Personal shoutout to randomplotbunny for being a fantastic reviewer and my ONLY reviewer! Love this person of unspecified gender!
Sherlock didn't need to be let out right away; or, that was what Lestrade had decided to tell John, should he ask or come storming in. The detective had been in the holding cell for almost eighteen hours now, if John wasn't just ranting in the precinct already.
"I'll never hear the end of this." He sighed and, pushing up the steps, Lestrade entered the precinct gravely. To his surprise, the main area was fairly empty; a few men hung around the offices, one with a cup of coffee, and Lestrade staggered a little bit.
"Alright, sir?" Asked the man, setting his cup down. "You look a little..."
"Isn't John-" He corrected himself. "Doctor Watson, is he here?"
As if it were obvious, the officer said: "No." And looked around uncertainly. "Should he be here? Should we pick him up, sir?"
"No, no," Lestrade waved the idea away. "I'll be right back."
"Gonna go let out the freak?" With no warning, Donovan was at his side, two cups of coffee in her hands, and she offered him one with a smug look on her face.
"Yes, actually." Lestrade said neutrally, grinding his back teeth at her attitude.
"I wouldn't." Sally confided in him like it was a secret, grinning at the other officers, and they grinned back with identical smiles. "I think I like him where he is."
"I bet you tell Anderson the exact same thing." Lestrade left her, coffee in hand, shocked by his own bitingly-callous remark towards her. Of course, the sexual relationship had been known for a while, but it was not usually his place to rib her for it.
That was rude. He told himself, shaking his head as he went for his keys. I'll have to be nicer to- "Ah, hello, Gareth." That bastard! Grabbing the seething Anderson's arm, Lestrade turned around and led him away from the cells. He sent him upstairs. "Finally, I thought you'd forgotten about me down here."
"Had enough?" Lestrade asked,
"Quite," Sherlock was reclining on the little bed, looking actually quite comfortable. A pen and notepad lay on the floor beside him, open to a half-filled page. "I have no access to my laptop, and I seem to have lost my mobile phone." He gave Lestrade a glance –sharp and accusing- but didn't blame him verbally.
"You needed to learn a lesson, Sherlock." Lestrade growled,
"Say what you want," Groaned the detective, throwing an arm over his eyes. "I was entirely correct in my deductions. You all know that Donovan and Anderson are-" "But we don't say anything about it! Big thing about a Holmes! You don't know when to shut up!"
"You call me, Lestrade." Sherlock scowled, "You want my opinion."
"ON THE CASE, NOT ON MY TEAM!" It felt good to shout at the tall man finally. "You're our consultant for the dead bloke, not out sex lives and life choices! Leave off them! Let them deal with it when it comes up! Butt out!"
"I will think about that." Getting up, the detective glared at Lestrade and came to the door in a few quick strides. "I'll think about it in Baker Street. In fresh clothes. Over a nice cup of tea."
"Actually, you won't." Lestrade sipped his coffee as Sherlock voiced his outrage. "I'm keeping you for contempt and impeding an investigation."
"John won't let you for long." Sherlock said certainly, "He'll have me out of here, you watch. Your charges are paper-thin at best, and won't stand up to any scrutiny. Go ahead and let him in now, or are you going to let me 'sweat' a little more."
"John?" Lestrade grinned widely at the shock on Sherlock's face. "John isn't here."
To his credit, Sherlock recovered well. "Liar." He kept the icy mask on until, throwing open the hall door, Lestrade called for the doctor with no response. He held it open too, liking the shock that slipped back onto Sherlock's face:
"Am I still lying?" He asked, but when he got no reply he left the holding area, smirking.
John groaned as he woke up, his body rejecting the double-dose of tranquilizer, and was shocked to find himself on the couch, a smiling yellow face grinning down at him. It was practically glowing in the sunlight, which angled just so over the other buildings. He was in Baker Street, alone by the sound of it, and it had to be late in the afternoon.
Getting up, John rubbed his leg, and then his shoulder; his fingers skated away from the scar, even over his shirt, and he grimaced at the memory of it. He looked around, trying to find some kind of remnants of his roommate's departure, and John was puzzled by the stale air of the apartment. Sherlock hadn't been back since last night and John's gut quivered anxiously at his absence from Baker Street.
Sherlock was married to his work, but he never spent the night with it unnecessarily.
In a few minutes, John had his phone in hand –one minute was lost to fumbling it out of his pocket and onto the floor, the other lost finding it under the couch- and was tracing the detective down.
Where are you? - JW
When he got no reply after the first five minutes, John sent another.
What are you doing? – JW
Are you alright? – JW
Should I get Lestrade? – JW
... You know, I can't do anything if you don't bloody answer me, you prick! – JW
Wow, uh... sorry. :/ I have his phone. Sherlock is in a holding cell. – DI GL
Sorry to worry you, John. He's fine btw. :) Just acting like a brat. – DI GL
No, I'M sorry! –JW
What's he done now?! – JW
He was harassing Donovan and Anderson again. -.-' If anyone important asks, he's in for contempt and impeding an investigation. I'll let him out when his head comes out of his arse. – DI GL
... – JW
You DO realize this is Sherlock here. You'll have him for a LONG time. – JW
I'm prepared for that. – DI GL
No, you're really not. – JW
I'm on my way. - JW
With a sigh, John got up and ruffled his hair, wondering blandly if it had all been some sort of exhaustion fueled dream with Moriarty and the kidnapping, but then an alert on his phone dispelled the idea.
Personal Appointment
This Thursday, 8:30pm
Full-body physical for Jane Moran.
*Clear clinic, prepare tools, be discrete.*
Thanks again, John. See you then. c: