A Dish Served Cold Chapter 12, a sherlock fanfic

Chapter 12 - Epilogue

Several days passed and life at 221B had returned fairly quickly to what might be considered normal. Early one evening John was happily ensconced in his chair, cup of coffee at hand, a fire cheerily crackling, and the newspaper held in such a way as to hide the sight on the couch. He was resolute in ignoring his flatmate.

Sherlock, still in his pyjamas and blue robe, was sprawled inelegantly on the couch and occasionally complained, and for the umpteenth time, that he was bored out of his skull.

A chirp from John's mobile announcing an incoming text distracted them both. Near at hand, John lowered his paper and picked it up, glancing at the message. "Ah," he said, "Lestrade's on his way over." He glanced at Sherlock, staring intently up at the ceiling. "He says if there's any part of the human anatomy in his cafetiere to get it out now. Then sterilize it."

Sherlock, snorting in disgust, shot John a disgruntled look and returned to staring at the ceiling. John's lips quirked in an impish smile and he folded up his paper.

Lestrade showed up minutes later, spending a moment or two talking to Mrs. Hudson before climbing the stairs to the lounge. He wasn't at all surprised that the door was open, it usually was, nor was he the least bit surprised to see Sherlock in his current state.

John noticed immediately that Lestrade looked a hundred percent better. Gone was the grey pallor and signs of pain. He was clean shaven and moved easily, looking more like his 45 years than double that. Though he still looked fatigued, it seemed more the mantle of his normal authority and heavy responsibilities than it was the stress of the recent past.

"You look a thousand percent better," John remarked as Lestrade paused in the doorway, smirking at Sherlock.

"He's had his wife around for him to dote on." Sherlock grumbled, still staring at the ceiling. "From the looks of things, you've had her at your place since her rescue. Am I seeing a change in weight? That ring is back on your finger..."

"Jealous, are we?" Lestrade asked, hiding his smile. Sherlock snorted in disgust.

"Finally had the thing resized, just picked it up on the way here. Decided to stop by to gather up my things. That cafetiere better be anatomy free," Lestrade warned as John headed into the kitchen.

"Thing is useless for proper experimentation."

"Meaning you've tried something," Lestrade shot back. "Bored are you?"

"I washed it, thoroughly," John replied from the other room, "And I am tempted to get one of my own. Makes some damned fine coffee. If I ever get any money to my name ever again, that is."

"Sherlock run you up that bad?"

"That cab fare to Whitby alone was enough to set me back all year. How's Anne doing by the way?"

"Getting by. Sleeps a lot," Lestrade commented. "But that's the painkillers mostly. They still don't know what state her knee is in. Not allowed to put any weight on that leg at all. Won't know for while yet if there's permanent damage."

"Judging from what I felt of that patella, it was floating a little too freely." John said, entering the living room with a bag. He handed it to Greg. "That can't be good for a dancer?"

"Not at all. Thanks."

"She having any other reactions?"

"Some, nightmares mostly. At least she's home, resting. It's nice having her around again. We've let the studio flat go."

"Really? She's moved back in?"

"Can't you tell?" Sherlock said sarcastically. "He's practically all aglow with the domesticity of it all."

"She's out of commission for at least six months and it just didn't make any sense to keep the place. So we let it go. And you're jealous." Lestrade smirked at Sherlock.

Sherlock abruptly sat up, shooting an aggrieved look his way. "Make yourself useful Lestrade, tell me what you know about Moriarty, save me from this damned tedium. If he sits down with that newspaper one more time I am liable to finally commit that murder Donovan believes I'll do some day."

"Not before I kill him first," John pleasantly replied, flashing a tolerant smile around.

"Ah, flat mates." Lestrade smiled that feral smile he was known for. John caught the mischief glinting in his dark eyes. "As for Moriarty, I'm afraid that has to wait."

"Wait? What for?" Sherlock demanded.

"We're leaving. Anne and I. Took my holiday and we're both on medical leave, so I'm taking her home for a month."

