least, but went through with the journey for the sake of world peace and prosperity. In his jet he had his own private compartment, a door separating himself from Anthea and his body guards. Sitting with a laptop in front of him he decided to indulge in one of his favourite pastimes, CCTV footage.
Mycroft using the CCTV security cameras of London for personal reasons was no new development. He had been following Sherlock, and subsequently Dr. Watson, around with them for quite a while. What was new was his ever increasing observation of DI Lestrade. Of course, his surveillance team had been keeping tabs on the man ever since he first began working with Sherlock. Mycroft had never personally taken an interest in him until very recently. There wasn't any apparent reason for the change. In fact, Mycroft didn't quite understand it himself. He simply found the detective interesting for some inexplicable reason. The man wasn't terribly intelligent, nor was he involved in Mycroft's work. Yes, there was a connection with family here, but that had never interested him before now. So why was he all of a sudden intrigued by this man? Mycroft found that he had no answers. He pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind, and proceeded to access the cameras on his laptop.
It was from these cameras that he witnessed the heart warming scene of Lestrade and his daughter walking down the street hand in hand. Judging by the direction they were walking, he guessed they were headed home from the park. The daughter was speaking animatedly about, if his lip reading skills did not deceive him, ducks, and Lestrade was smiling at her fondly. The bond between parent and child was a curious phenomenon, Mycroft mused. As a child, his parents had been mostly absent from his life. Seeing the inspector display such affection for this child was a strange experience. Mycroft wondered what it must be like to be a parent. It couldn't be all that different to the relationship he had with his brother, though no doubt parenting was more rewarding than that. It was true that, when they were children, Mycroft had played parent for his younger brother. After all, someone had to keep the young Holmes in line. Sherlock had hated him for it though, and their relationship had never improved since.
True family was not something Mycroft could claim to have experienced, and most of the time that did not bother him in the least. Sherlock alone was enough trouble, just imagine what it would be like if there were more family members to worry about. Still, watching Gregory and his daughter walking down the street, he couldn't help but wonder if he was missing out on something valuable. He figured that only more observation could answer his questions, so he continued to watch the father and daughter, silently wishing he was walking with them.
"Can you tell me another story about the gov'nment man, daddy?" Laura begged. They were at Greg's flat just finishing up dinner. He had whipped together a simple meal of spaghetti and meatballs, and it seemed to have been quite a hit, judging by the second helping Laura had taken.
"Another one? But I've told you three about him today! Do I detect a new favourite character?" Laura shook her head. "No? So Dr. Watkins still holds the place of honour then?"
"Dr. Watkins isn't my favourite character!" She cried out, clearly insulted that her dad had thought this was the case.
"He's not?"
"No! My favourite character is Inspector Graves, 'cause he reminds me of you." She stated matter-of-factly. Lestrade didn't even bother biting back his grin. It was moments like these that he knew he would remember forever. Everything was perfect; good food, easy conversation, and happiness all rolled into one moment. "Daddy?" Laura began, her brows knitted. "Are Inspector Graves and the gov'nment man friends?"
"Well..." Lestrade phone rang cutting off whatever he was going say. Seeing it was Donovan he answered. "I don't care how much Anderson is bugging you, I'm not coming in."
"There's been a murder, sir."
"I don't care, it's my day off. I'm not coming in."
"Hang on, hang on. We think it was the same murderer as in the Hudgens case. We found the same symbol painted on the wall." And that changed everything.
It took Amy thirty minutes to reach Lestrade's flat, evidently he had interrupted her weekend plans. Laura was looking tremendously dejected at being sent back to her mother's house.
Lestrade knelt down so he was at her eye level. "I'll tell you about Inspector Graves and the government man next time, okay?" He said, smoothing her hair back with his hand.
"Okay." She responded with a little nod. He pulled her into a hug, kissing the top of her head.
As Amy turned to leave he grabbed her arm. "Let her call me next time she asks to. I don't want her having abandonment issues when she grows up, because your pride wouldn't let her phone me."
"Fine, but don't blame me when she's crushed, because you don't pick up." Amy ushered Laura away from the building quickly, leaving her ex-husband to make his way to the crime scene of this new murder case. What neither of them knew was that, miles away, Mycroft Holmes had witnessed the entire exchange. The elder Holmes closed down his laptop, having seen enough. Family dynamics, he decided, were complicated things. Lestrade would never know it, but he had given the government official much to reflect upon that night. Sherlock often referred to John as a conductor of light, a stimulator of genius. Now, as he replayed the scene he had just witnessed in his mind, Mycroft found he was beginning to understand what that meant.
A/N: That was a LONG CHAPTER. Well, long for me anyway. I considered splitting it in two, but decided it was better this way. Don't expect me to do this all the time though. I fear I would end up disappointing you, for I am pretty darn lazy. If you have any questions don't be afraid to ask. Constructive criticism is not only accepted, but is encouraged. Thanks for reading!