The Devonshire Squires Chapter Two:
"You're going to like this one."
"That's what you said about the last two. They were boring."
It had taken Greg Lestrade three attempts before Sherlock would actually pick up the phone and talk to him, so he wasn't going to let this one go. Keep him on the line. He knew he'd have to bait the hook with something enticing. "This one's different."
"Gimme."
Greg took some comfort in the slightly mocking baritone. Sherlock was using the same words that Greg did to express his frustration whenever the consulting detective had not passed on his deductions in what the Met DI considered to be a timely manner. That he would do so now, after the two years' break in their working relationship, suggested that things were better today than they had been when Greg last saw him. Whatever the press had made of the Tilbury slavery ring case, Lestrade had been worried about the gloom that descended around Sherlock as soon as it was over.
He'd tried to find a decent case in the ten days that followed. The first had been rejected out of hand, as "mind boringly obvious, even for you, Lestrade." The second had been solved in ten minutes, without Sherlock even leaving the flat. The solution- to arrest the brother-in-law who had both motive and opportunity once you discounted the "obviously false alibi"- was texted, with a little "ps. Try harder, or don't bother," signed as ever with the initials SH.
He'd dropped by Baker Street when that case was solved, to bring Sherlock up to date on how it had played out- and to keep an eye on the man. The sun had set at just past four o'clock, but the lights were not on in the living room, and the front door was opened by Mrs Hudson.
"Oh, do come in out of the cold, Detective Inspector." The late November wind was whistling down from the north end of Baker Street.
"Where's Sherlock?"
She shook her head. "I wish I knew. He's in such an odd mood these days. He went out a couple of hours ago. He was out all night, too." She looked concerned.
"Still in a funk, then?"
She nodded. "I suppose I should be grateful he isn't pacing all night, keeping me awake with creaking floorboards, but I think I'd rather that than seeing him come in at the crack of dawn this morning looking like he's walked halfway across London and back again. And in this weather, too! I just don't know what's up with him."
Lestrade tried to muster a reassuring smile. "Well, the next time you see him, tell him I dropped by to tell him that he was right about that case. And I'll try harder to find something more interesting."
Two days later, Greg finally found one worthy of interest, and this time at least Sherlock finally answered the third call, so he jumped straight in: "Right- the DB is lying on his back on the floor of an underground car parking garage. He's stripped naked, been beaten, but at first glance, it doesn't look enough to kill him. The interesting part is that the garage is in a building that has been sealed up for seven weeks, awaiting demolition - but the body doesn't appear to be any more than a week or so old. Can't tell for sure, because the ME isn't here yet- been detained by an arson case in SE5."
There was a pause on the other end of the phone. "Who discovered the body?"
Greg heard the nibble of interest, and decided to set the hook more firmly. "To inspect the foundations, the demolition team opened the site yesterday, ready for their machinery to arrive on Monday. The security guard they posted on site for the weekend followed his nose this morning and found the body."
He didn't hesitate before adding the really interesting bit. "For the past seven weeks the whole site's been tight as a drum- all outside entrances into the building are actually welded shut. Only way into the car park is by lift- but there's been no power in the building for two months. It's a different sort of locked room mystery- should be enough, even for your exacting standards. "
"Curious. Text me the address."
Greg smiled. Gotcha! "Okay. See you shortly." He started typing in the details:
12.43 pm Artillery Lane and Font Street, E1 7LS.
After he hit send, he realised that attracting Sherlock's interest these days seemed harder. He hoped that the new case would bring some of the spring back into the man's step. But that made him recognise that the difference between Sherlock then and now was still an issue- John wouldn't be there. He started to think. No Medical Examiner. He started scrolling down his contacts list and found the one he was looking for, and pressed call.
"Hello?"
He thought he recognised the voice, but to be sure –and not land the doctor in it- he checked. "Uh, hello- I'm trying to reach Doctor John Watson? It's DI Lestrade here."
"Oh, Detective Inspector! I'll get him- he's just out the back, putting the rubbish out. This is Mary Morstan. Hang on." He heard her walking away from the phone and then her voice calling out "John? Phone!"
She must have told him who it was calling, because the next thing he heard was Watson's voice, "Lestrade. Everything alright?"
"Yeah, sure. Look, I'm sorry to interrupt your Saturday afternoon, but…if you don't have anything else to do, would you be willing to help me out with something?"
In a slightly hesitant tone, John replied, "Such as?"
Greg took a breath and decided to go for it. "I'm at a crime scene. Sherlock's on his way."
"He hasn't returned my texts- is there something wrong with his phone?"
"No- he's just been busy." Greg found it odd. Clearly, the consulting detective was still keeping John firmly out of things. That wasn't good. He'd allowed it at Tilbury because he wasn't given a choice. But this time, maybe, he could bring the two back together again. He decided he could get away with it.
"I've just been told the Medical Examiner is going to be hours yet- caught up in an arson case south of the river. But I need a medical opinion. You know how impatient Sherlock can get….will you come?"
There was a pause. Greg heard Mary's voice from somewhere in the room. "Go on, John. Please, you know you want to, and it's okay." That made Greg smile. Maybe having the doctor underfoot all the time was something that she realised wasn't good for him. He thought he might well have an ally in Mary Morstan.
"Please, will you come? We need your help."
An intake of breath. "Yeah, okay. Where's the crime scene?"
Author's Note: If you want to know more about the BBC report in the first chapter and here Lestrade's reference to "Tilbury", then read my story arc, A Pocketful of Rye, in Got My Eye on You. And if you want to know why Mrs Hudson is worried about creaking floorboards, read Ex Files, the chapter entitled Exhort.