Though I Walk Through the Valley (36/38)
Though I Walk through the Valley
Title:Though I Walk through the Valley (36/38)Series: Still Waters (Run Deep) (Part II of IV)
Author: melody_in_time
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Through S1 only
Disclaimer: I wish, I wish upon a star... but until that works, not mine and sadly no money made.
Author's Notes: Two chapters from the end... wow.. that is scary...
Warnings: None in particular for this chapter
If you've wondered here by mistake, you may wish to start at Part I of the series, Rarest of the Rare: Chapter 1.
Prologue - Chapter 10 - Chapter 20 - Chapter 30 - Chapter 31 - Chapter 32 - Chapter 33 - Chapter 34 - Chapter 35 - Chapter 36 - Chapter 37 - Chapter 38
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“I think Donovan’s avoiding me.” Greg munched on a biscuit while the kettle bubbled its way to boiling in the background.
“Are you surprised?” John snorted from the kitchen.
“Suppose not.” Greg sighed. “She’s still a bit… pissed off at me.”
“I repeat: are you surprised?” John idly threw the tea bags into the waiting mugs.
“Suppose not.” Greg leant back in his chair. “But it has been-”
“You were a gnat’s wing away from being sacked and your job is still not exactly what I would call secure for no good reason.” John spoke over him. “You risked everything and you know it. You were a hairsbreadth away from gaol. That’s not going to be fixed in a few weeks.”
“Mycroft wouldn’t have let me go to gaol.” Greg denied confidently.
“You hope.” John muttered back darkly. “Not everything is in his control, you know, and coppers have a hell of a time in lock up.”
“He wouldn’t have.”
John didn’t bother arguing. He poured the tea instead.
“Do you think it’s too soon?” Greg called over the tea spoon clinking against the ceramic rim as John poured.
“Too soon for forgiveness?”
“No, for her to be over Anderson.” Greg picked up another Digestive.
“Oh, cause the answer to the former was yes, by the by.” John carried in the mugs.
Greg rolled his eyes and ignored John’s unsubtle complaints. He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised that John’s Alpha nature had flared up, leaving the army doctor almost as mad at Greg as his sergeant. At least John was keeping it restrained to blatant reminders that Greg had been out of line. Sally was glaring at him whenever no one else could see and being 100% professional the rest of the time. Always 100% professional without as much as a friendly smile.
“And the latter?” He asked, accepting the tea.
“I think she loved him despite everything and it’s highly unlikely she will have actually moved on, yes.” John settled himself in his own armchair. “Why?”
“She and Dimmock are acting strange. They’re all chummy all of a sudden.” Greg slurped his tea loudly, earning a disgruntled look for his lack of manners.
“They’re your two most loyal supporters at the Yard, from what you’ve said, and they both almost saw you get fired, and prosecuted, and are well aware your arse was saved by a twenty year old kid and a liberal amount of luck. Of course they’re going to be looking to each other.” John tsked.
“Yeah, please, do tell me again how my arse was saved by the kid, John. I haven’t heard enough about it already.” Greg rolled his eyes. “It was the right thing to do.”
“You practically challenged a Dom over him.” John’s voice vibrated between hot and cold anger. “You were way out of line, IA would not have supported you at all, and for fucks sake Greg, you’re a Sub. How did you think that was going to go down?”
“It was the right thing to do, and we went over this weeks ago, at the time, at volume, remember?” Greg deliberately slurped his next mouthful loudly. It didn’t annoy John as much as Mycroft, but it was something.
“Yeah, right fine.” John flashed his teeth at Greg, either in an attempted smile or a deliberate grimace. “So what does bring you here on your lunch hour mid-week? Clearly not Sherlock.”
“I’m in enough shit at the Yard without him, thanks.” Greg snorted. “No, um, the other one.”
“Mycroft?”
“Mmm.” Greg hummed in agreement.
“So what’s up?” John brushed stray crumbs of his brown cardigan.
“Just haven’t heard from him for a bit.” Greg shrugged as nonchalantly as possible. “That’s all.”
John’s eyes narrowed. “How far along is he again, roughly?”
“About thirty something weeks.” Greg did some very quick, very rough maths.
“Right…” John continued studying Greg intently.
“What?” Greg shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
He’d known he’d messed up not to hear from Mycroft for so long and it was making him feel more antsy than he liked to let on. The night before he’d snuck into Mycroft’s room and stolen a pillow case when, around midnight, he’d still been too wound up to sleep. Waking up that morning with the fabric scrunched over his face and realising exactly what lows he’d sunk to, he decided being needled by the angry Alpha was worth it to get to speak to his sort-of-brother-in-law-and-resident-Holmes-expert John.
“It’s unusual.” John replied neutrally. “Around the third trimester most Omegas start wanting their Alphas close - variant on nesting instinct - but then, Mycroft’s not exactly most Omegas.”
“No,” Greg agreed. “He’s certainly not.”
“So what did you do?” John gave him a faintly accusatory glare.
“What, me?” Greg spluttered in indignation. “Why do you automatically assume this is something I did?”
“I would have expected harassing phone calls, blatant misuse of the CCTV, a well-deserved lecture about your recent behaviour that you clearly haven’t had from your continuing unrelenting refusal to acknowledge the pointless risk, so, what did you do?”
There was a faintly walled off blankness about John’s features that reminded Greg that his friend or no, John was Mycroft’s family Alpha whether the other Dom liked it or not, and Greg was already not in the good books.
“Evil flourishes when good people stand by and do nothing.” He stubbornly misquoted, knowing it wouldn’t do him any favours, but unable not to. At John’s continued implacability and refusal to be diverted to a different argument, he sighed. “I may have sent him a rather irate email. That he deserved!” He hastily tacked on the end.
“Deserved in the general or the specific?” John asked. His voice had shifted and his question had a ‘what did He do now’ tone about it.
“He said I had got, his words not mine, to do the nursery and wasn’t that enough grace and favour from my Lord and Master to be going on with.”
The thought still lit a fire in his ribcage, smouldering below his heart and the stone knot constricting it.
“I may have paraphrased that last bit.” He admitted, rubbing the spot.
“And that was the last you heard from him.” John concluded. “Okay, he deserved that, but I wouldn’t have expected radio silence for…”
“Over a month.” Greg supplied.
“Over a month.” John repeated, in a slightly disbelieving tone. Or maybe it was shock, Greg couldn’t tell.
“I may not have been all that… diplomatic… in my response.” Greg allowed. “It was right after visiting Cambridge and being suspended and… I wasn’t in a good mood.”
John didn’t say anything. John didn’t say anything loudly.
“I kinda went off at him about it and may have,” Greg took a deep breath and focused on picking his nail “told him that his family were all bastards and never getting their claws into my son to give him the same abusive upbringing they gave their own sons.”
“My upbringing was not abusive.”
The temperature in the room dropped several degrees, and despite the blazing sun Greg felt a shiver run down his spine. Eyes slowly rising from his worried hangnail, he was met by the hostile frozen image of Sherlock Holmes in the doorway. If looks could kill, Greg would never have had time to look up and see his murderer.
“Sherlock.” Greg swallowed heavily. “Look, mate, I know it’s not easy, but we’re all friends here and you don’t”-
“My family did not abuse me.” Sherlock spat.
Greg’s eyes flicked to John for support, but he was determinedly studying the skull propped on the mantelpiece, keeping well away from the frigid argument between his Bonded and Greg. Greg took a deep breath in and wished Sherlock didn’t look so severe in his narrow cut black suit and charcoal shirt. It highlighted the angles in his face, the grey in his eyes, and the dull angry flush spreading across his cheeks. He was intimidating enough without it all.
