Speechless

Chapter 5.4: All My Wrecked Up Friends

February 20, 2008

"No."

"No?" Lestrade looked at Anderson incredulously.

"Absolutely not. I'm not working with him. You can't make me. Hey! Hands off!" Anderson glared at Sherlock, who was rifling through some slides on the lab table and generally making a mess of things.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, sneaking bits of evidence into his pockets. Lestrade coughed, and he begrudgingly put the items back.

"It's not permanent, Anderson. You know we need his help on this one, so why can't you just -"

"Do we?" Anderson's eyes flashed angrily. "I don't recall ever ONCE really needing his help."

"Hmm," mused Sherlock. "Memory issues, Anderson?"

"Shut it, you. I mean that we were fine before you came around is all."

Sherlock sighed, his eyes drifting to the floor. Lestrade knew that look, and it tore a gash in his heart just watching it. He turned on Anderson, his voice shaking.

"A word, Anderson?"

The younger man nodded, and Lestrade pulled him roughly to the other side of the room, facing away from Sherlock. He had already learned how accomplished the man was at reading lips. He whispered harshly into Anderson's ear.

"Look. I know you don't like him. But you have to help me with this. Please. He has to feel like he's being useful, or he'll. . ." he sighed. "I'm afraid he'll get mixed up in drugs again."

"So you expect me to work with a bleeding addict now?" Anderson shouted.

"Shh!" hissed Lestrade. "He's clean, for now. Can you just try to play nice?"

"No offense towards your madman, sir, but I meant what I said. We were a good team, weren't we? Why do we need him at all?"

Lestrade frowned. "He has helped us solve cases faster than we ever could before. You know that. And in our line of work, speed matters."

Anderson sighed. "Fine. I'll behave. But only if he does."

They turned back to Sherlock, who was scuffing his feet on the tile, looking miserable.

"Right," said Lestrade. "Anderson has something to say to you, Sherlock."

Anderson pleaded with him with an expression of agony on his face. "Do I have to?"

Lestrade nodded.

He sighed. "I'm. . . I'm sorry."

"You should be," replied Sherlock curtly. He gazed over at Lestrade with a similarly pained expression. "Are we done here?"

Lestrade sighed. "Fine."

The bitter feud between Anderson and Sherlock had been wearing him for years, and now it was clear to him that there would be no quick resolution to it. He didn't quite understand why it had happened, but he really wished they could just work together in peace. Still, it seemed that they would forever be locked in a playground struggle.

Sherlock's side of it he understood, not that it was an excuse for his bad behavior. The man was simply intolerant of other people, particularly when they made mistakes. Anderson was good at his job, but he unfortunately made too good of a punching bag. Sherlock liked it when people fought back.

Lestrade was at a loss for Anderson's behavior, however. He had no excuse for antagonizing Sherlock except for jealousy, but that he denied with a passion. The detective inspector shrugged, stalking out of the lab and back to the main office.

"So as I was saying," continued Sherlock, "I don't understand how you work with these incompetent morons. . . Lestrade, are you even listening to me?"

"Hmm?" mused Lestrade.

Sherlock sighed. "Yes, I suppose you've rather provided the answer to that one. Now about this internal investigation of yours. . . Could you show me the office?"

Lestrade yawned, nodding and leading the man to the other side of the building where police tape sealed off a rather frightful crime scene.

Detective Constable Alexander Forth had been a relatively recent member of Lestrade's unit, a rather eager young man with watery brown eyes and impossible hair. He had been working on a particularly dull round of paperwork for Donovan which had kept him in the office late at night. In the morning, when she had returned to her desk, she had found him. . . Well. . .

"Wallpapered," said Sherlock in something like awe, a sick smile spread on his face. "Beautiful work, too. I've never seen anything like it."

Lestrade stared at him. He would never get used to how insensitive the young man could be. One of his men, brutally killed in his own building, and here he was reveling in the horrid details of it.

