Sherlock Case!Fic: Pride Goeth (full version)
Title: Pride Goeth
Fandom: BBC's Sherlock
Rating: canon-level violence, no sexual content
Length: 3250 words
Summary: Lestrade's in trouble. Donovan asks Sherlock to help.
I wrote case!fic!
Much thanks to my excellent beta feroxargentea
Pride Goeth
Detective Inspector Sally Donovan had not seen Sherlock Holmes in over five years, which suited her just fine. She'd been overjoyed at her promotion, not least because it involved a move to the Fraud Squad, away from interactions with Holmes. She missed Lestrade, of course, and her teammates, but she'd heard that since his promotion to DCI, Lestrade bullied the DI's who reported to him to invite the Freak in on cases whenever they were stalled. She was glad to be well out of it.
Only the direst of circumstances would see her trudging up the stairs to 221B.
"Hello, Sally, how pleasant to see you again after all these years," sneered Sherlock with patently false cheer.
Sally declined to waste any time on pleasantries or bickering. "Lestrade's in trouble. He needs your help."
"Is he? Why does he not contact me himself?" Sherlock dropped his facetiousness but seemed untroubled by the news. Yeah, still a freak, Sally thought. And Lestrade thinks he's a mate.
"He can't," Donovan said. "He's in the nick."
On their way to the Yard, Donovan explained. “Lestrade was at work; his flat was empty. A neighbour heard a lot of crashing noises, thumping about, and called the bobbies. They come, sirens blazing, and the intruder got away. Left the place a tip. The officer on scene called Lestrade, and got his permission to begin searching for clues to the identity of the intruder and why he'd broken in to wreck the place. Lestrade came as soon as he could, to determine if anything'd been stolen. Well,” Donovan paused, looking sidelong at Sherlock and John, “that's when everything went tits-up. Stuff had been broken all over the flat - the sitting room, the kitchen, the spare bedroom - which was where Lestrade's daughter stayed, when she visited. So the officers were searching everywhere too. In the second bedroom they found a box of stuff - girl's stuff, must have been the daughter's. And in it was a brooch. A diamond brooch that looked an awful lot like the one lost when the Monaco royal family visited London years ago.”
Sherlock leant back against the seat and groaned. He remembered Lestrade telling him about it. A Detective Sergeant at the time, Lestrade had been part of the team providing security during the visit. He had also helped investigate the theft of a large quantity of the jewellery brought along by the princesses. The investigation identified the conspirators behind the heist and recovered most of the jewellery; all but one piece - a diamond brooch, which remained lost. Until now, apparently.
“It's been verified as the genuine article. Lestrade was arrested.” Donovan stopped. She was afraid the tears would come if she kept speaking, and she wasn't going to break down in front of the Freak. They wouldn't even grant Lestrade bail - an exemplary officer! Not even a violent crime! But, “too great a flight risk”. Too high-profile a crime is what they meant. Too political, too embarrassing for the Met. Bad enough they'd failed to recover it in the first place, then for one of their own to be found with it - too horrible to contemplate. Sally was glad she at least could be certain Lestrade was not guilty. If it had been an officer she didn't know, she'd have felt disgusted by the whole thing.
At the Yard, Sherlock examined the ring, which was being held as evidence until the trial. “Trace bits of powder,” he observed, inspecting the settings that held the gems.
“Yeah, dust. Everything in the box was dusty. Stuff must have been in there for years.” Donovan shook her head. “The whole flat was covered in dust, from everything that was broken.”
Sherlock turned to the other evidence bags, which did indeed hold great quantities of broken figurines and crockery. “Some of these have been broken before, and repaired,” he noted.
“Yeah, but none of it's worth anything. Just sentimental stuff, Lestrade told me. Stuff his daughter'd made, or given him.”
“Hmm. Has the intruder been found? Any reason why he broke in just to break a bunch of worthless junk and not steal anything?”
Donovan stared at him. “No. Look, no one gives a toss about that now! That's a petty crime at this point. Whoever he was and whatever he was doing, he didn't leave a million-pound brooch in a dusty box in Lestrade's daughter's room!”
Sherlock just smirked back, insincerely. “Shall we talk to Lestrade now?”
Lestrade was carefully composed, his face like a mask. It was painful to see him so tense and remote. “I've no idea how it could've come to be there. None at all. The whole thing makes no sense.”
“Can you think of anyone in particular who'd be likely to break into your home and smash things up?” John asked
“No. Even when someone gets mad at a copper, they usually do something more threatening, or leave a note. This seems like random hooliganism. But that doesn't make sense either. Why my flat? There's been nothing like this in the neighbourhood.”
“Some of the broken items have been repaired before,” Sherlock said.
“Yeah, with a kid around, stuff's always getting broken. If she really liked it, she'd come crying to me and I'd glue it back together again.”
“What does your daughter say about the brooch?” asked Sherlock.
Lestrade stared at him, as did everyone else. “She's got nothing to do with this! How can you think - My God, she was just a child at the time!”
“Nevertheless, the brooch was found in a box of her possessions, am I correct?”
“Well, yes, but it's still absurd! I probably boxed all that stuff up myself at some point, cleaning up.”
“You saw the brooch, picked it up and tossed into a box without a second thought?”
Lestrade looked away for a moment, struggling to master himself. “You just leave my daughter alone. She had no more to do with this than I.”
“My dear Chief Inspector, I never doubted it for a moment.”
Lestrade gaped. “Next you'll be accusing me!”
“Did you have anything to do with the theft?”
Everyone leant back from Sherlock at his perfectly serious expression.
“No I bloody well did not! I thought - I know there's a lot in the Met who assume I'm... That I did take it. Plan it. Save it for God knows what - or when. Give it to my ten-year-old for a birthday present! But you - ” Lestrade broke off and looked away again. “Never mind.”
Donovan grabbed Sherlock's arm and took him to the door. “All right, Freak, you've done enough here. I should have known better than to ask for your help.”
“Not at all, Sally,” said Sherlock, smirking. “Consulting me was all you could do to save him.”
In the cab John spoke, “You know Lestrade's innocent, right?”
“Of course. He's not quite as stupid as that. He'd have disposed of it years ago if he had taken it.”
John leant back against the seat and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. After all these years with Sherlock you'd think he'd be used to it, but - “Bit not good, that.”
“What?” asked Sherlock, puzzled.
“Accusing him. Man feels horrible enough right now, as it is.”
“I didn't accuse. I asked.”
John stared at him. Sherlock shrugged and looked away.
After a while John asked, “Where are we going, anyway?”
“To see Lestrade's daughter.”
Part 2
Fandom: BBC's Sherlock
Rating: canon-level violence, no sexual content
Length: 3250 words
Summary: Lestrade's in trouble. Donovan asks Sherlock to help.
I wrote case!fic!
Much thanks to my excellent beta feroxargentea
Pride Goeth
Detective Inspector Sally Donovan had not seen Sherlock Holmes in over five years, which suited her just fine. She'd been overjoyed at her promotion, not least because it involved a move to the Fraud Squad, away from interactions with Holmes. She missed Lestrade, of course, and her teammates, but she'd heard that since his promotion to DCI, Lestrade bullied the DI's who reported to him to invite the Freak in on cases whenever they were stalled. She was glad to be well out of it.
Only the direst of circumstances would see her trudging up the stairs to 221B.
"Hello, Sally, how pleasant to see you again after all these years," sneered Sherlock with patently false cheer.
Sally declined to waste any time on pleasantries or bickering. "Lestrade's in trouble. He needs your help."
"Is he? Why does he not contact me himself?" Sherlock dropped his facetiousness but seemed untroubled by the news. Yeah, still a freak, Sally thought. And Lestrade thinks he's a mate.
"He can't," Donovan said. "He's in the nick."
On their way to the Yard, Donovan explained. “Lestrade was at work; his flat was empty. A neighbour heard a lot of crashing noises, thumping about, and called the bobbies. They come, sirens blazing, and the intruder got away. Left the place a tip. The officer on scene called Lestrade, and got his permission to begin searching for clues to the identity of the intruder and why he'd broken in to wreck the place. Lestrade came as soon as he could, to determine if anything'd been stolen. Well,” Donovan paused, looking sidelong at Sherlock and John, “that's when everything went tits-up. Stuff had been broken all over the flat - the sitting room, the kitchen, the spare bedroom - which was where Lestrade's daughter stayed, when she visited. So the officers were searching everywhere too. In the second bedroom they found a box of stuff - girl's stuff, must have been the daughter's. And in it was a brooch. A diamond brooch that looked an awful lot like the one lost when the Monaco royal family visited London years ago.”
