Fic for mainecoon76: Détente

[methylviolet10b]

Title: Détente

Recipient: mainecoon76

Author: capt_facepalm

Rating: PG-13

Characters: Dr Watson, Inspector Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes

Summary: Mention of STUD. Missing scene vignette

Warnings: No beta? No time!

Word Count: 2300

Act I

It was early September in 1881. The first floor sitting room at 221 Baker Street was a dry refuge from the wind and rain which persisted throughout the day. Mr Sherlock Holmes, due to an impending shortage of tobacco, and undeterred by the weather, had quit the flat he shared with Dr John Watson shortly after luncheon. The mid-afternoon light coming through the window illuminated the small desk where Dr Watson sat with his pen and paper. It was not for want of light that the paper lay empty: Dr Watson was preoccupied with other matters.

There was the sound of Mrs Hudson answering the front door, followed by footsteps upon the stairs leading to the first floor, and then by insistent rapping. Watson responded to find Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard waiting impatiently.

‘Is Mr Holmes expecting you, Inspector?’ asked the doctor

‘Not as such, but I have business with him.’

‘’A case, no doubt. He’s not here at present. Shall I let him know you called?’

‘No, I’ll wait,’ the inspector replied, moving closer into the doorway. A flicker of annoyance registered on the doctor’s face but Lestrade regretted his inconvenience not one bit. Let him be discomfitted. Here was the man who had caused Lestrade to face humiliation and grief from his colleagues. “Ferret-like” was the description which appeared in print, that and even less flattering appellations had been bandied about the Yard ever since. Publicly, Lestrade had managed to laugh it off, while privately he comforted himself by imagining his hands around the scrawny doctor’s neck.

‘Come in, then. I am sequestered all day and my hospitality suffers for it,’ said Watson in an attempt to improve his manners.

Lestrade handed Watson his hat and overcoat and strode into the sitting room. When the doctor returned to face the him, he found Lestrade had seated himself comfortably beside the fireplace where a few coals held the damp at bay.

‘Oh, is this your chair?’ Lestrade asked with no intention to situate himself elsewhere.

‘Be my guest,’ Watson replied. ‘And if you don’t mind, I will return to my correspondence.’

Watson resigned himself once again to his pen and paper but the added distraction of the inspector’s intrusion made it even more impossible to put his thoughts into words. Surely Lestrade’s fidgeting and darting glances were not intended to irritate him. Or were they? Watson smiled to himself and began to write. Lestrade frowned and looked away. Beside him on a little table sat a well-thumbed yellow-backed novel. Some rousing tale of pirates and a thrice cursed treasure. When he examined it more closely he found queer markings and notations in the margins. These, he came to realise, were corrections to spelling and grammar. Someone had taken pedantry to new heights.

The doctor’s head was still bent to his task. Maligning some other poor bloke, no doubt. As Inspector Lestrade continued to look around the room he spotted many curious items which he recognised as belonging to Mr Holmes, but he failed to find anything that he could say definitively belonged to Dr Watson. No souvenirs of war or foreign travel were apparent-- not even upon the bureau the doctor used as a writing desk. It struck him as curious, and he began to realise that he really did not know very much about Mr Holmes’ fellow-lodger.

The Lauriston Gardens murder had been shocking, and intense pressure had been put on those investigating it. Scotland Yard superiors needed the case solved lest it devolve into an international incident. No wonder he had paid so little attention to the man who had shadowed Sherlock Holmes around the grisly murder scene. He had been busy trying to do his job. Since then they had met again only a few times, and always in the company of Mr Holmes. This was the first time they were alone since the wretched article appeared in The Strand. Only one question remained: Should he give the doctor a piece of his mind, or should he proceed straight to the throttling?

The uncomfortable silence remained unbroken until Dr Watson’s stomach growled audibly. Afternoon tea was long overdue. Watson put down his pen.

‘Shall I ring for tea?’ he asked.

‘If it isn’t an inconvenience,’ Lestrade grinned.

Watson walked stiffly to the bellpull beside the fireplace then went to the door. Moments later, polite tapping preceded the maid’s appearance.

‘Tea, Millie. For two, if you please.’

‘And some sandwiches, Doctor?’

‘I’m not hun--”

‘--You have a guest,’ she whispered as if he needed the reminder.

‘Very well,’ he relented.

Millie curtsied and closed the door. When she returned, Watson gathered his papers and locked them in the desk drawer. Then, he settled on the settee with his cup and absently picked up the morning newspaper. Lestrade tucked into the sandwiches with enthusiasm but could not help glaring at his host from time to time.

Watson put down the newspaper that he had been feigning to read. ‘Is there something on your mind, Inspector?’

‘I just wondered if you had anything else you wished to put into print that you would not otherwise say to me in person?’

The intimidation in his voice failed to unsettle the doctor.

‘If this is about my account of the murder in Brixton, what part do you think I would not repeat to your face?’ The doctor’s bland quality and polite pretense were gone.

‘Quite a few things! The worst of which was your portrayal of the actions of myself and Mr Gregson.’

‘I reported the matter as I saw it. What part do you take issue with?’

‘You and your clever words! The rivalry between Mr Gregson and myself more often than not spurs us to achieve greater results--’

‘No,’ Dr Watson interrupted. ‘That argument will not wash. It is a fallacy used to excuse all manner of improper behaviour. I have seen this before, and not just within the police force. Better results are obtained when people work together. It is true in every field. But you and Gregson have let your shared acrimony get in the way. What if Mr Gregson has youth and ambition on his side? Why should he not seek the advancement that you cannot? He seems capable. He is not a closet maniac, is he? Are you aware of some secret reason why he should not advance?’

Lestrade ground his teeth but did not reply.