“How your family treated you-” Greg began carefully.
It was as far as he got before Sherlock had stormed out of the room, door slamming over Greg’s words.
“Yeah, well done mate.” John took a deep hitching breath in with the sudden break in tension.
“Oh come on, it was wrong and I know you agree with me.” Greg growled.
“Yes, but I wasn’t going to tell him I thought he’d been abused to his face.” John protested.
“Their Sire Dommed him so severely he almost broke your Bond to follow that order years after the prick was dead.” Greg fumed. “You saw the state of him, that’s clear and lingering abuse of power.”
“That’s not the-” John cut himself off and took some shuddering breaths, fists clenched. “I am very aware what it means, Lestrade, and I am dealing with it.”
“But-”
“You just told the second most arrogant being in London, no, England, that you think he’s a victim.” John stared back at him with forced calmness overlaying building anger. “Do you really think that helped?”
“But he is.” Greg floundered.
John closed his eyes and fell heavily back into his chair mouthing profanities he didn’t vocalise.
“Have you learnt nothing,” he eventually demanded, “from dealing with that abuse case of yours for the last few months?”
Greg bristled in his seat.
“Greg, trust me, most people who are being abused by their partners, or parents, or whoever, don’t admit it. They walk into doors, they develop severe dizziness and fall and hit their heads, they’ve taken up new sports. I see it all the time. I’ve had patients try and convince me they broke fingers gardening and none of them, none of them, admit it or react well if you confront them about it head on.” John’s face was stern, his eyes contradictorily pleading.
“Peter didn’t deny it.” Greg refuted stubbornly. “He’s even prosecuting.”
“Exception that makes the rule. He couldn’t exactly deny it after what you’d found, with a confession from his abuser.” John countered. “He’d hidden it up to then, and I don’t doubt he tried to downplay aspects of it.”
Greg flexed his jaw, but couldn’t deny it.
“No one likes to be a victim, to be powerless.” John continued. “It’s no wonder you have heard from Mycroft.”
“What do-”
“Greg, you’ve apparently told the most arrogant, self-obsessed, controlling, power-hungry Dom in England, no, no, the World, to his face, that you think he’s a powerless overcompensating victim. He’s not going to write back.”
“He is over-”
“Of course he’s overcompensating!” John yelled at him. He struggled to get his composure back before continuing. “That doesn’t make throwing it in his face any better a decision.”
John sighed heavily and wiped a tired hand across his eyes. “You’re going to have to apologise, to both of them.”
“I can’t.” Greg shook his head.
“Greg, the Earth will fall into the sun before the Iceman melts enough to contact you now you’ve done this. You have to.”
“I can’t.” Greg stressed, willing John to understand why he’d forced himself not to try and contact Mycroft first. “I can’t, not this time. I always break first and back down and if I walk away from what I said this time… he’ll own me John.”
“Someone has to be the better person.” John countered. “Mycroft is undeniably great, but he’s even further from good than Sherlock.”
“I can’t.” Greg repeated.
“You can’t make your son the battle ground for your issues. He’s a person, not a thing to fight over.”
“I’m not the one who made him into one!” Greg denied. “It’s not just about what Mycroft said, John, it’s whether I have more or less say than his ruddy family, who will treat them both like shit, and if I do give in now, again, how do I stop Mycroft when Mummy sends him to boarding school before he’s in double digits? What then?”
“I don’t know.” John admitted.
Greg slumped. “It can’t be that bad, can it?”
“Did you want to see your son?” John asked flatly. “I wouldn’t put it past Mycroft to just hand the baby over to Mummy, full stop. Of course, the person who might have been able to hazard a guess has just stormed out.”
“I can’t give in again.” Greg warned.
“Is apologising for your delivery the same thing?” John’s eyebrow challenged Greg to put his pride first and say yes.
“I have to get back to work.” Greg stood and picked up his jacket.
“Think about it.” John called after him. “Lord knows, one of you has to.”Sunday 24/7/11 10:10 pm
To: Mycroft Holmes
Subject:
Mycroft,
I know there’s a very high chance you’ve already deleted this or it’s just sitting there unread, but on the off chance you haven’t I’d like to apologise for my last email. I wasn’t in a good place, not an excuse I know, but after that day I just couldn’t handle your email. So I am very sorry for the way I said things.
I can’t apologise for what I said, though I’d like to be able to. I don’t like how your parents did things and I will not let our son be treated like that.
I hope everything’s going well,
Greg LestradeFriday 5/8/11 7:21 pm
To: Mycroft Holmes
Subject:
Mycroft,
No idea whether you got my last email. Well, you got it, but I don’t know if you read it.
If you didn’t, I’m sorry for how I said what I said.
I thought I should explain things a bit better - my reaction and all the rest.
I’m going to assume you weren’t totally up to date with what I was doing and that you didn’t really bother to find out after. I don’t blame you. I probably wouldn’t have. So that day I was up at Cambridge, as I think I mentioned, to …
…and it just aggravated me so much. Just because he was an Omega and a Sub they were trying to dictate everything for a son they’d effectively never met and refusing to listen to anyone else. It just made me so angry! If we’re being totally honest, and I suppose that’s the point, it made me think of Sherlock and how bloody unfair it all is, the way your Sire still almost screwed up his son’s life from beyond the grave, and then I got home after being yelled at and suspended pending firing and that email from you, I just flipped.
It’s not our son’s name, Mycroft, it’s a declaration to me and your family who is raising this child: you and me or you and them. Well, more to me I suppose. I doubt your family’s ever thought about it, obedience assumed.
Sorry, I’ll stop. I suppose not getting on with the in-laws is fairly normal, much too normal for us, euh? …
… but it’s sorted now, sort of. Sally will come around, I hope.
Started reading the books again. Has he kicked yet? I’m assuming yes, ages ago. You would tell me if something had gone wrong, yeah?
Greg LestradeWednesday 10/8/11 7:38 am
To: Mycroft Holmes
Subject: Please don’t delete
Mycroft,
Haven’t heard back from you, which is okay, your choice, but I really wanted to get a chance to say sorry and know it got through, so hope you haven’t deleted this.
I’m sorry I said your family was abusive and implied they abused you. I won’t lie and say that from what I know I don’t think they’re not all prats, but still sorry.
Yes, your brother gets included. I care about Sherlock dearly, but he is a prat.
Greg LestradeSaturday 13/8/11 9:01 am
To: Mycroft Holmes
Subject: I’m sorry I said your family was abusive and implied they abused you. I won’t lie and say that from what I know I don’t think they’re not all prats, but still sorry.
In case you deleted the last one.
GregSaturday 13/8/11 7:53 pm
To: Mycroft Holmes
Subject:
Mycroft,
Sudden thought, you haven’t blocked me have you? I’m not going through some government spam filter straight to the trash?
GregSunday 14/8/11 1:05pm
To: Mycroft Holmes
Subject: To the spam filter and beyond!
Mycroft,
I’ve decided I’m going to assume that you’re getting these and that you’re, if not reading them, at least saving them for one day when you’re not so mad at me. On that premise, if you’re not so mad at me and thus reading them, I am going to write normally, about my life, and pretend you’ve asked questions to answer.
Your brother is still not speaking to me. John tells me it’s my own fault. We eventually agreed to not discuss it any further. It was more diplomatic I think.
