A/N This one is a long one. Thank you for the follows and review, they always make me write faster. I guess I am vain that way. Hopefully this chapter was worth the weird google translate searches I had to make. Being Canadian my French is in a constant state of rusty semi-use. However I have never needed to know how to dirty talk before. Normally I do that in English. ;-)
oOoOoOo
The Golf as it turns out was less roadworthy than Serene had anticipated. It was the sick neon green so popular in 1978 and looked concerning, the packing tape running along the body was serving both a structural and mechanical purpose. Sherlock circled derisively around the car and peaked through the windows at the interior his eyes squinting. He popped up and grinned tightly at Serene over the roof of the car that was dwarfed by his height. Serene giggled imagining him folding his long frame inside.
"Obviously the wife in Doncaster kept the Jag." He opened the door with a snap and closed himself into the driver's side. He looked at the steering wheel in front of him he honked the horn bleakly. Serene shook her head and got into the passenger side and hoped that they would make it there and back in one piece.
The roads of London gave way to larger motorways. The drive was not a short one, but it was straightforward. Sherlock did not speak while he drove; instead he kept his eyes on the far off horizon. No doubt he was running through the seemingly endless series of possibilities the case presented; the disinterred arm, the intimate knowledge of Lestrade's life, the coins, Graham and Liam and the string of dead girls in London. Her phone beeped sadly at her, the battery was dying as she had neglected to charge it last night. She had no means to do so now. She typed a short text to Greg letting him know her phone was dying and when she would be home tonight. He responded quickly, telling her to be careful and reminded her he had found his handcuffs. She could picture his cheeky grin, his quick look from side to side before answering her to make sure the coast was clear. It was the last act of her poor drained cellphone, it blinked off the moment after she opened the message, but she found herself grinning a little stupidly at the black screen.
"You've become a victim of sentiment." There was an undeniable accusation in Sherlock Holmes' voice.
"How so?" She tucked her phone away in her jacket. She did not want to bait him, but they had to pass the time. An argument was as good as any. Once aired it may actually benefit their working together as things unsaid would no longer hamper them.
"Lestrade." His name sounded like a curse coming from Sherlock.
"I thought you were friends." Serene tries to school her face into a naive expression as she glances at him his eyes unmoving from the middle distance. He scoffs. "You should feel happiness for him."
"Friends." He says the word again. Incredulous. "It's a waste of your ability to be with someone like him, when you could be with someone better suited."
"Are you offering yourself Sherlock?" Serene knows this is not what he means, but she pushes him to say what he has not been saying.
"No, of course not"
"So I should be alone?" Serene watches him, her voice matching his incredulity.
"Yes."
"Like you?"
"Why not? I am perfectly logical model to take from." It was Serene's turn to scoff.
"Has it never occurred to you that I don't need to be like anyone? You're not a Pygmalion who has conjured me in your need for emulation. I have always lived this way. I am good at it. I don't need to learn to live with myself." She wondered at Sherlock Holmes' small little world that he thought her mind was new to her, an unknown way of being. She may not know peace very often, but she did know her own mind.
"Why Lestrade? It's impossible someone so extraordinary could be happy with an imbecile."
"Lestrade is not an imbecile." Serene had not anticipated it would be Gregory that Sherlock Holmes objected to, the distraction of a relationship, her own pursuits in academia, these all seemed reasonable objections.
"I have never seen evidence to the contrary."
"It is impossible and yet here we are."
"No, you are here with me. Did he beg you to stay? It is impossible."
"Don't you always say that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?"
"You've been reading John's blog. Trying to understand me?" This tone of his was really unattractive, she wondered if anyone ever pointed that out to him.
"No I was trying to understand John."
"And what conclusions have you made?"
"He is your Pygmalion. He has made you a marble copy, you've forgotten how to be the flesh beneath."
"That is not about John." Sherlock looked pleased.
"You weren't really asking about him."
