Worrying

Dimmock's working another case with Sherlock. -Lestrade

I'm going to be honest and say that I'm suitably worried. -Lestrade

And why is that? -MH

It's Dimmock. And Sherlock. Dimmock's a by-the-book, total pushover type and Sherlock doesn't remember that there's even a book because he ripped it up and used it to wipe up the remains of a failed experiment. -Lestrade

Fair point. -MH

Why is it that you are not working the case? -MH

I asked for a day off, decided to move out of the house and into a smaller flat. -Lestrade

Is there something I can help with? -MH

Thanks, but no. Keep me informed on Sherlock? -Lestrade

Very well. -MH

He had unknowingly walked into a TV show, John was certain of that when the case of the 'Blind Banker' was through and done with and he had a moment's peace to contemplate his new friends.

His flatmate was an eccentric consulting detective/mad scientist/pioneer in forensic sciences. Said flatmate's brother was a mysterious spook who may-or-may-not control the government via evil puppet strings. His landlady was a sweet, entirely unflappable elderly lady who was a piece of work-... no, a masterpiece in herself. And then there was the copper, the one normal person, or not so normal... because really, who can remain 'normal' and 'sane' when surrounded daily by such extraordinary people?

John decided that Lestrade was normal... in an abnormal way.

But that wasn't the most serious matter at hand. The ex-army medic cast an uneasy glance in his flatmate's direction. The man was constantly checking his phone at every three-minute interval possible between examining whatever monstrosity that was existing currently under his microscope. It looked a bit green, like, cartoon-poison green, or movie-radiation green. In short, it was pretty bloody neon. John didn't want to know what it was, and what caused it to gain that kind of nauseating colour.

He sighed. "What are you waiting for, Sherlock, seriously? Put that phone down for five minutes."

Sherlock sent him a glance and placed his phone down on the kitchen counter. "Does it bother you?"

"You, picking up that damned thing every three minutes since half-an-hour ago?" John said sarcastically. "Doesn't bother me a bit."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, scoffed, and glanced at his phone again, though, in his defense, he didn't actually pick it up. Just leaned ever so blatantly. John rolled his eyes and groaned. "Seriously, what?"

"I'm waiting for a call." Sherlock said simply.

"Well you know, usually, when you get a call, the phone rings, or vibrates." John said slowly.

Sherlock scowled at him. "I'm not an idiot, John, I know how my own phone works."

"Then, what's got your nerves running ragged?" John asked him.

"They're not running ragged." Sherlock retorted.

John just raised his eyebrow.

"We're working with Dimmock again." Sherlock said at length.

John's brow furrowed in confusion. "So?"

"So nothing." Sherlock groaned, gluing his eyes back on his microscope. "Drop it."

And so John did.

Holmes isn't telling me what he's found out about the case. -Dimmock

Ask him, then. -Lestrade

What? Just go straight up to his flat and demand answers? -Dimmock

Dimmock, you have to stop being so bloody polite and respectful when Sherlock's involved! -Lestrade

Okay, that's a bit weird, being told not to be polite and respectful. -Dimmock

I'll give you his phone number, then. Call him. Ask questions when you need answers, keep him informed. -Lestrade

He hung up on me and now he's not taking my calls. -Dimmock

Should I be worried? -Dimmock

"Seriously, Sherlock, do you never do a stupid thing without backup?" John shouted over the noise of people shooting at them. He had no idea why those men were shooting at them, but he had a very bad feeling that Sherlock was at the root of the whole problem. It was just one of those days when Sherlock recieved an intreguing case, ran around like a squirrel on crack, got shot at, and only explained later-on, why.

Only this time, John was getting the feeling that he might not be around long enough to hear the 'why'.

"I called the police!" Sherlock hollered back.

"Do you have an ETA?" John asked him.

"Too long!" was all Sherlock said.

"You know, just for future reference in case we live through this, you should call for police backup before you decide to do something stupid!" John shouted at him complainingly.

"I do!" Sherlock replied. "Same as when you and Sarah were kidnapped! They're just too slo-..." Sherlock suddenly cut himself off. "Of course! Why didn't I realize that!" He let out a breathy laugh. "Of course! Dimmock's reaction time is slow!" He whipped out his phone and sent a lightning fast text.

twelve minutes later, police were swarming the scene. John let out an exasperated sigh. "Finally!"

Sherlock was already up and brushing dust off himself as he swept toward the edge of the crime scene, trusting John to follow. The doctor did just that... just as soon as he could get his legs to support his weight.

Lestrade was pointing wildly at his subordinates and barking out orders, scattering groups of idlers with a stern look. He was dressed in jeans and a loose, obviously worn T-shirt flecked with dust and sneakers. He turned to Sherlock, sighing. "I was busy moving, Sherlock! I hope you have a good reason for calling me out. Heard you were getting shot at. Do you never learn?"

Sherlock sniffed and stuck his hands in his pockets. "Lestrade, I refuse to work with Dimmock any longer."

Lestrade blinked, confused. "What do you mean? I thought you two got along okay?"

"We do, but I can't trust his reaction time." Without giving Lestrade time to ask what he meant about that, Sherlock turned and stauntered off.

"Do you have any idea what he's talking about?" Lestrade asked resignedly, turning to John.

In fact, John had an inkling or two.

Sherlock's agitation at Dimmock not texting or calling to tell Sherlock when he learned of new details on a case, his annoyance when Dimmock did call him only to berate him incessantly on his investigative methods, his confusion as to why the police hadn't come immediately when he had called for backup. Dimmock was probably still in the arduous proccess of getting together the manpower and the 'okay' from his superiors.

Which probably wouldn't come, by the way.

Lestrade had only taken a few minutes to round up a team of officers and probably broke a few speed laws to get to the scene in time. And to top it all off, he was off duty, moving furniture at the time Sherlock texted him.

It seemed that Sherlock had an odd trust for the DI, one that not even he himself knew of. He trusted that Lestrade would always keep him in the loop on an investigation, ask questions when he needed information, and that when Sherlock needed his help, he would be there without question whether his superiors had approved of the action, or no.

It was a rare trust that obviously had not been extended to Dimmock.

"Apparently, Dimmock's reaction time is slow." John told the puzzled detective with a nonchanlant shrug.

Then he turned and followed his flatmate.

While Lestrade was normal to Sherlock's abnormal, and ordinary to the consulting detective's extraordinary, perhaps that was what made the dynamic between him and Sherlock so spectacular.

Sherlock's complaining about Dimmock's incompetency. -MH

Dimmock's complaining about Sherlock, period. -Lestrade

How is your move coming along? -MH

I had given up hope for finishing up transporting everything when Sherlock called me out. Expected to spend the night in a sleeping bag. Imagine my surprise when I got back and found everything neatly transported into the flat and sorted out. -Lestrade

Just a little token of gratitude for your pains. -MH

Haha. Though a little creepy, knowing that your men have been going through my stuff and probably planting various surveilance measures, the effort is appreciated. -Lestrade

Thanks. -Lestrade

My pleasure. -MH