A/N: Thanks to anyone who has followed, favorited, or reviewed so far! I deeply appreciate every one of you for reading my work. I hope everyone enjoys this chapter. I know I had fun writing it.
"Gin and tonic?" I conclude as a new woman sits down, my eyes flitting over her profile. She gapes dumbly at me for a moment before she shakes her head a bit and nods in approval, ridiculously bright gray hair bouncing against her forehead.
I nod in understanding as I swiftly transfer to the man beside her, my eyes scanning quickly up and down his form. Ah; he's a whiskey man.
"Whiskey on the rocks, I presume?" I say, his head snapping up, eyes peering at me from beneath greasy hair. His utter lack of hygiene is plenty repulsive; at least the woman prior had on makeup and had curled her hair, even if she knew she wasn't considered 'pretty'.
The man nods vaguely, not looking at all impressed with my deduction. I frown at his lack of reaction, but nod before finally striding to the last customer. She's gazing at her phone as my eyes take in her chubby face.
"Bloody Mary, yes?" I question triumphantly. She glances up to me, her face pinched up like she's been smelling something particularly awful. It kind of reminds me of Mycroft's smug face, and I barely register the way my fists clench at the thought of him.
This woman has a lesser reaction than the first, only staring at me with an alert glint to her eyes, but it's a reaction nonetheless, and I find myself slightly pleased. She nods before looking back down to her phone, and I nod in acknowledgement of her order, despite she isn't looking.
"Ah, Lestrade; lager, I suppose?"
Glancing up at the D.I. as he swings the door open, I walk towards the stool he pulls out, leaning lightly against the mahogany counter. He nods at me, pulling off his black coat and laying it on his seat before sitting down. Before I can retrieve all of the drinks requested, Lestrade grips my wrist.
"Sherlock...have you...kicked your habit yet?" he says uncomfortably. I see him shift in his seat as he pulls his hand away, instead tapping his fingers against the bar.
"Actually, I almost have, Graham," I state proudly, placing my hands on my hips.
"Greg," he corrects almost immediately, sighing a little as he leans on his elbows. He does look proud of me, though, as he smiles afterwards. "That's great, Sherlock. How about I make you a deal? If you can stay off the coke for another month, I'll let you on cases again."
I hate to admit to any sort of happiness, but I'm feeling really giddy in this moment as I smile slightly. "You've got yourself a-"
"Oi! I'm not paying you to chatter, I'm paying you for a pint! So; go fucking get it!"
I cant my head to see the livid and clammy face of the man from before, a snarl curling his lips. I grimace at him, but I comply after a moment, bound to conform to his requests if I wish to receive a paycheck at the end of the week.
"Right away, sir," I grate out dangerously. I'm ready to bite out something nasty about the fact that he's just bitter because his long-time girlfriend broke up with him recently, or that he can't get a job, but Lestrade places a restraining hand on my forearm. I glance at him in annoyance, but finally sigh in hesitant defeat as I shrug his hand off and start to gather materials to mix the drinks.
"Come back at 11," I whisper, and he nods before lifting up from his stool and starting for the door.
"You better have my drink, then," he says jokingly, pushing the glass door open.
I smile slightly.
Lestrade opens the door as I just start to shoo out the other customers. He stands off to the side as I wave my hands for them to remove themselves from the premises. Their loud groans grate on my ears, and I'm becoming tired of their whinging, but they finally start to rise from their tables. Luckily, there are only seven people still in the pub, sans Lestrade.
As the last man files out, the D.I. comes to sit on the stool he used this morning. I nod in greeting as I start wiping down the bar, plucking the glasses off the counter and placing them in the sink.
"So, you go a month more without any drug use, you get a case; deal or no deal?"
I smirk with a certain finality. "Deal," I conceed, and he smiles faintly. His smile morphs into a grin as I slyly slide a pint of lager in front of him.
"Appreciate it," he states, tipping his pint of alcohol slightly in further thanks. I just nod at him before going to collect utensils from the disheveled tables.
"So," he drawls after taking a long swig of his drink,"...anything new this week?"
I glance incredulously at him, practically glare at him, but he merely shrugs innocently and turns back to his lager. He knows I despise small talk, but I'll indulge him, just this once, since he's being generous with the whole drug fiasco.
"Well...my cake eating, intrusive arse of a brother has been very...tecthy this week. Whatever has got him peeved, I doubt it's very important, but he's irritated with me because of it; even more than he usually is, I mean. It's been fairly annoying," I divulge, bringing a cluster of glasses back to the sink.
Lestrade sighs thoughtfully, taking another sip of lager before he questions,"Don't you think it's a bit weird that I've known you for almost 2 years, but I don't even know your bloody brother's name?"
"I don't see the relevance of your question," I respond, turning the faucet on to start rinsing the cups and dishes.
"I mean, you only ever refer to him as your 'archenemy' or your 'cake eating, intrusive arse of a brother'. Don't you think those titles are just the teeniest bit dramatic?"
"What ever are you talking about, Gavin?" I reply innocently. "Greg; whatever. But if you're here now, at least help me dry the glasses," I say, tossing him a towel as he rises from the stool.
He makes his way behind the counter and stands to the right of me, wrapping the towel around the glasses I've already washed.
"But seriously; what is your brother's name?" he asks after a moment, an inquisitive expression on his face as I continue to wipe the martini and alcohol glasses.
