Lestrade was not the type of man to play games; all of him wanted to muscle his way into the club, with Sherlock Holmes by the collar, and have point out the suspect. Then out come the cuffs and he goes home to his one bedroom flat and a whiskey. No part of him doubted the man was in the club, but the policeman in him hated himself for it. It all seemed like a ruddy magic trick, the way Sherlock and Serene had barely spoken but had known everything instantly. Now he was standing outside this naff club hoping the bouncer let him in to do his job. He had tried to use his badge, but Serene had stopped him.
From the moment they had gotten out of the taxi she had been different, giggling and smiling. The Serene he knew laughed and smiled, but it was always lower and softer. It cut right down to a man's belly the way she laughed. He coveted it.
He had taken solace in her when Sherlock had been away, although he had thought he was dead at the time. She seemed created to soothe all his aches; his wife's continued betrayal, the loss of a friend, his professional disgrace. He hadn't dared bring her on as consultant on any random case, but Scotland Yard had set precedence using her to consult on cases of extreme decomposition.
Even if he couldn't bring her on, he could talk to her about the cases. She asked questions that surprised him, her mind worked in a fever. Late at night, drinking whiskey out of a styrofoam cup in his office, her legs tucked under her in the old chair,while he talked and stared at photographs. His wife had never had the patience to listen to him this way, and to be fair he never let her either. They'd been so young when they'd gotten married, Katherine always seemed so delicate to him. Serene felt so strong and vibrant. His thoughts of Katherine had always been so pink and dewy, his blushing bride. Well thirty years later they were different people; the multiple affairs proved Katherine wanted to be thought of differently. The way he felt about Serene, he supposed, was what he couldn't give his own ex-wife. That gnawing hunger in the pit of his stomach, wasn't just sexual, he wanted to possess her. Her thoughts, her feelings and laughter seemed just as important as what her body offered. Or could offer, he supposed, if the timing had been right.
The Gala fundraiser had been around Christmas, his first Christmas without his wife and without Sherlock. He supposed a better detective could have told you what she had been wearing and how her hair had been. All of it seemed a blur now; he had been in a rented tuxedo and felt like an idiot. Donovan and Anderson had been there and others on the force, but a disgraced boss was hardly going to be the belle of the ball. He had been drinking the poorly chilled champagne and considering leaving when she had drifted across his eye line. Speaking with a balding man, she was laughing and he had felt it down to his core. He remembered pausing the flute half way to his lips, his mouth hanging open like a git. He thought the champagne must have been getting to him, that the woman laughing was just some random secretary for a higher up, invited out of politeness. Then he saw her, she was glancing back over her shoulder, every one of her glorious features on display.
Her dark hair, her eyes, he remembered her back was bare, and her mouth seemed to be all he could think of. He tried to be above his baser nature, undo a little of the damage his more sexist colleagues wreaked across the department, but he found himself looking into hungry eyes. All he could see was her sitting on his bed, the sheets a jumble, her hair wild and tumbling down her back, the lipstick gone and her lips bitten and bare. To his unending guilt it was his and Katherine's bed, the nicer sheets and the mattress that was big enough for two and didn't hurt his back. His mouth was still hanging open, he could feel it but he couldn't do anything about it.
Now a year and a half later and she was tucked up against him. Pretending to be his fiancee in order to catch a killer. He should have been able to crack this on his own, but he had missed her. She had been away; she was away a lot. Lecturing one month, research the next. Sometimes she was just gone and he didn't know where. Those times were the hardest; being without her was bearable when he could picture her standing in front of a lecture hall or bending over a microscope. When she was just gone he felt himself consumed by jealousy and concern. Sometimes in fits of despondency he would picture her on a beach somewhere or in a mysterious hotel room always with a stranger. An uncomplicated, available stranger who would whisper all the things he longed to tell her himself, kiss her and touch her the way he desperately wanted to.
When he had approached her that first night, she had laughed and flirted. He felt on top of the world for the first time in a long time. He had run his hand down the vee of her back. Or had it been just her arm. What he had wanted and what he had done had been jumbled around in his mind so many times he could no longer clearly separate them in his memory, but she had stepped away. Her smile faltered and she ran his hand down the lapel of his stupid rented jacket. She had looked at him sympathetically and whispered she 'didn't want to be in another woman's bed'. He had felt shocked like she had read his mind. They had been friends after, or something. He felt like she was waiting for something, he hadn't been dismissed or written off, but she wanted to see something in his eyes, something that wasn't there yet.
He was brought back to the moment by feeling Serene stiffen against him; her hand had slipped affectionately beneath his jacket. He felt it twitch and realized the bouncer was signaling them forwards. He didn't question it, like Lazarus he walked forward.
