Lestrade blinked a few times as he stood before Anthea. He was quite sure he'd heard her correctly but had he not he could ruin so much with so little a gesture. He reached a hand out slowly to move across her pale cheek. Anthea remained still with her drink resting in her hand low against her hip. Keeping a hand caressingly on the skin of her neck, Lestrade sat his glass down then took hers from her hand softly and set that down as well. Leaning in slowly, moving his hand up with the movement, he brushed her hair away from her face. He dipped his head downwards and touched his lips to hers.
Sitting up in bed, Anthea's bed, the next morning Lestrade looked around. Anthea was still sound asleep, long hair swept mostly back out of her face but a few rebel curls twisting around her cheek and tangling over her curved neck. Lestrade's eyes brightened a little and he gently moved off of the bed, trying not to disturb her. He plucked his shorts from the floor and stepped into them. Then he went for the bathroom.
Shutting the door lightly, he made his way over to the sink and let the water run until it was hot. Cupping his hands he splashed his face with water and came up to look in the mirror. There was no mirror. There was only a framed picture of some field with a lazy river running through it. He blinked at the picture a few times, as if not sure what to do about it. Hearing the bed creak with movement in the next room, Lestrade groped for the hand towel next to the sink and wiped his face dry. He used the toilet quickly and washed up his hands before Anthea had a chance to walk in on him.
Turning from the bathroom he went back into the bedroom and looked at Anthea, stirring from sleep and fighting her way out of blankets. "Morning," he said in a sleep rocked baritone.
Anthea turned and looked towards him, her eyes traveling the length of his body before slowly making it to his own eyes. "Good morning, Detective Inspector. Sleep well?"
"Mhm." Lestrade took a few more steps across the bedroom and stooped down to Anthea. He slowly put his lips to hers taking a soft kiss from them. "And I believe I am late for work," he said against her lips.
Anthea laughed lightly and reached her hand up to Lestrade's face. Brushing her fingers through his hair, she sent little shocks of tingles through him. "Can't you stay just a little longer?"
Lestrade was about to pull away, apologize profusely, and make his way to work but Anthea's eyes held him captive. He leaned back down and allowed her to pull him onto the bed with her. Suddenly the shorts he had on felt like too much fabric between him and her. Anthea obviously felt the same way as she grabbed the waistband and pulled them off of his hips. He kicked them away from their feet and looked down at her.
Her skin was still warm from being beneath the blankets, pale and naked beneath him. Her hair was haloed over the pillow and Lestrade couldn't keep his fingers from it. The locks twirled over his fingers and he eased his hips down between hers.
Anthea kicked a leg up around his hip pushing him closer. She nestled her hips up towards his drawing a soft groan from Lestrade. He rocked his hips down against hers and found her warm and wanting him. He would definitely be late for work today.
Lestrade stood in his office, corded phone to one ear and cell phone in front of him, texting. The other DI on the landline was complaining about Sherlock's interference on a case and in the process of trying to hand it all over to Lestrade. He really didn't mind taking the case even though it was outside of London. He was sure even Sherlock and John wouldn't mind getting away for a while.
His cell phone trilled again and he looked down, only half-listening to the DI at this point. It was a continued conversation with Anthea that blazed on his phone.
"I'm sure Mycroft would be lost without me." -A
Lestrade had to let himself smile. "You're probably right" he sent back. He was starting to realize that dating Anthea meant, in a twisted way, dating Mycroft. It was an unusual arrangement but worked fine between them so far.
"Yes, I'll take the case. I know how to work with him and since he-" Lestrade paused for another yell. "Yes, 'dissecting your hypothesis' I think we should call it." Lestrade grumbled to himself- "At least it was online and not at your crime scene…" Lestrade listened again and sat further back in his chair. "I'll have him apologize for that. Yes, it's publicly humiliating." Patience, Lestrade had a lot but not for too much longer.
Finally able to hang up the phone, Lestrade sat forward in his chair and rubbed his face with the heels of his palms. He needed to get a team together to go out of town for the weekend and work on this case. The hardest part would be finding a way to add an extra room or two on the bill for Sherlock and John. Then again, he could just ask Mycroft for the help with accommodations. Shaking his head, Lestrade decided to stick to his sense of right and not use to his advantage this new relationship. It went against Lestrade's sense of right and wrong, not to mention, he felt something like that would cheapen his relationship with Anthea.
His phone buzzed with another text. We will have to have dinner tonight before you leave. My place. I will cook. You bring desert. –A
Lestrade smiled and typed away at the keyboard of his phone.
Sounds perfect. I will be over as soon as I can manage. –DI Lestrade
Setting his personal phone aside for the time being, Lestrade made the calls necessary to pull together a small team. Anderson, Donovan, and a fairly new Yarder named Jack Field, would be the chosen few. Now he just needed to pay Sherlock a visit and get him in on the case. That wouldn't be too difficult, as long as the man wanted more to do with the case than just proving a Detective wrong.
Having everything else set and wanting to see Anthea at a reasonable hour, Lestrade grabbed his wallet and jacket and headed out of the door. He caught a cab to Baker Street and climbed out in front of John and Sherlock's flat.