"Uggh...it's Mycroft sodding Holmes!"
Suddenly, Lestrade goes rigid beside me. His hand stops rubbing the towel over the wet utensils, and his expression is wiped completely blank. I wouldn't say I feel worried, just...put off(?).
"Lestrade?"
"Uh, er...yeah?" he mumbles, hands abruptly reverting back to their cleaning motions. I stare intently at him from the corner of my eye, catching the way his jaw is clenched and his mouth is terse. I admit, I'm not the best at emotions, but I can tell he's uncomfortable.
"What is it?"
As soon as the question leaves my mouth, Lestrade rubs the back of his neck, a flush rising on his cheeks. I gather data, recalling any information I may have retained to determine what is being left unsaid.
Then, but a moment later, I have it, and I almost laugh at the absurdity of the answer:
Lestrade and Mycroft might be each other's soulmates.
I snort in amusement as he turns his narrowed eyes on me, clearly unamused with this whole situation. I hold back another snicker as I start to clean a new tumbler and pass it over to his outstretched hands.
"You lot might be soulmates!" I quip, smirking smugly as his already flushed face morphs into a deeper shade of gray. His embarrassment quickly turns into anger as he suddenly turns on me, eyes wild and jaw taut.
"You arse! You've known for two years that your so-called 'archenemy' might be my bloody soulmate, and you haven't said a word until now?!"
I shift my gaze to him as I say,"My apologies. I must've deleted it."
"Bloody deleted it; how do you delete that? Why would you delete that?" he stammers, face now darker in anger, not out of sheer humiliation.
I grimace slightly as I turn back to stare at the glass in my hand. I know why I deleted it, but I really don't want Lestrade thinking I'm more petty than he already probably thinks I am. Then again, lying about it most likely isn't going to get me anywhere.
I heave a long sigh before tentatively starting,"I just...when we met, you said your name was Gregory, and I remembered that Mycroft's wrist had that name on it. I...I suppose I was bitter about knowing his soulmate and not my own. So I...deleted the knowledge from my mind, as to make myself believe that you couldn't be Mycroft's soulmate, even though you probably were."
He looks incredulously at me for a moment before his face softens in an odd way. The tightness of his jaw disperses, and the expression on his face oddly reminds me of one Mrs. Hudson has given me before.
"Sherlock," he sighs,"you'll find your soulmate, alright? Just because me and Mycroft might meet before you and your soulmate do, it doesn't mean you'll never meet them-"
"John," I interrupt, glancing down to my feet before meeting his eyes. "His name is John," I reiterate, voice softer and more vulnerable than I intended it to sound.
"John," he tries, smiling at me a little. "You and John will find each other."
I nod faintly.
We stay in companionable silence for many minutes, continuing to wash and dry the dishes until there aren't any left. I gesture for him to go sit back down on his stool, and he complies, grasping his mug of lager and taking a greedy gulp.
"...By the way you describe him," Lestrade starts, "maybe it'd be in my best interest that me and Mycroft don't actually meet..." His tone is joking as he smiles gently at me, taking another sip of his drink.
"Well, I suppose you might have to get used to his love of umbrellas and cakes," I joke back. "But first, you'll have to meet him to see if he even is your soulmate."
He nods in acknowledgement before taking another sip.
"Although, the one thing I find odd is that he spies on me all the time, so he must've known your name a long time ago, even if you didn't know his. So; why would he avoid you for so long, if he knew you might be his soulmate?"
The D.I. looks thoughtful momentarily as he absorbs what I've said, tapping his fingers against the dark gray mahogany of the counter. His forehead creases in thought as he frowns at his mug of lager, sighing after a moment.
"I know what you're going to say, Lestrade," I state as he starts to open his mouth,"and I assure you: no, he wouldn't avoid you because he doesn't want a soulmate."
He gradually shuts his mouth, bringing his gaze back up to me as he says,"I suppose I might just have to ask him when we meet."
I nod as we fall into another dip of silence, then I pull up my sleeve and check my watch.
12:01 AM.
"Well, Greg; it was nice talking with you," I admit as I sling my coat on, smiling slightly as I stride out from behind the counter. "I'll text Mycroft and let him know to get a chauffeur to pick you up for your 'meeting'."
He glances at me as he goes and turns on the sink, rinsing and cleansing his mug as he replies,"Wow; you actually remembered my name."
I smirk as he finishes drying the glass and opens a cabinet, placing it inside. I wait for him to come out from behind the bar and grab his own coat. Then, we both stride out of the pub, and I pull out my key to lock the door as I say,"See you on that next case, Lestrade."
He nods to me as I pull the key out and turn to face him, saying a last,"See you later," before nodding. He starts off down the sidewalk, waving slightly as I hear thunder crackling in the distance.
I raise my arm and shout to hail a cab, and it just so happens one is coming around the bend of this street. They spot me, and the car sidles up to the pavement as I make my way to it, opening up the door.
"221B Baker Street," I say as I shut the door, pulling out my mobile as the cabbie presses the accelerator.
Prepare to send an ominous black car tomorrow to Lestrade's location. You and the D.I. are finally going to have a little get together.-SH
A/N: Specials thanks to The Darkneon Flash for the suggestion of Sherlock being a bartender. Also, thanks to anyone who suggested any other menial job. I'll explain more in-depth why Sherlock is a bartender in a future chapter. Any feedback, whether negative or positive, I'd appreciate.