A/N: Hope you guys are happy to stick around as I finish prompt responses in 2022, lol. Wishing you all the best for the new year, and sending virtual hugs all round. Stay safe and continue to do what you love. Thank you for your encouragement and reviews, as always. I appreciate every single one. They make me a better writer. :-)

Prompt 11: From cjnwriter – What's a reindeer doing in this part of town?

Trust Your Eyes

Lestrade put down his pen and stretched, heard the faint click of his spine as his back straightened. Moonlight was spilling through the windows, washed like silvery ink over the newspapers and forms covering his desk. It had been a long shift and he was feeling tired.

Footsteps sounded outside the door, followed by a hesitant knock.

"Yes, Burton," Lestrade called. "What is it?"

Constable Burton entered with a mild look of surprise on his face. "How did you know it was me, sir?"

"You always tap your foot against the floor before knocking."

"Do I really?" Burton asked, amused.

"No." Lestrade chuckled. "Are you forgetting who approves the officers' schedule?"

"Oh, yes," Burton intoned. He sounded somewhat disappointed.

"We cannot all possess Mr. Holmes's attention to detail," Lestrade chided softly, rising from his seat. Seeing Burton's face, he added, "However I can recognise that it is you from the way you knock." To demonstrate, Lestrade rapped his knuckles in three quick successions against his desk, followed by a softer tap. "Now, what did you need me for?"

"Nothing, sir." Burton shifted his feet slightly, a movement he did when he was nervous. "I have finished my shift and noticed you are due to also. I wondered if you'd like to accompany me for a drink before returning home for the festivities?"

Lestrade was surprised by the request, as the constables tended to go out amongst themselves. Burton had shadowed him for nigh on six months now, learning ropes often coated in blood and misfortune, and Lestrade couldn't deny he had the makings of a fine officer in him. The lad had an inquisitiveness that Holmes had remarked on should be encouraged and never squandered. Burton was also incredibly tentative and kind, a talent Lestrade was sure would get him into trouble one day.

But tonight was not the night to dwell on such thoughts.

"I don't see why not," Lestrade said, and he felt a swell of pride bloom in his chest when Burton smiled at him.

/-/-/

Two pints soon became four, and by the time Lestrade stepped out of the inn the world in general seemed a softer, genial place. The guttery glow from the lamplights did not appear as disconsolate as usual, casting fuzzy orbs over the snow that had been falling steadily all day. The paperwork he had endured felt like a distant memory, written words washed away with each draught.

Burton did not quite fall from the building as he followed Lestrade out, but it was a near thing. He stumbled into the Inspector, apologised profusely as he straightened.

"You know, Burton," Lestrade said slowly, turning to face him. "If I had a shilling for every time you apologised, I'd be ... well, I'd have a lot of shillings, wouldn't I?"

He had no idea why Burton laughed at that, and scowled softly. "Here now, that is no way to behave when someone is paying you a compliment."

Burton eyed him with amusement. "A compliment, is it? I am not so sure, sir. You benefit from the statement alone."

Lestrade tried to recall what he had said to make the young constable think so, but already the memory had faded, the gentle surge of drunken silence taking place in his mind. He waved a hand.

"I am going home," he declared, before he said something Burton could use to rattle him with. "I suggesth ... suggest ... you do the same."

Burton was still staring at him with that mischievous glint in his eye, and Lestrade was about to give him a piece of his mind about teasing superiors and alcohol consumption.

But then Burton's gaze drifted over Lestrade's shoulder. The constable's brows raised as his eyes widened, and Lestrade turned to see what he was looking at. His heartbeat thudded in his ears and he assumed it was the drink making it so, but then he defined the noise as hooves on cobbles as the object coming towards them shifted into focus.

It ran past before either man could react, a lingering smell of hay and fur left in its wake. Shouts reached their ears seconds after, and two familiar figures passed them in pursuit of the fleeing creature. They turned a corner, and the noise swiftly vanished, the perfect world fitting into place as though nothing had disturbed it.

Burton was the first to speak.

"Was that–"

"Yes." Lestrade felt all too sober now, and wondered if it would be wise to go back into the inn.

"And Mr. Holmes and the Doctor were–"

"So it would seem."

"Should." Burton hesitated, glancing in the direction the men had disappeared. "Should we go after them?"

"Absolutely not," Lestrade scoffed. "Unless Mr. Holmes and Doctor Watson request my assistance, I see no reason for us to interfere in whatever ... whatever case they might be on."

"But–"

"Do not fret, lad. They did not appear to be in danger. Plus, I am not sure I wish to know what they are up to." Lestrade began walking away from the pub, pausing only to wait for Burton to fall into step alongside him. "Do you know, I once chased a runaway hansom at Mr. Holmes's request and ended up in the Thames."

"I can believe it, sir," Burton replied. "Perhaps you should publish tales of your cases with Mr. Holmes. I am sure you have some stories to tell."

Lestrade gave this some thought. "I am afraid I do not have Doctor Watson's flair for writing. And I can testify that, up until this point, none of the cases I have taken with Mr. Holmes involved reindeers!"

End