Desperate (5/9)
BBC Sherlock
Rating 15 (explicit slash, swearing)
Summary: What should Greg do once he's out of the fogs of Devon?
Many thanks to The Small Hobbit for betaing.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4
Alec's flat in Mutton Cove was cramped, but neat, full of photos of Dartmoor in all seasons.
"I'm a bit of a photographer," he said. "Like to make my living like that, but there's too much competition. Bedroom through there."
There was barely space in the bedroom for the double bed. Greg stood there awkwardly, still wondering if perhaps he should go.
"Don't worry," Alec said, pulling his T-shirt over his head. "It'll be OK. It's always hard, when you're not sure what you want. But you'll like it, I promise you." He came over and kissed Greg, very gently on the lips. Greg shut his eyes and kissed him back. Maybe he should just stop thinking...
"Why don't you lie down, make yourself comfortable?" Alec whispered. "I can turn the light off if you like."
"Yes," Greg croaked. In the dark they could be anybody. In the dark, far away from Scotland Yard, from Ruth, from Sherlock bloody Holmes, what did it matter what he did? Alec moved to flick the light switch, as Greg took off his shoes and socks and then fumbled with the zip on his trousers.
"Need help?" Alec's voice whispered in his ear, and Greg was promptly distracted by fingers expertly undoing his shirt-buttons, easing the fabric off his body, before a tongue trailed briefly across his right nipple. The touch sent a spark though his nerves, and now there was a hand reaching into his Y-fronts, rubbing gently against his swelling prick. He probably should lie down before his legs gave way, he thought, half stumbling as he pulled his trousers off. The bed creaked beneath him, and strong hands were stripping off his underpants now, before unerringly finding his nipples again. And then the liquid warmth of a mouth closed gently around the tip of his erection.
God, Alec was good at this, he thought, letting out a strangled breath. Or maybe it had just been so long since he'd had this, someone enjoying themself playing with his body. Alec's mouth was now using slow, teasing licks that were making him gasp and thrust upwards...
Damn near making him come, as well, he thought, gulping out "Stop". Because if he was doing this, he'd rather it wasn't over in five minutes flat. He wanted someone to stay with, to hold onto.
"You having fun yet?" Alec asked, a little breathlessly, and Greg could imagine the smile on his face. "Or you still not sure yet whether you like this? Coz I did have a few more ideas, if you'll let me show you. Seems a shame to waste a nice big cock like that on my mouth. Hold on a minute, while I find some supplies."
Greg lay there in the dark, heart pounding. He had to trust Alec. He could hear him moving around for some time, and then fingers were brushing over his belly.
"Condom and lots of lube," Alec announced, "that's what you need for this. I'm clean, mind you, but just so as you don't worry."
His fingers were skilfully rolling the condom onto Greg as he spoke; Greg wondered for a moment if he could see in the dark. To him, Alec was just a shadowy blur in the room. But for his voice, he could be anyone. They both could be. Now Alec's hand was slicking lube on his erection, raising Greg's excitement again. He squeezed his nails into his palms, worrying he might come before Alec was ready for him. Then he heard Alec chuckle, felt his warm breath on his chest as the man straddled his body.
"Once you know what you're doing, it's all quite easy. You just gotta learn how to relax," Alec said. He lowered himself and Greg felt his prick slowly being enveloped, burying snugly into the other man. Just mind-blowing - the feel, the connection- and he was lost, thrusting up, groaning, as Alec rocked his pelvis convulsively. The world narrowing down to sweat and friction, dissolving into sensation, as Greg's eyes squeezed shut. Lips on his, kissing and panting, and he was muttering nonsense back, - good, so fucking good - and he could feel the pressure building, till there was no way back. He came and there was blissful nothingness for a few moments, as he lay stunned. Alec was still on him, groaning loudly, and he wasn't sure what to do, how to help, but then he felt him come, clenching round his own softening cock, splattering his chest. Greg was a sticky, worn out, happy mess, content just to lie here for the rest of his life.
It took him a while to register when Alec put the light back on and offered him tissues.
"You OK?" Alec asked. "You haven't got a dodgy heart or anything, have you?"
"I'm fine," Greg said, trying to open his eyes and finding it was an effort to. "It was...good."
"Told you you needed the right person," Alec said smugly. "Wanna stay for the night? You look a bit beat to be driving."
He was warm and he was safe; the dream Hound wouldn't come sniffing round a flat in Plymouth.
"Thanks," he said. "Be good." He thought that Alec bent down and kissed him again then, but maybe he was already dreaming at that point.
