caffienekitty (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
caffienekitty) wrote2014-07-17 02:20 am
caffienekitty) wrote2014-07-17 02:20 am
Entry tags:
Sherlock Fanfic: Upper Limit (JWP 2014 #16)
Title: Upper Limit
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Characters: DI Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes, John Watson
Alternate Postings: At AO3
Rating/Content: PG13, dubious London cartography and crime scene depiction, set somewhere between 3.01 and 3.02, Lestrade POV, R-rated language. Light Angst?
Warnings: none
Word Count: 575
Disclaimer: Not my world.
Notes: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
watsons_woes July Writing Prompt #16: Words of Wisdom. "Beware the fury of a patient man." I was thinking I'd be sleeping tonight and skipping this one, but this turned up at the last minute. Will likely edit later.
Summary: There are some things up with which Greg Lestrade will not put.
Upper Limit
Greg swore violently as the pair of them came round the corner and into the blue-white-blue flashing nimbus of the scene, chatting and giggling like schoolboys.
"Boss-?" he vaguely heard one of the PC's say, but he was already striding away from the collection of emergency vehicles and police cars.
As Greg approached, they were still snickering.
"You two!"
John glanced up with a pixie's grin. Sherlock pulled on his bland-amused expression and, like he'd bumped into the DI at the local Tesco's, said "Oh, hello, Lestrade."
Lestrade said nothing, instead catching each of them by their coats as he stormed past and pulling them along with him, staggering and squalling.
"Lestrade! This is-!"
"What are you-!"
He let them go at the edge of the river wall and pointed out. A pair of boats with Battenburg markings shone spotlights in the murky water as officers on deck threw out heavy weighted nets and poked into the water nearest the ruined building with long poles.
"See those? They're dragging the Thames."
Sherlock smirked in the darkness. "I suppose it's a good idea to do some housekeeping now and then."
"They're searching for your fucking corpses!"
Sherlock's mouth shut with a snap.
John held is hands up, placating. "Listen, we know it may have looked-"
"You see that lot over there?" Lestrade shouted, ignoring John and gesturing at the collection of flashing lights next to the building's ruins. "They've pulled three people out of that mess so far! All live and now under arrest, one with a puncture wound I'm certain is not a round from an automatic handgun I do not know about."
John had the decency to clear his throat and glance away.
Sherlock huffed. "Lestrade, we couldn't wait for your lot of buffoons, it was too-"
"No. You do not do this. Not again. I was supposed to clock out three hours ago, but I've been at that wreckage all night, in case I needed to identify your bodies!" He looked between the two of them. "I was certain you'd died! I couldn't leave until I knew."
"But-"
"No. I saw you both go in there, right before the collapse. You didn't come out the front, the sides are solid brick, and the only other way out is the back through the windows, three stories straight down into the river."
Sherlock snorted. John chuckled and began explaining, "No, no, it was really simple actually! There was an old-"
Lestrade smacked a palm down hard on the river barrier, shutting down John's explanation. "I do not care how you're alive. At all. I'm glad you're alive. So fucking glad. But don't you two ever do that to me again."
Sherlock looked as cowed as he ever managed to look, but John was still riding on a cushion of adrenaline. "But we're okay! It's all fine, see?"
Fuming, Lestrade stepped forward, nose to nose with John. "And that was enough for you, was it, with him?" He jerked his head in Sherlock's direction. "When he did this to you, to all of us? I seem to recall a series of assaults in London restaurants being reported the night Sherlock came back. All fine then, was it?"
Now Sherlock appeared genuinely contrite. John, on the other hand was looking distinctly horrified.
"Oh." John said, "Oh God. I'm so sorry, Greg."
"Yeah, well." Greg wished he'd been able to find a cigarette, because grinding something under his heel would feel really satisfying right now. "Just. Don't ever do it again. Neither of you. I don't have an infinite amount of patience."