In other news, the Yard is still about the most uncomfortable place I can imagine on the planet right now. I’m making that assumption based on the fact that if I were with you we’d probably just yell at each other until we sorted this out, and because every time Sherlock ends up in the same place as me he leaves, so I think it’s valid. My bosses both hate me, my subordinate is angry and slightly pedantically overprotective at the moment, and Dimmock is helping her. I actually caught them sneaking extra copies of procedural forms into my desk the other day, so I didn’t run out and forget to complete them. That’s the level they’re stooping to.
If I’m pretending everything is normal, then I might as well ask if there’s any toy in particular you want for the nursery. I’ve already sent a list of some stuff to Anthea, I assume you’ve seen it, but if there’s something you had when you were young you want him to have too, let me know and I’ll look into finding one. So far Winnie the Pooh, Paddington Bear, Teddy Robinson, and a floppy bunny are all on the list, but if you want something else, just say. Oh, and Thomas the Tank Engine. And Postman Pat. You know, the classics.
Not the actual classics, mind. No Machiavelli until he’s thirteen, in English or Italian.
Regards,
GregSaturday 20/8/11 10:24 am
To: Mycroft Holmes
Subject: My Family and Other Animals
Mycroft,
So, it occurs to me I haven’t actually told you anything about my family. I assume you know it all, you undoubtedly have a file on me somewhere three inches thick, but I can’t expect you to say much if I haven’t, yeah?
So, the story of Gregory Francois Lestrade. I’ll skip the obvious stuff, birthday yada yada. So, my Da …
… and it’s still sad he died so soon after my graduation. Have you ever seen the photo of us there? What am I saying, it’s in my room so you probably noticed it months ago. He was a great man, my Uncle. I wish he could have lived to see me have kids, but we couldn’t tell him anyway, in the end, could we?
Sorry, I’ve gone and depressed myself. I’ll write more later.
Regards,
GregSaturday 27/8/11 12:03 am
To: Mycroft Holmes
Subject:
Mycroft,
Dragged Jonh to a match. We won, wooo! Am a bit srunk, but wanted to say I love you, still, dispite evrything.
GregSaturday 27/8/11 2:47 pm
To: Mycroft Holmes
Subject:
Oh, God, can we just ignore that last one?Thursday 1/9/11 8:17 pm
To: Mycroft Holmes
Subject: Baby
Mycroft,
So according to the baby books our baby can now hear things! I assume being you that you’re playing him lots of classical and all that stuff as well as talking to him, cause he can hear you. He can actually hear you! I hadn’t realised that. According to QI, shush I can hear you, babies can recognise accents because of this. They did studies and all that. I’ve included the link to the episode, John sent it to me. I know you won’t watch it, but hey, might as well be polite and offer, euh? (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s0EoL2eKZas&list=PL5267AA6059413BD1) He’s also capable of REM sleep now, which is sweet. He can dream. I wonder what babies dream about? Wouldn’t that be interesting to find out? Might tell us something fundamental about human beings.
Apparently you’re also likely to be feeling tired and sore. Sorry for that. I’d offer a back rub, but… well, that’s kind of obvious isn’t it. Can you see him moving? I’ve read that elbows and knees can be seen when he punches and kicks.
Okay, sorry, I’ll leave the biology there. There’s a new movie out about …
… hope everything’s good.
Greg
Greg sighed as he trudged down the familiar street from the tube to 221B. By rights he should have been as happy go lucky as the rest of London, all turned out in summer spaghetti straps and short shorts to enjoy the blast of warm weather and sunshine.
Heat waves tended to go one of two directions with crime: either the perpetrators were at the park enjoying the sunshine or at home sweltering with the rest of the population and so were otherwise occupied, or the Yard had a crime wave to match the temperatures. This one had so far erupted into a burgeoning crime spree and if the temperatures stayed high, or went higher, there would probably be a bountiful harvest of violent crimes as people moved from delighted with the novelty of summer to hot and bothered as tempers turned ugly.
As of yet, that hadn’t happened and there was only one case really demanding Greg’s attention, though there were a number of smaller and on-going cases still in limbo. Of course, as of yet he hadn’t had a response from Mycroft and Sherlock still wasn’t speaking to him, so the calm before the storm didn’t improve his mood any. If he was lucky, very lucky, Sherlock might condone to talk to him long enough for Greg, or John, to present the case to him and he might consider it puzzling enough to work on it anyway.
Greg wasn’t so hopeful, but with no leads and two dead bodies showing marked similarities, a potential serial killer was not something he wanted to have to deal with on his own. Besides, Sherlock liked serial killers, clever ones at least. It was the closest thing Greg could come up with to a perfect apology present, hence his slow trudge up the street. Sally had knocked off early, going to interview a potential witness and then to an appointment so he wouldn’t have to deal with any warnings about trying to throw himself under the metaphorical bus and commit another shining example of career suicide. Packenham and Mulgrave were unlike to countenance ‘that freak Omega’s’ presence on the scene in their current moods, even if they did catch a killer.
Not that there was any guarantee Sherlock would talk to him, or that he would accept the case from John knowing it came from the Yard via Greg.
Sherlock was the master of Epic Sulks, capitals included. If he’d been a Greek god Greg doubted the ancient civilisation would have survived to invent half of what it had. Known as they were for destroying empires or creating storms on whims of fate and emotional snarl, the ancient gods could still have taken lessons from Sherlock Holmes.
This was why the sight that greeted Greg when he rounded the corner and started to trudge the short distance from intersection to building was so surprising. After literal years of snarking, insulting, and otherwise attempting to break the other’s morale by any means just short of physical violence, the last thing Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade expected to see approaching the doorway of 221B was Sherlock Holmes enjoying a casual, non-destructive, conversation with Sally Donovan.
No yelling, no screaming, no death threats, no insults or name calling, no withering glare designed to scorch earth within twenty feet of its target, just two people, talking intently while John Watson struggled to get the door open.
Apparently it wasn’t just drunk he had trouble with the front door.
Greg thought his reaction, stopping dead and staring while wondering whether the apocalypse had come, and if so did he have time to see Mycroft ever again before England burned ahead the Four Horsemen’s fatal ride, while feeling just a little bit faint, was fair. Sleep deprived… he was clearly sleep deprived. Hallucination.
Naturally Sherlock was the first to see him. With an arrogant toss of his curls that translated very easily into ‘I’m still not speaking to you and you will be lucky if I ever suffer your presence again, peasant’ he strode past John, who had finally managed the door, and into the flat. Sally followed after, failing totally to see Greg standing on the pavement in absolute shock. When she didn’t fly through the air and land on her arse having been unceremoniously tossed out a few seconds later, Greg’s world started to go a little grey around the edges.
“Come on, Greg.” John pulled at his elbow gently. “Let’s go get a drink.”
“I’m hallucinating.” Greg was still staring at the building. No sudden arguments or bodies exited the windows.
“Come on. Pub.” John tugged him again and guided him around the corner to back to the Beehive.
With the nice weather all the outdoor seating was full as people soaked up as much of the sun’s radiance as possible. The flowers in the pots didn’t appear to be enjoying the weather as much and were beginning to look a little wilted, but it hadn’t stopped the after work crowd stripping off jackets and rolling up sleeves.
Rather than fight for a seat outside, though Greg knew John did enjoy the warm weather and still suffered in the depths of winter after so long in Afghanistan, he led them inside and guided them into a table at the back. Instead of beer, John ordered a pot of tea when the waiter came over, barely before they were seated.
“So I’m hallucinating?” Greg asked once the waiter had gone. “Is it some sort of separation anxiety or something?”