Sherlock leant back against the seat and groaned. He remembered Lestrade telling him about it. A Detective Sergeant at the time, Lestrade had been part of the team providing security during the visit. He had also helped investigate the theft of a large quantity of the jewellery brought along by the princesses. The investigation identified the conspirators behind the heist and recovered most of the jewellery; all but one piece - a diamond brooch, which remained lost. Until now, apparently.
“It's been verified as the genuine article. Lestrade was arrested.” Donovan stopped. She was afraid the tears would come if she kept speaking, and she wasn't going to break down in front of the Freak. They wouldn't even grant Lestrade bail - an exemplary officer! Not even a violent crime! But, “too great a flight risk”. Too high-profile a crime is what they meant. Too political, too embarrassing for the Met. Bad enough they'd failed to recover it in the first place, then for one of their own to be found with it - too horrible to contemplate. Sally was glad she at least could be certain Lestrade was not guilty. If it had been an officer she didn't know, she'd have felt disgusted by the whole thing.
At the Yard, Sherlock examined the ring, which was being held as evidence until the trial. “Trace bits of powder,” he observed, inspecting the settings that held the gems.
“Yeah, dust. Everything in the box was dusty. Stuff must have been in there for years.” Donovan shook her head. “The whole flat was covered in dust, from everything that was broken.”
Sherlock turned to the other evidence bags, which did indeed hold great quantities of broken figurines and crockery. “Some of these have been broken before, and repaired,” he noted.
“Yeah, but none of it's worth anything. Just sentimental stuff, Lestrade told me. Stuff his daughter'd made, or given him.”
“Hmm. Has the intruder been found? Any reason why he broke in just to break a bunch of worthless junk and not steal anything?”
Donovan stared at him. “No. Look, no one gives a toss about that now! That's a petty crime at this point. Whoever he was and whatever he was doing, he didn't leave a million-pound brooch in a dusty box in Lestrade's daughter's room!”
Sherlock just smirked back, insincerely. “Shall we talk to Lestrade now?”
Lestrade was carefully composed, his face like a mask. It was painful to see him so tense and remote. “I've no idea how it could've come to be there. None at all. The whole thing makes no sense.”
“Can you think of anyone in particular who'd be likely to break into your home and smash things up?” John asked
“No. Even when someone gets mad at a copper, they usually do something more threatening, or leave a note. This seems like random hooliganism. But that doesn't make sense either. Why my flat? There's been nothing like this in the neighbourhood.”
“Some of the broken items have been repaired before,” Sherlock said.
“Yeah, with a kid around, stuff's always getting broken. If she really liked it, she'd come crying to me and I'd glue it back together again.”
“What does your daughter say about the brooch?” asked Sherlock.
Lestrade stared at him, as did everyone else. “She's got nothing to do with this! How can you think - My God, she was just a child at the time!”
“Nevertheless, the brooch was found in a box of her possessions, am I correct?”
“Well, yes, but it's still absurd! I probably boxed all that stuff up myself at some point, cleaning up.”
“You saw the brooch, picked it up and tossed into a box without a second thought?”
Lestrade looked away for a moment, struggling to master himself. “You just leave my daughter alone. She had no more to do with this than I.”
“My dear Chief Inspector, I never doubted it for a moment.”
Lestrade gaped. “Next you'll be accusing me!”
“Did you have anything to do with the theft?”
Everyone leant back from Sherlock at his perfectly serious expression.
“No I bloody well did not! I thought - I know there's a lot in the Met who assume I'm... That I did take it. Plan it. Save it for God knows what - or when. Give it to my ten-year-old for a birthday present! But you - ” Lestrade broke off and looked away again. “Never mind.”
Donovan grabbed Sherlock's arm and took him to the door. “All right, Freak, you've done enough here. I should have known better than to ask for your help.”
“Not at all, Sally,” said Sherlock, smirking. “Consulting me was all you could do to save him.”
In the cab John spoke, “You know Lestrade's innocent, right?”
“Of course. He's not quite as stupid as that. He'd have disposed of it years ago if he had taken it.”
John leant back against the seat and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. After all these years with Sherlock you'd think he'd be used to it, but - “Bit not good, that.”
“What?” asked Sherlock, puzzled.
“Accusing him. Man feels horrible enough right now, as it is.”
“I didn't accuse. I asked.”
John stared at him. Sherlock shrugged and looked away.
After a while John asked, “Where are we going, anyway?”
“To see Lestrade's daughter.”
Part 2