‘You are obviously a competent policeman, but realistically, you are unlikely to move any higher than the rank of Inspector,’ Watson continued.

‘What has Mr Holmes told you about me?’ he asked in surprise and vexation.

‘Nothing whatsoever, although I try to apply his methods. Your accent and your age provide the start: By your accent, I would say you were raised in the East End where you were not given a formal education. You are clearly a capable policeman since you have risen to the rank of Inspector. You have held this rank for some time and at your age, and with your humble beginnings, are unlikely to move any higher. You have earned the respect of your colleagues but are not above petty jealousies. The tenacity you employ when on a case has served you well even if it sometimes closes your mind to new ideas. Both you and Mr Gregson have stubborn streaks and it has come to the point where instead of working together, you are working against each other. Then when you encounter something beyond your ken, one or both of you consult my friend and take credit for his work. This is what I saw. Tell me, what part of what I have said do you take issue with?’

It was hard to hear the truth laid so bare. Lestrade was beginning to think that throttling would have been his better option.

‘Mr Holmes is an amateur! He is accountable to no one save himself. He bends, if not breaks, the law with his methods, and then taunts us poor professionals when we cannot keep pace with him! He is not called before the assistant commissioner and asked to explain himself. If I seem upset, you will find Gregson absolutely murderous!’

Dr Watson waited until Lestrade regained his composure before he spoke.

‘As you say, Mr Holmes is an amateur, he does this because he enjoys the challenge. He seeks neither lucre nor promotion. Can you say that about your so-called professionals? Are your colleagues’ motives so pure? If I were you, I should be thankful for all the help Sherlock Holmes could give.’

‘I am thankful! Then he treats me like an imbecile and demeans me in front of my constables.’

‘True,’ Watson conceded, ‘I did notice, and I must admit, it does him no credit. He is frustrated that the police rarely understand his methods. Still, alienate him at your peril. Should he ever turn criminal, the likes of you will never catch him.’

‘Alienate him?’ Lestrade exclaimed. ‘He is the one who drives us away! I am not so slow-witted that I cannot detect his insults. But no, I have to swallow my pride and let them pass. It is the price I am willing to pay because his methods work. I serve this city as you, no doubt, have served your Empire. It is a thankless task.’

It was Dr Watson who had to agree.

‘Sherlock Holmes may not want public recognition, but surely, he deserves your respect,’ he said at last.

‘You seem to have given this matter a lot of thought.’

The doctor shrugged. ‘Sharing lodgings has given me special insight on the fellow, and I have little else to occupy my mind.’

‘Perhaps you could talk to him?’

‘You are very fortunate that Mr Holmes holds my opinion with such little regard. I advised him to have nothing to do whatsoever with the whole lot of you Yarders. You should speak to him yourself.’

Act II

‘Watson? You will enjoy this. I met the most... ‘ Holmes’ face fell and his expression hardened. ’Why, Lestrade? What are you doing here? Did Dr Watson say when he would be back?’

‘And a good evening to you, too, Mr Holmes. What makes you think the doctor went out? Perhaps I strangled him, did away with his body.’

Holmes pointed to the empty hook by the door. ‘Would you have remembered to secrete his walking stick too? I think not. If the state of the sandwich plate is anything to go by, I’d say he left within the past hour. You have missed a few crumbs on your waistcoat, Inspector.’

‘Of course you are right, Mr Holmes. Dr Watson was called away.’

‘For a moment I had thought that you had driven the doctor from his own sitting room, you devil,’ said Holmes with a smirk.

‘No, no,’ Lestrade protested. ‘It wasn’t like that at all. In fact I believe we may have reached an understanding. A boy came by nearly an hour ago. I should have thought that for someone who has few chances to practice his trade, Dr Watson should have been more eager for the opportunity..’

‘Was the boy tow-headed and of approximately eight years?’

‘Yes, I believe so. Other than he was dressed better than the usual ragamuffins you seem to attract, I didn’t pay him much attention.’

‘No, I don’t expect that you did,’ Holmes muttered to himself. ‘I hope this is a social call. I am occupied at the moment with several interesting problems.’

‘Oh,’ said the disappointed Lestrade.

‘And Watson is fine. It is his patient’s prognosis which weighs heavily upon him, and it is also the reason he has stayed at home these last few days. He has been expecting the summons since yesterday morning. Must you always rush to the wrong conclusion? Honestly, when I write my instructional monograph on detection, I must remember to enter the following note: Firstly, rule out whatever Inspector G. Lestrade proposes; then consider anything else!’

Holmes, pleased with his own joke, sniggered and, turning his back to the inspector, reached for his pipe and its related accoutrements. Lestrade, stood and reached for his hat and coat. He looked back at Holmes who was considering two different tobaccos and three different pipes. What would be the harm? Contrary to what Dr Watson may have thought, Lestrade would put his duty above his pride every time. He would have to do it. He would be the bigger man. He would apologise.

‘Mr Holmes, I have a situation which might interest you. It’s a tricky one to be sure. Right up your street...’ Lestrade paused uncomfortably before continuing. ‘But... Ermm... First, I want to sincerely thank you for your assistance last month. It was your insight which lead to the capture of those burglars. You saved an innocent man from trial and I have been remiss in thanking you properly. For that, I am sorry.’

Holmes stopped fiddling with his pipe and looked again at Lestrade: the rumpled suit, the tired eyes. The inspector had worked a long day; probably a succession of them. His face was drawn and the apology left him crimson with embarrassment. Holmes rethought the snide remark before it could be uttered, and instead, raised an eyebrow in interest. He paused for a moment and then leaned forward.

‘Very well, Inspector. Hang your coat back up and lay your case before me. I am at your service.’

The End Beginning