"Home?" John asked. "To the States?"

"I promised her mother a visit. Her dad runs a resort in his retirement, in rural Montana. Sportsman's place, you know, hunting, fishing, boating. Nice and rustic, just the thing you hate." Lestrade looked at Sherlock.

"I could sure as hell use a month at a resort..." John murmured.

"So tell me what you know now, before you leave." Sherlock demanded, looking hard at Lestrade.

"Sorry, old son. We're leaving tomorrow, still got things to arrange before we go. Anne won't get any proper rest here in London worrying about her dancing, figured a change of scenery would help. By the way, tell Mycroft thanks for providing you all that information about Elena Grigorovich. It went a long way on tidying up this case."

"What the hell are you talking about? Why would I go to Mycroft about her?" Sherlock spat in disgust.

"Did some digging myself," a smug Lestrade said. "Found out that Mycroft is a patron of the arts for the Royal Ballet. Where else could you go to get that information so damned fast?"

"I certainly wouldn't go to him," Sherlock replied. "I'm perfectly capable of finding out that information on my own."

"Sure you did, in such a way as to antagonize him into revealing it himself simply by not approaching him directly. I'm sure he's hatching something up now in retaliation."

"Is Anne up for the travel? So soon?" John asked.

"She thinks so. Besides, we need to get away from London for a bit. With all the media firestorm going on about the case and my 'cutting corners' to 'solve' it so fast."

"Hah!" Sherlock barked in derision, flopping himself back down on the couch, folding his arms and huffing.

"I imagine your supers weren't too please about it," John commented.

"The Chief Inspector for sure. The Super was pleased as hell, just couldn't show it publicly. Says he can't condone a rogue copper. Despite said copper finding his kidnapped wife in three days on medical leave while grievously wounded. Ah, the reporters are having a field day on this one. Giving our PR department fits."

"So you're deciding to skip town for a while?"

"In a manner of speaking. Anything to dodge the paparazzi," Lestrade remarked, then he looked a little awkward before adding, "So besides stopping by to get my things before I leave I also wanted to give my thanks, to both of you. Anne as well. Without you both, she most likely would have ended up dead."

"Pah!" Sherlock dismissed him with the wave of his hand, continuing to stare at the ceiling.

"Least you can do is say you're welcome for breaking up your tedium," Lestrade smirked at him.

"Finding her was child's play, something to do to pass the time while I try and figure out just what Moriarty is and what he does. Least you could do is tell me what you know before you leave." Sherlock sniped.

"Wha.., and take away any chances of you missing me while I'm gone?" Lestrade replied. "I wouldn't dream of telling you now."

"You'll hardly be missed..." Sherlock replied caustically.

John just smirked and shook his head. "Well, you're more than welcome. I'm just glad I could help."

"John, you saved my life, and the life of my wife. You were more than just a help," Lestrade replied looking soberly at him. "He was too, for that matter. For what it was worth." He nodded at Sherlock.

"Keep in touch while you're gone?" John asked.

"Yeah, we'll have our laptop with us. I've got your email."

"Boring," Sherlock intoned, "So boring!"

"Just keep me posted on how Anne is doing. If there is anything I can do to help..." John volunteered, reaching up to shake hands goodbye.

Lestrade nodded, flashing a slight smile at him as he gathered up the bag. He knew full well John was concerned about acute stress in Anne having gone through it himself. He gripped John's hand. "Better find something for him to do when he's like this. He gets destructive."

"Uh, yeah, so I have noticed," John cringed, casting a careful eye towards the skull poster, still covering the smiley under it.

Lestrade turned to go, pausing in the doorway. He reached up to stroke his chin thoughtfully a moment then fixed his gaze on Sherlock. "Just don't start in on your target practice again. Be glad I haven't found the pistol that caused the arrangement on the wall under the skull. If I do? I will have to do something about it."

Sherlock's eyes nearly popped from his skull and John reached up to run his hand down his face.