***
Greg woke up feeling groggy and trying to work out why the furniture in the Cross Keys bedroom had rearranged itself overnight. I'm losing it, aren't I? I'm not in Grimpen any more. Last night... His brain was still trying to process last night, and then the shower that had been going in the background stopped and Alec appeared in the doorway in a faded blue bathrobe. His damp hair was sticking up and he had his normal grin on. Shit, last night I slept with someone who's cheerful in the morning.
"Any chance of a coffee?" Greg muttered.
"Sure," Alec said. "Like a bacon sarnie as well? You won't get that at The Cross Keys."
"That'd be wonderful."
Alec's grin broadened. "Shower's hot if you want one," he said, and watched with unashamed pleasure as Greg dragged his weary, naked body off to the bathroom. Alec must have a thing for the elderly, Greg decided. He felt about eighty that morning. Though the shower helped and so did the smell of coffee and a fry-up as he got dressed. He sat in the tiny, dark kitchen, gulped down his first cup and felt vaguely human again.
"How much longer you in Grimpen?" Alec asked, as he handed him his sandwich.
"I should probably head home today," Greg replied, and "home" felt a bit odd suddenly. A flat barely bigger than this one, and far less welcoming.
"So what's gonna happen about Gary and Billy?" There was a trace of tension in Alec's voice now, even as he tried to sound casual, and several things abruptly fell into place in Greg's mind. Of all the gin joints in all the towns in the world, he had to walk into this one. When he looked up, frowning, Alec gave him a disarming grin.
"Us poofs gotta stick together," he said. "Especially down here. Gary said you might be going to the Salty Dog, so I thought I'd drop in, see what you were after."
Greg couldn't resist smiling back. "If you're seducing someone for information, it's best to leave the sex till after the person tells you what you want to know."
"I fancied you anyhow," Alec said simply. "Right from when I first saw you."
It was oddly morale-boosting, Greg thought.
"So are they gonna get into trouble? About the dog, I mean?" Alec went on.
"Did you know about that?"
"I told them not to buy it, but when Gary gets an idea into his head, you just can't stop him."
"They nearly drove Henry Knight mad, and they got Frankland and the dog killed."
"The dog's dead?"
"It got shot," Greg said. There was a look momentarily on Alec's face that reminded him of Katy when her last hamster had died, and he added hastily, "But it wasn't me who did it."
"So what happened last night? I heard there was nothing much left of Frankland," Alec said, trying unconvincingly to sound like a man who couldn't care less about dead dogs or dead men. He sat down opposite Greg. Their knees almost touched under the kitchen table, and Greg could sense that Alec's legs were shaky. Your first few corpses were always the worst.
"According to the MoD, Dr Frankland had been on the moor trying to catch the dog, panicked when something went wrong and ran into the minefield by mistake."
"He wouldn't have done that," Alec protested. "What really happened?"
"You know I'm not allowed to tell you."
"I can keep a secret, promise. Frankland was up to no good, wasn't he?"
"What makes you think that?" Greg demanded. Alec smiled, regaining some of his normal confidence.
"He was working at a top-secret defence place and he was always wandering round chatting to people. Everyone else at Baskerville keeps themselves to themselves. Of course he was up to something."
Trust someone on the spot to notice something odd, Greg thought. If only they'd thought to interview Alec.
"I can't discuss what he was doing," he said, and he couldn't keep the edge of anger out of his voice. Frankland had murdered a man in front of his seven-year-old son. What kind of bastard would do a thing like that?
"He was to blame for Mr Knight's death, wasn't he? Henry's dad." Alec said quietly. "I know about Henry. He was in my primary school."
Not just Henry, but a whole community traumatised. That was why you had to catch killers, so people could feel safe again. But had the original investigation missed something? Could they have stopped Frankland earlier?
"What makes you think Frankland had anything to do with that?" Greg asked.
"Coz he's always hanging round Dewar's Hollow, and no-one else does. That's where Henry's dad was killed. Frankland did something to the Hollow that drove the dog mad. That's why it killed Mr Knight."
Greg knew he looked blank, as Alec leant forward and added earnestly, "There's something wrong with Dewar's Hollow. I saw a man there once, a man who wasn't there. And when I kissed him, he stabbed me. Least it felt like he had, but when I got out of the fog, there was nothing: no man and no blood. I didn't know if it was magic or what."
"It's a drug," Greg replied, without thinking. "Frankland laced the fog there with some chemical that makes you imagine things." He could feel his stomach knot even now. The dog. The dog and Sherlock. Alec's hand reached out, rested on Greg's arm.
"You're OK," he said. "We're nowhere near the moor, fog can't get you here. But you don't know what you're doing when you've had it, do you?"