Walking up the steps, Lestrade opened the door already assuming that Sherlock knew he would be there. The scene that lay before him made Lestrade raise an eyebrow. John was standing the middle of the kitchen with his jumper in his hand and nothing on his torso. He was shaking the thing, dripping wet with some gray-green liquid, and yelling.
"I don't care if you're a sociopath, this is unacceptable. Sociopath does not translate to 'mean', Sherlock Holmes!"
Lestrade coughed. Loudly. It drew both men's attention and Lestrade instantly regretted his habit of just walking in.
Sherlock marched over and grabbed Lestrade by the arm. "Explain to this man about my habits and my need for experiments. It is not my fault his jumper got into the bucket."
"Of brains, did he mention?" John threw the jumper on the floor. Lestrade looked down at it. It was his favorite cream, corded jumper.
"I've a case, if you're interested." Lestrade felt a change in topic was in order. Perhaps it could create some calm.
"That incompetent detective from Hazelmere hand it over?" Sherlock yawned, placing a hand over his mouth. It was a fake yawn, Lestrade was sure, for emphasis on the detective incompetence.
"Er, yes. I suppose you can word it that way." Lestrade tucked his hands in his jacket pockets, keeping himself as folded into itself as he could manage so neither man could snatch at him and physically drag him into another argument.
John let out a bark of laughter, obviously in the foulest mood anyone had seen the man in. Well, perhaps outside of Afghanistan. "Of course he'd word it that way." John shook his head and walked around Sherlock, grabbing his arm. "We are not done talking. I know you'll take the case and I'm coming with you."
Sherlock smiled and turned as John did, watching him walk up the stairs to his room. "He'll come round, don't worry." Sherlock climbed onto a chair, tucking his legs underneath himself and leaned over the microscope on the table top. "By the way, do you know how to get brain matter out of a jumper?"
Gritting his teeth, Lestrade figured this would be a long week. "Treat it like a red wine spill."
"Really?" Sherlock looked up from the microscope with a look of real curiosity. That faded to a frown when he saw Lestrade grinning brightly.
"I'm leaving tomorrow morning at eight precisely. You're riding with me." Lestrade turned away from the craziest flat he knew and back out of the door.
Anthea hoped to have a long evening with Lestrade before he left for the countryside. Hoping and receiving are two very different things though. Tonight, her cell phone would not be quiet. The Blackberry trilled every minute or so and Anthea was busying trying to settle a problem that could break out into a war between two politicians.
In between fixing Mycroft's mistake with the two, Anthea had to message Lestrade that she would be busy for the night. Working for Mycroft had its ups and downs- tonight was the down.
Sinking onto her couch with a tall glass of red wine, Anthea settled herself in for a long night with her Blackberry.
Two hours into the conference call with both politicians, Anthea was ready to terminate the problem in a very permanent manner. "You both need to be quiet and listen to what I am saying for more than three seconds."
When she got silence from both, she continued. "Now, there are two ways this can end. You can get on the telly together and show your support for the Prime Minister or we can ruin both of your reputations."
They quickly agreed to the commercial leaving Anthea a moment to breathe and finish her second glass of wine. The pile of paperwork that sat on her coffee table yelled at her to get another glass.
She wasn't even particularly sure how she'd gotten loaded with this paperwork but guessed it was something confidential that only she would be trusted to go through. Anthea would much rather be somewhere getting to know Detective Inspector Lestrade.
By midnight Anthea knew there was no way she was going to see Lestrade before he left. She also knew she was very hungry and that left over Chinese in her fridge was just not going to cut it.
Tossing her Blackberry away from her Anthea collected a few things around the flat. She pulled on a light jacket, tucked her wallet into her clutch and slipped on a pair of high heels. Just down the street was a little diner opened twenty four hours. It was much better than anything she'd find in her fridge. At least at the diner it had more of a chance of not moving on her plate.
Stepping outside, Anthea wrapped her arms around her, tucking the clutch under her arm. It was little chillier than she'd estimated. She walked quickly, heels clicking on the sidewalk, and rounded the corner to the diner. Stepping inside she found only three other patrons. A woman and man crouched over cups of coffee, talking intently and a man at the counter. Anthea stopped and stared at him. There was something about his slightly silvered hair and the long jacket.
Walking slowly to the counter and sitting one seat down from the man, Anthea looked over at him but his face was nothing notable to her.
The man turned, glanced, and looked back at the paper in front of him. Then he snapped his head back over towards her. "Anthea?"
She may not have known the face but there was that voice, musky and thick. "Lestrade. I did not expect to see you here."
"Same can be said for me. I take it you managed to calm down the British Government for Mycroft," he asked with a laugh.
"Actually yes. Along with a few other things. I am guessing you talked Sherlock and John into accompanying you to the crime scene?"
Lestrade nodded. "Yes. I think the two will be arguing the entire time. I was wondering when John Watson would lose his patience."
Anthea laughed. "It was only a matter of time. He lives with a Holmes." Perhaps tonight wouldn't be so bad after all.