A/N Hey guys! Sorry for the short chapter, I decided to split a longer chapter into two. Please R and R!
Greg Lestrade fell out of bed as his telephone rang. He glanced at the clock next to his phone. It was 4:36. Goddamnit. He'd had far too many drinks last night, and now he was paying for it. "What is it?" he said into the phone, slurring his words far too much to just be tired.
Sergeant Donavan, also sounding quite worn out, said quietly into the phone, "We've got a case for you."
There was a pause before Sergeant Donavan spoke again. Damnit, she knew. "There's a corpse at 122 Cook's Street when you're sober enough to come over." Her tone indicated that he was sober enough now.
Today was supposed to be a day off, but instead he had to wake up before sunrise and see some corpse. He stumbled to his fridge, pushed away the half-empty beers, pulled out several energy drinks, then drank them one after the other. It wasn't the best hangover remedy, but it was better than nothing. Greg dressed, walked outside, and hailed for a taxi.
He looked over the old man's body. Congealed blood covered the floor around his neck. He looked at the clipboard that some technician had put in his hands. "James Myers. Most likely a drug dealer, puncture wounds to neck and abdomen." He stopped in mid thought as his phone beeped.
This was strange- nobody ever texted him. Except-
Oh god, not him, Lestrade thought as he pulled out his phone to see the message.
I'm bored. Do you have a case?
-SH
Greg looked at the phone with contempt. It had been two months since Sherlock had last contacted him. He had assumed that the man had either fled the country or lost interest in being a detective. The phone beeped again.
If not, find me one.
-SH
He turned the phone over in his hand, wondering if he should let Sherlock in on this case. He was such an annoyance, but he was usually right.
Yes. At 221 cook's street. Dont fuck this one up
Lestrade stared at the his smart phone, wondering what monster he had just released onto his crime scene.