Greg shook his head.
"Be the same for a dog," Alec went on. "They were breeding huge dogs up at Baskerville, my mate told me that. Only just because a dog's big, doesn't mean it's vicious. But if you put one in the fog at Dewar's Hollow and it was scared coz it didn't know what was happening, it'd turn nasty, wouldn't it? I reckon Frankland took one of the Baskerville dogs up there to try his experiment out and it went mad and ran away and killed Mr Knight."
It made almost as much sense as the true story, Greg thought. Well, what Mycroft had told him was the true story.
"You think there really is a huge dog on the moor?" he asked, and, Alec smiled again.
"Not any more," he said confidently. "That was twenty years ago. A big dog wouldn't live more than ten years, maybe less. That's why Gary thought we needed a new one." He paused, and looked hopefully at Greg, and added:
"I'm sorry about Henry, really I am. We didn't mean no harm, but the tourists always want to hear more stuff about the Hound."
"And you give them what they want?" Alec was obviously good at that, Greg thought.
"They like being scared, you see. I did an ordinary tour of Dartmoor for a bit, but the tourists always wanted to hear about escaped prisoners, and bogs that can swallow up a man alive. It's fun, hearing about stuff like that. I bet when you tell people you're a detective at parties, they want to hear all about gruesome murders."
Greg nodded. Yet another reason he didn't have a social life. Alec's fingers were stroking the back of Greg's left hand now, and a serious look had come over his normally cheerful face. And then he asked, far too casually:
"So are you allowed to tell your wife about your cases?"
Greg looked down automatically, but his wedding ring wasn't there. You couldn't really see any more that there ever had been one.
"Who says I'm married?" he demanded, and his voice sounded harsh to his own ears.
Alec smiled again, and took his hand away. "You look the way you do and you're supposed to be straight. Of course you're married. Don't worry, I told you I can keep a secret."
"My wife's left me." It burst out without him thinking, and his head slumped forward. What the hell did he think he was doing?
"That's rough, Greg. Been married long?" There was nothing but friendly concern in Alec's voice.
"Nearly fifteen years. Three kids."
"Make sure you stay in touch with them. My dad buggered off when I was twelve and I never seen him again."
When Greg looked up, Alec's smile was rueful now. As if he'd given away too much as well. He looked at his watch.
"My first tour's at eleven," he said. "So I need to be over at Grimpen by ten. If you follow me, I can show you the best route there." He smiled again, and stood up. "Sorry if your sarnie's got a bit cold. I could put it in the microwave."
"It's OK," Greg said, as he finished it up hastily.
"I won't tell anyone," Alec said hastily. "Not even Billy and Gary. I'll just say I spotted you in a bar and reckoned you were too drunk to drive home safely, so I gave you a bed for the night."
He was a professional teller of stories, of course, Greg thought. "I probably look rough enough."
"You'll be fine. You just gotta get your head right." Alec went over to a drawer, pulled something out.
"My business card," he said, putting it beside Greg's plate. "If you're ever down this way again, I'll give you special rates on the tour. And it's got my mobile on so, you know, if you want to talk..."
"Thanks," Greg said and waited awkwardly for Alec to ask for his number. Then he saw Alec's smile and realised that he was leaving it up to Greg what happened next.
For a moment he wondered about staying on at The Cross Keys. He could have a day or two more there, surely? A night or two more. And Gary and Billy would hardly kick up a fuss about Alec. But no, it was ridiculous. There would doubtless be loads of paperwork about Frankland, even if officially it wasn't his case. And Mycroft would want more reports and his gun back. And his family were back from Norfolk today, and...and he couldn't stay. It was simple as that.
"Thanks for looking after me last night," he said, and Alec replied, smiling:
"Couldn't let a big-shot inspector like you get done for drink-driving, could I? If we go in about five minutes, is that OK?"
***
The last glimpse Greg had of Alec was him getting out of his rusting white Fiat at The Cross Keys. Alec waved at him in his car, and then walked off to talk to one of the waitresses, clearing up the table outside. Greg wondered if the cheeky smile on Alec's face was for him or her. But it didn't matter anyhow. What mattered was sorting things out and getting back to London.
***
Greg only realised when he was unpacking in Deptford that his phone was switched off. He'd turned it off last night, he remembered, when he'd left the bar with Alec. On his voicemail there were three increasingly worried calls from Ruth. Please could he call her back, let her know if he was OK.
"What's up?" he asked when he phoned.
"I...could I come round, please?" she asked.
***
His flat was messy, of course, but having clutter around helped conceal a bit just how unappealing it was; cheap furniture and cheaper construction. Greg could see Ruth bite her lip as she came inside; it was the first time she'd seen the place properly.
