December 11: Polar Bear Inspector

(Continued from last chapter…)

From Fractals Parade - Polar Bear

Wednesday morning. 1:21 AM (exactly).

"A policeman's lot is not a happy one…"

As he stood patiently waiting and slowly freezing, Lestrade couldn't get the lyrics of this one 'Pirates of Penzance' song out of his head – and he most certainly wanted to. More's the pity, as he liked most Gilbert and Sullivan's productions, and particularly enjoyed this one song, as did his wife.

He doubted he would ever enjoy it again after tonight.

All his hopes and prayers for good weather at the textile factory stakeout had gone unanswered. The night had turned out to be bitterly cold, with a few hours of near blizzard conditions – followed by still colder temperatures, and ever windier conditions when the snow finally stopped. Needs must, and so he found himself among a small band of nine men strategically positioned around a textile factory, desperately hoping he wasn't engaged in the ultimate fool's errand.

"Dear God! It's bloody freezing! What if Holmes is wrong? What if the gang doesn't come?"

Lestrade had learned to trust Holmes however grudgingly. It had taken long enough! But truth be told, the acerbic, excentric, brilliant consulting detective had done the Metropolitan Police Force very well indeed over the years. Watson's stories only told a fraction of it. Holmes had done a vast amount to help many constables, sergeants, and inspectors: a hint here, a pointer there, a bit of training for those most willing to listen, and so much more. For every case he participated in, he consulted from the sidelines on many more. An uncomfortable percentage of the Yard's greater successes had Sherlock Holmes' stamp on them in some way or other – and the man took little to no credit at all. He willingly passed the credit to others on countless occasions. If it wasn't for Watson's tales in 'The Strand,' the public would know of virtually none of Holmes' involvement in some of the biggest cases of the last decade. The insufferable man was vain, more than a bit of a show-off, and had numerous other faults, but grasping for fame, and a slice of the glory (however well earned) certainly were not among them.

As for Watson, Lord, what a brick! Kind, patient, long suffering, genteel to a fault, and the only person alive who could live with Holmes. He even thrived with the man somehow! It was a topic of endless fascination at the Yard: how two men so very different from each other managed to get along so well. The universal consensus was that their mutual success was solely Watson's doing – due to his almost infinite forbearance. The man truly had the tolerance and patience of a saint.

Yet, the amiable doctor was more than just a passive spear-carrier. His medical skills were legendary by now. He had pulled many a constable and inspector (including Lestrade himself) out of a medical tight spot over the years. Watson may be a wounded ex-soldier, but despite his sometimes noticeable limp, especially in cold weather, the good doctor was more than agile enough. He could run when the need was there, at least for short distances, even keeping up with Holmes himself – who was faster than most. Doctor he may be, but the soldier came out in the middle of a fight. Holmes and Watson both were formidable fighters – much better than the sum of their parts when working together. Then there was the army service revolver that Watson never seemed to be without. Lord help any criminal if the doctor pulled his Webley on him when the need was dire, because he could shoot better than any man Lestrade had ever met. If the army doctor took aim, someone was going to get hit.

"Why did I volunteer to take such an exposed location? Leadership? Setting an example? Seriously?"

Both he and Holmes had taken the most exposed locations, without really thinking about it. Holmes would never ask another man to do what he wouldn't do himself. It simply wasn't in the man. Lestrade appreciated this aspect of Holmes. Lestrade had no time for any inspector or leader of men who doesn't lead by example. It didn't mean that the leader felt discomfort any less than their subordinates…

"This is absolute agony. I just hope I'll be able to move quickly when the moment is at hand. I hope we all will"

Lestrade wasn't as young and spry as he used to be. Hard exercise in his day-to-day duties kept him far fitter than most men his age. His experience, a natural skill, and sheer tenacity made him a fierce fighter for his size – 'a nasty scrapper' is what Watson called him, with no small amount of admiration. Still, personal fitness and an iron will only took a man so far.

"I wonder how Watson is holding up. Poor sod is probably about to keel over!"

Watson had an extraordinary pain threshold and was far better at hiding his pain – or just simply holding up – than most. Still, Lestrade was often more aware than Holmes when Watson was near, or even over his endurance limits. When Holmes was hot on a case, hauling Watson, inspectors, constables, and all manner of other unfortunates in his wake, he frequently missed all the signs of his faithful friend gamely trying to keep up. Lestrade hated this, as Holmes, the man who mocked others for their lack of observation skills, usually failed to see Watson's pain until the poor man dropped right where he stood. Still, Lestrade knew that Holmes cared; he was one of only two or three yarders who knew that Holmes had a heart and cared more than a little for 'his Boswell.'

"This is a night fit only for a polar bear!"

Watson would see humor in this, Lestrade decided, if there was any to be found. His cheerful brand of stoicism meant he tried to find something positive in any situation that had to be endured. It was probably an army thing. Holmes would look upon any such thoughts as a distraction, whereas Watson would make some witticism about a notice in the 'Times,' along the line of:

Attention: Cold weather constables needed at Scottland Yard. Only polar bears need apply. Promotion to Inspector is possible for the right candidates.

"Hard to put a uniform on them I would think…"

Lestrade gave himself a hard shake. He knew that men in the cold could suffer from exposure. Every constable was warned about it, and trained in what to look for, so that they protected themselves from hypothermia.

"I must be getting too cold. I'm losing my blooomin' mind! I wonder how my lads are holding up? Poor bastards! I'm gonna owe them after this…"

The minutes ticked by. As each gust of wind brought yet another face full of snow, Lestrade grimly wondered how much longer they could stand, practically motionless in the freezing weather. The thoughts he was desperately trying to keep at bay were now coming back on him with ever more frequency, even urgency.

"What if they don't come?"

"What if Holmes is wrong for once?

"What if we have to do this again tomorrow night?"

"Don't think. Just endure."

Another gust of wind laden snow came his way.

(To Be Continued.)

Author's note: The story continues in the next chapter using still more out of order prompts.

Thanks for all the reviews from so many of you!