John Watson yawned loudly in the back of taxicab as it turned its way through London's streets.
"Remind me why I'm coming again?" John rubs his eye emphatically.
"Lestrade called; remains linked to the Alley Strangler case have turned up at his former wife's home. Apparently Dimmock has been assigned the case."
"Dimmock, he's the, I don't know, the-" John scrunches his face curling his lip to show his front teeth. "That one?"
"Weasel?"
"That's the one, the weasel detective."
"Yes, pity Lestrade can't take over. Conflict of interest given his wife was targeted."
"Then why are you going if Lestrade isn't on the case?"
"On the books he's hired me privately to investigate the threat to his wife."
"And off the books?"
"He wants me on the case and Dimmock's a weasel."
"So why do you need me?"
"Dr. Laurent is out too, given she was attacked by our not so dead serial killer. I need a doctor's opinion."
There is a silence in the cab as John nods he looks out the window. After a moment he looks at Sherlock out of the corner of his eye. He is looking forward his fingers drumming intently on his leg.
"Listen. Be a mate tonight."
"I don't know what you mean."
"I mean, Sherlock, no matter what you deduce about his ex-wife or the house or anything that happened between them, just keep it to yourself. What's done is done."
"Regardless of how infinite you think my powers of observation are it is a finite skill. I can't see into the past, anything I observe would merely be to help Lestrade."
"But it's not helping, it's upsetting to people, normal people. Just trust me if it's not about the case I am sure he doesn't want to know."
"I will endeavour to keep my deductions to myself."
"Thank you."
"What if I deduce something relevant to the case should I say something then?"
"Oh come off it don't sulk, you know how you can be about people and their relationships. If it weren't for you dallying the doctor on the balcony I would have thought you were immune to them."
"I didn't dally her, I merely followed a course of action to the logical conclusion."
"Whatever you want to call it, just be nice."
"I don't do nice." Sherlock Holmes mutters under his breath turning to look out the window as the streets go by. Empirically, he knew what John was trying to say, people rarely wanted to hear the truths they wore plainly for the world to see. He resented that John felt the need to tell him to leave Lestrade alone. As if he should find the crumbling marriage of a colleague to be in anyway worth the effort of deduction. He felt assured that anything that had transpired in the Lestrade home up until this evening had been numbingly boring.
Lestrade had had enough of this case; not only would Katherine not stopped sobbing about in that ridiculous nightie, but Dimmock, Serene and Sherlock were all currently in his home to witness it. At least he was off duty he thought as he opened the cupboards in the kitchen. Rows of shining pots, pans and appliances greeted him at every turn; nothing seemed to be where he remembered it. Finally after opening the last cupboard he felt around in the darkness for the bottle of whiskey he knew he'd left when packing his small suitcase to leave.
"Looking for something, Greg?" Lestrade straightened up at the sound of a woman's voice, but his heart quickly returned to normal when he realized it was Serene.
"Thought I'd have a spot of tea." He says tilting the bottle of whiskey at her appealingly.
Serene smiles at him and begins closing the cupboards around him. "Tu n'es pas un bon voleur."
Greg smiles cheekily. "I'll drink to that, whatever it was." He decides to be spiteful and tip 3 fingers of whiskey into Katherine's favourite mug. He takes a sip feeling the fire down his throat and settle around his belly before handing the mug to Serene.
He watches her drink leaning against the counter in his kitchen and it all feels surreal.
"I never thought you would see this place."
Serene raises an eyebrow as she passes the mug back to him. "You weren't going to bring me to Christmas?"
"You go to Turkey for Christmas." Lestrade interjects as if that was the reason; in reality he was barely welcome here now.
"I figured Turkey would be off the table now." Serene says with a smile she only half feels, with so many things unspoken between, to speak out loud her fears of being held to one place, to one man feels like a sacrilege.
Greg steps towards her, his face more serious and concerned than she has ever seen him. He cannot bring himself to touch her, but his voice when he speaks is earnest. "It is not my intention, Serene, to hold you somewhere you would be unhappy."
She cannot look at him, but instead lays a reassuring hand on his lapel, the one affectionate gesture she had allowed herself for so long. "Another night we will discuss this."
Lestrade loves her soft lilting voice; the way her accent bleeds through when she is alone with him. He covers her hand with his, pressing it to his heart. Their eyes meet for a brief second and Serene feels a wave crash over her.
The moment is broken by a very real crash outside.
"Sounds like Sherlock's gotten into the bins." Greg takes a long swig of whiskey before walking languidly to peer out the back door. Serene joins him on the step and they watch the pantomime of Sherlock digging through the bins and Dimmock desperately trying to control the scene. "You know it's sort of relaxing not being the one who has to take care of him. It's like a vacation."
Serene steals the mug off Greg, before he can finish it and takes a drink. "He's looking for the gloves."
Lestrade, confident all eyes are on Sherlock, tucks Serene against him in the cold night air. "Listen, if there is something you or Sherlock are keeping from me I need to know. Give me a chance to know what we are dealing with."
Serene takes a quick breath in and breathes out slowly, Lestrade's question is a difficult one. Telling him about Liam would mean telling him about Graham, and the information although it seemed damning could ultimately be meaningless. Then where was she? She would be the cause of Graham's arrest only to find that Liam was ultimately uninvolved.
Before she can answer there are footsteps in the kitchen and a slight disgruntled cough. Serene's mind makes a quick mental survey of their position her side is melded to his and his hand on her hip, thumb making lazy circles on the skin above her belt. Very intimate and very unprofessional. She knew by the stiffening of Greg's spine that Katherine had come into the kitchen. She had caught a glimpse of the woman earlier, Greg had been looking down at her as she sobbed, and he looked uncomfortable. Serene had been prepared to hate the woman on sight; instead she had felt nothing more than a profound sadness. Katherine was clearly lonely and beyond her loneliness was the bitterness of disappointed hopes.
Serene had considered not responding to the summons of DI Dimmock. She had hoped it had not been Greg's address he was inviting her to, but Dimmock had clearly tried to sweeten the pot for her when he told her it was Lestrade's wife. Had the whole department known of their friendship? She had flaunted their closeness, challenging Greg's sense of propriety whenever he called her to the field. It had all seemed less precious before they had crossed that final line. She vowed to look only at the remains, to float above it all and keep her mind peacefully blank about Greg's former life. She had only been lying to herself. She had come in from the cold, head spinning from the message left for them and had immediately begun cataloguing the room in front of her.
When her father had left it had not been a slow mournful process of removing him from the house. Her grandfather had torn through in a fury changing out photos and throwing out keepsakes. It had been all that she could do to smuggle a handkerchief stuffed into a half finished pack of cigarettes. Years later, after another disappointing attempt to reconnect she had thrown it in a sewer, but that final destruction had been on her own terms. She knew well then the small signs of person scrubbed from a home; the vibrant halos around rehung picture frames, the awkwardly spaced knick-knacks, and the strange lopsided arrangement of the hall closet.
She saw no evidence of change with Greg's removal two years ago. He had been absent much longer than that, always in the office, chasing the bad guy or sitting in the pub. She felt an ache for Katherine; she understood the desire to fill emptiness and disappointment with passion. She had hurt Greg, but he had hurt her in return. Greg was still the man who didn't let go, who didn't give up even when it was drowning you both. That had been what held her back for so long, knowing that Lestrade was both the fever and the sickness. He made her burn, but he would invade her every cell. Only facing death had made her plunge into unknown and already she felt lost over it.
Lestrade stiffened and released Serene, feeling cold where her body had left him. Katherine was staring daggers at him and he wet his lips trying to maintain eye contact. He steps into the kitchen and slides the mug behind the toaster.
"Hey Kath, I thought you had gone to bed."
Katherine pushes between the counter and him, retrieving her mug. She silently rinses it out and puts it in the dishwasher, her narrowed eyes never leaving him and her mouth a tight line.
"The fool detective woke me up crashing around in the bins." When she does speak it is with barely contained rage.
"Holmes doesn't do anything quietly."
"I don't know why you brought him."
"Well, bin banging aside he can solve this faster than any of the Yard's people."
"Including the French tart on my back step?" Lestrade felt himself prickle at her insulting Serene. He clenches his teeth and exhales slowly through his nose.
"Dr. Laurent is a brilliant-"
"Is that what you get off on now, Greg, brilliance?" He can see Katherine's face beginning to crumple into tears. He steps closer trying to console her, but she shakes him off. "Did you bring her here to show off? Petty sort of revenge."
"I didn't bring her here, Kath, Dimmock called her in. Listen, Serene and I aren't-" Lestrade rubs his jaw frustrated, he doesn't know what they are or how he should be defending himself. "I wouldn't do that, to either of you."
Katherine begins wiping at invisible dirt on the counters; he almost smiles at the sudden recollection. He had forgotten this habit of hers when they argued, cleaning her already spotless house. Katherine looks out the window over the sink, but Lestrade knows she is really staring at her own reflection, the small wrinkles around her eyes and the depth of her laugh lines. She was still beautiful, but she wasn't the blushing eighteen year old he had walked home from the pub.
"She's too young to be brilliant at anything." Trust Katherine to jab a pin into his deepest insecurity. As if he hadn't felt spoilt enough touching Serene's smooth firm skin, feeling ashamed at his own aging body. "I am surprised you can keep up with her, Greg."
Greg opens his mouth to respond, but the chirping of his cell phone interrupted him. He pulled it out as Katherine rolled her eyes. The caller came up as "Private- Blocked" and Lestrade grit his teeth.
"I have to take this." He said as Katherine threw up her arms and stormed from the kitchen. He clicked accept and listened to the hollow silence on the other end, waiting for the crackle he knew was coming. Sure enough, the emptiness was soon taken over by a single static pop and then the voice was speaking to him, smooth and heartless.
"Good evening Inspector, I trust you are well." Lestrade knows better than to answer these calls are always one sided. "My latest intell says you've taken my brother for quite a ride all the way out to-" there is a pause and a shuffling of paper "Chiswick. How cozy for you."
"We agreed when he came back I could use Sherlock as I saw fit." Lestrade has no patience for these check-ins.
"Oh by all means run him as you see fit, he's so - destructive when he's bored. No, I am afraid this call is in regards to you other companion this evening." Lestrade feels his blood run cold, he is sickened by the thought of this man knowing about Serene. "Far be it from me to question your propriety, Inspector, but may I suggest you investigate your connection with this woman."
"I don't know what you're implying but-"
"What I'm implying is that you don't know enough about this woman to be putting her in contact with Sherlock especially with him so recently resurrected. When you do properly inform yourself about Dr. Laurent, for instance her address and who resides there with her, I am sure you will follow the proper course of action."
"The proper course of act-"
"To put it bluntly Inspector get your house in order or I will do it for you."
The connection went dead and Lestrade was left holding his phone looking through the window at Serene and Sherlock in the semi-darkness, a feeling of dread building in the pit of his stomach.
A/N Sacre Bleu, I apologize to anyone who attempted to read this when it was posted the other day. I don't know how I made the formatting go wonky but rest assured coding is not a part of my narrative. Hopefully you haven't been frightened off. 3