Fic: In Certain Circumstance
Mar. 13th, 2012 06:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
redfiona99Title: In Certain Circumstance
Author: Red Fiona
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, the BBC own this iteration of them. I'm making no money from this.
Fandom: Sherlock
Characters: Lestrade, Donovan, Sherlock Holmes
Rating/Warning/Etc: R, gen fic, dark AU. Character death.
Author's Notes: Originally written for a comment_fic prompt but it went way off-prompt quite quickly.
Summary: I'm worried about the freak, sir.
The fourth victim of the Suicide Serial Killer (the press have tried, but they don't know enough about the killer to give him a catchy nickname) is Dr. John Watson. Ex-army, just back from a tour in Afghanistan, invalided out. His sister goes to pieces at the news, and when they call Sherlock he says he's already solved it and he's busy catching the killer.
They find him three hours later, following an SOS text message. Once he's been seen to at the hospital, Sherlock explains to them how the killer did it, and that he went along with the killer's scheme to see how it would play out, realising that both pills contained the same poison but that, due to the medication the killer cabbie was on, it hadn't harmed him when he'd done this before. Sherlock followed this by saying he had hoped that his own constitution would be strong enough to withstand the dosage and that he had planned on being able to apprehend the killer then and there. He refused to admit he'd made a mistake and instead gave them the name and address where they could find the killer.
Job done.
It's a couple of months later when Donovan comes to see him. "I'm worried for the freak, sir."
"Aren't you usual worried about him?" Donovan agrees that normally she is, and the change disturbs her just as much as it disturbs him.
Donovan's right of course. Sherlock is going to pieces. It's not the first time Lestrade's seen him like this, but there's no gruesome murder to distract him this time. It's like watching an engine over-rev. Sherlock needs something to do.
They go so far as trying to find him some old unsolved cases to work on, anything a little odd and unusual. There's nothing, or nothing that Sherlock finds interesting. The nearest they come are a couple of odd suicides, but other than saying that they're definitely not suicides, he can't add anything, all the evidence, the cigarette stains and little pieces of paper Sherlock so relies on, has been cleared away. Lestrade finds himself defending poor Gregson, who'd done nothing wrong.
That's when Mrs. Hudson comes knocking on his door, giving her version of 'I'm worried about Sherlock'. None of them have any idea what to do with him, and it's unethical to hope for a crime spree.
Lestrade phones the emergency number he swore he'd never call and arranges a meeting with Mycroft.
Mycroft insists he's aware of the problem, but he doesn't have an answer either.
"Have you not even got a drugs ring you could put him on the trail of?"
"Inspector Lestrade, any drug trafficking I am aware of, the police are also aware of, and if they aren't, I'm certain Sherlock is." Lestrade's reasonably sure Mycroft is lying, on account of how he's breathing, and he becomes certain when Sherlock jets off to hunt down gun-smugglers. The feature of interest is finding out how they're getting the guns in and out.
That keeps Sherlock occupied for a while, but not for long enough. There's a couple more murders here and there that he considers worthy of his talents, and there's more than enough for Lestrade and his detectives to work on that Sherlock thinks is beneath him.
Then the thing with the phone calls happens. Sherlock answers the puzzles, even the final one. Lestrade's there at the end of it when Sherlock hands over the memory stick to Mycroft.
At least, Lestrade thought it was the end.
Then the e-mail arrives, Sherlock's last missive, explaining that the puzzles were only the beginning. They reach the baths just in time to see the third explosion rip through the building.
It's three months later that Donovan comes to see him again. "I'm worried about the freak, sir." Lestrade comes very close to shouting at her, telling her that she's not funny. "Hear me out, guv. It's this set of burglaries, the ones at the Suburban and Central branches, it's almost like someone's trying to be clever." This spate of bank robberies had been a bit out of the way for the crooks they were used to dealing with. "We never did find a body, and there wasn't that much blood at the scene. Enough to identify that it was the freak's, certainly, but I've lost more than that from hockey injuries."
He acknowledges that he's heard her, and is thinking about it, and waves her away.
Lestrade's not sure what to think. She's probably wrong; it was a bloody great explosion and that could easily explain the lack of a body. Still, there's a part of him, one he thinks he ought to discipline, that hopes she's right. Because yes, that would mean that Sherlock was on the opposing side, and that was a terrifying thought, but if Donovan was right then at least Sherlock was alive, and Lestrade had liked the man, despite everything.
