elaby | Holmes drabble (well, Lestrade actually)

So apparently I never posted this in my own LJ O_o I wrote this some time ago and posted it in

cox_and_co, the Holmes/Watson community wot is filled with wonderful people, though the slash in it is negligible at best. And I forgot to post it here! Duh. *laughs* I dunno how many of you would be particularly interested in reading a tiny Lestrade fic, but I thought I'd post it anyway because I was looking for it the other day and couldn't find it.

Title: Most Unexpected
Words: 504
Characters: Lestrade focus. The POV is a random Yarder from "The Second Stain."
Rating: G
Notes: This is a missing scene of a sort from "The Empty House." For some reason I was convinced that Holmes sent Lestrade a telegram upon his return, but I can find it nowhere in canon. The consensus on

cox_and_co was that Lestrade says something to the effect of "I was never more surprised in my life than when I got your note" in the Granada episode. So, the idea that Lestrade was alerted by telegram that Holmes was alive sparked this. Apologies to Constable MacPherson for causing him more trouble than he probably deserves.

I remember that it was a chill rainy morning in early April, and if there was anything worse than walking your beat on such a morning, it was being cooped up in the Yard's investigative division office with an inspector whose mood might've outmatched the weather. The boys'd told me that the Ronald Adair case wasn't going well and that anyone who wanted to keep his head would steer clear of Inspector Lestrade today, and naturally that meant he wanted to see me the moment I arrived.

"Constable MacPherson," he said as I entered his office, and I knew from the extra emphasis he'd placed on the first syllable that I'd done something to displease him.

"Morning, Inspector," I said with a nod. He did not offer me the chair in front of his desk.

"Sergeant Cullins tells me you've been moving things around at crime scenes again."

"Oh, sir," I said, "that was downright unavoidable--"

"I don't care what you think it was, Constable," Lestrade thundered, rising. "You don't move anything until an inspector arrives to tell you you're-- what is it now?!"

I turned to see a small cowed-looking boy from the telegraph office standing in the doorway. "Urgent wire for Mr. Lestrade, sir," he said meekly. I took the telegram and passed it over to the inspector. The boy wisely fled. Lestrade ripped the telegram open and I wondered if I could follow suit while he was distracted.

Before I could, though, I heard a sharp intake of breath from him, and then I'll be damned if he didn't go white as a china plate. He sat down with a thump in his chair, like his legs just stopped holding him.

"Is everything all right, sir?" I asked. I'd been here long enough to know his usual response to unpleasant news was to get angry, and so this unnerved me a little.

"Yes," he said, with something of a shiver in his voice. "Yes, Constable. Everything is." I must say I didn't believe him, because – and Lord save me if it's not the truth – he started to laugh. It wasn't his usual "you've been so thick you're making me chuckle" laugh, either. It was unselfconscious and incredulous, and if I may be so bold, it sounded edging on the hysterical to me. I must've been staring, because he caught himself after a few moments and stifled the laughter with a hand over his face. By this time he'd slid halfway down in his chair. It was clearly taking some effort not to burst out laughing again, and he waved a hand weakly at me. "I'm all right, MacPherson. Be off with you."

"Yes, sir," I said, and gladly turned on my heel and left. As I went down the hall, I heard him say, not to me but more like to himself:--

"Blessed idiot better have told the doctor before he told me, or else that'll be one more homicide I'll be investigating tonight."