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No cases and floating out amongst the black was making Captain Gregory Lestrade feel a little restless.
As such, he wanders around his ship with little else to do past checking in on his crew. He isn’t much one for sticking his nose into other people’s affairs but it’s either this or sit in his room and commiserate on where they’re going next.
Priseth. Central planet, Alliance territory. Wahg-ba DAN duh biao-tze.
Anthea’s going to owe him for this one.
But she’s been harping on him for weeks about how she needs new clients and who is he to argue with their high and mighty Companion? Certainly not the Captain or anything…
Thinking of Anthea sets his blood to boiling so he decides a good dose of something sweet is in order. Or someone sweet as he enters the engine room to see Molly hard at work. She’s covered in grease, tongue poking out in concentration as she carefully tinkers inside some compartment of the engine. He frowns, “Is that safe?”
Molly looks up and beams at him, “Hello, Captain!”
“You know, not answering my question doesn’t assuage my fears.”
Molly giggles and points to a wrench nearby, “Hand me that, please?”
He does and she starts working again, eyes on her task, he clears his throat, “We are currently flying…”
“I assure you, I wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t perfectly sound.” She replies, all smiles, “There are a few parts in here that don’t get much attention when she’s in action but could still use lots and lots of love.”
“...and they’re getting that love now?” He asks incredulously as she starts hammering loudly on whatever piece she is working on. Once satisfied, she draws away and wipes at her brow, “You bet! Any reason for you coming by?”
Lestrade shrugs, “Just thought I’d see how you’re doing.”
Molly returns the shrug, cheeks tinted pink, “Everything’s shiny, Captain. Especially since our last case got us enough credits for a new compression coil. Hear how lovely she purrs?”
She cocks her ear near the engine and grins in a way that is reminiscent of a proud parent showing off her newborn. Lestrade merely blinks, “Our last case? You mean the one where Mycroft damn near betrayed us and we were only just saved by the skin of our teeth thanks to our fugitive braincase? That case?”
Molly’s grin dimmed a little as she stood up straight, “Mycroft didn’t betray us, Captain. He was…just doing what he thought was right. And I don’t think it’s nice to call Sherlock a braincase, he’s a genius!” At Lestrade’s look she can’t help but confess, “Though he can be a bit…whimsical at times.”
Lestrade snorts, “‘Whimsical’. Good word for it.”
“You said it yourself, he saved us.”
He sighes, “True.” But seeing the glassy look in her eye, he knows where this is going and he wonders how best to tell her what he’s wanted to tell her for ages. It’s hard to burst her bubble, is all. He knows his mechanic has a crush but, lord, is she barking up the wrong tree.
He’s about to finally bite the bullet and voice his concerns when she pipes up with a bright, “Anthea’s coming by in a bit. I’m very excited! Did you know she’s meeting with a Councilor on Priseth? I wonder what she’ll wear. I’ll bet it will be glamorous…”
Lestrade snorts, “Yes, I suppose, if you find whoring glamorous.”
“Well, it’s not as glamorous as being the Captain of a ragtag group of petty crime solvers, but it is a living.” An icy voice announces behind him and he winces, turning to see Anthea standing there. Molly looks uncomfortable, her hands fidgeting with one another as she speaks, “Anthea, the-the Captain, he-he didn’t mean it-”
“Oh, yes, he did.” Anthea says, eyeing him, “But there’s no reason for alarm, Molly. I could care less what he thinks.”
“Feeling is more than mutual.” He returns just as sourly and part of him cringes. It wasn’t always like this. But the last case had been…complicated. In more ways than one. And she had never really forgiven him for that mess back on Altimura. Like he had planned on getting ‘married’ to con woman – Soo Lin had tricked him, not the other way around.
“Then we’re in agreement.” She says succinctly and he curses under his breath, shaking his head as he mutters a goodbye to Molly and charges away.
*
Being around Anthea always makes Lestrade feel rudderless and spun about.
It is an uncomfortable feeling, one he’s not ready to process, so seeing Mycroft is something of a relief. He knows how to feel around Mycroft.