Author: Red Fiona
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, the BBC own this iteration of them. I'm making no money from this.
Fandom: Sherlock
Characters: Lestrade, Donovan, Sherlock Holmes
Rating/Warning/Etc: R, gen fic, dark AU. Character death.
Author's Notes: Originally written for a comment_fic prompt but it went way off-prompt quite quickly.
Summary: I'm worried about the freak, sir.
The fourth victim of the Suicide Serial Killer (the press have tried, but they don't know enough about the killer to give him a catchy nickname) is Dr. John Watson. Ex-army, just back from a tour in Afghanistan, invalided out. His sister goes to pieces at the news, and when they call Sherlock he says he's already solved it and he's busy catching the killer.
They find him three hours later, following an SOS text message. Once he's been seen to at the hospital, Sherlock explains to them how the killer did it, and that he went along with the killer's scheme to see how it would play out, realising that both pills contained the same poison but that, due to the medication the killer cabbie was on, it hadn't harmed him when he'd done this before. Sherlock followed this by saying he had hoped that his own constitution would be strong enough to withstand the dosage and that he had planned on being able to apprehend the killer then and there. He refused to admit he'd made a mistake and instead gave them the name and address where they could find the killer.
Job done.
It's a couple of months later when Donovan comes to see him. "I'm worried for the freak, sir."
"Aren't you usual worried about him?" Donovan agrees that normally she is, and the change disturbs her just as much as it disturbs him.
Donovan's right of course. Sherlock is going to pieces. It's not the first time Lestrade's seen him like this, but there's no gruesome murder to distract him this time. It's like watching an engine over-rev. Sherlock needs something to do.
They go so far as trying to find him some old unsolved cases to work on, anything a little odd and unusual. There's nothing, or nothing that Sherlock finds interesting. The nearest they come are a couple of odd suicides, but other than saying that they're definitely not suicides, he can't add anything, all the evidence, the cigarette stains and little pieces of paper Sherlock so relies on, has been cleared away. Lestrade finds himself defending poor Gregson, who'd done nothing wrong.
That's when Mrs. Hudson comes knocking on his door, giving her version of 'I'm worried about Sherlock'. None of them have any idea what to do with him, and it's unethical to hope for a crime spree.
Lestrade phones the emergency number he swore he'd never call and arranges a meeting with Mycroft.
Mycroft insists he's aware of the problem, but he doesn't have an answer either.
"Have you not even got a drugs ring you could put him on the trail of?"
"Inspector Lestrade, any drug trafficking I am aware of, the police are also aware of, and if they aren't, I'm certain Sherlock is." Lestrade's reasonably sure Mycroft is lying, on account of how he's breathing, and he becomes certain when Sherlock jets off to hunt down gun-smugglers. The feature of interest is finding out how they're getting the guns in and out.
That keeps Sherlock occupied for a while, but not for long enough. There's a couple more murders here and there that he considers worthy of his talents, and there's more than enough for Lestrade and his detectives to work on that Sherlock thinks is beneath him.
Then the thing with the phone calls happens. Sherlock answers the puzzles, even the final one. Lestrade's there at the end of it when Sherlock hands over the memory stick to Mycroft.
At least, Lestrade thought it was the end.
Then the e-mail arrives, Sherlock's last missive, explaining that the puzzles were only the beginning. They reach the baths just in time to see the third explosion rip through the building.
It's three months later that Donovan comes to see him again. "I'm worried about the freak, sir." Lestrade comes very close to shouting at her, telling her that she's not funny. "Hear me out, guv. It's this set of burglaries, the ones at the Suburban and Central branches, it's almost like someone's trying to be clever." This spate of bank robberies had been a bit out of the way for the crooks they were used to dealing with. "We never did find a body, and there wasn't that much blood at the scene. Enough to identify that it was the freak's, certainly, but I've lost more than that from hockey injuries."
He acknowledges that he's heard her, and is thinking about it, and waves her away.
Lestrade's not sure what to think. She's probably wrong; it was a bloody great explosion and that could easily explain the lack of a body. Still, there's a part of him, one he thinks he ought to discipline, that hopes she's right. Because yes, that would mean that Sherlock was on the opposing side, and that was a terrifying thought, but if Donovan was right then at least Sherlock was alive, and Lestrade had liked the man, despite everything.
