Magic One Shots (Sherlock BBC Fic)
AN – this is basically a dumping point for all the one shot cracktastic stuff that the magic verse threw up but didn't fit into the two fics. Also, it's an excuse to torture Mycroft.
Warning – slash, established relationship. This holds for all the chapters.
Disclaimer – characters and settings as depicted in BBC series (or any other established setting) are not mine. No money being made. Plot is mine.
Devoted Pets
AN – Lestrade's turn for a bit of torture!
Once he'd gotten used to the idea that John Watson – partner to Sherlock Holmes, doctor-in-jumpers, ordinary John – was actually the Mage of London, it made perfect sense that now and then Geoff would see John do something that anyone else would find extraordinary. Occasionally at a crime scene, something would catch John's eye – something invisible – and he'd watch it for a while before returning his attention to the consulting genius bustling about making grand declarations.
It no longer surprised Geoff that there were times when the hair on the back of his neck stood up and he just had to call Sherlock in, knowing that John would come with him and make things seem normal again. Geoff found it hard to believe that other people hadn't noticed that magic was going on right under their noses and came to reluctantly agree with Sherlock that most people were terribly unobservant.
Not that he'd ever tell Sherlock that. The man had a big enough ego as it was.
Sometimes, when John and Sherlock weren't around and it was dark and he was alone on the streets or in an alley way, Geoff could sense that there was someone – or maybe something – nearby. It's like being alone in the house, but feeling that someone was with you, or walking down a hallway at work and turning to look behind you because you thought someone was there. It's like turning to speak to the person standing next to you, but finding yourself talking to the air.
At first, Geoff put it down to tiredness. He'd been working long hours lately, trying to keep up with a rash of serious crimes, all apparently unconnected. Sherlock hadn't been interested, though Geoff had been pleased with the confirmation that the crimes were not the work of one person or a gang – Moriarty was still looming over their shoulders like the Sword of Damocles. Then it was down to being hyper alert – he'd been alone on a stakeout for a while, and he'd been separated from his team in a couple of the raids, going after runners. He'd also assumed that the presence he sometimes felt at home was because he was missing the family – his wife had won a dividend in the Euro Lottery and taken herself and the kids off to Barcelona for a two week vacation at Geoff's insistence. They hadn't had a proper holiday abroad for years and he wanted them to enjoy the money, instead of putting it into bills and other such sensible things.
Then someone murdered an allegedly respectable businessman and dumped his eviscerated carcass all over the Millennium Bridge, where a group of pre-dawn joggers had literally tripped over him. They'd needed several shock blankets and ambulances to deal with them and now Sherlock was dashing about, locating evidence that Anderson had missed and completely in his element.
"If it weren't for the dead body, this would be really a pretty view," John muttered from where he stood, hands in pockets, watching Sherlock with an indulgent glint in his eyes. The sun was coming up over the city, making the Thames glint and displaying London at her best.
"Yes, I suppose it would be," Geoff sighed, "Sherlock! Get down before you fall in!"
"Bloody idiot," there was affection in the comment and John moved off to corral Sherlock away from the railings. It struck Geoff that these two weren't just sleeping together; there was an emotional connection there, one that included love as well as friendship. He'd thought Sherlock was only attached because John was interesting, but there was more to it than that if the quick smile that Sherlock had graced his partner with before dashing off again was anything to go by.
Something brushed against his ankle for a moment, but when he glanced down, there was nothing there. Geoff glanced up in time to see that John was watching something no one else could see again but the Mage didn't seem to be too worried by whatever it was, so Geoff dismissed it from his mind and concentrated on getting the details he needed from Sherlock in order to make an arrest – or at least send his investigators in the right direction.
In the weeks that followed, Geoff became used to the feeling of being watched – or at least got better at ignoring it. He put the incidents from his mind and focussed on the work.
Three weeks and two crime scenes with Sherlock later, things took a turn for the weird when Donovan came late to work, wearing dark glasses and an unhappy expression. Anderson was also in poor spirits, by which Geoff understood that their on-again-off-again romance was once more off. That meant that Donovan was probably overtired and Anderson possibly hung over. Why they continued the affair when they spent half their time falling out was anyone's business, but as they had yet to jeopardise an investigation because of it, Geoff had no intention of stepping in and putting his foot down.
