Constable Smith tried not to yawn as he crouched beside me in the shadows. He was a good man, first rate, really, but he had also been through a rough shift this afternoon, and now instead of going home where he belonged and getting some rest, he was crouching in the shadows of a building, with no more information as to why other than my requesting his presence. Constable Adams noticed the action but didn't comment; he would likely be feeling it in the morning. I had a feeling I wasn't the only one hoping for something to happen soon.
I wondered, as I waited, what I would do if the letter turned out to actually be real. If Sherlock actually were alive.
I also wondered if the Doctor had known, when he had come to visit me last night, that Sherlock Holmes was alive. I also wondered how he had taken the news, and made a mental note to ask him later.
Another, nastier thought occurred to me, and I promptly banished it and sternly told myself that I had a job to do, and that I wasn't some rookie Constable to let myself get so easily distracted.
For a second longer the distressing thought lingered, but I have been called stubborn more than once for a reason, and I forced my mind back to my work, such as it was.
A second later the three of us ducked as a window shivered; a window that had been shivered into pieces by a bullet makes a sound all its own.
Smith and Adams were scanning the buildings as I listened for the signal, and suddenly Smith let out a cry and pointed.
221B Baker Street had a light on. Where once had been a window, now there was only air. A form- the form of one Sherlock Holmes, was still and in plain view from the street.
Sherlock Holmes had been shot?
A police whistle sounded, reassuring in the darkness. It was coming from the empty house across the street. I signaled for the boys to follow, and took off towards the empty house, refusing to speculate on what we would find inside.
"That you, Lestrade?" The call greeted me as we entered the dark room.
It was true, then. Sherlock Holmes was alive and well, thought it looked as if the Doctor had once again been to his rescue.
"Yes, Mr. Holmes. I took the job myself. It's good to see you back in London, sir."
While I was still trying to get a grip on the hundred and some thoughts and questions and emotions running loose in my head, I could still manage to be professional. Honestly, I didn't know what else to be right now.
If it had been the Doctor I might have said something as obvious as "You're alive!" or even something a bit more revealing, but with Sherlock-I would give the man nothing to throw back at me, no matter how I felt about seeing him alive.
"I think you want a little unofficial help." And the conversation continued as if he hadn't been allegedly dead for the last three years. "Three undetected murders in one year won't do, Lestrade. But you handled the Molesy Mystery with less than your usual- that's to say, you handled it fairly well."
I blinked, and was grateful for the dim light, for it would hide the majority of my surprise. Sherlock Holmes had just praised my efforts on that confounded and previously thankless case. Part of me wondered just what he'd been into these past three years.
Adams and Smith were on either side of our would-be murderer as Sherlock and the Doctor rose to their feet.
Disclaimer: Sherlock and the boys do not belong to me.