"You've settled in?" she said, and he recognised the delaying tactic, and wondered what it was she didn't feel able to say yet.
"Coffee?" he asked, and when she accepted he made them both some, and then sat down on the sagging brown sofa and waited silently. The way he did with witnesses, sometimes, till they'd tell him things just to break the silence. Ruth sat down, very tentatively, on the other end of the sofa, six inches of space between them.
"I thought you were on holiday in Spain," she said, "but then I heard on the news at lunchtime that a man had been blown up on Dartmoor near a top-secret army base. And when I phoned up the Yard, they said you were down in Devon."
"Why did you think it had anything to do with me?" Greg demanded.
Ruth clutched at her mug. "One of the news reports mentioned Sherlock Holmes. So I thought you might be down there as well."
"I was," he said. No point in lying, she'd find out eventually. He watched her force herself not to panic, to fear for his life retrospectively. And then waited for her anger: Sherlock again, putting him in harm's way. But Ruth just sat there, drinking her coffee and not saying anything, and it was Greg who ended up breaking the silence.
"The man who died was a murderer," he said. "He was trying to escape arrest, and he took a short-cut through a minefield."
"And you're OK?"
"I'm fine." He could hardly tell Ruth about the hallucinogenic fog. That he was possibly in love with Sherlock. That he'd had a one night stand with a man he'd met in a Plymouth bar.
"Please be careful," Ruth said, and her hand reached out to clasp onto his.
"I always am," he lied, as he thought about firing bullets at a phantom hound and the flash as the mine went off. You couldn't be careful with Sherlock around. Contradiction in terms. Ruth's hand, warm and solid, held onto his and he tried not to think about the last time someone had held his hand. Her hair was loose, the way she had it when she didn't have to worry about being tidy and organised and practical. She looked younger with it like that, the girl he remembered meeting almost twenty years ago.
"How was your holiday?" he asked.
"Katy moaned about earwigs in the tent, but Emily and Rob had a wonderful time. Emily's decided she's going to be an underwater vet. I think she means treating injured dolphins." Ruth paused and then went on, suddenly speeding up. "I, I, it didn't seem right. Without you there." She pulled her hand back almost fiercely from Greg and started to run it through her hair. "Greg?"
"Yes?"
"Do you...I'm not sure...do you think this separation is working? Is it the right thing to do?"
Ruth always had her own opinion; she was never unsure about anything. Greg looked at her, his thoughts whirling.
"Are you saying...?" he began, and wasn't sure he dared go on.
"I'm asking whether you'd be willing to have another go." Ruth turned to face him. "I said it was a trial separation. Or is it...is it too late?" There was something near terror in her hazel eyes.
Greg's hand went out automatically to squeeze her shoulder, even as his brain tried to process the information. Ruth coming back. Sherlock's hand on his face. Emily and Katy and Rob. Make sure you stay in touch with them. Alec had said that. Was it too late, after Sherlock, after Alec? He didn't know what he wanted any more.
But if he said no or too late, that was that, wasn't it? Last chance gone to fix things, and for what? For a man he barely knew? He couldn't throw away fifteen years for one night in Plymouth. Or for a man without a heart, he'd dreamed of with his head full of poison. He had to try one more time, didn't he?
"I think...I think we should try getting back together again," he said, even as he wondered what together meant any more.
***
Later that evening Greg pulled Alec's card out of his coat pocket. He wondered if he ought to throw it away, so that Ruth didn't find it. But it looked like just another bit of tourist stuff, she wouldn't suspect anything.
Even so, it might be better, he thought, but he knew he wouldn't. It might be easier to pretend even to himself that last night had never happened, but easier often turned out harder in the long run. He'd slept with a bloke and enjoyed it. He'd slept with Alec and he ought at least to let him know what was happening. He slowly typed out a text:
Thanks for all your help with Baskerville case. Pleased to report I'm safe back at home with wife and kids now. Best wishes, Greg Lestrade
He wished he could be braver, that he didn't have to worry about anything he wrote being used in evidence against him, but there were some things better left unsaid. Best just to send the oblique message of thanks but no thanks. He didn't think Alec was expecting more than a one night stand, but he didn't want to muck him around.
A couple of minutes after he sent the message, a reply pinged back:
Hope it works out OK with yr wife. Webboards saying MI5 killed Dr F & closed off Hollow to retrieve Hound DNA. Good for my business! A
Greg couldn't help smiling. Trust Alec to see the disaster as a marketing opportunity; and he was obviously fine about them not taking things further. If only it was as easy working out what he was going to say to Sherlock the next time he saw him.