The man sits in the dining area with his umbrella. He tugs gently on the handle and withdraws a rather nasty looking sword. He turns it this way and that in the light before he begins steadily polishing it. Lestrade takes a seat across from him, “Both you and Molly seem to have been bitten by the cleaning bug.”
“There is something to be said for a well maintained weapon.”
“I imagine she’d say the same about the engine.” Lestrade stares at him, unblinking, “And I’d say the same about my gun.”
Mycroft doesn’t look away from his sword, “I take it you are referring, in cavalier fashion, to what took place on our last case.”
“You planned on turning on us.”
“Au contraire, my Captain, I was merely looking out for our best interests.”
“More like your best interests.”
Mycroft does not deny this. Instead he says quietly, “I thought the matter resolved.”
“It is.” Lestrade crosses his arms, “For now. But, I have to wonder, how can I trust you?”
“You flatter me. I rather thought you already knew the answer to that.”
“Which is?”
Mycroft actually smiles, “You don’t. Naturally.”
Lestrade rises to his feet, “Mycroft, why are you here exactly?”
“I have my own vested interests in what happens on this ship, Captain.”
“I take it you are referring to Sherlock?” Mycroft stays silent and Lestrade rubs at his face, “Everything of late seems to gravitate around him. Fellow’s been far more trouble than he’s worth.”
“Come, come, I wouldn’t say that. He is very observant, after all. Cracked the last case. Very public spirited.”
“You’re observant as well,” Lestrade says tightly, “I have noticed.”
“You would be a fool not to. And I don’t take you for a fool.” Mycroft returns cheerily and carefully puts away his sword. The two men gage one another and Mycroft steeples his fingers together, “I shall let you in on a little secret, Captain. I am indeed as observant as Sherlock. Perhaps more so. We’re both geniuses, both highly coveted, high priced commodities in the eyes of the Alliance. Save one sole difference and it is a very vital difference. Sherlock agreed to attend the Academy. I did not.”
Lestrade lets that sink in as Mycroft rises to his feet as well, picking up his inconspicuous weapon in the process. As he turns to leave he carelessly tosses out over his shoulder, “I shall remain forever faithful, Mon Capitan, until such and such time that it is no longer in my benefit to do so.”
As he exits, Shepard Hudson walks in, Bible tucked under one arm, “Trouble, dear?”
Lestrade shakes his head, “No, Shepard. Just two blokes talking.”
“Looked a bit tense. Was about to make myself a cuppa. Would you care for one as well?”
He gives her a tentative smile, “That would be lovely, yes, thank you.”
He resumes his seat and watches her work. Shepard Hudson. She’s a mystery in and of herself. He viewed her with some resentment when she first came on board. He doesn’t know how it wouldn’t be hard for any man or woman to think a little less of (a so-called) God after fighting for the independents in the war.
Lestrade knows he does.
And, at first, he took that out on her. But she weathered it well, and, in that way, garnered his respect. Not to mention she makes one hell of a cuppa. She sets one in front of him now and he blows the steam off, takes a sip, and smiles dreamily. She holds out a plate covered in a little brown squares, “Not quite biscuits, protein mostly, but they’ll do in a pinch.”
He takes one and nibbles it, nodding, “Not bad.”
“I do have some tricks up my sleeve.” She says as she sits across from him and opens her book. They sit in companionable silence, him snacking and sipping, her doing the same as she reads a few passages from her book when she finally looks up, voice gentle, “Can I ask you a question.”
“Depends.”
“On?”
“Do I have the freedom to not answer?”
“Of course.”
“Then ask away.”
“Sherlock-”
“How did I know it would be about him?”
She smiles craftily, “Well, I also have a question about Anthea if you would rather-?”
“What about Sherlock?” Lestrade returns, more interested in talking about, to his mind, the lesser of two evils. Shepard Hudson smiles, “You took him in.”
This is not a question. Lestrade frowns, “Yeah?”
“The Doctor as well.”
“That’s true. I don’t see why-?”
“It just seems…out of character. If you don’t mind my saying so.”