Lestrade, fully in charge, mischievous glint in his eyes, smiled like a cheshire cat and glanced at John. "Like I mentioned before, I know criminal habits, and I especially know his." He looked directly at Sherlock. He waved a finger at the right side of the wall. "I also know that damn poster has been on that side of the wall for years. Nice try though, just don't let me find anything else out of place in here again."

"Remind me never to invite you back!" Sherlock fired back.

"You never invited me, John did," Lestrade said as he turned to go.

"Have a nice trip," John called after him, his voice strained, appallingly weak.

"Preferably down the stairs," Sherlock replied waspishly.

"Behave, Sherlock, if you possibly can," Lestrade's said heading down stairs.

"You owe me, Lestrade!" Sherlock shouted.

"We'll talk, after I get back." His voice drifted up, before they heard the front door shutting.

"An entire month? In the States? He'll be insufferable when he gets back." He stressed the 'k'.

"At least he won't be as insufferable as you are right now. God, how could I possibly think he wouldn't notice the damn bullet holes?"

"He's Lestrade." Sherlock grumbled. "He may not be the brightest crayon in the box, but he's a damned sight better than most of those other gits at the Yard."

"Seems to me he has you pegged pretty damned well," John shot back.

Sherlock only snorted his derision, folding his arms in a huff and stared sourly at the ceiling.

John sat down in his chair and a strange silence filled the room before he suddenly began to giggle. "I can't believe you tried to hide that smiley from him."

Sherlock shot an aggrieved look his way, but then after a moment, his lips tugged up in a smirk. "Should have realized he'd have figured it out, even if he was half out of his mind in pain and grief."

There was another pause, then Sherlock abruptly got to his feet, standing on the couch. He reached over and grabbed the framed poster, moving it back to its original place. He checked to make sure that it was straight then flopped back down again. He cupped his hands behind his head, glancing at the bullet holes in the wall, and a sly smirk played across his lips.

End

Sherlock Holmes and its attending characters are in the public domain now. But this fantastic version is the property of Gatiss and Moffit and the BBC.

Copyright Notice

No claims to the above copyright are made by the author of this work.

This work is for non-commercial use ONLY, and is produced for the enjoyment of fans only.

This work is the expression of the author and the depiction of the Sherlock characters herein are in no way represented to be a part of Sherlock as depicted by the authors and copyright holder(s).

Post notes.

Several things.

Anne being toted out of the flat in the suitcase is based on a real crime occurring in Florida involving a serial killer. When the police couldn't figure out how a woman was murdered or how she ended up being found where she was, the case was given to a private investigator. He discovered that when the only man present on the video's of the woman's hotel (leaving with a suitcase) had to tug hard to get the suitcase out of the elevator that there was weight in it. Turned out that the body had been placed in the suitcase by the man and he literally walked out of the hotel with his murder victim. Turns out that he had done this on several occasions through out the country and was finally caught for his crimes.

Anne's reminding herself of what Lestrade taught her to fight back and try to escape even if it gets you killed is based on the real events of a close friend of mine. She was raised in Chiapas, Mexico, one of seven siblings. Her doctor father taught all his children that mantra. In 2009, she was actually kidnapped at gunpoint in Queretero, Mexico with another woman. Heeding her fathers advice, she literally fought her way out of the car they were being held in. She and the woman escaped. She reasoned that if she ended up dead there in Queretero, at least her husband and four children would find her body and have closure. I borrowed that mantra for Anne's situation. What I didn't borrow from my friends real-life situation was the extraordinary FACT that she was eight months pregnant with her fifth child. A month after this event, she gave birth to a beautiful healthy baby boy!

John's resetting Anne's knee unexpectedly? Is based on my own incident of getting my dislocated shoulder reset unexpectedly. Yes, it did hurt!

Hope you all enjoyed this! Comments are greatly appreciated and used to encourage more fic out my fickle muses! Email me at theteej2 .