2005
Three means a serial killer. It's her first and as she stands over the body all the little hairs on her arms stand on end. She kneels to take a look at the ligatures binding the victim to his chair.
"The killer's not a sailor, if that's what you're thinking."
Sally freezes. Her throat constricts and she places a gloved hand on the ground to steady herself. She looks toward Lestrade, who's talking with the security guard who found the body.
"I'm here with his approval. At his request, actually."
She stands, slowly, and turns to face him. It's been eight years. The only trace she's seen of him was a mug shot that floated across her desk several years ago. She squares her shoulders and looks back over at Lestrade, catching his eye. The DI nods and she moves aside.
Sherlock steps past her and kneels beside the body. She looks him over as he examines it, the distance and the quickness of his eyes scanning every detail not new to her. But he is so very different. He always seemed a bit otherworldly to her, but now he is fully alien. She can tell that he is still dabbling in stimulants, though he doesn't appear to be high at this very moment. Gone are the frayed jumpers and t shirts and the faded jeans. He is wearing a suit under a long dark grey coat. The suit isn't the highest end but definitely bespoke. It fits his lean figure perfectly. No tie, of course.
He looks over at her briefly, scanning her as clinically as they did the corpse. It's his eyes that have changed the most. He was never the most pleasant of companions, but he used to have a bit of wry humor about his eyes that lessened their intensity and now, at least in this setting, there is no trace of it.
"I didn't think sailor, you know. That's straight out of a penny dreadful or something."
"Good," he says. "That DS over there was babbling about sailors and knots so I figured everyone had leapt to the same inane conclusion."
"Well you're charming as ever. How many DIs did you go through before you worked your way in?"
"Just one. Lestrade is the best, is he not? Well, the best of a bad lot but, you know." He looks at her, brow furrowed. "Are you angry? You look angry. Why?"
A single, barking laugh slips out. "Are you serious?"
"Of course."
"It took years for me to be even able to get within spitting distance of an investigation like this unless I was first on scene and you can just walk right on? You're shitting me, right?"
"I recall warning you that your path was the long way 'round," he says as he hones in on some fibers on the vic's upper lip.
"I don't have the luxury of shortcuts," she whispers, wary of two colleagues who've become interested in their conversation.
Sherlock glances at the two officers. "Don't worry about them. They're idiots."
"Those are two of our best men, freak." It comes out with more vitriol than she ever said it when it was a nickname, even when she was angry. He winces.
For a moment she likes it, hurting him, even, no matter how minutely. But she doesn't want to be like this. Not at her job.
Sherlock sighs in the same world weary way he used to when he was out of cigarettes and the shops were closed. "Well, good thing I'm here if they're your best, though I'd hoped we could put childish things behind us and work together."
"That would require you to actually grow up."
Before he can reply, Lestrade walks up and claps Sherlock on the shoulder. "Glad to have you here, Sherlock. Sorry I couldn't make formal introductions. Sherlock's going to be consulting with us…" He trails off, sensing the tension between the two.
"Have I missed something?" he says.
"Always, Lestrade," Sherlock says, standing up. "But in this case it's not important."
"Wait, do you two know each other?"
"Old friends," Sherlock says at the same time Sally says, "Not anymore."
Lestrade looks at Sally, then Sherlock. "Well, you two can catch up later. Sally, go follow up with Mr. Joshi over there. Give him the light touch; he's pretty shaken. Sherlock come take a look at these photos from the last scene. " He strides toward his cruiser.
Sherlock doesn't follow immediately. He looks at Sally, starts to speak, stops and looks away.
"Don't," Sally says when he opens his mouth again.
"Okay." He clears his throat. "If that's how you want it to be."
"It's how I need it to be."
Sally takes one more long look at him before they both turn away. He is still so fucking beautiful, and electric, but all she feels is a dull anger and a delicate pity that could blossom into something dangerous if she lets it.
"Well," he says. "Probably best. One 'friend' on the force is more than enough."
"I swear to God, don't fuck this up. He's a good man."
"Ah," Sherlock says, buttoning up his coat and popping the collar. "Must be nice. Being good. Good evening, Sergeant."
She doesn't watch him walk away. She turns and heads toward her witness, shoulders squared, ready to work.
Incredibly, this is the first fanfiction I ever began, over two years ago. I've probably written more than 200k words since I wrote the first chapter of this in a frenzy very early in my Sherlock fandom days.
From the second I saw Sally and Sherlock on screen together I've been intrigued by their relationship. It's more than plain old antagonism, or at least I'd like to believe. Since the show doesn't seem willing to answer my questions, I filled in the gaps.
So this is a huge milestone for me, and I love every single one of you who's read and reviewed and left kudos on this piece. It's tough writing for a really rare pair and I feel that every piece of feedback is infinitely more precious.
This piece is my baby and it's actually really hard to let it go. I think that's why it took so long to update. I knew things were drawing to a close.
Special thanks to petratodd who was one of the first people to read and rec this fic, and to Lono who has been a hand holder and beta.
