I don’t own anything you recognise and I don’t make money from this story; neither from writing it nor from posting it. I probably do own the things you don’t recognise.
The BBC owns all rights to “Sherlock”.Fandom:
Sherlock, John, Lestrade.Rating:
Spoilers for seasons one and two.Summary:
We all know that John protects Sherlock, but we shouldn’t forget that Sherlock protects John just as much. Here’s one of the times Sherlock protects John.Story: What I Would DoSherlock’s POV:
John easily made friends. That was something that even an ordinary mind would be able to deduce eventually. Especially Detective Inspector Lestrade had been visiting 221B Baker Street more often without a case ever since John had started going to crime scenes with him. Bringing decent beer, watching sports on the telly, calling for takeaway when their stomachs demanded nourishment. Whenever Lestrade visited them, it was almost as if they lived a normal life.
It had in fact become such a common occurrence to see Lestrade at their flat that he had even begun to think of the DI the way he thought of John: someone to talk at and who occasionally sparked a brilliant thought, because of something he said. He had been observing and cataloguing more and more things about Lestrade as a result, such as the way he drank his coffee (black, strong and bitter enough to keep him awake for hours) and the reason why he rolled up his shirt sleeves at crime scenes (not because they might get dirty or get in the way, but because he wanted to show off his arms for the pretty constables who were sometimes there).
What he had failed to observe, though, (there was always something!) was that Lestrade had been observing him at the same time. And unfortunately he had somehow (with his funny little boring brain) managed to accurately deduce several things about him as well.
One evening they had been talking about the recent streak of odd break-ins that Anderson had been suffering. Female touches kept appearing all over his flat—female touches that his wife had nothing to do with and didn’t she love that—yet nothing was ever stolen. At first it was small things that kept appearing such as a single earring under the sofa cushions or a well-used lipstick on the bedside table, later they found things such as a pair of semi-sheer pantyhose or a sheer white blouse under the bed.
It had reached the point where Mrs. Anderson had moved out, thinking her husband was cheating on her with someone else (which he was, as Sherlock had pointed out to Lestrade, with Sally Donovan) and had invented the break-in story to save himself.
In hindsight Sherlock should have known that something was wrong when Lestrade steered the conversation in that specific direction. Sadly he had been distracted by the play of emotions on John’s face and therefore had only occasionally nodded at certain points in the conversation or made a noise at the appropriate time.
“And exactly how many times did you break into Anderson’s flat, Sherlock?”* Lestrade asked the minute John left the room for a quick phone call to their favourite Indian takeaway restaurant.
A single lift of the right corner of his mouth was all the reaction Sherlock gave his inquiry, as if pleasantly-surprised by his question. “Oh, it’s all bit of a blur, Detective Inspector. I lost count.”*
“May I ask why you felt the need to do that?”
“You may ask me that, yes. I can’t guarantee an answer, however.”
A small noise from across the room grabbed their attention.
Sherlock smiled. “John.”
The dawning look of understanding on Lestrade’s face told Sherlock that the DI had figured things out for himself.
When asked about it later, John could only say that he hadn’t known. No, he hadn’t known that Sherlock had been bothered about the fact that Anderson kept annoying him at crime scenes. No, he hadn’t known that Sherlock had been planning something. No, he certainly hadn’t known that Sherlock had been planning something like that. Yes, of course he would have stopped Sherlock, if he had known about it.
Probably. Maybe. Okay, so there was no chance in hell that he would have stopped Sherlock from actually doing what he had done to Anderson, but Lestrade didn’t need to know that. Going by the doubtful look in his eyes, he suspected it, anyway. Didn’t mean that he had to give him definite proof.End of “What I Would Do”.A/N:
This is the long-awaited birthday story for one of my friends. I hope it doesn’t disappointed. The idea took a U-turn when Lestrade kept butting in for some reason. Happy belated birthday!
* Lines from BBC's Sherlock, episode The Scandal in Belgravia
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