Roped In (Sherlock BBC fanfic)

Sequel to 'To the Victor goes Revenge'

November 17th, 20:10

Current Mood: exhausted

Current Music: classic FM

WARNING - faked act of self harm
0o0o0
If anyone cared to ask, not that they would because Geoffrey Lestrade was going to make damn sure that no-one ever found out, he was never quite sure how he'd gotten roped into playing along with this ruse. It all started with a phone call as he was leaving the Yard. After spending a long afternoon at his desk completing the paperwork that catching criminals generated - surely a cruel and unusual punishment - all he wanted was a dinner at home, his feet up and the missus' head on his shoulder while she watched one of her stupid soaps while he re-read 'The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy' for the hundredth time.

Instead his phone was ringing and the number on the display read 'Martha Hudson'. Sherlock's landlady. He'd exchanged numbers with her after the first drugs bust at Baker Street, because if anyone ever needed a policeman on speed dial it was Sherlock Holmes' landlady. Geoff sighed, swallowed the feeling of dread that was currently trying to force its way up his throat and ducked against a store front, out of the flow of foot traffic.

"Mrs Hudson?" he asked, not quite disguising his worry, "Are you alright?"

"Oh yes, dear," Mrs Hudson's voice sounded clear, so whatever had happened, no-one was dead or injured at least, "Or at least, mostly."

"What's he done now?" Geoff sighed, and there was an indignant noise in the background. All too late he realised he was on speaker, then shrugged it off. He'd called the thin genius worse, and to his face no less.

"It's not him, dear," Mrs Hudson sounded like she was giving someone a motherly glare, which worked surprisingly well on a man who claimed to be a sociopath, "It's his... friend."

"Former friend and current guest, though not for much longer," was the sharp correction. There was a raw edge to the voice that spoke the words; Geoff's hackles rose at the sound of it. Sherlock was in pain. The consulting detective didn't admit to such things easily: for Geoff to be able to detect in in his voice over a phone line indicated how bad the pain was. Mrs Hudson wouldn't be calling him if Sherlock needed a doctor, so she was calling him because they needed a policeman.

"Yes, dear, I know," Martha sounded particularly gentle, confirming his surmise, "Sherlock has been putting up an old flame, Inspector, and John's been ever so good about it."

"I should never have asked him," the background mutter gave Geoff a fair idea of where this was going. The guest had done something to upset or hurt John, or Sherlock or both... which was especially cruel today because...

"It's your anniversary, isn't it? I rang John earlier to warn him I'd called you to a crime scene. He mentioned he was making you a special dinner," Geoff spoke without thinking and then winced. If John had stormed off in a huff, reminding Sherlock of their anniversary was a bad idea.

"Yes," Sherlock confirmed, his voice going terribly hollow, "That wasn't the problem. He was called away to deal with a family emergency, and... my guest implied he had left me."

There was more to the story than that - Sherlock would not have believed such a stupid tale without some sort of plausible evidence to back it up. That didn't mean that the blow wasn't a cruel one. Sherlock lived and breathed for John nowadays. The veteran was something of a humanising influence on the thin genius, which made him easier to work with. Geoff had a lot of time for John Watson, who had proven to be a good ally, as well as a good friend.

"Poor John," Martha added, "Sherlock had the wrong end of the stick and then he wouldn't answer the phone. In the end I had to sneak mine up here and hold it to his ear."

Which said a lot about the state Sherlock had been reduced to. This guest was rapidly becoming public enemy number one as far as Lestrade was concerned. As angry as he was on behalf of his friends he wasn't entirely sure why Martha and Sherlock had called him.

"I want to make him confess to what he's done," Sherlock spoke suddenly, sounding as if he was rolling his eyes, "No matter what I accuse him of, he'll deny it and claim I misunderstood him."

"I see," Geoff didn't but wasn't about to irritate Sherlock any more than he had to, "How do I factor into this plan?"

"I want you to come and see me in a few hours time," Sherlock replied, "You'll discover my near lifeless corpse, supposedly due to some form of self harm. We'll be able to shock him into a confession that way."

