Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade stared at the dominatrix with a humorous expression of shocked puzzlement besmirching his handsome features.
"How the hell-" The Inspector continued to gaze dazedly at the tall dark haired young man standing before him with his hands clasped formally behind his back, and a knowing smile lifting the corners of his mouth.
"It's a terrible shame, Inspector, although perhaps it may soften the blow a little were you to understand that the affair is in fact with a woman."
"That's not possible, that man, the P.E. teacher!" Lestrade spluttered helplessly.
"A cunning disguise I'm sure, capable of fooling any suspicious husband. Although I'm afraid you wife is well practised at the art of deception concerning your marriage."
The D.I. sat down at his desk heavily, a deep frown creasing his brow. John walked forwards and laid a tentative hand on his friend's shoulder.
"You alright Greg?" He asked with concern and a stern look at Sherlock, whose smug smile faded on his lips when John turned to him with those piercing eyes.
Eventually Lestrade gathered himself and looked up at Sherlock, who had retreated to the back of the small room like a kicked puppy.
"That was extraordinary" Lestrade ventured, ruffling his grey hair in distress "Bloody insane, but kind of brilliant"
John grinned, noticing how apt that expression was to describe his lover.
Sherlock raised his eyebrows in surprise, feeling unexpectedly happy and pleased with himself.
"What can I do for you Mr Holmes?" Lestrade asked, lacing his fingers together and resting his hands on the desk in a business-like manner.
"I was hoping you might have a position for him here Greg?" John interrupted "You've seen what he can do, he's bloody marvellous! Would you consider it?" He asked with a hopeful smile.
The D.I. sighed, drawing a deep breath into his lungs before speaking. Sherlock, seeing that Lestrade was about to reject his services, swiftly interjected.
"Triple homicide, isn't it? Nasty business, terrible of mess. Well, I say mess...the victims weren't killed there were they? In the warehouse, I mean. No, they were brutally bludgeoned to death just outside a train station in...Camden Town? Yes, I believe so. Camden it is then, HOWEVER, the assailant was not caught on CCTV, all trace of fingerprints removed from the bodies...interesting. Writing on the walls in blood, now, that's a new one...height of the inscription indicates a woman precisely five foot four and three quarters, give or take, presuming she wrote at eye level, as is more commonly the case. It is, of course, most definitely a woman, the style of writing tells us that much. Now, the spacing of the footprints in the grass outside suggests a manner in her gait which lends itself to a person well acquainted with asserting authority, a manager of some form. From studying the evidence you have procured Detective, it is possible to understand that you are looking for a woman who is precisely five foot four and three quarter inches in height and works for a large company, possibly culinary although more likely retail, light blonde hair, revealing clothing, roughly twenty nine years of age, and possessing a rather fetching pair of red leather gloves."
Lestrade gaped at him. He looked at Sherlock, then back at John, who was grinning like a lunatic and gazing at the young man with such adoration in his eyes that the D.I. was left with no doubt as to their relationship.
"John, can I speak to you for a moment?" He managed shakily.
The doctor turned his dazzling smile to Lestrade and nodded slowly. The Detective stood and walked stiffly towards the door, John following obediently.
He shut the door behind him and turned to his friend, about to unleash the torrent of questions that were fighting for space in his brain, but paused as he saw the lost look John was giving the door as Sherlock stood with his back to them in the office.
"Oh God, you're shagging him aren't you?" Lestrade groaned. The doctor snapped out of his trance as his friend shook his head in frustration.
"What?" He said in confusion.
"You, him, I knew it." Lestrade rolled his eyes. "John Three-Continents-Watson. Can't keep your hands off him can you?"
John managed a nervous laugh. "It's more than that" he said quietly.
The D.I. looked away. "I know" Then he met John's gaze with a smile "You love him, don't you?" he said with a teasing grin.
John rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably "Sort of, yeah". His friend nodded, patting John on his good shoulder and turning back to the door of his office.
"Mr Holmes" He called "I believe we may have a job for you"
Sherlock raised his eyebrows in question. "Is that so Inspector?"
"Looks like we need all the help we can get around here. What's your job title?" Lestrade asked, picking up a pen and sliding a plain notepad across the desk, preparing to take down details.
Sherlock froze. "Pardon?"
"What field do you specialize in? Forensics, detection, uh, blood splatter analysis? What?"
John looked at Sherlock awkwardly. Then he thought back to the moment before. You could practically see the light bulb ping above his head.
"Detective!" He blurted. Sherlock jumped at his outburst, fixing him with a quizzical gaze.
Sherlock thought about it for a moment, envisaging himself with one of those horrid little badges and an inflated ego. "Consulting Detective" He corrected with a small smile.
John looked at him in confusion. Sherlock merely shrugged and lowered his gaze.
'Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective'
Yes, that would do nicely.
The couple exited the police station hand in hand. John beamed happily, and Sherlock allowed himself a pleased little smile. The tall man swept past the road where John was about to hail a cab, and tugged his lover into a dark alleyway between two large grey buildings.
"Sherlock what are you-"
"Shhhh, I just wanted to thank you properly." Sherlock replied, his voice deep and husky close to John's ear as he turned.
"No, Sherlock, not here" John said as firmly as he could with the other man's hot breath ghosting over his neck. Sherlock brought John round to face him abruptly, his bright blue eyes sorrowful for a moment.
"I just wanted to kiss you, John. That's all I ever really wanted." Sherlock said sadly, moving away a little. "Society dictates that it is still unacceptable for me to kiss you in public, despite what people think." John was struck by the depth of emotion concealed behind that cold, unfeeling mask Sherlock wore to protect himself from hurt. The man before him had real feelings, ones which could be injured by the slightest word or look. Sherlock had spent his entire adult life letting others take control of him and use him in ways which were uncomfortable and wrong. Somehow this would always be the one thing John loved more than anything about Sherlock, how damaged he was. As selfish as every instinct told him it was, John felt that their connection was born out of their shared torment, and that, had Sherlock not been mistreated, they would continue to be distant strangers. John would have been just another customer to Sherlock, and Sherlock would have been a sad, desperate attempt at regaining his youth to John, to make him feel something at last. He was glad that they had suffered. Had they not, they would never had found each other.
John leaned in and they kissed slowly and passionately. When they pulled apart, the doctor traced his thumb over Sherlock's full bottom lip and smiled. "So you just thought you'd go and invent yourself a job?" He murmured against the detective's cheek as they embraced.
Sherlock gave a throaty laugh. "Why not?"
Why not indeed. John grinned against his lips as they kissed again. You brilliant, brilliant man.
Sorry this took so long to update! I just really got into watching Supernatural, plus I had school work so...
Change of plan (like I ever had one anyway), there might be a few more chapters than expected. It's taking longer than I thought to round this story up and pull it all together, but it's getting there I promise!
I know this is a pretty bland chapter as they go, but any reviews would be much appreciated! ~K xx
