Thanks for all the kind comments and my apologies for the delay in getting the next bit posted!
~*~
Sophie Lestrade is not an interesting woman, but she is refreshingly brief. Unlike Sherlock's typical male clients, demanding detailed progress reports and collaboration on the strategy of how to seduce their wives, Mrs. Lestrade is not funding this venture with her own money, and seems happy to let Sherlock actually do his job, providing information on her husband as needed. After their daytime meeting, Sherlock is pleased to get a text from the other Lestrade in question, informing Sherlock that he has an update on the case of their mutual interest. It's been two weeks since they last met, but Sophie doesn't mind--in fact, approves of--his gradual, subtle strategy. She agrees that the Inspector might begin to suspect something if he applied a heavier hand. Sherlock has wrapped up another job in the interim, and arrives at the smart pub near Covent Garden in a pleasant mood.
"Emerson!" Lestrade calls out, waving him towards a booth. Sherlock smiles, lifts one hand in greeting, and orders an alcopop at the bar before heading over.
"Eurgh," Lestrade comments disdainfully as expected towards his drink, though he's smiling. "How do you stand that stuff?"
Sherlock shrugs. "I haven't quite developed a taste for beer," he 'admits,' taking advantage of the inclination for mentorship Lestrade displayed at the Yard by hinting a bit younger than his true age. Lestrade just grins and shakes his head.
"Better than too much of one, I suppose." He takes a sip from his own pint glass, just a bit of the foamy head clinging to his lip. "I have good news for you."
"You caught the killer," Sherlock states, more blunt than bashful, but Lestrade doesn't seem bothered. They both know now that Sherlock's techniques are rock-solid.
"Just as you said," he agrees. "Public record now, but I wanted to thank you personally. Sorry I couldn't speak sooner."
"No, of course," Sherlock defers. "Protocol."
"That old familiar bastard," Lestrade smiles. "Perhaps you're right to be wary of the bureaucracy involved in policework. But I'm sad we'll miss out on that brain of yours."
"Bollocks!" Lestrade exclaims cheerfully, shaking his head. "How could you possibly..."
"She's dressed for a date, but she doesn't keep checking the door or her mobile. She brought a book, so she expected a delay. Engagement ring is worn, not regularly cleaned nor is it new. She could have arrived early, but then she wouldn't have bothered to stay visible near the door. She's at least willing to entertain the possibility that he might be on time, but not counting on it. Too relaxed to be the doting woman trying to keep her man, but no one who's completely secure in her relationship drinks straight vodka this early in the evening. She's trying to get her courage up, again."
"Bloody hell. You barely looked at her."
"I only needed a moment," Sherlock responds brashly, forgetting to act. But Lestrade doesn't seem offended.
"Almost wish I could check your theory," he admits. "Now I'm curious."
"Might be able to, if we stay long enough," Sherlock counters. "May I buy you a meal, Inspector?"
"Ah... I suppose," Lestrade agrees. "My wife's off out this evening, so the alternative's a chippie."
"Ah. How disappointing," Sherlock teases. "I wouldn't have assumed you to be a man prone to stereotypes."
"Ah, I'm not really. I do cook -- did -- but I'm not great at cooking for one."
"Married young?"
"Actually...no." Lestrade smiles wistfully. "But I held a surprising number of dinner parties for a bachelor. Good way to meet women."
Sherlock snorts. "I wouldn't know," he admits, dropping the hint but quickly moving past it. "Were you a sargeant, then?"
"For the most part, no. Was a PC until just before the wedding. That was a good year. What about you? Imagine a bloke like you went to public school," Lestrade suggests, nodding to Sherlock's crisply cut suit.
"Yes."
"And uni?"
"Dropped out," Sherlock admits honestly.
"Ah. What were you reading, then?"
"Chemistry at Cambridge. It didn't suit."
"But no interest in forensics?" Lestrade pokes.
"Interest? Certainly." Sherlock smiles. "I do my own research now. You could ring me, if you've got anything especially tricky."
"What?" Lestrade laughs. "Like a consultant?"
"Why not? You've seen what I can do." Sherlock nods casually towards the bar. He couldn't have timed it better, the woman now in a tense conversation with a well-dressed young High Street type, twisting her ring subconsciously. He looks back at Lestrade and gets a raised eyebrow.
"Not exactly standard practice. But I could offer you some...hypotheticals, if you like. Nothing too specific."
"Homework assignments?" Sherlock teases. "I did end my studies voluntarily, you know."
"And yet, you seemed rather excited to present your findings at the Yard," Lestrade points out. "Maybe you were just studying the wrong thing."
Sherlock laughs and flags down a waitress. By the time their food arrives, he's half-solved a "hypothetical" involving a drowning and a pair of fraternal twins, and he's almost forgot what he came here for in the first place. It's been a long time since he lost himself so much in the slow-and-steady initial phase of a case. John will get nervous, of course. Mrs. Hudson will say it's good for him. All's well that ends well, from Sherlock's perspective -- especially if he gets to solve a few murders in the wash.
Fill (3/?)