As soon as they were in the club he felt even more under qualified to play his part. Every one around him was younger than him by at least twenty years, if not thirty. Even Serene he reminded himself was only thirty, although he could never picture her somewhere so pedestrian. She seemed perfectly comfortable; she pulled him deeper into the club. She led him to a table and gave his arm a quick, significant squeeze before disappearing into the crowd. Lestrade scanned the club looking for anything really; Sherlock, Serene, or a man wearing a giant 'killer' placard.
Serene returned to him jostled through the crowd, holding two drinks. She barely reached him without getting knocked over; he caught her arm to steady her. Inadvertently pulling her closer. She placed one drink on the table, the other she pressed into his hand.
The contents of the glass was fizzy and translucent, he tilted it experimentally. She leaned into him even closer, pressed up against him. He felt her now in a way he never had before, every curve against him. He tried picturing Sherlock in his place, what he would have done to keep his head.
"Just soda and lime, got to keep our heads." She whispered, then to his unending shock she licked his ear. He nearly dropped his drink as he felt the warm tip of her tongue run along the edge of his ear lobe. He was suddenly sure of two things in the world; one that Serene would live up to all his fantasies and two his mouth was dangerously close to hanging open. He thought of Sherlock again and forced himself to focus. Play along, he thought; act like she is yours. His arm snaked around her waist and trapped her against him. She laughed, a real Serene laugh, the challenge in her eyes. What was he thinking agreeing to this lunacy.
She whispered in his other ear, her hand lightly lifting his arm with the drink. "Drink up, Sherlock is watching mine." She didn't lick his ear this time, but she did stay a fraction of a second longer. It took all his self-control not to look for Sherlock, he would just have to trust she had seen him. He drained the horrible drink in one go, who knew Tom Collins could be worse. Apparently virgin Tom Collins was. Serene took a small sip out of hers before leaving it on the table and dragging Lestrade the few meters to the dance floor.
If he had felt old before, he felt absolutely decrepit now. Dancing had changed; it seemed all a man had to do was hold on while the woman shimmied against him. It lacked something of the seduction of dancing with a person, but as Serene moved against him he couldn't fault it. Hold her; his police brain screamed at him, make her a target. He stalled, he didn't want her to be a target, he didn't want this insane person to even set eyes on her.
Serene it seemed was taking matters into her own hands. She turned around, leaning her back against his hesitant body and wrapping her arms around his neck. It was a brilliant move even if it was one he was unprepared for. It forced his head to be in the crook of her neck and his hands to steady her hips to keep them both upright and unjostled by the crowd. It also stretched Serene out, displaying to the room at large her beautiful, expressive face, her breasts, her flat stomach and her lithe legs.
They were like this for a moment, pressed against each other. Lestrade allowed himself to breathe her in as she rocked against him. Serene smelled like incense, the scent clung to her hair and the sweat on her skin. He could smell her perfume beneath it though, verbena and sandalwood. He wondered then where she had been, before he had called. How had she thought her night was going to go; Serene's hand slid into his hair, her body elongating slightly, stretching and moving against him. He was thinking too much like Sherlock, he laughed to himself. What kind of red-blooded man was he? Dancing with a beautiful woman, only to try and deduce where she had been. He hated the song that was playing, hated that the first time he got to hold her like this was so public. Worst of all that Sherlock Holmes was somewhere watching him, probably pitying him for being so wrapped up in an uninterested woman. His hands reflexively tightened on her hips, he felt a laugh echo in his chest. Serene's laugh, as she was pressed even more firmly against him, all of him, he realized too late. He relaxed his grip, stepping away from her slightly.
Serene turned in his arms, her arms still around his neck; she leaned against him all over again. Her lips were against his neck, just under his ear and he could think of nothing else. His stomach dropped, he felt like a school boy rather than a middle aged DI the way his hands were sweating. He swallowed, hard.
"Don't worry, a woman likes to feel appreciated." The words were murmured against his ear, her mouth teasingly close to his jawline. He couldn't remember his nerve endings ever being on fire like this.
The song must have changed, they all seemed to run together to him, but Serene whorled herself again, leaning back against him as before.
A man appeared out of the crowd, he was young with ridiculous hair. He seemed to have emerged from a group of similarly young ridiculous people. He reached his hand out and ran the palm of his hand down Serene's side. He tried to take her arm, leaning into the both of them shouting, "You should share, Grandad!"
Lestrade saw red, Serene reacted to the stranger by turning herself towards Lestrade, tucking under his arm against his side. "Naff off, mate!" Lestrade shouted back. All of him wanted to pull out his badge, but that would ruin the whole operation. Serene leaned into him, whispering as if to calm him down, but really she said, "Start a fight, he's noticed". That was all Lestrade needed, before giving into his rage and stepping toe to toe with the idiot. Testosterone pumping the idiot took the bait and swung.
