A/N: Stupid me forgot to title the last posting, so I'm reposting it under the title. Sorry for the confusing posts.
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It was quite unfortunate that the only one who actually saw the suspect was a bumbling drunk, who was obviously not cooperating with Lestrade, much to his displeasure. Lestrade's downfall was that he only had one persona, the hardened police officer who was determined to solve the case. Sherlock, on the other hand, had so many different characters that he could slip into with ease, using them to coax whatever he wanted from people.
Motioning for John to follow him, he sauntered up to the unwilling witness, plastering on his best charming smile. This drunken haggard would be easy to get information out of, he just had to use the right tactics. Predictable.
Except that the intemperate drunkard's eyes lit up with recognition when he saw Sherlock.
“William!” he cried out as he staggered toward Sherlock, looking him over (spending extra time on neck, hips, and groin.)
Sherlock froze, smile dropping from his face as he heard the name. William. There was only one time in his life that he had used that name, and it was a time he was not so eager to revisit, especially in front of John.
John.
He spun around to see at John, who was looking quizzically between Sherlock and the man. He didn't know what was happening (yet) and most likely assumed the man was mistaking Sherlock for someone else.
“Sherlock?” John asked, a hint of amusement creeping into his tone, “Do you know him?”
“I was one of his clients, if you know what I mean!” he laughed as his eyes continued to sweep greedily over Sherlock (disgusting, it made him feel disgusting.)
“If you were one of his clients, you should understand the importance of giving your statement.” Lestrade interjected, unaware that his assumption was so very wrong, unaware that Sherlock's mind was screaming at him, unable to form a coherent thought.
“What?” Sherlock's 'client' said, “What would that (Run) have to do with anything? If anything, it would be the opposite, (Run) wouldn't it? With the whole dealing with the police (RUN) deal.”
“Look,” John (loyal John) said, “I think you may have the wrong person. His name isn't William, it's Sherlock.”
“No way! William, you've changed a lot, with the hair and the posh clothes, but you're still William. Definitely you. Ha, I would know, I've fantasized about those cheekbones more than a few times! You seem more high class, how much do you go for now?”
“Sorry, what?” John asked, too confused to understand (John didn't want to understand (didn't want John to understand)) and seemingly a bit flustered by the fantasizing remark.
Lestrade didn't say a word, only looking at the man through narrowed eyes.
“No.” Sherlock croaked, unable to say anything else, unable to even move. Unable to run, to escape from his past.
Fill: Quondam Memories 2/?
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It was quite unfortunate that the only one who actually saw the suspect was a bumbling drunk, who was obviously not cooperating with Lestrade, much to his displeasure. Lestrade's downfall was that he only had one persona, the hardened police officer who was determined to solve the case. Sherlock, on the other hand, had so many different characters that he could slip into with ease, using them to coax whatever he wanted from people.
Motioning for John to follow him, he sauntered up to the unwilling witness, plastering on his best charming smile. This drunken haggard would be easy to get information out of, he just had to use the right tactics. Predictable.
Except that the intemperate drunkard's eyes lit up with recognition when he saw Sherlock.
“William!” he cried out as he staggered toward Sherlock, looking him over (spending extra time on neck, hips, and groin.)
Sherlock froze, smile dropping from his face as he heard the name. William. There was only one time in his life that he had used that name, and it was a time he was not so eager to revisit, especially in front of John.
John.
He spun around to see at John, who was looking quizzically between Sherlock and the man. He didn't know what was happening (yet) and most likely assumed the man was mistaking Sherlock for someone else.
“Sherlock?” John asked, a hint of amusement creeping into his tone, “Do you know him?”
“I was one of his clients, if you know what I mean!” he laughed as his eyes continued to sweep greedily over Sherlock (disgusting, it made him feel disgusting.)
“If you were one of his clients, you should understand the importance of giving your statement.” Lestrade interjected, unaware that his assumption was so very wrong, unaware that Sherlock's mind was screaming at him, unable to form a coherent thought.
“What?” Sherlock's 'client' said, “What would that (Run) have to do with anything? If anything, it would be the opposite, (Run) wouldn't it? With the whole dealing with the police (RUN) deal.”
“Look,” John (loyal John) said, “I think you may have the wrong person. His name isn't William, it's Sherlock.”
“No way! William, you've changed a lot, with the hair and the posh clothes, but you're still William. Definitely you. Ha, I would know, I've fantasized about those cheekbones more than a few times! You seem more high class, how much do you go for now?”
“Sorry, what?” John asked, too confused to understand (John didn't want to understand (didn't want John to understand)) and seemingly a bit flustered by the fantasizing remark.
Lestrade didn't say a word, only looking at the man through narrowed eyes.
“No.” Sherlock croaked, unable to say anything else, unable to even move. Unable to run, to escape from his past.