"Fine," Lestrade sighed, "I'll see you at ten thirty?"

Which is how he came to be cradling a suitably bloodied Sherlock in his arms, while Mrs Hudson put on an award winning rendition of 'grief stricken mother' while the guest gaped from the door, fetched there by her very realistic shocked scream and his bout of horrified swearing.

"Sherlock, why?" Lestrade managed a fair rendition of 'shocked colleague' if he did say so himself, though Sherlock out-performed them all with his dramatic fluttering of the eyes and tragic gasps for breath.

"John... left... me..."

"No!" the guest blurted from the door. Geoff waited a moment to see if anything else was going to be added to that statement, and when it wasn't he cradled a hand gently to Sherlock's face and rocked a little on the floor where the genius had supposedly collapsed.

"Sherlock, John would never leave you," Lestrade put a fair amount of doubt into his voice. It wasn't hard, because all he had to do was remember the doubt he'd harbored about this relationship at the very start. He didn't doubt them now - he'd yet to meet another couple so committed to each other, outside of his own marriage.

"He... was... mad... Victor... said..." the voice was getting weaker and weaker. Martha managed a very credible spate of sobs.

"He was so distraught when I came up earlier... Oh why didn't I stay?" she berated herself.

"It's not your fault, Martha. The news should never have been broken to Sherlock so harshly; this is practically man-slaughter," Lestrade's official voice pushed the guest over the edge.

"No, I didn't mean it, Sherlock!" he blubbered, "I was lying! John hasn't left you! I just wanted you back! I thought if you believed he'd left you, you'd let me come back!"

"Get out," Sherlock jackknifed upright and stalked like a bloodied ghost - his skill with stage make-up really was first rate, Geoff had to admit it - "Get out and never come back."

The consulting detective's voice rose as he continued to heap abuse on his former friend, chasing after the man with vicious intent. The guest screamed, turning tail and bolting for the door. He was lucky not to miss a step on the way down, his pace was so fast, and Geoff listened as the front door was nearly ripped off to escape Sherlock's words, slamming shut behind the erstwhile friend.

"Well, that was therapeutic. I understand why John likes a good shout now and then," the casual tone was severely at odds with the bloodied and pale appearance of the speaker. Geoff smothered a grin, imagining John venting to his spouse at the top of his lungs while said spouse listened with the patience of a man just waiting out the storm. He climbed up off the floor and dusted his trousers off before nodding to Martha.

"May I complement your acting skills, Mrs Hudson?" he gave her a little bow, eliciting an honest girlish giggle from her in reply. She was a little barmy, was Martha Hudson, which made her the perfect landlady for Sherlock Holmes.

"Thank you Inspector, you weren't too bad yourself," she replied, "Are you staying for some tea?"

"I won't if you don't mind. Promised the good wife I'd only be out for an hour or so," Geoff watched as Sherlock wiped the makeup away, returning his appearance to what passed for normal.

"Thank you, Inspector," the genius glanced at him in the mirror, "It will reassure John to know you were involved in Victor's eviction."

"Right," Geoff nodded. He could understand that. John had once made a very drunken confession that Geoff was the only bloke in London he trusted to handle his spouse when he wasn't available. Geoff had taken it for the compliment it was.

After all, there were only a few people in the world that Sherlock Holmes would listen to. The number he would actually allow to change his mind or course of action was even fewer. He could only imagine what John was thinking right now - his spouse in trouble and he unable to go to the rescue. Geoff knew how he'd feel in that situation - not that he'd ever encountered it.

As he headed home, Geoff pondered that situation for a few stops. Finally he pulled his phone out and sent a short text.

Roped in to help. Guest gone. Alright on your end? GL

His phone announced a text message as he unlocked the front door, and for a moment he resembled the clown in centre ring of the circus, juggling keys phone and coat.

Alright. Owe you a bottle. Back by end of week. JW

END

Disclaimer - characters and setting as described in BBC series not mine. No money being made. Plot is mine.