The body had, naturally, been removed - what parts could be found, at least - save the man's skin, which was adhered to the wall. Sherlock sauntered over to it, staring at the man's hide intensely. Lestrade looked away in disgust as he began to sniff at it.

"Hmm. . . Pine sap? Resin, perhaps? Tell, me, Lestrade, was there a note or anything?"

"You mean besides that one?" he waved a hand at the right-side wall, where the killer had scrawled BITCH in large letters. "I doubt the killer had much time to do anything else."

"Yes, skinning a man alive would take time."

Lestrade stared at him, the gorge rising in his throat. "Alive?"

Sherlock nodded. "Only way to achieve these striations in the skin. Oxygen had to be flowing through the -"

Lestrade bent over the rubbish bin, losing his breakfast rather violently. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, looking up at Sherlock in a mixture of regret and disgust.

"You idiot," managed Sherlock.

"Oh, that's nice," croaked Lestrade. "As if I couldn't feel worse."

"You don't understand, do you?" Sherlock was indignant. "I hadn't had a look in that bin yet!"

"Well, forgive me. Next time I'll just spew on Donovan's desk. How would you like that?"

Sherlock's eyes went wide. "Brilliant!"

"What?"

"The desk! Highest vantage point in the room from up there! Give me that." He grabbed the bin and climbed on top of the desk with it.

"I don't see -"

"Of course you don't. But I do." Sherlock gestured to the floor. "There's more here. Something damp on the carpet."

"Blood?"

He scoffed. "Don't be silly. Get up here."

Lestrade rolled his eyes. "I'm not climbing on that desk with you, Sherlock."

"You really should."

"Why?"

"Because," replied Sherlock, pulling a match out of his pocket and striking it, "the floor might not be a very comfortable place in a few seconds."

"Sherlock," warned Lestrade, "Don't you dare. . ."

But it was too late. Lestrade leapt on the desk frantically as the match fell, igniting the carpet with a loud whoosh.

Sherlock was cackling, his eyes glittering with delight as the fire alarms chorused. "See here, Lestrade," he said, gesturing at the pattern on the floor. "Turpentine. Specifically turpentine-based varnish. Oh, clever!"

Words began to emerge out of the flames. Cheating son of a…

"I see," said Lestrade. "But who is this message for?"

"Isn't it obvious?" piped Sherlock. "Oh. I suppose not. Looks like someone's been beating the chain of command. You really ought to have a chat with -"

"What the hell?" screeched Donovan, throwing herself into the room. "What have you done to my office?"

Lestrade looked at Sherlock. Clearly, they were a sight, standing on her desk surrounded by flames. Sherlock smiled demurely.

"Ah, Sergeant Donavan."

"My. . . My office is on fire!"

"Oh, brilliant observation."

"What? Put it out!" she shrieked, nearing hysterics. "Put it out!"

Sherlock shrugged, upending the rubbish bin on the worst of it.

Lestrade rolled his eyes. He leapt from the desk and ran for the fire extinguishers.

"That freak," muttered Donavon. "That unnatural, sick, twisted freak."

Lestrade sighed. "To be fair, it did help us find a motive."

"But sir," she piped. "With all due respect, my office is ruined!"

"I'd say the killer did a good job at that before I got there," said Sherlock, peeking around the door. "Maybe next time don't let your boyfriend bleed out so much when he's getting murdered, hmm?"

She lunged for him, her face a contorted snarl. "How dare you -"

"Now, now," barked Lestrade, standing between them. "Cool it, both of you. Sherlock, say you're sorry."

"Sorry," he muttered under his breath.

"Sally?" He looked at her expectantly.

"Sorry," she hissed.

"Good." He smiled tiredly at them. "Now I really hope you two can get along. I'm going to need both of you to solve this one."

"What?" they replied simultaneously.

Lestrade sighed. It was going to be a long investigation.