That was not the weird thing. Donovan collected coffees for herself and Geoff – a habit she'd gotten into when she'd been a constable – and came into his office for the morning briefing. Geoff usually had a few leads for her to follow up on, or wanted a progress report on whatever she'd been researching for him, so they usually spent thirty minutes or so in the morning touching base. As she entered his office, Geoff realised that she was indeed overtired, which tended to make her a little clumsy. He started gathering his notes in a pile, just in case, when she tripped over her own feet, sending scalding hot coffee in a deluge straight for his chest. That was not the weird thing either – the weird thing happened next.
Geoff braced himself for the impact of the hot liquid – which would cause minor burns and staining to his shirt at the least – when the liquid took an abrupt ninety degree turn in midair and splattered itself all over his filing cabinet instead.
"Oh god! Did I get you?" Sally was too distracted by her own fall and dropping her mug all over her leg that she fortunately hadn't noticed his coffee shooting off at angles.
"No, but the filing cabinet needs a wipe down," Geoff managed to sound perfectly normal – that is slightly exasperated and patient with her – and sent her off to clean up. He got the coffees himself, coming back into his empty office and hesitating by the door for a moment.
"Thanks," he muttered to empty air and then put the coffees down. While he was waiting for Sally to get back, he pulled his phone out and fired a quick text off to John, getting a reply just as she returned.
See you at 8 – JW
Sherlock was of course waiting in the front room with John, obviously curious as to why Geoff had texted his partner and not him.
"It's not a case," Sherlock announced as Geoff stepped through their front door and John rolled his eyes, waving Geoff to a seat where a cup of tea and some biscuits sat waiting for him, "He's here to consult with the Mage, not the detective and the doctor."
"Sherlock," John pinched his nose between finger and thumb, "Let Geoff explain, why don't you? Hullo Geoff."
"Hullo John," Geoff replied, grinning. Sherlock must have been making an absolute pest of himself to get that tone out of patience-is-my-middle-name John Watson.
He explained about the coffee incident, then added the feeling of being watched, the odd brush against his ankles and his observation that John had been watching something at crime scenes, noting that John looked slightly guilty by the end of it.
"So out with it," he used his best voice, "What's going on?"
"You've attracted the attention of… a Pet, I suppose you'd call it. A psychic spirit which has latched onto you and wants to keep you company and keep you safe," John grinned, "The first time I saw it, I thought it was attached to Sherlock, but that wasn't the case. You've done something to catch its eye and now it wants to make you happy."
"Why didn't it come with me?" Sherlock pouted, sounding disappointed of all things, "I'm much more interesting than Lestrade."
"I think we'll have to leave that mystery for later, Sherlock," John smiled at his partner, who sniffed and flounced out to the kitchen to very pointedly begin working with his chemistry set. Geoff took a moment to look away and get control of the laughter that wanted out, knowing it would exacerbate the situation. John also looked as if he was biting the inside of his cheek.
"So is it an animal?" Geoff asked, "How much intelligence does it have? Is it here now?"
"I'd imagine it is waiting for you in the car," John replied, amusement in his tone, "The Pet is quite intelligent, though limited… think of it as a clever dog. It's quite loyal, has the ability to protect you, but isn't particularly strong. It will accept the people close to you, but it's very much a one person Pet. Your family is in no danger from it, so you don't need to worry."
"Why me, though?" Geoff nodded his understanding of John's information, relieved that he didn't have to worry about the kids or the missus accidentally setting off his invisible 'friend'. John shrugged.
"You're a good bloke, Geoff. Why not you?" was the less than helpful reply, "It will stick around for a while and then either transfer its attentions to someone else, or cross over to the next world. You don't have to feed it, or even acknowledge it: there's nothing to worry about, really."
"Ok then," Geoff nodded and got up, "Thanks for the tea… and the information. Sorry about…" he gestured over to where Sherlock was sulking and John smirked.
It was a very wicked smirk.
"Leave him to me," he chuckled and Geoff nodded, not wanting any further information on that front. He said goodnight, called goodbye through to Sherlock, who ignored it and went back downstairs to his car.
"Home time," he announced to the empty air and started the engine, swinging out onto the road and heading for home.
Halfway there, the radio switched on to Classic FM.
End (for now…)
More with Lestrade and his pet? Let me know…
&%&%&%&&%&%&%&