A/N: This is much more action-packed than anything I've done before and to be honest I'm out of my comfort zone, so I really hope this turns out okay. All reviews are welcome x

Disclaimer: I don't own New Tricks.

"And turn the white snow/Red as strawberries in the summertime"

"You really need to ditch that shirt, you know." He placed his drink on the glossy wood of the table with force, sloshing some of it over the rim and putting his hand over his burnt plum-shirted chest in mock-offence.

"This is my best shirt and it cost an absolute fortune, I'll have you know. No way am I giving it to Oxfam to rest alongside your skirt-suits that have been there for five years, not a bloody chance. Anyway, it'd clash with them," he sniffed, grinning and taking a proud sip of his pint. Or what was left of it, anyway.

She narrowed her eyes, not being able to deny that she had indeed given the majority of her skirt-suits to Oxfam around that time. "I'm sure someone will have snapped them up by now, they're back in fashion," she smirked, before adding, "I'll have you know."

He rolled his eyes. "What's wrong with it anyway? I thought I looked very suave."

"Yeah, in the seventies," she retorted.

"Alright, alright. I promise I won't wear it in your presence for fear of causing you embarrassment, your majesty." He made a mock salute.

"Good. Did you look through that pile of potential cases on Friday?" she asked, bringing the conversation to the almost inevitable topic of work.

"Yeah, why?"

"Strickland was supposed to drop me off a case file on Friday evening, he said it was urgent. The victim's daughter is about to move to Spain so I said we'd make a start interviewing her on Monday morning, once I'd looked at the file over the weekend, but he never gave me it."

"Strange. We don't want a bloody repeat of Gibraltar, no way am I having one of those monkeys trash my room again. Come to think of it, he was probably stuck in a meeting about yesterday night's match, you know what it's like when there's a London derby in the footie, half the city turn into hooligans."

"Including you." She replied, one eyebrow raised.

"Nah, I'm getting too old for that game. Settling down in front of the telly with a pint is more my style," he said, stretching in his chair, "Anyway, I'm off outside for a fag, its bloody roasting in here."

"Okay," she said, checking her phone for messages. She'd half expected one from Strickland about the file, but there was only one from Esther, asking if she wanted to come for dinner on Wednesday evening after work. She marvelled at how Esther could be so organised even when she and Brian were staying at her sister's in Bournemouth for the weekend. She replied with a resounding yes and made a mental note to buy a bottle of wine to take.

Gerry's phone beeped where he had left it on the table opposite her, with the same message from Esther. She chuckled. If that was how carelessly he left his phone laying around, no wonder his relationships didn't last. Mind you, he hadn't really had many relationships recently, or at least none that he'd mentioned to her. Maybe he'd finally run out of his relentless optimism when it came to finding love. She didn't quite know how she felt about that- on one hand, it was probably a good thing that he'd given up chasing women, it was beginning to get undignified. On the other, he was the last person who deserved to grow old without someone beside him. Yes, he had his family, and she wouldn't be surprised if he ended up back with Jayne, but still…he was the type of person who needed someone.

She took another sip of her wine, running her finger around the rim of the glass. Bloody hell Gerald, she thought with a hint of annoyance, take your time why don't you? She wanted another round, and she'd be damned if she was paying again, especially when he'd invited her out. Jack had gone golfing and Brian was away, or 'gallivanting', as Gerry had put it, so he'd taken her out for a drink so they wouldn't both be sat at home watching crappy TV. Quite sweet of him really. He must be getting soft in his old age.

She sighed, waiting for another five minutes before grabbing her bag and his phone. He was probably talking to some dodgy mate of his, but he was seriously taking the piss now. She made her way through the crowded pub to the door, pushing it open and instantly enjoying the breeze of fresh autumn air on her face. She turned to her right, walking to the side of the traditional red brick building where she knew the smoker's area was. The sun coming through the trees surrounding the pub was making her squint, but she definitely couldn't see him amongst the group of people.

"Where are you, Gerald?" she muttered. The prat had probably gone back inside whilst she was out looking for him. She walked a little further around the building to the staff car park at the back, but it was deserted except from a few cars and a white van. She turned around to take one last look in the smoker's area before heading back inside where he would undoubtedly be sitting with that jammy smirk on his face, knowing that he'd just made her walk on gravel in heels.

"Sandra!" She heard a familiar voice shout from somewhere behind her, and she turned to see who it was. As she looked towards the car park to find the person who belonged to the voice, she sensed someone moving, close behind her. She whipped around in confusion, hearing the sickening crack of her own head against a metal bar a fraction too late to do anything about it. The last thing she saw was the splashes of scarlet blood on the grey pieces of gravel, as red as summer strawberries in the snow, before she slipped into oblivion.

A/N: I can't promise that updates will be quick, if you want me to continue, but I'll try my best.