-.-.-
(that's it)
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Characters: DI Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes, John Watson
Alternate Postings: At AO3
Rating/Content: PG13, dubious London cartography and crime scene depiction, set somewhere between 3.01 and 3.02, Lestrade POV, R-rated language. Light Angst?
Warnings: none
Word Count: 575
Disclaimer: Not my world.
Notes: Written for
watsons_woes July Writing Prompt #16: Words of Wisdom. "Beware the fury of a patient man." I was thinking I'd be sleeping tonight and skipping this one, but this turned up at the last minute. Will likely edit later.Summary: There are some things up with which Greg Lestrade will not put.
Greg swore violently as the pair of them came round the corner and into the blue-white-blue flashing nimbus of the scene, chatting and giggling like schoolboys.
"Boss-?" he vaguely heard one of the PC's say, but he was already striding away from the collection of emergency vehicles and police cars.
As Greg approached, they were still snickering.
"You two!"
John glanced up with a pixie's grin. Sherlock pulled on his bland-amused expression and, like he'd bumped into the DI at the local Tesco's, said "Oh, hello, Lestrade."
Lestrade said nothing, instead catching each of them by their coats as he stormed past and pulling them along with him, staggering and squalling.
"Lestrade! This is-!"
"What are you-!"
He let them go at the edge of the river wall and pointed out. A pair of boats with Battenburg markings shone spotlights in the murky water as officers on deck threw out heavy weighted nets and poked into the water nearest the ruined building with long poles.
"See those? They're dragging the Thames."
Sherlock smirked in the darkness. "I suppose it's a good idea to do some housekeeping now and then."
"They're searching for your fucking corpses!"
Sherlock's mouth shut with a snap.
John held is hands up, placating. "Listen, we know it may have looked-"
"You see that lot over there?" Lestrade shouted, ignoring John and gesturing at the collection of flashing lights next to the building's ruins. "They've pulled three people out of that mess so far! All live and now under arrest, one with a puncture wound I'm certain is not a round from an automatic handgun I do not know about."
John had the decency to clear his throat and glance away.
Sherlock huffed. "Lestrade, we couldn't wait for your lot of buffoons, it was too-"
"No. You do not do this. Not again. I was supposed to clock out three hours ago, but I've been at that wreckage all night, in case I needed to identify your bodies!" He looked between the two of them. "I was certain you'd died! I couldn't leave until I knew."
"But-"
"No. I saw you both go in there, right before the collapse. You didn't come out the front, the sides are solid brick, and the only other way out is the back through the windows, three stories straight down into the river."
Sherlock snorted. John chuckled and began explaining, "No, no, it was really simple actually! There was an old-"
Lestrade smacked a palm down hard on the river barrier, shutting down John's explanation. "I do not care how you're alive. At all. I'm glad you're alive. So fucking glad. But don't you two ever do that to me again."
Sherlock looked as cowed as he ever managed to look, but John was still riding on a cushion of adrenaline. "But we're okay! It's all fine, see?"
Fuming, Lestrade stepped forward, nose to nose with John. "And that was enough for you, was it, with him?" He jerked his head in Sherlock's direction. "When he did this to you, to all of us? I seem to recall a series of assaults in London restaurants being reported the night Sherlock came back. All fine then, was it?"
Now Sherlock appeared genuinely contrite. John, on the other hand was looking distinctly horrified.
"Oh." John said, "Oh God. I'm so sorry, Greg."
"Yeah, well." Greg wished he'd been able to find a cigarette, because grinding something under his heel would feel really satisfying right now. "Just. Don't ever do it again. Neither of you. I don't have an infinite amount of patience."
-.-.-
(that's it)
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I like it! John's not the only one dealing with certain issues this season.
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(I still haven't finished watching the last episode of series 3, so doing JWP prompts is a bit of a minefield of spoiler potential for me, (and I feel like a twerp not reading other people's entries right now) but I had so much fun last year I couldn't stay away.)
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