Chapter Fourteen- 2003 Cold Turkey Cases Part Six


Greg Lestrade made it back to his flat in time to greet Louise, arriving at almost exactly the same time as her taxi back from Gatwick did. That evening she regaled him with stories about her hen weekend in Spain, still in holiday mode. When she asked politely what he had gotten up to while she was enjoying the sunshine, he just told her about the bike trip on Saturday and the cold case review on Sunday. She wrinkled her nose, "sounds so boring" was her only comment. He found his thoughts wandering back to the events of the afternoon and Sherlock's shared enthusiasm for his police work. For some of us, it's anything but boring. But, he realised that it was a taste that his wife had never acquired, more's the pity.

He couldn't help but be worried about Sherlock. With his brother now more determined than ever to find him, Greg wondered how much longer the young man would be able to evade capture. He kept replaying the times that Sherlock and he had worked together, questioning his own motives for falling in quite so easily with the cases that had been brought to him. Were his motives 'pure'? Why did he agree quite so readily to involving him more than he would any normal civilian who brought him information about a homicide?

He had to admit that his involving Sherlock had benefited his career. He couldn't deny that charge from Mycroft. But, his willingness to listen to Sherlock was based on his respect for the quality of the information and the young man's appreciation of the police's need to corroborate evidence and present it properly to the Crown Prosecution Service. On that, Greg was sure that he had not crossed any professional boundaries that could call into question subsequent convictions. Sherlock was meticulous in not exposing the Met to anything like that.

He kept one ear on Louise's story about a pub crawl in Marbella, whilst he pondered Mycroft's other charge- that by "enabling" Sherlock's case work, he was threatening the mental and physical health of the young man. That was a harder one. His sympathy toward the Sherlock's predicament was borne of his own nephew's affliction. Autism was not easy on his parents, who struggled with his anti-social behaviour, his tantrums, his unwillingness to engage with people. A lot of their friends had dropped the couple from their regular family activities as a result, because Sam was just so difficult to handle in a crowd of kids. Greg had always been willing to try with Sam, even volunteering to babysit, because so few people were, and his sister adored him for making the effort.

So, when he realised the very first time he met him that Sherlock was a high functioning ASDie, it made him more open to listening to the young man and helping him. And, it could not be denied, Sherlock was a genius when it came to deducing what happened at crime scenes. He found it hard to reconcile his image of Sherlock revelling in the cold cases with Mycroft's dismissal of the process as 'puzzles' that endangered his physical and mental health. He supposed it was all rather academic now, as he was highly unlikely to ever even see Sherlock again. He sighed.

"Christ, Greg- you look like someone just died. Is my story boring you so much that you can't even attempt to sound interested?"

That shook him out of his reverie. "I'm so sorry; it's just been a long day."

She pouted. "It's always a long day with you, Greg. I just wish you could lighten up once in a while and not bring your work home with you." She cleared away the supper dishes and disappeared into the kitchen. He sighed again.

oOo

Two days later, Greg was still managing the team's work on the ten cold cases, all of which had become "hot" as a result of Sherlock's work, and his officers' further investigations. He'd put the body at St Katharine's dock case on hold; not enough resource to try to dig something up at the building site on Rennie Street, and the body was still unidentified.

Heading up from the St James' tube station toward the Yard, he realised he was being followed. He stopped at a restaurant window as if he were looking at the menu, but instead used the glass to reflect back to him an image of his pursuer- a young skinny girl, couldn't be more than fifteen. She looked a bit grubby, and he thought she might be sleeping rough. She realised he had spotted her and smirked, walking straight up to him.

"Hi, you're the Filth, otherwise known as DI Lestrade, and I have something for you." It was said quietly, and she pointedly turned her back to the street shielding her hands from view before she reached into her jacket and handed over a brown envelope. "Keep it tucked up, will ya? Lest BB sees." She flicked her eyes towards the street. Lestrade realised that she was looking at a CCTV camera reflected in the glass, and realised her reference to BB meant big brother. Because of the shadows cast by their bodies, what they were doing would not be seen on camera. She turned to go.

"Wait just a moment, young lady! Who is this from?"

"Siggy"

When Greg looked blank, she continued, "You know, tall, skinny, dark hair in a mess. He said you'd know."

"OH… that 'Siggy'." Must be a reference to his old fake ID name- Lars Sigurson. Sherlock.

"Uh, thanks. Is he OK?" Greg tried to keep his tone casual to match hers.

She gave him a guarded look. "What's it to you?"

Greg just shook his head. "Just give him my best regards, will you?"

"Yeah, if I see him again, I'll do that. Bye now."

He went into the nearest coffee shop and ordered a strong espresso before opening the envelope. Four sheets of paper, all but the first one filled with handwriting. An old fashioned carefully written script, but after the first few lines, Greg got the hang of deciphering it. And his brow was furrowed in dismay, by the time he finished the second paragraph.

Detective Inspector Lestrade

Please accept my apologies for the way my brother behaved to you when we three last met. He made a number of insinuations that I must address. Lest there be any misunderstanding, I have enclosed with this note a full description of every case that I have brought to your attention, the role I played in them and how carefully I have endeavoured to ensure that all correct police procedures and evidential requirements were followed. I have had this note witnessed by two people, and notarised so it will stand up in court should you ever have the need to defend your actions. I am certain that there will be no issues regarding the safety of the convictions which resulted from your team's work, as both you and I are fully aware of the requirements of the Police and Criminal Evidence Act and police protocols. You have at no point acted unethically, unprofessionally or unkindly; the opposite is true. My brother was quite wrong in suggesting otherwise.

On a personal note, can I reassure you that nothing that subsequently occurs should be in any way construed as relating to you. You are in no way responsible for what I am doing. It is a matter between my brother and me. In fact, I wish it to be known that had you been able to maintain contact with me as we both had hoped, then it might not have come to such an outcome. However, he has left with me with no choice, and I want to be known that what I do is because of him and his unwillingness to allow me any freedom at all.

I hereby authorise you to show a copy of this letter and the attached document to my brother should he at any point threaten or take any adverse action against you. Should it prove insufficient to deter him, I advise you to telephone my solicitor at the number on the yellow note attached below. Once you have contacted him, he will send a copy of a file* which he has on record to both yourself and to my brother, with the intent of publishing it unless Mycroft Holmes desists from whatever action he may be taking against you. It should prove sufficient deterrent.

I have respected your professionalism, and your personal kindness to me, but remain fully responsible for my own actions. It is with regret that I have to say goodbye,

Yours most sincerely,

Sherlock Holmes

PS. The body in the Thames is James McArthur, and he worked for the construction company at Rennie Street.

The formality of the letter surprised him. It was the sort of letter one might expect to read in a court case, or where there was public scrutiny being made of private actions. For a few minutes, Lestrade tried to puzzle through what it all meant. That Sherlock was making sure that his brother would not harm him- that much he could read. But what was he saying underneath the legal language? Greg was troubled, and worried. It all sounded so final. Too final.

Oh, shit- this is a suicide note. He looked up in a state of panic to see the normal morning commuters in the queue, ordering their coffees and preparing for their normal working day. For a moment, he could not catch his breath for wondering what the hell he could do to stop the process that the letter promised, if one just read between the lines. He closed his eyes for a moment. Please, God, don't let me too late to stop this. Then Greg gathered his things up and fled the coffee shop.

He ran to the office, and as soon as he crossed the threshold called out to the reception desk- "I need a car immediately and a driver; there's a crime in progress!"


*Author's Note: If you want to know what is in this file, read my story Side Lines, when the secret about Sherlock and Mycroft's relationship is uncovered.