Author's note: oooh- I should ask people for prompts more often! Lots of ideas; one that I tip my hat to for this is EditorFrog
Chapter Fifty Seven A Couple of Days Off (Day One)
The first time he laid eyes on John Watson, Lestrade was not sure what to make of the small former army doctor. He'd just been told by text that Sherlock finally had a new flatmate, and that meant he could at last get back into casework. Greg was so focussed on the serial suicides that the flatmate could have been a trained chimpanzee for all he cared. He needed Sherlock back at work, and the flatmate was a means to that end. The man's cane had thrown him the first time he saw him sitting in the armchair in the new flat. But he didn't have time for introductions then, so he'd just run back down the stairs. He got a better look when the doctor accompanied Sherlock to Lauriston Gardens and the crime scene, but Sherlock had not bothered (again) to introduce him. Really, did he think so little of Lestrade that a terse "He's with me" would be enough for the Di to assume he was trustworthy?
Actually, when he'd had time to think about it, yeah, it was enough. Because, in the years since a skinny sixteen year old turned up on one of his crime scenes, no one had ever accompanied him. Apart from the occasional drug dealer, homeless person or criminal suspect, Sherlock had never even been seen by Lestrade as willingly in the company of another human being. Of course, there'd been incidents and accidents, which were the times when his brother came into view. But no one could take their relationship as a 'normal' one. Sherlock had no "friends"- well, apart from Greg. But even he knew that the enigma called Sherlock would probably not recognise him as being one, no matter how often he showed up on Greg's doorstep, on the DI's crime scene, or in his thoughts when he was bored.
So, when a rather ordinary person showed up, not only with Sherlock, but with him because Sherlock actually wanted his company- well, that was a first.
And Greg's suspicions were tweaked when the doctor showed up outside the police tape at the college, after Sherlock reported the death of the London cab driver. When Sherlock stopped in mid-flow his deduction about the mystery marksman who shot the serial killer, those suspicions tightened up a couple of notches. When the DI talked to Mycroft Holmes and realised that the marksman had not been one of his agents, nor an SO6 officer, then the circumstantial evidence was pretty conclusive. But Mycroft had vetted the doctor and passed him as acceptable, and he was the one who declared that no further investigation of the death of Jeff Hope was needed. So, Lestrade sat on his concerns. But he couldn't help but wonder if it was a good idea to have Sherlock share a flat with a man with an unlicensed firearm, who clearly knew how to use it.
Mind you, at least he'd used it to keep Sherlock alive this time. So far, so good. That said, Greg would be keeping an eye on him in the future.
oOo
But not today. In fact, not for several days, which comprised the sum total of leave that Greg had taken in the past year. At the insistence of Louise, he was travelling up to Manchester for a three day break to attend the baptism of her sister's first child. Louise was Godmother, "and you are coming if I have to drag you out of the office in handcuffs myself."
It hadn't come to that, fortunately. He'd left Sally in charge on the couple of on-going investigations, and strict instructions that anything new was to be handed off to one of the other Murder Investigation Teams. At Louise's insistence, as they caught the 9.07 train from Euston Station to Manchester, he took his phone out of his pocket and ceremoniously turned it off. She then held out her hand. She probably knew him well enough to realise that he would turn it on again at some point to check for messages and missed calls. So, he slipped it into her hand and watched it disappear into her handbag.
"Just once, Greg, I'd like to have a family occasion when the events happening in our lives are more important than some criminal's activity. And, I will remind you just once that the topic of conversation today at the service and the reception afterwards should not be thought of as an occasion to tell people about what you actually do for a living. Up North, people aren't quite so friendly when they learn you are a policeman. So, just consider this an undercover operation- you get to pretend to be my husband for a whole three days. My family can't forget the fact that you investigate murders, but promise me that for the next three days you'll just try to be normal with them." He sighed. She had a point, and he couldn't really argue. The job did become all-encompassing at times.
oOo
"What do you mean he isn't available?" Sherlock's incredulous tone irked Sally. "I texted him, then phoned him, but there's no reply."
"That's right, Freak, he's taken three days off. I'm in charge and I'm not taking anything on new, and certainly not if it involves you."
"But there's a dead body lying on the bed in Flat 8 Kestral Buildings on Moreland Street. That's in Hoxteth, so definitely in your jurisdiction.
"And you're standing over it? Wow- it's happened even earlier than I thought. I always said you've end up on the wrong side of the law." Her sarcasm was unbridled. No Lestrade to tell her to play nicely with the man. She was enjoying this.
"Look Sergeant, I don't care who you send, but police should be called for a suspicious death, so I'm calling, this is a crime scene that needs processing, and the Met has to respond to me as they would to any civilian ringing it in."
"Try ringing the crime reporting line, like normal mortals. As the person is already dead, the number you should call is 101, not 999." And she hung up. The grin on her face stayed there for the rest of the morning. She hoped he had a fun time queuing up with the drunks, the little old ladies worrying about burglars and people reporting their cats missing.
oOo
The church was draughty, and Greg had some sympathy for his wife's new godson, who was bawling his head off. Just wait until the vicar puts cold water on your head, mate. You'll just love that. The vicar was now intoning the words of the service, "In baptism this child Tom begins his journey in faith. You speak for him today. Will you care for him, and help him to take his place within the life and worship of Christ's Church?"
