This collection isn't related to any of my previous Sherlock/Bond stories.
Set before the Fall.
5 times when poor Lestrade thinks that he is interrupting something between Sherlock and John. Seriously he is an inspector, he can spot a pattern when he sees one ;)
Part 1 - The Sofa Did It
The first time Lestrade thought he was 'interrupting something' was when there had been on a case for almost a week before calling Sherlock in. He knew he was going to get it in the neck for calling her in so late into the investigation but the case had looked like the definition of an open-and-shut until it hadn't anymore.
He had been let in by a smiling Mrs Hudson.
"On you go up, dear," she had told him pointing up the stairs.
"They've been at it all morning, maybe they'll have a little rest when you go in,"
Her words brought a frown to his face for a second until he reached 221B and reached for the handle.
What the hell was –
No. It couldn't be what he thought it was because John was a gentlemen and he wouldn't … would he?
A very John sounding groan came from behind the door followed by a feminine gasp.
Greg saw red and before he knew it his hand was back on the door and he was storming into the flat ready to possibly kill John Watson and use every possible skill he had to hide the body.
He stopped in his tracks.
There, wedged at one of the most bizarre angels he had ever seen was the sofa in the entrance to the kitchen.
Perched on top of the kitchen table – strangely free of any experiments he notices – was Sherlock, her face scrunched up as she steadied herself against the heavy table and pushed at the sofa with both feet.
John was obviously trying to convince it to move through the gap by using more violent means and was just kicking it viciously, almost snarling at the piece of furniture.
The sofa bounced of the door frame.
"John, stop that. You'll break the glass!" Sherlock snapped, "Mrs Hudson is still angry with me about the wall!"
"Sherlock, it might be the only way to get the damn thing to move!" he kicked it again and everyone froze as the glass vibrated.
Greg watched as John looked straight from the glass partition to the scowling face of Sherlock.
"Evening Lestrade," Sherlock greeted, bracing herself against the table once again and pushing.
"Greg," John nodded in greeting and then went back to the sofa, treating it a little more gently than before.
"What on earth are you doing?" he asked, he couldn't see any reason for the sofa to be near the kitchen. But then he wasn't in Sherlock head.
"An experiment," answered John.
"Experiment," gasped Sherlock, lowering her feet from the sofa and swinging then round onto the table and standing on it.
She got that thinking look - the one that usually led to Anderson facing a wall.
"What can we do for you Greg?" John stepped away from the sofa while Sherlock was having think.
"Case work for Sherlock," he replied.
"The death of Charles Manning?" Sherlock leapt from the table and began to fiddle with the pillows on the sofa.
"Yes," Greg began to list all of the basic details, "29 years old, young family, just got a new job and moved to the city, wife and child-"
"It was the decorator and the joiner," Sherlock gasped as she pried all of the pillows free from the sofa and threw them any which way. He caught one as it flew for him.
"Paid Mrs Manning a visit yesterday," John explained, catching another pillow and dodging the next.
The sofa was now bear.
"Very dull," Sherlock announced, clambering back onto the table for another birds-eye-view of the situation.
Greg felt his blood pressure begin to rise.
"Alright Sherlock, explain,"
So she did.
A new sofa had been delivered a few days before. Why? The young couple could hardly afford new furniture when they had just moved house and were having it decorated – new jobs or not.
"People buy furniture Sherlock, they might have saved up for it,"
"No, the decorator claims to have spilled a full tin of paint onto the sofa,"
"So? So why wasn't there any paint on the walls? Why was there no smell of paint? Even after so long there would still be a bit of a smell. They weren't paying for a painter. They were having the wallpaper stripped and another pattern put up," Sherlock sniffed, "Very sloppy of the murderer really he should have said paste,"
"The decorator replaced the sofa?" Greg tried to follow Sherlock's line of thought.
"Yes, because he," she jumped down from the table, "and the joiner smuggled the body out of the house inside the sofa,"
"Come along John, it should fit now,"
Greg stepped back as John took up his position at the sofa and pulled while Sherlock pushed. It slid easily through the gap without the extra bulk of the cushions.
"Haha," Sherlock clapped her hands and leapt into the air, spinning about as she did so.
"He did it with the joiners help,"
"Look into their backgrounds Lestrade. You'll find that they have worked together on several jobs. Home owners just moving into their new properties you will find. Boxes still strewn about not knowing where anything is. You will find that most of them will be missing things. And what would they put it down to? The inevitability of moving house and misplacing some things,"
Greg watched as with Johns help she manoeuvred the sofa back to where it belonged.
"And the point of…" he gestured to the sofa.
"To determine if it would have been a two man job," she answered, slamming the cushions and pillows back into place.
"Maybe Manning came home early and caught them somewhere they weren't meant to be. There was a confrontation. A struggle. Manning ends up dead. How to dispose of the body. I would judge that he was in a panic and so he contacted his co-conspirator," she flopped down onto the sofa and wriggled about to get comfortable and John went to put the kettle on.
"Now wait a minute, there was no mention of a joiner from Mrs Manning," Greg's temper was beginning to fray. To others he knew it seemed like he had an endless supply of tolerance where the young woman was concerned but it have been along week and he was tired.
"That is because Mrs Manning did not hire a joiner. The joiner was a friend of the decorator, he was called in only to help in disposing of the body,"
"How do you know this exactly?"
"Splinters trodden into the carpet and a lovely smear of wood glue along one of the walls," she answered matter of factly.
"And the sofa?" he sighed, feeling the start of a headache.
"Have you seen how hollow the inside of a sofa can be?" she asked, leaving it at that.
Greg shook his head but let the matter rest and called into Donovan to bring the decorator in for questioning and to find his friend. All the while he watched as John potted about in the kitchen making a pot of tea and by the smell some toast.
"Cuppa Greg?" the doctor called to him.
"Nah, got to get back to the Yard," he replied unable to take his eyes from the doctors strangely domestic actions as he finished making the tea and toast and brought them through on a tray to the living room.
He put the tray on the coffee table and handed the plate of toast to the slouching Sherlock - who, Greg just noticed, wasn't in her pyjamas but a blouse and jeans - who rolled her eyes but sat up.
"Not hungry," she looked at the toast like it was going to turn into a snake and bite her.
John just ignored her and took the tea from the tray, patted her bare feet for her to move them, and sat down at the opposite end of the sofa.
Greg saw where all the experiments had got to. John's armchair was filled with glass cylinders and dishes.
"We made a deal,"
Sherlock grumbled something but bit into the toast all the same.
Greg's eyebrows very nearly vanished into his hairline.
Sherlock listened to no one and he had no idea if what he was witnessing was a good thing or a bad one.
He knew one thing though.
He would be keeping a closer eye on them.
Feedback would be wonderful :)