Sherlock sneers at her, still refusing to look at her. He is silenced for a moment, shaking his head imperceptibly. The quiet doesn't last he interjects acerbic and angry.
"Perhaps I should be like you all flesh and sentiment?"
"No, you should be yourself. Not what will make John admire you, or Mary love you or Mycroft stop being the teacher. Live for yourself, not for your marble copy. Or at the very least stop lying to yourself about what you want."
"What I want is often seen in polite society as destructive."
"You feed this image of yourself as the addict reformed. It is more than just the drugs that you deny yourself."
"You think you have an effect on me? Tell me Dr. Laurent am I in mad lust for you?"
"You wouldn't mind."
"If you're trying to seduce me I suggest you either wait until I am not driving or if you prefer I can pull off and you can give it your best shot."
"You began this discussion Sherlock, not me."
They fall silent again. Sherlock with his fingers twitching on the steering wheel and Serene curled into the lumpy cushion of the passenger seat. She was a little stunned he had willingly spoken of the physical attraction between them, even if it was to mock it. It was within the realm of the possible of course, it had happened after all. She felt her mind let go of the thought, a hand releasing a leaf into a current, it swirled away leaving her free to grasp at another thought. She liked to think of her mind like this, instead of chaos it could be a stream running through her constantly. Sometimes calm and deep, sometimes swollen and fast, cluttered with bric-à-brac after a storm. Of course the irony of the mind forming its own opinion of itself was not lost on her. As if it could be somehow separate from her, informing her of the things it thought and felt about itself. This was another leaf to be let go; she needed to look deeper below the surface to the stones and sand that made up the bed.
She closed her eyes, thinking of the cool water of a stream running about her hand as she reached below the glassy surface. The mud was velvety to the touch, silty and luxurious. It gave way instantly to her probing fingers and allowed her to run her hands over little pebbles and shells of memories. She felt something warm against her hand as she prodded the muck; she tugged on it unearthing first a finger, then a whole hand. The skin was fresh and firm, but the wrist just above the muck was slashed and blood was clouding the water quickly. The palm was slender and the nails well manicured, a woman's hand with the shadow of a coin against her palm, a ghost of what would one day be pressed into rotting flesh. Serene could not pull the arm further and free Elizabeth Loewen from her murky grave nor could she shove the hand back down again. It was stuck out stretched, the eddies around it darkening with blood.
She opened her eyes gasping as she remembered she had been in the car with Sherlock. The seatbelt bit into her shoulder as she sat up to fast.
"Interesting." Sherlock Holmes voice seemed far away from her as she blinked and rubbed her shoulder.
"Ce qui est intéressant?" She felt mildly sick from the image of blood filling her stream.
"Cherchez la vérité" He responds smiling at her fondly, their earlier argument forgiven. "I have never seen someone else go into their mind palace before, let alone emerge from it short of breath. Did you find what you were looking for?"
Serene rests against the headrest, her eyes closed again she breathes in through her nose out through her mouth. She tries to articulate what had thrown her from her meditation.
"Elizabeth Loewen. She's a symbol."
"Symbols are a distraction for a weak and lazy mind."
"Or an insane one. Whether they hold any power for us, he thinks he is communicating with us. All of it; the lions, the coins, the hand, all of them meant to tell us something."
"You've read too much of John's blog. The real world doesn't work that way."
"Care to wager?" A cat like grin spreads across Sherlock's face, it's wicked and self satisfied.
"What do you have to wager?" His eyes leave the road momentarily to travel down her rumpled clothes and empty hands.
"What you have been thinking about since we got in this car an hour ago." Serene grins wickedly at him.
"Do you read minds now?"
"I read palms." Serene answered turning her palm upwards demonstratively. Sherlock mimicked the gesture to reveal small red crescents from his fingernails. In response she removes a crumpled cigarette package from her the inside pocket of her jacket. "There are two left. You can have both and torture me the whole drive home if you like."
"Inside the lining of the settee?" He asks smoothing his hand down his trousers as if to wipe away the tell tale signs on his palm. "You can't wager with stolen cigarettes."