“No, not hallucinating.” John gave a light chuckle. “They are actually being civil and working together.”
“Right.” Greg tried not to feel to glum. He wasn’t sure it didn’t show on his face.
“It’s not because he’s not speaking to you.” John Watson was occasionally as good at deducing the emotional stuff as all Holmeses were bad. “You don’t need to feel replaced or anything.”
“Course not.” Greg smiled politely at the Beta who filled their water glasses, and took a self-conscious gulp. “Been trying to get them to peacefully co-exist for years. Just shocked they finally are, that’s all.”
John nodded and kindly didn’t pull Greg up on it. “I was a bit shocked as well. Apparently she asked to meet him the morning before, well…”
“Before he stopped speaking to me?” Greg raised an eyebrow and John grinned sheepishly in agreement.
“Yeah, he was probably looking forward to telling you all about how he’d deigned to help her out, since she’d finally shown enough sense to throw of the shackles of idiocy and acknowledge his superior abilities. He certainly sounded eager enough coming up the stairs… before.”
Greg pulled his mouth in a sideways almost smile without meeting John’s eyes. Luckily the pot of tea arrived and John busied himself as mother.
“So what have they been getting up to?” Greg asked with only slightly forced cheer.
It was patently ridiculous, the hollow feeling in his chest. He knew that, especially as if what John said was correct Sherlock had already been planning on working with Sally before Greg had miss-stepped. It didn’t make it easier not to feel replaced, like an old toy thrown out for the new once it got a tear.
“Trying to find some Sub, apparently.” John shrugged. “I wasn’t really paying attention to that one. From the way Sherlock described it it’s a fairly boring case with a lot of legwork, just tracking down where he’s run off to and trying to find some evidence or something or other. No real mystery.”
“Bob Carr.” Greg supplied a name.
“Yeah, that’s the one.” John took the offered milk jug once Greg was done and added his own.
“It’s Sally’s pet case.” Greg told him. “She’s trying to prove Carr’s ex-Dom guilty of the murder of a volunteer at the shelter. We’ve bunged him up on drug charges, but it’s not enough closure for her and Carr’s missing.”
“Fair enough.” John nodded. “Sherlock’s got the homeless network out, so we’ll see if anything comes back. There’s not a lot of thinking involved, another reason I think he took it to show off for you. ‘Look at me; I can play nice with the other kids’. That kind of thing.”
Greg snorted. “Sherlock?” He asked incredulously.
“Don’t underestimate what your opinion means to him.” John gave him a stern look. “You think he’d still be hurt and pissed off if you were Anderson? He’d have flayed you alive on the spot and then insulted your attempts to protest before moving on to your antecedents and finally ignoring your existence.
“Sally got rid of Anderson, this meant enough to her to come to him and, I assume, make enough of a case to convince him to not only show up to the meeting, but also to hear her out in the first place. It’s a big move for both of them, and Sherlock’s not totally daft. He knows you’ve wanted them to get along better for years.”
“He wouldn’t have done it just for that.” Greg sent back a sternly disbelieving stare.
“No. I suspect he also is aware it’ll give him more access to the Yard and the really juicy cases, or maybe he just wanted to have one up on Sally to hang over her head, who knows. Oh blast.” John blotted up the spill with a napkin.
“So if you’re not involved in this search, why were you out with them today?” Greg’s eyes narrowed over his tea cup.
“That’s why Sherlock likes you.” John smiled at him innocently. “Occasionally you notice things.”
It wasn’t really right that such a strong, and therefore dangerous, Alpha Dom could look so cute. With his big eyes and smile lines John looked cuddly, too cuddly to be anything as safe as he appeared, though most silly prey - people, he meant people - wouldn’t realise that.
“So where was today’s outing too?” Greg smiled back, letting himself fall into the arrogant swagger he adopted to appear more Dominant when he needed to posture.
John laughed properly and broke the challenge before it could grow, even teasingly. Such was the power of a strong Dom. It cost him nothing to shift them sideways, no face saving required.
“You’re really lucky, you know.” His smile was open this time, not overly angelic, just natural. “There are some real jerks in your life, God knows I’m Bonded to one of them, but there are a lot of people around you who care about you far too much as well.”
Greg gave him an arch look. “Don’t start with the Silver Fox thing or else.”
“Not what I meant, but that too.” John giggled. “Sally figured you’d be coming to Sherlock sooner or later about your potential serial killer. She’s also aware of your rather antagonistic relationship with him at the moment and even more precarious position at work, so she figured she’d come first.”
“Seriously?” Greg asked bewildered.
“Yep.” John re-filled Greg’s water glass. “She’s much more subtle about it too. Took Sherlock to the crime scenes after hours over the last few days, Molly today for the bodies. Don’t think she wanted you to know what she was up to, you know, plausible deniability, and,” John took a deep breath, “let’s you both pretend she isn’t babysitting you.”
“She’s not babysitting me.” Greg denied, realising as he said it how it sounded.
“And I don’t babysit Sherlock at all.” John smiled charmingly in the way that made his words automatically sarcastic. He had a truly amazing range of smiles, much as Mycroft did eyebrow arches.
“So has he found anything?”
“Some.” John admitted. “Sally’ll come to you for an arrest when they get that far, I’m sure, but the best thing you can do right now is go home. Let them worry at it until they’ve got the proof they need.”
Greg pursed his lips and then hid it behind his tea cup, taking several large swallows.
“Greg,” John’s voice was softly serious, “you’re not being left out or replaced or anything, it’s just right now this is best. This way you can tell your DCI with a straight face you didn’t ask Sherlock for help, you’ll have all the evidence you need, proper hard evidence not just deductions, and Sherlock gets to save face without letting this guy go free. He’s not ready to talk to you yet, but he will be.”
“Yeah, sure. So male suspect then?” Greg pressed.
John gave him a look.
“I’ll give him space. Seems to be all I’m doing.” Greg fiddled with his tea cup.
“No response?”
“No.”
“How about the match on the weekend? That card was bull.”
“Too right! I can’t believe the ref let that…”
Tuesday 6/9/11 6:51 pm
To: Mycroft Holmes <diklr_3496@whitehall.gov.uk>
Subject: Slightly Stunned
Mycroft,
Okay, so I’m a little shocked. Was going to 221B today to see John and check whether Sherlock was talking to me yet cause there’s this case we really could use his help on and so far I’d been avoiding pulling him in because of the whole ignoring me thing, and I see him and Sally walking up from the other direction. Together. As in, not tearing at each other’s throats.
John was a few steps behind so we diverted down to the pub while the two of them went inside, Sherlock with a rather snooty ‘I’m still not acknowledging your existence’ hair flick, and apparently Sally has actually been going to Sherlock for help with the case because she knows he’s not talking to me. As in, Sally Donovan, my sergeant, and your brother working together, willingly, with no additional blood on the floor.
Not the first one either! Apparently he’s been helping her track down evidence for her pet legal aid murder case, or rather, been helping her try and find Bob Carr, with very little luck so far, but still!
It was strange, that almost proud feeling like the children are playing nice together, but still feeling a bit put out that you’re on the side line and excluded. It wasn’t pleasant. I should be happy they’re getting on, but it just feels a bit hollow, you know?
GregWednesday 7/9/11 2:38 am
To: Mycroft Holmes
Subject: Please
My,
Please, I really need to know you’re not going to make me feel that way in the future. Please, just some kind of sign that I’m not going to have to sit on the side and watch our son from a distance as he grows up.