Part 6
Rating 15 (explicit slash, swearing)
Summary: What should Greg do once he's out of the fogs of Devon?
Many thanks to The Small Hobbit for betaing.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4
Alec's flat in Mutton Cove was cramped, but neat, full of photos of Dartmoor in all seasons.
"I'm a bit of a photographer," he said. "Like to make my living like that, but there's too much competition. Bedroom through there."
There was barely space in the bedroom for the double bed. Greg stood there awkwardly, still wondering if perhaps he should go.
"Don't worry," Alec said, pulling his T-shirt over his head. "It'll be OK. It's always hard, when you're not sure what you want. But you'll like it, I promise you." He came over and kissed Greg, very gently on the lips. Greg shut his eyes and kissed him back. Maybe he should just stop thinking...
"Why don't you lie down, make yourself comfortable?" Alec whispered. "I can turn the light off if you like."
"Yes," Greg croaked. In the dark they could be anybody. In the dark, far away from Scotland Yard, from Ruth, from Sherlock bloody Holmes, what did it matter what he did? Alec moved to flick the light switch, as Greg took off his shoes and socks and then fumbled with the zip on his trousers.
"Need help?" Alec's voice whispered in his ear, and Greg was promptly distracted by fingers expertly undoing his shirt-buttons, easing the fabric off his body, before a tongue trailed briefly across his right nipple. The touch sent a spark though his nerves, and now there was a hand reaching into his Y-fronts, rubbing gently against his swelling prick. He probably should lie down before his legs gave way, he thought, half stumbling as he pulled his trousers off. The bed creaked beneath him, and strong hands were stripping off his underpants now, before unerringly finding his nipples again. And then the liquid warmth of a mouth closed gently around the tip of his erection.
God, Alec was good at this, he thought, letting out a strangled breath. Or maybe it had just been so long since he'd had this, someone enjoying themself playing with his body. Alec's mouth was now using slow, teasing licks that were making him gasp and thrust upwards...
Damn near making him come, as well, he thought, gulping out "Stop". Because if he was doing this, he'd rather it wasn't over in five minutes flat. He wanted someone to stay with, to hold onto.
"You having fun yet?" Alec asked, a little breathlessly, and Greg could imagine the smile on his face. "Or you still not sure yet whether you like this? Coz I did have a few more ideas, if you'll let me show you. Seems a shame to waste a nice big cock like that on my mouth. Hold on a minute, while I find some supplies."
Greg lay there in the dark, heart pounding. He had to trust Alec. He could hear him moving around for some time, and then fingers were brushing over his belly.
"Condom and lots of lube," Alec announced, "that's what you need for this. I'm clean, mind you, but just so as you don't worry."
His fingers were skilfully rolling the condom onto Greg as he spoke; Greg wondered for a moment if he could see in the dark. To him, Alec was just a shadowy blur in the room. But for his voice, he could be anyone. They both could be. Now Alec's hand was slicking lube on his erection, raising Greg's excitement again. He squeezed his nails into his palms, worrying he might come before Alec was ready for him. Then he heard Alec chuckle, felt his warm breath on his chest as the man straddled his body.
"Once you know what you're doing, it's all quite easy. You just gotta learn how to relax," Alec said. He lowered himself and Greg felt his prick slowly being enveloped, burying snugly into the other man. Just mind-blowing - the feel, the connection- and he was lost, thrusting up, groaning, as Alec rocked his pelvis convulsively. The world narrowing down to sweat and friction, dissolving into sensation, as Greg's eyes squeezed shut. Lips on his, kissing and panting, and he was muttering nonsense back, - good, so fucking good - and he could feel the pressure building, till there was no way back. He came and there was blissful nothingness for a few moments, as he lay stunned. Alec was still on him, groaning loudly, and he wasn't sure what to do, how to help, but then he felt him come, clenching round his own softening cock, splattering his chest. Greg was a sticky, worn out, happy mess, content just to lie here for the rest of his life.
It took him a while to register when Alec put the light back on and offered him tissues.
"You OK?" Alec asked. "You haven't got a dodgy heart or anything, have you?"
"I'm fine," Greg said, trying to open his eyes and finding it was an effort to. "It was...good."
"Told you you needed the right person," Alec said smugly. "Wanna stay for the night? You look a bit beat to be driving."
He was warm and he was safe; the dream Hound wouldn't come sniffing round a flat in Plymouth.
"Thanks," he said. "Be good." He thought that Alec bent down and kissed him again then, but maybe he was already dreaming at that point.