Lestrade finishes off the last of his drink and rubs at the back of his neck, “Ask Sally, it’s more out of character for me to be hauling you around than those two.”
“Ah, perhaps, but they’re wanted by the Alliance and I’m not.”
“Your point being?”
“You’re trying to stay under the Alliance’s radar, yet you house two fugitives, one of which they desperately want back. Why risk it?”
Lestrade gets to his feet once more and sighs, “Because, Sherlock Holmes is a good man. And maybe, one day, if we’re lucky, he’ll be a great one.”
Shepard Hudson looks close to overjoyed, “And you were afraid to answer.”
Lestrade opens his mouth, about to deflate that look with the revelation that he had merely given her the answer she wanted to hear, that he is, in fact, having them on hand for a variety of other reasons – one of the main ones being that he needs Sherlock as the man’s help on cases is invaluable – but he chooses not to.
Better to let it lie.
After all, most of his conversations today had not gone near as swimmingly.
*
Lestrade always finds it is best to approach the Infirmary cautiously as he never knows what kind of temperament Sherlock might be in. John does his best to control his…whatever-exactly-they-are-to-each-other but Lestrade understand it’s a difficult, tenuous situation. He approaches slowly to see Sherlock sleeping on one of the beds and John is monitoring different machines nearby. He looks up and sees Lestrade and motions for him to stay there. Lestrade nods and waits.
John exits the infirmary and smiles cautiously, “Captain, how can I help you?”
“He’s sleeping?”
“I, ah, gave him something, yes.” John confirms because Sherlock rarely sleeps. Normally he can be found all hours of the day and night either walking about the ship muttering to himself or in his room conducting ‘experiments’. Sleeping is a rare state of being. Most likely in part thanks to the nightmares and Lestrade’s eyes widened a little at John’s admission, “He won’t be happy when he wakes.”
“No. I imagine not. But I had some tests to run that would be easier if he were…not conscious.”
“How is he doing?”
John lets out a breath and Lestrade feels for him. The man looks exhausted and these days his limp has been more pronounced. He shakes his head, “He has good days and he has bad days. Just like everyone else.”
“Everyone else?”
John laughs but with no humour, “Okay, not-not like everyone else I suppose…”
“You can say that again. He’s like no one I’ve ever met.”
“Me too.” John says this in such a way that Lestrade can’t help himself from finally speaking something that has been hanging on his mind a long while now, “You gave up everything for him.”
John doesn’t respond, eyes on the windows of the infirmary doors, looking at Sherlock. Lestrade finds himself continuing, “Your career, your home…your life. All of it. You lost it all. For him.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Lestrade has wanted to ask this question for a long while now and finally giving it life makes him feel lighter somehow, which is funny in a way, because John looks almost weighted down now as he speaks, “You didn’t know him…before. Before he was, he was,” John smiles, but it is a pained expression, “Well, he was pretty much the same. In some ways. Arrogant, clever…some days, the good days, when he’s fully cognizant…” John licks his lips, “…it’s…hard to explain.”
“But you would do it again?”
“Yes.” John says swiftly, looking at Lestrade now, face firm as he stands straight, tall, “No question.”
“John…” Lestrade has another question he’s wanted to ask him but he doesn’t get the chance. Sherlock gasps loudly and then he’s screaming, screaming as if someone is ripping him apart. John bursts into the room and Sherlock has fallen from the bed to the ground. He’s clawing at the air, howling, and John manages to wrestle his way past long, failing arms, manages to cup the other man’s face in both hands, trying to capture his attention.
Sherlock’s light eyes are wide and wild and he doesn’t look like he knows where he is. John shakes him, voice urgent, “Sherlock, Sherlock! Look at me! Look at me! It’s alright, it’s alright! It’s me, it’s John, you’re safe, you’re safe…”
John repeats this like a mantra as Lestrade cautiously enters the infirmary. John clutches Sherlock close to him, voice gentle and soothing as his hands card through Sherlock’s curls, as he whispers hushed words to him, soft expressions in Chinese and Lestrade thinks he hears ‘my heart’ and ‘my love’ and it really doesn’t matter which one because this alone confirms the question he didn’t get a chance to ask.
