Tag: greg lestrade

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December 7th excerpt:

The placid, darkly amber liquid in the glass called to him. There was enough in there to fill a hot tub at Dean’s scale. Surely one drop wouldn’t be missed, more than enough for him to enjoy another cup of It.

Dean put a hand on the glass to help keep balance as he stood on his tiptoes to reach the rim and the drink calling for him beyond it. When it proved to be taller than he’d estimated from a distance, part of him started working on a solution, wondering if he could get a grip on the rim and pull himself up to fill his foil cup. The effort of holding himself suspended in midair like that didn’t put him off, knowing he had more than enough upper body strength, but the slick rim might prove to be difficult to grip.

Lestrade blinked in disbelief when he realized what Dean was after. Clearly the fella wanted a refill of his own, and planned to get it on his own. Watching his first attempt fail, Lestrade could practically see the wheels turning in Dean’s head and had a fairly good idea of what his next move might be.

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December 6th excerpt:

The glass of whiskey was on Lestrade’s half of the table, guarded closely by one of the DI’s hands, but it hadn’t been picked up yet for a sip since being refilled. Dean gave himself at least five minutes before Lestrade remembered it, and started to edge towards that side of the table. Between Sherlock’s rambles and the drink buzzing inside him, Dean had an unnatural level of confidence in his ability to go unseen. The glass was only a little taller than he was, clearly he’d be able to reach the alcohol level inside to fill his cup again.

He’d earned this whiskey, dammit.

By the time he was halfway across the table, Dean had managed to tune both Sherlock and Lestrade completely out in lieu of his mission for a refill.

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December 5th excerpt:

Realizing Lestrade had already helped himself to a second glass, Dean sent Sherlock a glare for failing to be a host and providing more whiskey.

With his options narrowed down to either interrupting Sherlock mid-story or securing his own second glass, Dean decided on the latter. Lestrade had that same glazed look that John adopted when Sherlock really got on a bend.

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December 4th excerpt: 

“I take it you have a few questions before you go,” said Sherlock curtly, setting down the glass he’d finally tracked down.

“I do, yeah…” Lestrade made a move to take the drink Sherlock poured, but the first thing the detective did was tilt the glass so that the drink was within reach for Dean. By the pointed gaze Sherlock was giving him, it was clear to Lestrade that he was being shown exactly who was first priority here. Lestrade couldn’t contest that either, so he sat back and folded his hands on the table in front of him, waiting for Dean to take his drink first.

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December 3rd excerpt: 

Lestrade, admittedly, lost himself in thought as he watched a person he thought he knew fairly well interacting with someone who, by all rights and laws of nature, shouldn’t exist. It was certainly a sight he never thought he’d see, and he couldn’t stop staring at Dean while the little fella’s attention was elsewhere.

Dean seemed American, which was definitely noteworthy, and fairly young. Lestrade couldn’t tell for sure, but he couldn’t be older than his mid-twenties. Everything about him was scaled down perfectly, from his boots to his jeans and jacket.

Curiosity got the better of Lestrade, and without putting much thought to it, he reached forward slowly to place his hand next to Dean, a few inches away. He stood his hand on its side, shifting his gaze between it and the tiny man to see how he measured up next to his palm.

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November 27th excerpt:

“And they found nothing?” Sherlock pressed.

“Not a speck,” Lestrade sighed, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trench coat. “We might as well be dealing with a killer ghost on this one.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, just barely holding in an exasperated sigh. Of course this was the case he brought Dean along on, only to have that thrown back in his face.

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November 25th excerpt:

Hailing a cab, Sherlock kept in contact with Lestrade, informing him that he was on his way. He neglected to mention his passenger, of course. Dean was very clear that no one should ever find out about him or Sam unless they gave their express permission. Given the events a little over a month prior, neither John nor Sherlock offered any arguments to that rule.

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Well, I mean–

Barely an hour had passed before Sherlock’s mobile rang, making Sherlock freeze in place and John’s head snap up to lock eyes with him. The detective whipped out the phone and checked the caller ID.

“It’s Mycroft,” he confirmed.

John’s brow arched. “That was fast–”

“Dean! ” Sherlock called, cutting off John’s comment as he took long strides toward the kitchen.

Lestrade was more than a little frustrated, having drilled every single guard who’d had shifts since the day before, and all of them swore up and down that nothing had happened. None had let anyone into the crime scene for any reason since last Lestrade had been there. Storming back up the stairs, Lestrade swore that if Sherlock didn’t have a good reason for this…

Well, he didn’t know what he was gonna do, but he was sure it would come to him.

All feelings of exasperation were out the window as soon as Lestrade stormed in to find Sherlock flat on the floor near an air vent in the wall, giving him an almost feral look. He quirked an eyebrow at the detective until his gaze wandered to the small figure in front of him.

The small, shouting figure.

We totally haven’t not written this exact thing out already…