Greg
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Previous - Next
Title:Though I Walk through the Valley (36/38)Series: Still Waters (Run Deep) (Part II of IV)
Author: melody_in_time
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Through S1 only
Disclaimer: I wish, I wish upon a star... but until that works, not mine and sadly no money made.
Author's Notes: Two chapters from the end... wow.. that is scary...
Warnings: None in particular for this chapter
If you've wondered here by mistake, you may wish to start at Part I of the series, Rarest of the Rare: Chapter 1.
Prologue - Chapter 10 - Chapter 20 - Chapter 30 - Chapter 31 - Chapter 32 - Chapter 33 - Chapter 34 - Chapter 35 - Chapter 36 - Chapter 37 - Chapter 38
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“I think Donovan’s avoiding me.” Greg munched on a biscuit while the kettle bubbled its way to boiling in the background.
“Are you surprised?” John snorted from the kitchen.
“Suppose not.” Greg sighed. “She’s still a bit… pissed off at me.”
“I repeat: are you surprised?” John idly threw the tea bags into the waiting mugs.
“Suppose not.” Greg leant back in his chair. “But it has been-”
“You were a gnat’s wing away from being sacked and your job is still not exactly what I would call secure for no good reason.” John spoke over him. “You risked everything and you know it. You were a hairsbreadth away from gaol. That’s not going to be fixed in a few weeks.”
“Mycroft wouldn’t have let me go to gaol.” Greg denied confidently.
“You hope.” John muttered back darkly. “Not everything is in his control, you know, and coppers have a hell of a time in lock up.”
“He wouldn’t have.”
John didn’t bother arguing. He poured the tea instead.
“Do you think it’s too soon?” Greg called over the tea spoon clinking against the ceramic rim as John poured.
“Too soon for forgiveness?”
“No, for her to be over Anderson.” Greg picked up another Digestive.
“Oh, cause the answer to the former was yes, by the by.” John carried in the mugs.
Greg rolled his eyes and ignored John’s unsubtle complaints. He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised that John’s Alpha nature had flared up, leaving the army doctor almost as mad at Greg as his sergeant. At least John was keeping it restrained to blatant reminders that Greg had been out of line. Sally was glaring at him whenever no one else could see and being 100% professional the rest of the time. Always 100% professional without as much as a friendly smile.
“And the latter?” He asked, accepting the tea.
“I think she loved him despite everything and it’s highly unlikely she will have actually moved on, yes.” John settled himself in his own armchair. “Why?”
“She and Dimmock are acting strange. They’re all chummy all of a sudden.” Greg slurped his tea loudly, earning a disgruntled look for his lack of manners.
“They’re your two most loyal supporters at the Yard, from what you’ve said, and they both almost saw you get fired, and prosecuted, and are well aware your arse was saved by a twenty year old kid and a liberal amount of luck. Of course they’re going to be looking to each other.” John tsked.
“Yeah, please, do tell me again how my arse was saved by the kid, John. I haven’t heard enough about it already.” Greg rolled his eyes. “It was the right thing to do.”
“You practically challenged a Dom over him.” John’s voice vibrated between hot and cold anger. “You were way out of line, IA would not have supported you at all, and for fucks sake Greg, you’re a Sub. How did you think that was going to go down?”
“It was the right thing to do, and we went over this weeks ago, at the time, at volume, remember?” Greg deliberately slurped his next mouthful loudly. It didn’t annoy John as much as Mycroft, but it was something.
“Yeah, right fine.” John flashed his teeth at Greg, either in an attempted smile or a deliberate grimace. “So what does bring you here on your lunch hour mid-week? Clearly not Sherlock.”
“I’m in enough shit at the Yard without him, thanks.” Greg snorted. “No, um, the other one.”
“Mycroft?”
“Mmm.” Greg hummed in agreement.
“So what’s up?” John brushed stray crumbs of his brown cardigan.
“Just haven’t heard from him for a bit.” Greg shrugged as nonchalantly as possible. “That’s all.”
John’s eyes narrowed. “How far along is he again, roughly?”
“About thirty something weeks.” Greg did some very quick, very rough maths.
“Right…” John continued studying Greg intently.
“What?” Greg shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
He’d known he’d messed up not to hear from Mycroft for so long and it was making him feel more antsy than he liked to let on. The night before he’d snuck into Mycroft’s room and stolen a pillow case when, around midnight, he’d still been too wound up to sleep. Waking up that morning with the fabric scrunched over his face and realising exactly what lows he’d sunk to, he decided being needled by the angry Alpha was worth it to get to speak to his sort-of-brother-in-law-and-resident-Holmes-expert John.
“It’s unusual.” John replied neutrally. “Around the third trimester most Omegas start wanting their Alphas close - variant on nesting instinct - but then, Mycroft’s not exactly most Omegas.”
“No,” Greg agreed. “He’s certainly not.”
“So what did you do?” John gave him a faintly accusatory glare.
“What, me?” Greg spluttered in indignation. “Why do you automatically assume this is something I did?”
“I would have expected harassing phone calls, blatant misuse of the CCTV, a well-deserved lecture about your recent behaviour that you clearly haven’t had from your continuing unrelenting refusal to acknowledge the pointless risk, so, what did you do?”
There was a faintly walled off blankness about John’s features that reminded Greg that his friend or no, John was Mycroft’s family Alpha whether the other Dom liked it or not, and Greg was already not in the good books.
“Evil flourishes when good people stand by and do nothing.” He stubbornly misquoted, knowing it wouldn’t do him any favours, but unable not to. At John’s continued implacability and refusal to be diverted to a different argument, he sighed. “I may have sent him a rather irate email. That he deserved!” He hastily tacked on the end.
“Deserved in the general or the specific?” John asked. His voice had shifted and his question had a ‘what did He do now’ tone about it.
“He said I had got, his words not mine, to do the nursery and wasn’t that enough grace and favour from my Lord and Master to be going on with.”
The thought still lit a fire in his ribcage, smouldering below his heart and the stone knot constricting it.
“I may have paraphrased that last bit.” He admitted, rubbing the spot.
“And that was the last you heard from him.” John concluded. “Okay, he deserved that, but I wouldn’t have expected radio silence for…”
“Over a month.” Greg supplied.
“Over a month.” John repeated, in a slightly disbelieving tone. Or maybe it was shock, Greg couldn’t tell.
“I may not have been all that… diplomatic… in my response.” Greg allowed. “It was right after visiting Cambridge and being suspended and… I wasn’t in a good mood.”
John didn’t say anything. John didn’t say anything loudly.
“I kinda went off at him about it and may have,” Greg took a deep breath and focused on picking his nail “told him that his family were all bastards and never getting their claws into my son to give him the same abusive upbringing they gave their own sons.”
“My upbringing was not abusive.”
The temperature in the room dropped several degrees, and despite the blazing sun Greg felt a shiver run down his spine. Eyes slowly rising from his worried hangnail, he was met by the hostile frozen image of Sherlock Holmes in the doorway. If looks could kill, Greg would never have had time to look up and see his murderer.
“Sherlock.” Greg swallowed heavily. “Look, mate, I know it’s not easy, but we’re all friends here and you don’t”-
“My family did not abuse me.” Sherlock spat.
Greg’s eyes flicked to John for support, but he was determinedly studying the skull propped on the mantelpiece, keeping well away from the frigid argument between his Bonded and Greg. Greg took a deep breath in and wished Sherlock didn’t look so severe in his narrow cut black suit and charcoal shirt. It highlighted the angles in his face, the grey in his eyes, and the dull angry flush spreading across his cheeks. He was intimidating enough without it all.