***
Greg woke up feeling groggy and trying to work out why the furniture in the Cross Keys bedroom had rearranged itself overnight. I'm losing it, aren't I? I'm not in Grimpen any more. Last night... His brain was still trying to process last night, and then the shower that had been going in the background stopped and Alec appeared in the doorway in a faded blue bathrobe. His damp hair was sticking up and he had his normal grin on. Shit, last night I slept with someone who's cheerful in the morning.
"Any chance of a coffee?" Greg muttered.
"Sure," Alec said. "Like a bacon sarnie as well? You won't get that at The Cross Keys."
"That'd be wonderful."
Alec's grin broadened. "Shower's hot if you want one," he said, and watched with unashamed pleasure as Greg dragged his weary, naked body off to the bathroom. Alec must have a thing for the elderly, Greg decided. He felt about eighty that morning. Though the shower helped and so did the smell of coffee and a fry-up as he got dressed. He sat in the tiny, dark kitchen, gulped down his first cup and felt vaguely human again.
"How much longer you in Grimpen?" Alec asked, as he handed him his sandwich.
"I should probably head home today," Greg replied, and "home" felt a bit odd suddenly. A flat barely bigger than this one, and far less welcoming.
"So what's gonna happen about Gary and Billy?" There was a trace of tension in Alec's voice now, even as he tried to sound casual, and several things abruptly fell into place in Greg's mind. Of all the gin joints in all the towns in the world, he had to walk into this one. When he looked up, frowning, Alec gave him a disarming grin.
"Us poofs gotta stick together," he said. "Especially down here. Gary said you might be going to the Salty Dog, so I thought I'd drop in, see what you were after."
Greg couldn't resist smiling back. "If you're seducing someone for information, it's best to leave the sex till after the person tells you what you want to know."
"I fancied you anyhow," Alec said simply. "Right from when I first saw you."
It was oddly morale-boosting, Greg thought.
"So are they gonna get into trouble? About the dog, I mean?" Alec went on.
"Did you know about that?"
"I told them not to buy it, but when Gary gets an idea into his head, you just can't stop him."
"They nearly drove Henry Knight mad, and they got Frankland and the dog killed."
"The dog's dead?"
"It got shot," Greg said. There was a look momentarily on Alec's face that reminded him of Katy when her last hamster had died, and he added hastily, "But it wasn't me who did it."
"So what happened last night? I heard there was nothing much left of Frankland," Alec said, trying unconvincingly to sound like a man who couldn't care less about dead dogs or dead men. He sat down opposite Greg. Their knees almost touched under the kitchen table, and Greg could sense that Alec's legs were shaky. Your first few corpses were always the worst.
"According to the MoD, Dr Frankland had been on the moor trying to catch the dog, panicked when something went wrong and ran into the minefield by mistake."
"He wouldn't have done that," Alec protested. "What really happened?"
"You know I'm not allowed to tell you."
"I can keep a secret, promise. Frankland was up to no good, wasn't he?"
"What makes you think that?" Greg demanded. Alec smiled, regaining some of his normal confidence.
"He was working at a top-secret defence place and he was always wandering round chatting to people. Everyone else at Baskerville keeps themselves to themselves. Of course he was up to something."
Trust someone on the spot to notice something odd, Greg thought. If only they'd thought to interview Alec.
"I can't discuss what he was doing," he said, and he couldn't keep the edge of anger out of his voice. Frankland had murdered a man in front of his seven-year-old son. What kind of bastard would do a thing like that?
"He was to blame for Mr Knight's death, wasn't he? Henry's dad." Alec said quietly. "I know about Henry. He was in my primary school."
Not just Henry, but a whole community traumatised. That was why you had to catch killers, so people could feel safe again. But had the original investigation missed something? Could they have stopped Frankland earlier?
"What makes you think Frankland had anything to do with that?" Greg asked.
"Coz he's always hanging round Dewar's Hollow, and no-one else does. That's where Henry's dad was killed. Frankland did something to the Hollow that drove the dog mad. That's why it killed Mr Knight."
Greg knew he looked blank, as Alec leant forward and added earnestly, "There's something wrong with Dewar's Hollow. I saw a man there once, a man who wasn't there. And when I kissed him, he stabbed me. Least it felt like he had, but when I got out of the fog, there was nothing: no man and no blood. I didn't know if it was magic or what."
"It's a drug," Greg replied, without thinking. "Frankland laced the fog there with some chemical that makes you imagine things." He could feel his stomach knot even now. The dog. The dog and Sherlock. Alec's hand reached out, rested on Greg's arm.
"You're OK," he said. "We're nowhere near the moor, fog can't get you here. But you don't know what you're doing when you've had it, do you?"
Greg shook his head.