~*~
Sophie Lestrade is not an interesting woman, but she is refreshingly brief. Unlike Sherlock's typical male clients, demanding detailed progress reports and collaboration on the strategy of how to seduce their wives, Mrs. Lestrade is not funding this venture with her own money, and seems happy to let Sherlock actually do his job, providing information on her husband as needed. After their daytime meeting, Sherlock is pleased to get a text from the other Lestrade in question, informing Sherlock that he has an update on the case of their mutual interest. It's been two weeks since they last met, but Sophie doesn't mind--in fact, approves of--his gradual, subtle strategy. She agrees that the Inspector might begin to suspect something if he applied a heavier hand. Sherlock has wrapped up another job in the interim, and arrives at the smart pub near Covent Garden in a pleasant mood.
"Emerson!" Lestrade calls out, waving him towards a booth. Sherlock smiles, lifts one hand in greeting, and orders an alcopop at the bar before heading over.
"Eurgh," Lestrade comments disdainfully as expected towards his drink, though he's smiling. "How do you stand that stuff?"
Sherlock shrugs. "I haven't quite developed a taste for beer," he 'admits,' taking advantage of the inclination for mentorship Lestrade displayed at the Yard by hinting a bit younger than his true age. Lestrade just grins and shakes his head.
"Better than too much of one, I suppose." He takes a sip from his own pint glass, just a bit of the foamy head clinging to his lip. "I have good news for you."
"You caught the killer," Sherlock states, more blunt than bashful, but Lestrade doesn't seem bothered. They both know now that Sherlock's techniques are rock-solid.
"Just as you said," he agrees. "Public record now, but I wanted to thank you personally. Sorry I couldn't speak sooner."
"No, of course," Sherlock defers. "Protocol."
"That old familiar bastard," Lestrade smiles. "Perhaps you're right to be wary of the bureaucracy involved in policework. But I'm sad we'll miss out on that brain of yours."
"Hmm," Sherlock smiles, nods discreetly towards the bar. "See that woman? Her fiancé is late to meet her, but she's expecting it. They both want to break it off, but neither wants to be the first to bring it up."
"Bollocks!" Lestrade exclaims cheerfully, shaking his head. "How could you possibly..."
"She's dressed for a date, but she doesn't keep checking the door or her mobile. She brought a book, so she expected a delay. Engagement ring is worn, not regularly cleaned nor is it new. She could have arrived early, but then she wouldn't have bothered to stay visible near the door. She's at least willing to entertain the possibility that he might be on time, but not counting on it. Too relaxed to be the doting woman trying to keep her man, but no one who's completely secure in her relationship drinks straight vodka this early in the evening. She's trying to get her courage up, again."
"Bloody hell. You barely looked at her."
"I only needed a moment," Sherlock responds brashly, forgetting to act. But Lestrade doesn't seem offended.
"Almost wish I could check your theory," he admits. "Now I'm curious."
"Might be able to, if we stay long enough," Sherlock counters. "May I buy you a meal, Inspector?"
"Ah... I suppose," Lestrade agrees. "My wife's off out this evening, so the alternative's a chippie."
"Ah. How disappointing," Sherlock teases. "I wouldn't have assumed you to be a man prone to stereotypes."
"Ah, I'm not really. I do cook -- did -- but I'm not great at cooking for one."
"Married young?"
"Actually...no." Lestrade smiles wistfully. "But I held a surprising number of dinner parties for a bachelor. Good way to meet women."
Sherlock snorts. "I wouldn't know," he admits, dropping the hint but quickly moving past it. "Were you a sargeant, then?"
"For the most part, no. Was a PC until just before the wedding. That was a good year. What about you? Imagine a bloke like you went to public school," Lestrade suggests, nodding to Sherlock's crisply cut suit.
"Yes."
"And uni?"
"Dropped out," Sherlock admits honestly.
"Ah. What were you reading, then?"
"Chemistry at Cambridge. It didn't suit."
"But no interest in forensics?" Lestrade pokes.
"Interest? Certainly." Sherlock smiles. "I do my own research now. You could ring me, if you've got anything especially tricky."
"What?" Lestrade laughs. "Like a consultant?"
"Why not? You've seen what I can do." Sherlock nods casually towards the bar. He couldn't have timed it better, the woman now in a tense conversation with a well-dressed young High Street type, twisting her ring subconsciously. He looks back at Lestrade and gets a raised eyebrow.
"Not exactly standard practice. But I could offer you some...hypotheticals, if you like. Nothing too specific."
"Homework assignments?" Sherlock teases. "I did end my studies voluntarily, you know."
"And yet, you seemed rather excited to present your findings at the Yard," Lestrade points out. "Maybe you were just studying the wrong thing."
Sherlock laughs and flags down a waitress. By the time their food arrives, he's half-solved a "hypothetical" involving a drowning and a pair of fraternal twins, and he's almost forgot what he came here for in the first place. It's been a long time since he lost himself so much in the slow-and-steady initial phase of a case. John will get nervous, of course. Mrs. Hudson will say it's good for him. All's well that ends well, from Sherlock's perspective -- especially if he gets to solve a few murders in the wash.