“How your family treated you-” Greg began carefully.
It was as far as he got before Sherlock had stormed out of the room, door slamming over Greg’s words.
“Yeah, well done mate.” John took a deep hitching breath in with the sudden break in tension.
“Oh come on, it was wrong and I know you agree with me.” Greg growled.
“Yes, but I wasn’t going to tell him I thought he’d been abused to his face.” John protested.
“Their Sire Dommed him so severely he almost broke your Bond to follow that order years after the prick was dead.” Greg fumed. “You saw the state of him, that’s clear and lingering abuse of power.”
“That’s not the-” John cut himself off and took some shuddering breaths, fists clenched. “I am very aware what it means, Lestrade, and I am dealing with it.”
“But-”
“You just told the second most arrogant being in London, no, England, that you think he’s a victim.” John stared back at him with forced calmness overlaying building anger. “Do you really think that helped?”
“But he is.” Greg floundered.
John closed his eyes and fell heavily back into his chair mouthing profanities he didn’t vocalise.
“Have you learnt nothing,” he eventually demanded, “from dealing with that abuse case of yours for the last few months?”
Greg bristled in his seat.
“Greg, trust me, most people who are being abused by their partners, or parents, or whoever, don’t admit it. They walk into doors, they develop severe dizziness and fall and hit their heads, they’ve taken up new sports. I see it all the time. I’ve had patients try and convince me they broke fingers gardening and none of them, none of them, admit it or react well if you confront them about it head on.” John’s face was stern, his eyes contradictorily pleading.
“Peter didn’t deny it.” Greg refuted stubbornly. “He’s even prosecuting.”
“Exception that makes the rule. He couldn’t exactly deny it after what you’d found, with a confession from his abuser.” John countered. “He’d hidden it up to then, and I don’t doubt he tried to downplay aspects of it.”
Greg flexed his jaw, but couldn’t deny it.
“No one likes to be a victim, to be powerless.” John continued. “It’s no wonder you have heard from Mycroft.”
“What do-”
“Greg, you’ve apparently told the most arrogant, self-obsessed, controlling, power-hungry Dom in England, no, no, the World, to his face, that you think he’s a powerless overcompensating victim. He’s not going to write back.”
“He is over-”
“Of course he’s overcompensating!” John yelled at him. He struggled to get his composure back before continuing. “That doesn’t make throwing it in his face any better a decision.”
John sighed heavily and wiped a tired hand across his eyes. “You’re going to have to apologise, to both of them.”
“I can’t.” Greg shook his head.
“Greg, the Earth will fall into the sun before the Iceman melts enough to contact you now you’ve done this. You have to.”
“I can’t.” Greg stressed, willing John to understand why he’d forced himself not to try and contact Mycroft first. “I can’t, not this time. I always break first and back down and if I walk away from what I said this time… he’ll own me John.”
“Someone has to be the better person.” John countered. “Mycroft is undeniably great, but he’s even further from good than Sherlock.”
“I can’t.” Greg repeated.
“You can’t make your son the battle ground for your issues. He’s a person, not a thing to fight over.”
“I’m not the one who made him into one!” Greg denied. “It’s not just about what Mycroft said, John, it’s whether I have more or less say than his ruddy family, who will treat them both like shit, and if I do give in now, again, how do I stop Mycroft when Mummy sends him to boarding school before he’s in double digits? What then?”
“I don’t know.” John admitted.
Greg slumped. “It can’t be that bad, can it?”
“Did you want to see your son?” John asked flatly. “I wouldn’t put it past Mycroft to just hand the baby over to Mummy, full stop. Of course, the person who might have been able to hazard a guess has just stormed out.”
“I can’t give in again.” Greg warned.
“Is apologising for your delivery the same thing?” John’s eyebrow challenged Greg to put his pride first and say yes.
“I have to get back to work.” Greg stood and picked up his jacket.
“Think about it.” John called after him. “Lord knows, one of you has to.”Sunday 24/7/11 10:10 pm
To: Mycroft Holmes
Subject:
Mycroft,
I know there’s a very high chance you’ve already deleted this or it’s just sitting there unread, but on the off chance you haven’t I’d like to apologise for my last email. I wasn’t in a good place, not an excuse I know, but after that day I just couldn’t handle your email. So I am very sorry for the way I said things.
I can’t apologise for what I said, though I’d like to be able to. I don’t like how your parents did things and I will not let our son be treated like that.
I hope everything’s going well,
Greg LestradeFriday 5/8/11 7:21 pm
To: Mycroft Holmes
Subject:
Mycroft,
No idea whether you got my last email. Well, you got it, but I don’t know if you read it.
If you didn’t, I’m sorry for how I said what I said.
I thought I should explain things a bit better - my reaction and all the rest.
I’m going to assume you weren’t totally up to date with what I was doing and that you didn’t really bother to find out after. I don’t blame you. I probably wouldn’t have. So that day I was up at Cambridge, as I think I mentioned, to …
…and it just aggravated me so much. Just because he was an Omega and a Sub they were trying to dictate everything for a son they’d effectively never met and refusing to listen to anyone else. It just made me so angry! If we’re being totally honest, and I suppose that’s the point, it made me think of Sherlock and how bloody unfair it all is, the way your Sire still almost screwed up his son’s life from beyond the grave, and then I got home after being yelled at and suspended pending firing and that email from you, I just flipped.
It’s not our son’s name, Mycroft, it’s a declaration to me and your family who is raising this child: you and me or you and them. Well, more to me I suppose. I doubt your family’s ever thought about it, obedience assumed.
Sorry, I’ll stop. I suppose not getting on with the in-laws is fairly normal, much too normal for us, euh? …
… but it’s sorted now, sort of. Sally will come around, I hope.
Started reading the books again. Has he kicked yet? I’m assuming yes, ages ago. You would tell me if something had gone wrong, yeah?
Greg LestradeWednesday 10/8/11 7:38 am
To: Mycroft Holmes
Subject: Please don’t delete
Mycroft,
Haven’t heard back from you, which is okay, your choice, but I really wanted to get a chance to say sorry and know it got through, so hope you haven’t deleted this.
I’m sorry I said your family was abusive and implied they abused you. I won’t lie and say that from what I know I don’t think they’re not all prats, but still sorry.
Yes, your brother gets included. I care about Sherlock dearly, but he is a prat.
Greg LestradeSaturday 13/8/11 9:01 am
To: Mycroft Holmes
Subject: I’m sorry I said your family was abusive and implied they abused you. I won’t lie and say that from what I know I don’t think they’re not all prats, but still sorry.
In case you deleted the last one.
GregSaturday 13/8/11 7:53 pm
To: Mycroft Holmes
Subject:
Mycroft,
Sudden thought, you haven’t blocked me have you? I’m not going through some government spam filter straight to the trash?
GregSunday 14/8/11 1:05pm
To: Mycroft Holmes
Subject: To the spam filter and beyond!
Mycroft,
I’ve decided I’m going to assume that you’re getting these and that you’re, if not reading them, at least saving them for one day when you’re not so mad at me. On that premise, if you’re not so mad at me and thus reading them, I am going to write normally, about my life, and pretend you’ve asked questions to answer.
Your brother is still not speaking to me. John tells me it’s my own fault. We eventually agreed to not discuss it any further. It was more diplomatic I think.
