CHAPTER 2. QUESTIONS UNANSWERED
"Now Greg you know how this goes. I ask you a question and you answer it. And if you refuse, or I think you're lying or hell, if I just want to, I'll have the boys here use you as a punching bag. I should warn you, they aren't really friendly towards cops, well I guess they are ok with me but you know.I'm easy to get along with. So lets begin, shall we?"
"Go to hell!" came an angry growl from an already bruised DI, tied to a chair, Lestrade pulled at his bindings.
"Always the stubborn one huh Gregory. Never too bright, not to bright at all. Well we have till morning so go on Tank have at it. Do try to keep the jaw intact just till the interrogation is over." The smug man in a dark coat nodded to one of the bigger thugs, Tank indeed, the bigger mans shadow engulfed Lestrade he looked p squinting with his one good eye,
"Well hello there ugly."
Lestrade braced himself for the first hard knuckle catching him just above his left eye, but it still did nothing to take the edge off the pain. His thoughts were drifting as dark pin pricks clouded his blurring vision, he wondered what they would say about his body. Imagining Sherlock frowning, tilting his dark head to the side, curiously examining the bruises around his eyes and jaw;
"I'd say right handed, both men." And John would nod, his eyes bright turning to the detective in awe. "Yes, truly amazing." No, Greg thought, before darkness completely consumed him, John wouldn't be so impersonal. Sherlock was a different story, he would no doubt find it all interesting. Well Sherlock here's your new case, I hope its appealing enough for you to take it.
Sherlock's last words to him echoed in his ears, had it sounded like concern, no. It couldn't be concern; Sherlock didn't feel that way about him, he was just another minder, still; "Lestrade you're in trouble where are you? Tell me something about them-"
221B Baker Street
"He's not answering." Sally fumed, she started to pace the small cluttered apartment, "What did he say exactly? Word for word?"
"I've already told you three times and I do not wish to repeat myself. Now think where would he be going?" Sherlock narrowed his eyes on the Sergeant; she crossed her arms over her chest.
"And I've told you I don't know. How do I know this isn't some joke you're playing at! God help me freak if you are-"
"Yes, I love to spend my time in your company. So I would fabricate a story just to get you here-." Sherlock paused "Wait, read his last text to me, the one he sent you."
"It doesn't make sense, all it says is 'I'm here what did you and Anderson find so important?-G' And like I said before, it doesn't make any sense at all. I have no idea what he was getting on about. That's why I sent him a question mark. He never replied. So I figured he didn't mean to send it, or-"
"You just wouldn't be bothered not wishing your time with Anderson to be cut short? Really Sergeant, a text? How professional. You should have called him, instead of taking a roll in the back seat of a compact, with that weasel Anderson, of all people." Sherlock waved her off, frustrated and disgust. "This is getting us no where! Lestrade could be injured or worse somewhere, don't you have any other way to find him? Don't you people check in or radio each other?" When he received no reply just a narrowed glare from the frizzy haired Sergeant, Sherlock had to turn his back on her or he'd throw something in frustration.
"I don't have to take this! I'm heading down to the Yard. I'm sending a PC out to his house if he isn't there then I'm calling it in. God help him if he's drunk. And you stay out of this!" she growled Sherlock wasn't listening, his brow creased and hands under his chin, eyes closed.
"That's it!" he was on his feet, "The crime scene today, where was it?"
"What's this about?" exasperated, Sally wasn't liking the direction this whole thing was going, she'd only come down to Baker Street because she couldn't reach DI Lestrade, his text had been odd. And when the freak called she half expected him to confess to killing the poor DI. His voice sounded urgent and there was something else she hadn't heard from him before, worry. And if the freak was concerned than instinct told her she should be as well, no matter how she fought it, she was worried and it angered her.
"Where? If he sent you a text saying 'I'm here what did you and Anderson find so important?' its likely he returned to the case you solved today."
"Why would he go there? It was open shut, the murderer confessed within an hour of being picked up for questioning. Third one this month, good fortune really."
"Where!?" Sherlock snapped. The dark haired Sergeant threw her hands up in exasperation.
"It was the old square park-" She watched Sherlock's face lose color, and his voice changed she'd never heard that tone before, a desperate urgency. Not the usual twisted excitement and curiosity.
"Was the crime under a bridge?"
"Yeah, s'right. But like I said-hey where you going?" Sherlock already had slipped his coat on and with a determined look on his thin face he was halfway to the door.
"Call the Yard Sergeant, you might want to get your boyfriend out of bed." he replied irritably.
"What!? Sherlock! Where are you going?" She yelled down the stairs, trying to keep up with him.
"Old Square Park. Weren't you listening? Really how someone of your low intelligence ever made Sergeant just baffles me."
"Sherlock?" John yawned shivering against the cold night air. "Sergeant Donovan? It's a little late? What's going on?" John had been about to open the door when it was flung open and his flatmate followed by the most unlikely visitor darted out from the building, he felt a lost for words. Both looked very vexed and he was about to ask another stupid question no doubt but Sherlock cut him off as he waved down a cab.
"Get in the cab John, I'll explain on the way." Sergeant Donovan swore under her breath and slid into the cab beside the Doctor.
"I'm going too, just to prove you wrong. Then I'll have you put away for making a nuisance of yourself, it's illegal to use up police time reporting a false crime." Sally attempted to sound unmoved but she wasn't quiet sure anymore, the best place was to keep the mad consulting detective within her sights, wasn't that what Lestrade would say.
"I Just move out of the way so I don't get trampled, and pray to god I can at least keep up. He's got good instincts and frightfully brilliant. Sally I'll take a solved crime over manners any day." Sally shook her head not wishing to think the worst right now; DI Lestrade probably got pissed and is passed out on his couch.
John sighed heavily, just what he wanted, to be in a cramped back seat of a cab next to two hissing vipers. "Will someone please tell me why we are in a cab in freezing weather headed to a not so safe part of town in the middle of the damn night!?" he finally snapped.
Sally ignored the question, still trying to work out her own problems with the psychopath's story. Attempting to convince herself, her boss was indeed passed out on his couch in front of the telly. If that were true and you really believed that. Than why are you keeping after the psychopath? She glared out the window listening again to Sherlock's account of the cryptic message the DI sent. Why had he called Sherlock and not her? She was his second in command after all. If he were in trouble, she'd of been on to it right away, maybe. Or maybe she wouldn't have answered, still he had called the freak first.
The DI seemed a little strained lately; he'd been avoiding Anderson and her for the past couple of weeks. Why was a mystery, unless he couldn't pretend not to know what his two officers where getting up to anymore. No it was something else, Sally thought it was personal so she didn't inquire, after all his wife had been gone for almost a year and she just found out a week or two ago. He liked to keep his home life private, and she could care less, he stayed out of her business and she out of his. But still, the way he was acting was a bit off, their department was on a roll solving several cases in the last month, gaining a confession almost immediately from the suspected assailant. He should be more thankful to his team, but he hadn't taken them out for drinks in a month, and they always celebrated after a closed case.
"John do keep up. DI Lestrade seems to have been kidnapped or worse."
"What? When? By who?" John felt sick, the Greg was a pretty easy going man, a fair one, someone that John thought of as a friend. Decent men, were hard to find, decent and honorable and that was Greg Lestrade. No, that is Greg Lestrade, he corrected himself.