"Then I won't." She fishes a cigarette out of the pack and perches it in her lips. She pushes in the cigar lighter in the dash and waits for it to heat up. She reaches to remove it leaning forward with the cigarette dangling from her lips. She can feel Holmes' eyes on her he licks his lips slightly.
"Fine, fine. Share this one and we'll wager with the last one." Serene sits back and pulls the glowing the plug from the dash. The end of the cigarette glows as she touches the coil to the end, pulling the heat and ember into the white paper. She returns the plug to its position and cranks the window open a crack as she exhales a thin lavender tendril.
Sherlock snaps his fingers impatiently at her, reaching for the cigarette as Serene leans away from him. "Don't. Roll it up again. We only have one we have to make it last."
"It's not our car Mr. Holmes you don't want to be rude." She places it in his fingers and he quickly adjusts the grip. Bringing it to his mouth with a slightly desperate tug.
"Rude is what I do." He pulls out the syllables, breathing in the smoke after he's exhaled it. Serene laughs quietly at him, it is low to herself but genuine. He looks over at her. "Something funny?"
"It's like watching a turkey baste itself." Sherlock crinkles his nose at the comparison and takes another long drag the ember quickly eating up the paper. "I thought we are sharing."
"Then you better impress me quickly."
"Hand me your phone."
"Why?"
"Mine's dead and you can't text and drive." He removes the phone from his inside pocket and passes it to her only the pale wrist of the hand with cigarette keeping the car on course. "The coin found in the hand of Elizabeth Loewen belonged to her boyfriend. He's dead now. Overdose."
"Conjecture."
"What was once offered to him is being offered to Detective Inspector Lestrade. It could have been anything left at his back door. A finger would have been enough. Gruesome and easier to transport; or a name written in pig's blood. No they exhumed her, cut off her arm and brought it to Gregory. Why, why give him more clues? Why not hurt Katherine? There are a multitude of options and yet they went for the most melodramatic. Her boyfriend he was weak, he failed them. It could have been Elizabeth's death, could have been anything, but the point is those coins are in limited supply. They've lost control of three already. Unless they've ended up exactly where they want them."
Sherlock is silent for a moment, but he hands her the cigarette in silent acceptance of this theory. She inhales; the cigarette has the sour taste of being near the end.
Lestrade's phone vibrates on the table next to the cold paper cup of coffee. Sergeant Donovan is sitting across from him, reading back the promising calls from the tip line about some case they had dumped him in the middle of, having passed the Coin Killer off to Dimmock. He sees Sherlock has texted him. Donovan pauses as he checks his phone.
BF. WHEREABOUTS? XO
Lestrade's eyebrow quirks landing on the "XO". Had Sherlock just sent him kisses? He looks from side to side to see if someone was playing a trick on him. He coughs and he adjusts in his seat glancing furtively at Donovan. Her eyebrows are quirked and she is staring at him. His phone vibrates again
IT'S SERENE.
"Oh thank the lord." Lestrade mutters under his breath. He holds a finger up to Donovan. "One minute."
"Is it the Freak?" Donovan sucks her teeth, put off at being up interrupted.
"Serene. Apparently." Donovan's countenance immediately improves. She smiles conspiratorially.
"Really now?"
The phone vibrates again.
HURRY GREGORY OR I WILL SEND YOU ALL SORTS OF THINGS ON SHERLOCK'S PHONE. WE KNOW HE WILL READ THEM LATER ;-)
"Most definitely." He begins pulling up records on Elizabeth Loewen's boyfriend.
"There's a rumour in the department that you two have finally- you know."
"People will always talk." Lestrade picks up his cold coffee and takes an unpleasant gulp.
"Is it true?" The phone vibrates between them. Lestrade glances down and nearly chokes.
I WAS THINKING YOU COULD WEAR THE HANDCUFFS TONIGHT
Donovan lunges for the phone, but Lestrade is too quick on the draw. He tucks it in his breast pocket. Donovan smirks again.