In other news, the Yard is still about the most uncomfortable place I can imagine on the planet right now. I’m making that assumption based on the fact that if I were with you we’d probably just yell at each other until we sorted this out, and because every time Sherlock ends up in the same place as me he leaves, so I think it’s valid. My bosses both hate me, my subordinate is angry and slightly pedantically overprotective at the moment, and Dimmock is helping her. I actually caught them sneaking extra copies of procedural forms into my desk the other day, so I didn’t run out and forget to complete them. That’s the level they’re stooping to.
If I’m pretending everything is normal, then I might as well ask if there’s any toy in particular you want for the nursery. I’ve already sent a list of some stuff to Anthea, I assume you’ve seen it, but if there’s something you had when you were young you want him to have too, let me know and I’ll look into finding one. So far Winnie the Pooh, Paddington Bear, Teddy Robinson, and a floppy bunny are all on the list, but if you want something else, just say. Oh, and Thomas the Tank Engine. And Postman Pat. You know, the classics.
Not the actual classics, mind. No Machiavelli until he’s thirteen, in English or Italian.
Regards,
GregSaturday 20/8/11 10:24 am
To: Mycroft Holmes
Subject: My Family and Other Animals
Mycroft,
So, it occurs to me I haven’t actually told you anything about my family. I assume you know it all, you undoubtedly have a file on me somewhere three inches thick, but I can’t expect you to say much if I haven’t, yeah?
So, the story of Gregory Francois Lestrade. I’ll skip the obvious stuff, birthday yada yada. So, my Da …
… and it’s still sad he died so soon after my graduation. Have you ever seen the photo of us there? What am I saying, it’s in my room so you probably noticed it months ago. He was a great man, my Uncle. I wish he could have lived to see me have kids, but we couldn’t tell him anyway, in the end, could we?
Sorry, I’ve gone and depressed myself. I’ll write more later.
Regards,
GregSaturday 27/8/11 12:03 am
To: Mycroft Holmes
Subject:
Mycroft,
Dragged Jonh to a match. We won, wooo! Am a bit srunk, but wanted to say I love you, still, dispite evrything.
GregSaturday 27/8/11 2:47 pm
To: Mycroft Holmes
Subject:
Oh, God, can we just ignore that last one?Thursday 1/9/11 8:17 pm
To: Mycroft Holmes
Subject: Baby
Mycroft,
So according to the baby books our baby can now hear things! I assume being you that you’re playing him lots of classical and all that stuff as well as talking to him, cause he can hear you. He can actually hear you! I hadn’t realised that. According to QI, shush I can hear you, babies can recognise accents because of this. They did studies and all that. I’ve included the link to the episode, John sent it to me. I know you won’t watch it, but hey, might as well be polite and offer, euh? (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s0EoL2eKZas&list=PL5267AA6059413BD1) He’s also capable of REM sleep now, which is sweet. He can dream. I wonder what babies dream about? Wouldn’t that be interesting to find out? Might tell us something fundamental about human beings.
Apparently you’re also likely to be feeling tired and sore. Sorry for that. I’d offer a back rub, but… well, that’s kind of obvious isn’t it. Can you see him moving? I’ve read that elbows and knees can be seen when he punches and kicks.
Okay, sorry, I’ll leave the biology there. There’s a new movie out about …
… hope everything’s good.
Greg
Greg sighed as he trudged down the familiar street from the tube to 221B. By rights he should have been as happy go lucky as the rest of London, all turned out in summer spaghetti straps and short shorts to enjoy the blast of warm weather and sunshine.
Heat waves tended to go one of two directions with crime: either the perpetrators were at the park enjoying the sunshine or at home sweltering with the rest of the population and so were otherwise occupied, or the Yard had a crime wave to match the temperatures. This one had so far erupted into a burgeoning crime spree and if the temperatures stayed high, or went higher, there would probably be a bountiful harvest of violent crimes as people moved from delighted with the novelty of summer to hot and bothered as tempers turned ugly.
As of yet, that hadn’t happened and there was only one case really demanding Greg’s attention, though there were a number of smaller and on-going cases still in limbo. Of course, as of yet he hadn’t had a response from Mycroft and Sherlock still wasn’t speaking to him, so the calm before the storm didn’t improve his mood any. If he was lucky, very lucky, Sherlock might condone to talk to him long enough for Greg, or John, to present the case to him and he might consider it puzzling enough to work on it anyway.
Greg wasn’t so hopeful, but with no leads and two dead bodies showing marked similarities, a potential serial killer was not something he wanted to have to deal with on his own. Besides, Sherlock liked serial killers, clever ones at least. It was the closest thing Greg could come up with to a perfect apology present, hence his slow trudge up the street. Sally had knocked off early, going to interview a potential witness and then to an appointment so he wouldn’t have to deal with any warnings about trying to throw himself under the metaphorical bus and commit another shining example of career suicide. Packenham and Mulgrave were unlike to countenance ‘that freak Omega’s’ presence on the scene in their current moods, even if they did catch a killer.
Not that there was any guarantee Sherlock would talk to him, or that he would accept the case from John knowing it came from the Yard via Greg.
Sherlock was the master of Epic Sulks, capitals included. If he’d been a Greek god Greg doubted the ancient civilisation would have survived to invent half of what it had. Known as they were for destroying empires or creating storms on whims of fate and emotional snarl, the ancient gods could still have taken lessons from Sherlock Holmes.
This was why the sight that greeted Greg when he rounded the corner and started to trudge the short distance from intersection to building was so surprising. After literal years of snarking, insulting, and otherwise attempting to break the other’s morale by any means just short of physical violence, the last thing Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade expected to see approaching the doorway of 221B was Sherlock Holmes enjoying a casual, non-destructive, conversation with Sally Donovan.
No yelling, no screaming, no death threats, no insults or name calling, no withering glare designed to scorch earth within twenty feet of its target, just two people, talking intently while John Watson struggled to get the door open.
Apparently it wasn’t just drunk he had trouble with the front door.
Greg thought his reaction, stopping dead and staring while wondering whether the apocalypse had come, and if so did he have time to see Mycroft ever again before England burned ahead the Four Horsemen’s fatal ride, while feeling just a little bit faint, was fair. Sleep deprived… he was clearly sleep deprived. Hallucination.
Naturally Sherlock was the first to see him. With an arrogant toss of his curls that translated very easily into ‘I’m still not speaking to you and you will be lucky if I ever suffer your presence again, peasant’ he strode past John, who had finally managed the door, and into the flat. Sally followed after, failing totally to see Greg standing on the pavement in absolute shock. When she didn’t fly through the air and land on her arse having been unceremoniously tossed out a few seconds later, Greg’s world started to go a little grey around the edges.
“Come on, Greg.” John pulled at his elbow gently. “Let’s go get a drink.”
“I’m hallucinating.” Greg was still staring at the building. No sudden arguments or bodies exited the windows.
“Come on. Pub.” John tugged him again and guided him around the corner to back to the Beehive.
With the nice weather all the outdoor seating was full as people soaked up as much of the sun’s radiance as possible. The flowers in the pots didn’t appear to be enjoying the weather as much and were beginning to look a little wilted, but it hadn’t stopped the after work crowd stripping off jackets and rolling up sleeves.
Rather than fight for a seat outside, though Greg knew John did enjoy the warm weather and still suffered in the depths of winter after so long in Afghanistan, he led them inside and guided them into a table at the back. Instead of beer, John ordered a pot of tea when the waiter came over, barely before they were seated.
“So I’m hallucinating?” Greg asked once the waiter had gone. “Is it some sort of separation anxiety or something?”
