It was one warm evening in late spring that Holmes and I dropped by the Yard, intent on having Lestrade release a key piece of evidence to us from the morgue. We were welcomed in by the constable at the door, and greeted inside with the usual mix of honest warmth and curt pleasantry. A passing Constable Hinchley confirmed that Lestrade was in his office. I thanked him and followed Holmes down the passage.
It was not Lestrade's voice, however, which we heard through the closed door. In fact, it was Gregson's.
" - You've got the looks," he was in the midst of saying, "All you'd have to do is shave and you'd -"
"No!" another voice interrupted, which I recognized a moment later as an uncharacteristically agitated Hopkins. "Absolutely not! Not a bloody chance in hell!" Holmes paused, letting fall the hand he'd raised to knock. Normally I might have scolded him for eavesdropping, but normally Hopkins' voice did not reach such a treble pitch.
Lestrade's voice came next, somewhere between cajoling and commanding. "Come on, Hopkins, it's not as if you haven't done it before."
"Isn't this exactly what got you your promotion?" said Gregson.
"Yes, and it's also the reason I grew this deuced thing immediately afterwards!"
Lestrade sighed. "Lad, we need -"
"Well, then, you do it!"
There was a bemused snort from Gregson, and he muttered something we couldn't hear through the door.
"Gregson's right," said Lestrade. "Besides, you've got the experience."
"Regardless, the answer is no, gentlemen! Absolutely not! Find some hapless Constable to do your dirty work - I am a Detective Inspector, and I refuse to ever again wear a dress!"
Holmes gripped my arm and jumped back, and not a moment too soon, as the door flew open upon Hopkins' ultimatum. He saw us and froze, the already irate flush of his cheeks increasing several shades. He swallowed and managed a strained smile. "Mister Holmes. Doctor Watson."
Behind him, Lestrade and Gregson leapt to their feet, both wearing similar expressions of sympathetic embarrassment.
Holmes quirked a brow. "Good choice," he said conversationally. "Corsets and crinoline are hellishly uncomfortable. Undercover work does demand odd things from a man sometimes, doesn't it?" Stunned, Hopkins could only nod. Holmes smiled and glanced past him. "Lestrade, have you a moment?"
You know the deal, they don't belong to me, yada yada.
Another one for Adidasandpie, who is officially my crack-muse. This one's just a teaser, it'll be expanded at some point.