"Be the same for a dog," Alec went on. "They were breeding huge dogs up at Baskerville, my mate told me that. Only just because a dog's big, doesn't mean it's vicious. But if you put one in the fog at Dewar's Hollow and it was scared coz it didn't know what was happening, it'd turn nasty, wouldn't it? I reckon Frankland took one of the Baskerville dogs up there to try his experiment out and it went mad and ran away and killed Mr Knight."
It made almost as much sense as the true story, Greg thought. Well, what Mycroft had told him was the true story.
"You think there really is a huge dog on the moor?" he asked, and, Alec smiled again.
"Not any more," he said confidently. "That was twenty years ago. A big dog wouldn't live more than ten years, maybe less. That's why Gary thought we needed a new one." He paused, and looked hopefully at Greg, and added:
"I'm sorry about Henry, really I am. We didn't mean no harm, but the tourists always want to hear more stuff about the Hound."
"And you give them what they want?" Alec was obviously good at that, Greg thought.
"They like being scared, you see. I did an ordinary tour of Dartmoor for a bit, but the tourists always wanted to hear about escaped prisoners, and bogs that can swallow up a man alive. It's fun, hearing about stuff like that. I bet when you tell people you're a detective at parties, they want to hear all about gruesome murders."
Greg nodded. Yet another reason he didn't have a social life. Alec's fingers were stroking the back of Greg's left hand now, and a serious look had come over his normally cheerful face. And then he asked, far too casually:
"So are you allowed to tell your wife about your cases?"
Greg looked down automatically, but his wedding ring wasn't there. You couldn't really see any more that there ever had been one.
"Who says I'm married?" he demanded, and his voice sounded harsh to his own ears.
Alec smiled again, and took his hand away. "You look the way you do and you're supposed to be straight. Of course you're married. Don't worry, I told you I can keep a secret."
"My wife's left me." It burst out without him thinking, and his head slumped forward. What the hell did he think he was doing?
"That's rough, Greg. Been married long?" There was nothing but friendly concern in Alec's voice.
"Nearly fifteen years. Three kids."
"Make sure you stay in touch with them. My dad buggered off when I was twelve and I never seen him again."
When Greg looked up, Alec's smile was rueful now. As if he'd given away too much as well. He looked at his watch.
"My first tour's at eleven," he said. "So I need to be over at Grimpen by ten. If you follow me, I can show you the best route there." He smiled again, and stood up. "Sorry if your sarnie's got a bit cold. I could put it in the microwave."
"It's OK," Greg said, as he finished it up hastily.
"I won't tell anyone," Alec said hastily. "Not even Billy and Gary. I'll just say I spotted you in a bar and reckoned you were too drunk to drive home safely, so I gave you a bed for the night."
He was a professional teller of stories, of course, Greg thought. "I probably look rough enough."
"You'll be fine. You just gotta get your head right." Alec went over to a drawer, pulled something out.
"My business card," he said, putting it beside Greg's plate. "If you're ever down this way again, I'll give you special rates on the tour. And it's got my mobile on so, you know, if you want to talk..."
"Thanks," Greg said and waited awkwardly for Alec to ask for his number. Then he saw Alec's smile and realised that he was leaving it up to Greg what happened next.
For a moment he wondered about staying on at The Cross Keys. He could have a day or two more there, surely? A night or two more. And Gary and Billy would hardly kick up a fuss about Alec. But no, it was ridiculous. There would doubtless be loads of paperwork about Frankland, even if officially it wasn't his case. And Mycroft would want more reports and his gun back. And his family were back from Norfolk today, and...and he couldn't stay. It was simple as that.
"Thanks for looking after me last night," he said, and Alec replied, smiling:
"Couldn't let a big-shot inspector like you get done for drink-driving, could I? If we go in about five minutes, is that OK?"
***
The last glimpse Greg had of Alec was him getting out of his rusting white Fiat at The Cross Keys. Alec waved at him in his car, and then walked off to talk to one of the waitresses, clearing up the table outside. Greg wondered if the cheeky smile on Alec's face was for him or her. But it didn't matter anyhow. What mattered was sorting things out and getting back to London.
***
Greg only realised when he was unpacking in Deptford that his phone was switched off. He'd turned it off last night, he remembered, when he'd left the bar with Alec. On his voicemail there were three increasingly worried calls from Ruth. Please could he call her back, let her know if he was OK.
"What's up?" he asked when he phoned.
"I...could I come round, please?" she asked.
***
His flat was messy, of course, but having clutter around helped conceal a bit just how unappealing it was; cheap furniture and cheaper construction. Greg could see Ruth bite her lip as she came inside; it was the first time she'd seen the place properly.