“No, not hallucinating.” John gave a light chuckle. “They are actually being civil and working together.”
“Right.” Greg tried not to feel to glum. He wasn’t sure it didn’t show on his face.
“It’s not because he’s not speaking to you.” John Watson was occasionally as good at deducing the emotional stuff as all Holmeses were bad. “You don’t need to feel replaced or anything.”
“Course not.” Greg smiled politely at the Beta who filled their water glasses, and took a self-conscious gulp. “Been trying to get them to peacefully co-exist for years. Just shocked they finally are, that’s all.”
John nodded and kindly didn’t pull Greg up on it. “I was a bit shocked as well. Apparently she asked to meet him the morning before, well…”
“Before he stopped speaking to me?” Greg raised an eyebrow and John grinned sheepishly in agreement.
“Yeah, he was probably looking forward to telling you all about how he’d deigned to help her out, since she’d finally shown enough sense to throw of the shackles of idiocy and acknowledge his superior abilities. He certainly sounded eager enough coming up the stairs… before.”
Greg pulled his mouth in a sideways almost smile without meeting John’s eyes. Luckily the pot of tea arrived and John busied himself as mother.
“So what have they been getting up to?” Greg asked with only slightly forced cheer.
It was patently ridiculous, the hollow feeling in his chest. He knew that, especially as if what John said was correct Sherlock had already been planning on working with Sally before Greg had miss-stepped. It didn’t make it easier not to feel replaced, like an old toy thrown out for the new once it got a tear.
“Trying to find some Sub, apparently.” John shrugged. “I wasn’t really paying attention to that one. From the way Sherlock described it it’s a fairly boring case with a lot of legwork, just tracking down where he’s run off to and trying to find some evidence or something or other. No real mystery.”
“Bob Carr.” Greg supplied a name.
“Yeah, that’s the one.” John took the offered milk jug once Greg was done and added his own.
“It’s Sally’s pet case.” Greg told him. “She’s trying to prove Carr’s ex-Dom guilty of the murder of a volunteer at the shelter. We’ve bunged him up on drug charges, but it’s not enough closure for her and Carr’s missing.”
“Fair enough.” John nodded. “Sherlock’s got the homeless network out, so we’ll see if anything comes back. There’s not a lot of thinking involved, another reason I think he took it to show off for you. ‘Look at me; I can play nice with the other kids’. That kind of thing.”
Greg snorted. “Sherlock?” He asked incredulously.
“Don’t underestimate what your opinion means to him.” John gave him a stern look. “You think he’d still be hurt and pissed off if you were Anderson? He’d have flayed you alive on the spot and then insulted your attempts to protest before moving on to your antecedents and finally ignoring your existence.
“Sally got rid of Anderson, this meant enough to her to come to him and, I assume, make enough of a case to convince him to not only show up to the meeting, but also to hear her out in the first place. It’s a big move for both of them, and Sherlock’s not totally daft. He knows you’ve wanted them to get along better for years.”
“He wouldn’t have done it just for that.” Greg sent back a sternly disbelieving stare.
“No. I suspect he also is aware it’ll give him more access to the Yard and the really juicy cases, or maybe he just wanted to have one up on Sally to hang over her head, who knows. Oh blast.” John blotted up the spill with a napkin.
“So if you’re not involved in this search, why were you out with them today?” Greg’s eyes narrowed over his tea cup.
“That’s why Sherlock likes you.” John smiled at him innocently. “Occasionally you notice things.”
It wasn’t really right that such a strong, and therefore dangerous, Alpha Dom could look so cute. With his big eyes and smile lines John looked cuddly, too cuddly to be anything as safe as he appeared, though most silly prey - people, he meant people - wouldn’t realise that.
“So where was today’s outing too?” Greg smiled back, letting himself fall into the arrogant swagger he adopted to appear more Dominant when he needed to posture.
John laughed properly and broke the challenge before it could grow, even teasingly. Such was the power of a strong Dom. It cost him nothing to shift them sideways, no face saving required.
“You’re really lucky, you know.” His smile was open this time, not overly angelic, just natural. “There are some real jerks in your life, God knows I’m Bonded to one of them, but there are a lot of people around you who care about you far too much as well.”
Greg gave him an arch look. “Don’t start with the Silver Fox thing or else.”
“Not what I meant, but that too.” John giggled. “Sally figured you’d be coming to Sherlock sooner or later about your potential serial killer. She’s also aware of your rather antagonistic relationship with him at the moment and even more precarious position at work, so she figured she’d come first.”
“Seriously?” Greg asked bewildered.
“Yep.” John re-filled Greg’s water glass. “She’s much more subtle about it too. Took Sherlock to the crime scenes after hours over the last few days, Molly today for the bodies. Don’t think she wanted you to know what she was up to, you know, plausible deniability, and,” John took a deep breath, “let’s you both pretend she isn’t babysitting you.”
“She’s not babysitting me.” Greg denied, realising as he said it how it sounded.
“And I don’t babysit Sherlock at all.” John smiled charmingly in the way that made his words automatically sarcastic. He had a truly amazing range of smiles, much as Mycroft did eyebrow arches.
“So has he found anything?”
“Some.” John admitted. “Sally’ll come to you for an arrest when they get that far, I’m sure, but the best thing you can do right now is go home. Let them worry at it until they’ve got the proof they need.”
Greg pursed his lips and then hid it behind his tea cup, taking several large swallows.
“Greg,” John’s voice was softly serious, “you’re not being left out or replaced or anything, it’s just right now this is best. This way you can tell your DCI with a straight face you didn’t ask Sherlock for help, you’ll have all the evidence you need, proper hard evidence not just deductions, and Sherlock gets to save face without letting this guy go free. He’s not ready to talk to you yet, but he will be.”
“Yeah, sure. So male suspect then?” Greg pressed.
John gave him a look.
“I’ll give him space. Seems to be all I’m doing.” Greg fiddled with his tea cup.
“No response?”
“No.”
“How about the match on the weekend? That card was bull.”
“Too right! I can’t believe the ref let that…”
Tuesday 6/9/11 6:51 pm
To: Mycroft Holmes <diklr_3496@whitehall.gov.uk>
Subject: Slightly Stunned
Mycroft,
Okay, so I’m a little shocked. Was going to 221B today to see John and check whether Sherlock was talking to me yet cause there’s this case we really could use his help on and so far I’d been avoiding pulling him in because of the whole ignoring me thing, and I see him and Sally walking up from the other direction. Together. As in, not tearing at each other’s throats.
John was a few steps behind so we diverted down to the pub while the two of them went inside, Sherlock with a rather snooty ‘I’m still not acknowledging your existence’ hair flick, and apparently Sally has actually been going to Sherlock for help with the case because she knows he’s not talking to me. As in, Sally Donovan, my sergeant, and your brother working together, willingly, with no additional blood on the floor.
Not the first one either! Apparently he’s been helping her track down evidence for her pet legal aid murder case, or rather, been helping her try and find Bob Carr, with very little luck so far, but still!
It was strange, that almost proud feeling like the children are playing nice together, but still feeling a bit put out that you’re on the side line and excluded. It wasn’t pleasant. I should be happy they’re getting on, but it just feels a bit hollow, you know?
GregWednesday 7/9/11 2:38 am
To: Mycroft Holmes
Subject: Please
My,
Please, I really need to know you’re not going to make me feel that way in the future. Please, just some kind of sign that I’m not going to have to sit on the side and watch our son from a distance as he grows up.
Greg
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