Louise looked lovely in her cream coloured suit, standing next to her sister, her brother-in-law and the chap who had been chosen as godfather. He'd been introduced very quickly, and promptly forgot the bloke's name. All four of them by the font answered the vicar with the time-honoured reply, "with the help of God, we will." Tom had stopped crying for a moment, and was staring at the feathers on Louise's hat, which were moving in the breeze. (It's not a hat, Greg; it's called a Fascinator.) He smirked and thought that it was certainly fascinating her godson.
Once the church service was over, the party moved to Louise's parents' house. He'd always got on with her father. Brian was a big bluff Mancunian with a droll sense of humour- he'd needed it with a wife and four daughters. Sometimes Greg thought rather uncharitably that his father-in-law was as welcoming of Greg as he was, simply because he had one less daughter to worry about. Over the seven years they'd been married, Louise's father had been supportive of his work-"it's a tough life, Louise, but the police do important work, so don't fret him so."
On the other hand, Greg's relationship with his mother-in-law had gone from slightly shaky to downright hostile over the same period. She couldn't resist it this time, either, as she came up carrying her newly baptised grandson Tom and saying to Greg, "Why don't you hold him for a while, Gregory? You might realise that children don't bite." When he obliged, and started to smile at the little toddler's sleepy face, she followed up with the inevitable comment.
"So, when can I expect a grandchild from Louise?"
He snapped back at her, "Talk to your daughter about that, as it's not my choice."
He'd regretted it almost as soon as it slipped out. Without a word, she collected Tom from him and stalked off. In less than an hour, the message must have been communicated to his wife, because when she came up to him in the queue for the lunch buffet, she said under her breath to him. "Thanks for that, Greg- just what I need for the next three days is mum going on, and on, and on about me having children." She left a smile on her face for any onlooker to see, but he could hear the anger in her words.
It was an issue that had been discussed often and just as often been the basis of an argument. He liked the idea of children, she didn't. "It's alright for you, Greg- you'd be out all day and half the night on police work; I'd be stuck at home in the mindless company of a bawling infant. Just so …not my scene. I have a lifestyle I love, work I enjoy, friends and colleagues I want to spend time with- why on earth would I give all that up to become a housewife, mother and drudge?"
"Just don't tell your mother that, or I expect she might take offense." Greg just wanted Louise to be happy, but he didn't really seem able to do much that was right. She stalked off, eating her lunch in the company of an old school friend. The rest of the afternoon passed surprisingly quickly, as an endless supply of the proud parents' friends, family and guests milled about and kept him occupied by the kind of odd conversations that one has at such functions- with people he didn't know and was likely never to see again. As ever at such occasions, the first topic of conversation was trying to figure out each other's relationship to the parents, before moving onto other social niceties. Inevitably, he did get around to telling people what he did for a living. What does she want me to do? Lie about it? Make something up, like I'm an accountant or something?
When the proud parents and child departed, it wasn't long before other guests started disappearing, too. Greg and Louise were staying at her parents' house, a sprawling modern five bedroom house in Altrincham, about nine miles south of Manchester. Her dad was in the construction business and had made a fortune during the house building boom of the 1980s and '90s. It felt strange to be sleeping in a room that had once been her childhood bedroom, but when they arrived, he was relieved to see that the room was no longer the pink teenager's boudoir that he remembered from when they first married. "Mum redecorated all of our rooms last year, Greg- she wants them to be ready for the hordes of grandchildren." Each of her three sisters had left home, married and had children, but Louise was the rebel of the family. She'd gone to London and made a career for herself in PR.
"I'm taking a shower. Can't face mum right now."
While she was doing that, he put his feet up. Within seconds he was looking at her handbag, sitting on the floor. Sod it. I want to know if anything is happening.
So, he fished into it for his phone and switched it on.
One missed call. 0939am
You have four new text messages:
09.40am Know anything dodgy about a banker called Van Coon? SH
10.18am Found a dead banker, interested? SH
10.37am Donovan being usual prat, says you're away. How is that even possible? SH
12.48am Lestrade, just who the hell is DI Dimmock? He looks like a 12 year old! SH
01.15pm Dim by name, dim by nature. Come back, I need you. SH
That last one raised a smile. He wondered if Sherlock was involving his flatmate in this investigation as he had with the serial suicides. Maybe he should ask. But, as he was thinking about what to reply, he heard the shower switch off, and the sound of Louise towelling herself dry. So, he turned the phone off and pushed it back into her bag. Still he couldn't resist the smile, thinking about what Sherlock would make of the newest DI to join the Homicide and Serious Crime Command.
And no sooner had that thought occurred to him than he wondered what the hell Dimmock would make of someone like Sherlock. Most of the other Murder Investigation Teams had some inkling of him, Greg had been happy over the years to 'lend him out' to others when their cases were particularly difficult and perplexing. But he always prefaced such a loan with a lot of briefing. "Just so you don't take offense, he's like that with everyone. Don't let it bother you. He's worth it because he will see stuff that no one else can, and shortens the investigation as a result. Just be careful that he doesn't get into the case so much that he goes haring off after a suspect himself; he can get kinda carried away at times." And then there would be the warning about SO6 and the other agency that would be following the consulting detective's activities. "Usually, they keep their distance, but don't get too freaked if someone in a government car turns up." With all those caveats, there were some DIs who decided that Sherlock Holmes wasn't worth the trouble. Poor fool them- he's made my team the best performing one in the whole damn Met. But, Lestrade knew he was patience personified.
"What are you smiling at?" Louise was standing in front of him now, wrapped in a fluffy white bathrobe, towelling her hair off.
"You," he answered quickly, and reached up to pull her down onto the bed.
