A shadow passed, a shadow passed
OT4 'verse.
Verse note: Lestrade and Mary are married and have a one-year-old-ish son named Robert, who is Holmes's godchild.
The armband is a little too tight; it doesn't cut off his circulation, but he can always feel it, a tight grip around his bicep. He could adjust it; he could ask Mary to fix it, make it so it sits more comfortably, but that seems wrong. Holmes's death shouldn't be comfortable. It sits on him the way this arm band does, it chokes something in his chest the way this chokes his arm, and loosening the band won't make anything any better. So he picks at it in the cab on the way to Baker street.
He and Mary have spoken to Watson of course, have visited, but he wants to go on his own, too. They're all friends, Lord knows by now maybe a little more than that, more like a family, but he feels he ought to pay his respects on his own; that's how this all started, anyway. Drinks after a case, not-so-serious conversations over a crime scene. He and Mary and Watson and Holmes, the four of them are a family, were a family, but Lestrade needs to do something that's just for him and Watson.
He exits the cab, and it's impossible, but Baker street looks emptier from the sidewalk than it did months, weeks prior. He closes his eyes and steels himself, thankfully not something too difficult for a copper, and then he presses forward. His steps on the stair are automatically loud, forced habit, and he pauses halfway when he realizes he's been stomping needlessly. His grip tightens around the rail, and he takes a breath before he forges on.
Come on, Lestrade. You can't be in pieces when you see him.
At the landing, he knocks, all too painfully aware that this time it's genuinely politeness. It's been a while since he felt the undercurrent of the embarrassment from how he discovered Holmes and Watson just this way the first time around; it had become just amusement, just a small joke that he'd make his presence so well-known on the stair. He clenches his jaw.
"Watson?" he calls out. "Mrs. Hudson said you were in."
Verse note: Lestrade and Mary are married and have a one-year-old-ish son named Robert, who is Holmes's godchild.
The armband is a little too tight; it doesn't cut off his circulation, but he can always feel it, a tight grip around his bicep. He could adjust it; he could ask Mary to fix it, make it so it sits more comfortably, but that seems wrong. Holmes's death shouldn't be comfortable. It sits on him the way this arm band does, it chokes something in his chest the way this chokes his arm, and loosening the band won't make anything any better. So he picks at it in the cab on the way to Baker street.
He and Mary have spoken to Watson of course, have visited, but he wants to go on his own, too. They're all friends, Lord knows by now maybe a little more than that, more like a family, but he feels he ought to pay his respects on his own; that's how this all started, anyway. Drinks after a case, not-so-serious conversations over a crime scene. He and Mary and Watson and Holmes, the four of them are a family, were a family, but Lestrade needs to do something that's just for him and Watson.
He exits the cab, and it's impossible, but Baker street looks emptier from the sidewalk than it did months, weeks prior. He closes his eyes and steels himself, thankfully not something too difficult for a copper, and then he presses forward. His steps on the stair are automatically loud, forced habit, and he pauses halfway when he realizes he's been stomping needlessly. His grip tightens around the rail, and he takes a breath before he forges on.
Come on, Lestrade. You can't be in pieces when you see him.
At the landing, he knocks, all too painfully aware that this time it's genuinely politeness. It's been a while since he felt the undercurrent of the embarrassment from how he discovered Holmes and Watson just this way the first time around; it had become just amusement, just a small joke that he'd make his presence so well-known on the stair. He clenches his jaw.
"Watson?" he calls out. "Mrs. Hudson said you were in."