Authors Note: Hello fellow readers and aspiring writers! I just want to start by thanking everyone for reviewing and following my story. To answer some kind reviewers, I do intend to take this fic all the way through where John gets shot and hopefully further:) Another thank you to my beta, Marauder5611, for staying up late to edit this. Please Review!
Disclaimer: The characters in the fiction below belong to BBC and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. (God bless you Benedict Cumberbatch XD) I, however, do own the plot and enjoy very much messing with these characters. Happy Reading!
Chapter Two:
Lestrade never told the rest of the Yard about Sherlock's confession. Truth be told he was happy that Sherlock had someone, and maybe on some level he sought to protect Sherlock in some sort of fatherly gesture. He knew full well that the reactions would be explosive if not a little hilarious. No, the day that they found out came two months later and without the DI's interference.
It had been another case where they enlisted the help of the infamous consulting detective (which was becoming far too much of a routine the the opinions of the higher ups in the Yard as well as Donovan and Anderson who complained unflaggingly about the consulting detective's presence). This time the case involved a murder done by a possible serial killer, or so they were informed by Sherlock. They were supposed to rendezvous with him at the Yard at six o'clock so he could tell them who to arrest and how to go about doing it in his usual condescending manner; however, when the time rolled around the consulting detective was no where in sight yet again.
"Freak's late. Honestly, did we have to call him again? He's so rude and insulting, and he obviously gets off on this stuff." remarked Sgt. Donovan sounding akin to a petulant child. "Rude or not, we need him. As insulting as he may come off, he is brilliant and his deductions solve us cases. How many times must I tell you that you are to treat him as a colleague whether you like him or not." Replied Lestrade, ever so loyally coming to Sherlock's defense as always.
Just then, they received a report about gunshots and the sounds of a scuffle coming from a house in one of the shadier (to put things lightly) neighborhoods in London. Any other time the team would not connect the two events; however, they learned from their time working with Sherlock not to believe in coincidences. They quickly dispatched a team to the location. It seemed odd that Sherlock did not text them the address, but that man proved time and time again to be eccentric and unpredictable.
What they saw when they got there should have been unsurprising after so many months with the consulting detective. Sherlock, the impulsive bastard he is, had gone ahead and tracked down the killer in question without consulting the Yard first. The gunshots and subsequent noises evident of a struggle had been from the fight which ended with the killer, who was 6'5" and around 19 stone, effectively unconscious, an impressive feat considering Sherlock's lithe frame; however, the infuriating consulting detective in question did not escape totally unscathed. On the contrary, he sustained a severe gunshot wound to his stomach and was on the floor, nearing unconsciousness.
The team sprung into action putting the criminal in handcuffs and calling an ambulance for Sherlock. Meanwhile, Lestrade rushed over to the him in an attempt to keep him alive until the ambulance arrived. He ended up having to take the detective's already tattered shirt off to assess the wound and try and staunch the blood flow. Sally came over to help him because, despite being annoying and sometimes childish, she was not heartless. Once they located the bullet and applied pressure to stop the bleeding, all they could do was wait for the paramedics. Then, Donovan noticed something dangling around Sherlock's neck. She reached to grab the silver band and read the inscription: With unconditional love-your John. Donovan's face registered the shock as she said, "Why would the Freak be wearing a wedding ring around his neck? He's got no friends. Lord knows there is no one insane enough to marry him. " Her tone was one of complete disapproval and dismissal, and it angered Lestrade. How could she stand here passing judgement on a man who was bleeding out on the floor beside them? On a man that had cover their asses on multiple occasions? Sure, he could be insulting and annoying and held no regard for social niceties, but really? "It is not your place to make those kinds of judgements. Especially not on a man who is dying from a gunshot wound right beside you." he told her sternly. She regarded him with an air of suspicion, "You knew didn't you. He told yo-" Donovan's accusations were interrupted by the sirens and lights of the oncoming ambulance erupting in the air. In his unconscious haze, Sherlock managed to call one name, "John?"
Long after the ambulance left and the crime scene had been cleaned up, Donovan approached Lestrade with a determined look. Already inferring what she was going to say, Lestrade sighed long-sufferingly and answered her unspoken queries, "Now, this is none of your business but knowing you, you'll get into a huge argument with Sherlock if I don't answer your question here and now, and that is something I neither have the time nor the patience for. His husband's name is John. He is an army doctor currently serving in Afghanistan, and wears his ring on his dog tags so as not to lose them in battle. So, Sherlock wears his around his neck too; it would be easy for him to lose his as well, all the running around that he does. They have been married for three years."
Donovan took a moment to process everything, but then just snorted, "Ha. It would take someone with army training to put up with Freak. How do you know he's even real though?" Lestrade just rolled his eyes like he was expecting her response. "Sherlock wouldn't be so transparent. Besides, he has no reason to lie about this." She scoffed, "Come on, really? I don't believe such a person exists. Nobody would willingly tie themselves down to Freak, unless they were madder than he is." Lestrade had had enough and responded, "No Donovan, you come on. Can't you be happy for Sherlock just this once?" With that he turned and walked to his squad car.
So, it inevitably spread around the Yard that Sherlock had a husband. Most were shocked and disbelieving, but then, according to Sherlock most people were idiots.