"You've settled in?" she said, and he recognised the delaying tactic, and wondered what it was she didn't feel able to say yet.
"Coffee?" he asked, and when she accepted he made them both some, and then sat down on the sagging brown sofa and waited silently. The way he did with witnesses, sometimes, till they'd tell him things just to break the silence. Ruth sat down, very tentatively, on the other end of the sofa, six inches of space between them.
"I thought you were on holiday in Spain," she said, "but then I heard on the news at lunchtime that a man had been blown up on Dartmoor near a top-secret army base. And when I phoned up the Yard, they said you were down in Devon."
"Why did you think it had anything to do with me?" Greg demanded.
Ruth clutched at her mug. "One of the news reports mentioned Sherlock Holmes. So I thought you might be down there as well."
"I was," he said. No point in lying, she'd find out eventually. He watched her force herself not to panic, to fear for his life retrospectively. And then waited for her anger: Sherlock again, putting him in harm's way. But Ruth just sat there, drinking her coffee and not saying anything, and it was Greg who ended up breaking the silence.
"The man who died was a murderer," he said. "He was trying to escape arrest, and he took a short-cut through a minefield."
"And you're OK?"
"I'm fine." He could hardly tell Ruth about the hallucinogenic fog. That he was possibly in love with Sherlock. That he'd had a one night stand with a man he'd met in a Plymouth bar.
"Please be careful," Ruth said, and her hand reached out to clasp onto his.
"I always am," he lied, as he thought about firing bullets at a phantom hound and the flash as the mine went off. You couldn't be careful with Sherlock around. Contradiction in terms. Ruth's hand, warm and solid, held onto his and he tried not to think about the last time someone had held his hand. Her hair was loose, the way she had it when she didn't have to worry about being tidy and organised and practical. She looked younger with it like that, the girl he remembered meeting almost twenty years ago.
"How was your holiday?" he asked.
"Katy moaned about earwigs in the tent, but Emily and Rob had a wonderful time. Emily's decided she's going to be an underwater vet. I think she means treating injured dolphins." Ruth paused and then went on, suddenly speeding up. "I, I, it didn't seem right. Without you there." She pulled her hand back almost fiercely from Greg and started to run it through her hair. "Greg?"
"Yes?"
"Do you...I'm not sure...do you think this separation is working? Is it the right thing to do?"
Ruth always had her own opinion; she was never unsure about anything. Greg looked at her, his thoughts whirling.
"Are you saying...?" he began, and wasn't sure he dared go on.
"I'm asking whether you'd be willing to have another go." Ruth turned to face him. "I said it was a trial separation. Or is it...is it too late?" There was something near terror in her hazel eyes.
Greg's hand went out automatically to squeeze her shoulder, even as his brain tried to process the information. Ruth coming back. Sherlock's hand on his face. Emily and Katy and Rob. Make sure you stay in touch with them. Alec had said that. Was it too late, after Sherlock, after Alec? He didn't know what he wanted any more.
But if he said no or too late, that was that, wasn't it? Last chance gone to fix things, and for what? For a man he barely knew? He couldn't throw away fifteen years for one night in Plymouth. Or for a man without a heart, he'd dreamed of with his head full of poison. He had to try one more time, didn't he?
"I think...I think we should try getting back together again," he said, even as he wondered what together meant any more.
***
Later that evening Greg pulled Alec's card out of his coat pocket. He wondered if he ought to throw it away, so that Ruth didn't find it. But it looked like just another bit of tourist stuff, she wouldn't suspect anything.
Even so, it might be better, he thought, but he knew he wouldn't. It might be easier to pretend even to himself that last night had never happened, but easier often turned out harder in the long run. He'd slept with a bloke and enjoyed it. He'd slept with Alec and he ought at least to let him know what was happening. He slowly typed out a text:
Thanks for all your help with Baskerville case. Pleased to report I'm safe back at home with wife and kids now. Best wishes, Greg Lestrade
He wished he could be braver, that he didn't have to worry about anything he wrote being used in evidence against him, but there were some things better left unsaid. Best just to send the oblique message of thanks but no thanks. He didn't think Alec was expecting more than a one night stand, but he didn't want to muck him around.
A couple of minutes after he sent the message, a reply pinged back:
Hope it works out OK with yr wife. Webboards saying MI5 killed Dr F & closed off Hollow to retrieve Hound DNA. Good for my business! A
Greg couldn't help smiling. Trust Alec to see the disaster as a marketing opportunity; and he was obviously fine about them not taking things further. If only it was as easy working out what he was going to say to Sherlock the next time he saw him.
Part 6