Lestrade shoved back and bouncers materialized out of nowhere grabbing them. Serene had faded into the crowd, hoping this had been enough to peak the killer's interest. She hoped against hope she had been right about everything. She worked back towards her drink; she had left Sherlock watching it. The drink still sat on the table, unchanged but for the second straw. It had not been there before and Serene smiled at Sherlock's ingenious message.
She hoped the killer was following his M.O. and had gone to the side entrance to await his prey. Trusting a drugged woman would want air, beyond the watchful eye of the bouncers. She realized she couldn't be sure, that he hadn't seen Sherlock signal her or that he would go straight to the alley. She weighed her options quickly but only one really remained to her. She drained half her drink and set it on the table. She had less than 15 minutes. She wouldn't pass out, he wanted them to fight, to run, but he also wanted to know he could win. She didn't know what would happen to her. She pocketed a salt shaker and made her way to the side door.
The world was already beginning to turn, shift slightly. The music felt too loud, the club felt too hot. Even if she wasn't after a murderer, she wanted to be outside. And alone. There seemed to be too many people. The side door loomed closer and closer, until she had reached it. She could feel the draft and the metal was cool as she pushed her way out.
She smelled cigarettes immediately. The alley reeked of layers of cigarette smoke, damp butts and garbage. One was fresh though, and familiar. She had tasted it in the miasma around the body earlier. She looked to her left and there he was. A man in the shadows, she hadn't known what she would feel now in this moment, rage, fear, shock and vindication. All she really felt was her stomach plummet and the desire to vomit out whatever drug was coursing through her system right now.
"Hello, Love" The man stepped out of the shadows. He was a horrible fake blond; his eyebrows didn't match with the harsh yellow tones of his hair. His complexion was sickly, but his face when smiling wasn't unpleasant. Except for his eyes. They seemed too focused and too dark, like they were all pupil.
"Hello, I seem to have lost my fiancee."
The man continued to approach, throwing the cigarette into the alley. Despite the cacophony, in her mind, of a million half formed thoughts, Serene tried to remember where it fell. In case it wasn't enough, this now, him stalking her in the Alley.
"Did they pull him out for fighting?"
"Yes, I think so."
"Over you, wasn't it?"
"Yes" Serene was backing away from him now.
"Didn't go with him though, did you?"
"I wanted to finish my drink."
The man made a soft tsking sound. "Should have gone with him. No one to take care of you now."
The world did a barrel roll for Serene. The drug was causing her mind to race, sweat to pour off of her and the world to tilt.
"I can take care of myself"
"Can you now? Not scared some big bad man will find you?"
"No." The man started walking towards her and panic coursed through her again.
"But he has" Like an animal the man started growling at her. Without the drug Serene might have started laughing, but as it was he was unnerving her. She had backed them midway down the alley. Whoever appeared to help her first either Sherlock or Greg they would be able to reach her quickly. There was a movement just over his shoulder. Someone else was in the alley and relief washed over her.
She turned to run and heard the man begin giving chase, the snarling and lip smacking audible over the clack of her heels. She stopped and turned suddenly. The man was horrifying and upon her. She intended to hit him, to use her years of training to subdue him for Greg, but the world spun again when she saw him. He seemed more like an animal than a man, as if transformed, she was so fascinated, she let him pounce. Knocking her to the ground.
It hurt hitting the ground so suddenly, the wind was knocked out of her and her body began gasping for air. She couldn't seem to pull air into her lungs. He was on top of her sweating and reeking of cigarettes. She thought he would kill her there, she wondered far off in the blurry back of her mind why no one had stopped him. She felt him stand up, she couldn't focus enough to stand. She struggled to make her limbs work together now. She felt him grab her ankle. He began to drag her; she felt the dirt cutting into her arms. This second kill had made him frantic and sloppy. She kicked against him, bringing her other leg up and getting him in the sternum with her heel. He stumbled back momentarily, enraged. He fell on her then his hands finding her throat immediately. Where was Sherlock? Where was Greg? How had things gone so wrong, if her mind could focus she knew she had only been in the alley a minute or so. Darks spots began to form in front of her eyes, her hands barely understanding her command to pull his hands from her throat. His face above her was contorted with rage, his eyes still that hollow burning black.
From somewhere behind her there was the scuffle of shoes and she thought she heard a door frantically swing open. Then there was a gunshot, and the man jerked and fell on top of her. His warm blood was all she felt spilling over her as the world faded.