"We'd just be happy for you is all. Finally making good on all those stolen glances and flirting."
Lestrade knows his mouth is hanging open and he doesn't know what to say. It is the look that often makes Sherlock call him an imbecile. He can only stare at poor Donovan and think of Serene's face while her body convulsed, her orgasm causing her to tighten hotly around his fingers. After too long a silence Donovan leans back pleased and laughing at him.
"You DID sleep with her. You know Boss if you'd waited six more weeks I would have won the pool."
He knows he is mumbling and probably blushing, but the phone vibrating again in his pocket wakes him from his trance.
"No, no we didn't. I mean literally yes, I made her kip at mine after the whole business with Katherine."
"So she came back to yours after meeting your battleax of an ex wife?"
"Yes, I mean don't call Kath a battleax. She was the victim of a psychopath."
"She must have it bad for you then."
He finally makes his brain talk to his fingers and pulls up the record for Elizabeth Loewen's boyfriend.
"Bloody hell, it's never ending." Lestrade muttered as he pulls out his phone.
I HOPE YOU ARE THIS THOROUGH WHEN I GET BACK.
He shakes his head the woman didn't play fair. He can't respond in kind or even flirt back with her as is would all end up back in Sherlock's pocket.
CURT HAYES. DEAD. OD
Is all he sends back. Almost instantly the phone vibrates back at him.
THANK YOU DETECTIVE. SANS CULOTTES POUR VOUS CE SOIR ;-)
Lestrade adjusts the collar of his dress shirt suddenly feeling warm in his office with Donovan rolling her eyes at him. He may not be a cunning linguist but he understood enough words in that sentence to feel blood flowing distinctly downward.
"Sorry, you were saying."
"What was that?"
"They're on a case."
"'They'? She's with Freak? And you're providing them with information? On a case you're involved in?"
"It's not like that. I haven't given them anything that isn't public record."
"You shouldn't be giving them anything."
"Sergeant are you giving me a lecture on what is or is not ethical for someone in my position?" Lestrade raises his voice slightly. He knows Donovan is right, but an underling won't chasten him. "Now continue with the case you are assigned to."
Donovan has the decency to look away from him, rebuked by his tone. She turns back to her list with a barely audible "of course not sir."
"What are you texting that is taking so long?" Sherlock glances over at her.
"I am merely encouraging him to look faster." Serene grins back at him.
"I need you focused, not panting like a dog in heat." Sherlock reprimands her, his eyes briefly leaving the road to sweep over her pausing at her chest and neck. Her pulse point is flitting and her breaths are shallower. If she glanced at him her pupils would be dilated. He resents that Lestrade is the one eliciting this reaction in her, and that his phone is the conduit for their romance. A small part of him hopes she won't delete the texts. They are nearing their destination and he does not know what to expect beyond a summer home of a wealthy man.
Serene crows in triumph.
"What? Has he answered you?" Sherlock feels the bite in his words. He is frustrated he had not considered such an obvious angle. The short supply of the coins should have been an obvious clue. He always missed something and with his current lack of focus the things he was missing were bigger, more detrimental to the case.
"Curt Hayes is dead of an overdose."
"Don't look so pleased. Someone is dead after all." Sherlock can feel his own smile though, she was right. The truth is useful regardless of its source. "Text Mycroft."
"What?"
"Text my brother, these words exactly; everything on Curtis Hayes. You know why. I'll tell you what they missed."
Serene types out the words.
"Have you got it?"
"Yes."
"Have you sent it?"
"Yes. What does that mean 'I'll tell you what they missed'?"
"Nothing, a meaningless disagreement between my brother and I. It will make him help us though. Remember the case is all that matters."
He turned off the motorway and travelled down the off road, the large lanes of traffic becoming slowly the winding green of country roads. Serene is worrying her lip, he knows his words have made her distrust him and she should. He is gambling with her friend's life.