He had had his suspicions, he was pretty damn sure, but now – now he knows.
Even more so as the clouds in Sherlock’s eyes clear and he looks at John with naked, raw emotion. As he chokes out John’s name on a sob and John kisses his forehead, hugging him tightly. Lestrade can hear Sherlock mumbling, “Wood in the west….came to me…poking and prodding and sing songing…a mind, John…a mind is a terrible thing to break…”
“I know, Sherlock. Shh, shh…I know…”
“I hear things…outside…inside…hear them, intertwining with memories…not mine and …knives...in my brain…white, hot knives. Or silver…or…what color is hot? Blood raining…Daddy’s had enough…enough…”
“Sherlock, come on, get up. It’s okay.” John says and he helps him to his feet. Lestrade is just about to leave when Sherlock suddenly sniffles loudly and draws away from John, clears his throat, “Lestrade....”
“Sherlock…”
“Murder, Lestrade. Cold case, file in my room…the sister did it. She has ballet shoes. She did it.”
Lestrade looks at him thoughtfully, “Oh?”
He nods, “Not an old case. Credit should still be available for solving. Pink strands in the victim’s throat. Raining on the day in question. The cuppa Shepard made was good. Anthea might look more kindly on you if you gave her one as well.”
Lestrade doesn’t know what to say to that, so instead he replies, “I’ll…get the case from your room. Maybe after Priseth…”
“Your mind is so small! So stupid! Just give her the tea and redirect our route!” Sherlock snaps getting in his face and John steps between them, carefully pushes Sherlock away, “Sherlock, come on. You need to rest…”
“Why did you let me sleep, John?” Sherlock moans and sits on one of the infirmary beds, clutching his head, “I can hear them screaming…bones broken in the dust…”
John looks imploring at Lestrade who takes the hint and leaves them alone.
*
Lestrade picks up the cold case file Sherlock mentioned and swings by the dining room again to get the pot of tea Shepard Hudson brewed. He goes to the bridge to find Anderson ‘flying’ the ship. Though ‘flying’ would be a loose term as he is currently sitting in the pilot’s seat, Sally in his lap as they kiss hungrily.
Lestrade clears his throat and they break apart. Sally gets to her feet, “Sir.”
He waves her off, “Sorry to interrupt. Anderson, quick word to the wise, I almost broke my neck on one of your dinosaurs down in the cargo bay. Think you could clean up your toys after you’re done playing with them?”
Anderson frowns at this and looks at his console. He picks up some of the dinosaurs sitting there and curses, “One of them is missing!”
“Freak’s probably been poking his nose where he shouldn’t.” Sally mutters and Lestrade levels her with a cool stare, “Sherlock may have moved them, but it is to you and your husband’s best advantage to keep an eye on your own personal property.”
“Didn’t have to do that before they arrived.” Anderson points out.
“Yeah, well, you do now.” Lestrade says authoritatively and then relaxes, “Look, how about you two, ah, resume your activities elsewhere? I’ll take the helm for a while.”
Anderson looks ecstatic, “Really?”
Lestrade chuckles “Go on. Scoot.”
Sally and Anderson don’t need to be told twice. Once they are gone, Lestrade sits in the pilot’s seat and begins picking thorough the file. Murder on Palamoure, Anita Erickson, found strangled. Only two family members, a father with an air tight alibi and a sister who was reportedly off planet. With a dancing troupe.
“Ballet shoes…” Lestrade says beneath his breath and, when he sees how much credits solving the case pays, he tries to calculate how far they currently are from Palamoure when he hears someone walk in. He turns to see Anthea.
She approaches him warily, “Are you…is it okay if I-?”
He waves to the empty seat next to him. She takes it and eyes the pot of tea he has nearby, “Shepard Hudson?”
Lestrade thinks of Sherlock’s words and his lips twitch, “Yes…would you-?”
“Please, thank you.”
Lestrade pours her a cup and smiles. They sit their quietly, looking out at the stars and Lestrade finds he no longer feels as restless.