text messages and phone calls
CHAPTER 1. TEXT MESSAGES AND PHONE CALLS
"Oh, what now. I'm off." Greg grumbled looking down at he text he received.
"Trouble?" Sherlock didn't even try to hide the hopefulness from his voice.
"No," Lestrade frowned." Just loose ends to another long day."
"Anything interesting? Sherlock straightened from his position near the window; his hands motionless, the tuning of his violin forgotten.
"No. It was a cut and dry case. Where was I? -oh yeah. You stay out of NSY, I'll give you call if we have anything for you. Till then don't come in and antagonize everyone."
"I was only pointing out a mistake in the evidence-"
"You called DI Rogers an imbecile, that should get his eyes checked. And I quote; you wouldn't know a bank robber-"
"Yes, yes. I recall. I was only pointing out that there was clearly a link between the tellers at each of the banks. That even a child could see in the reports."
"Sherlock-" Greg frowned again, his phone buzzing, he sighed. "Just please do this for me. Stay out of the Yard. Especially now, just steer clear unless I call you."
"Dull. Why did you come all the way down to Baker street, couldn't you have called or text?" Sherlock growled returning to his violin, the menace of rain finally pushed through the gray clouds that had hovered over London all day, adding to Sherlock's morose mood.
"Yes, I suppose I'm easier to ignore that way." Lestrade shook his head seeing Sherlock nod in agreement. "Where's John?" Greg asked looking around "Doesn't he have tonight off?"
"No, he was called in. Why he would want to waste his time at such a dreary, conventional place where such idiots run around like chickens whose heads have been cut off, and his skill and knowledge are highly under appreciated? It's all just beyond me."
" Sounds about right, it's called a Job Sherlock. And besides what would you have him do? Sit here and listen to how BORED you are?" Sherlock replied in a humph,
"Why do you need John? Perhaps I could-"
"Oh, no. Its not business related I was going to ask if he wanted to catch a pint at the pub, he's always a good shoulder to cry on after a long day. But it seems I have to run back to work. So I'll leave you with your music and thoughts. I promise to call if I have anything." He started to turn reading another text, "Actually, I may just need your expert eye on something, but it's a little off the record. I'm not certain anyway if it's anything. Will you and John be here later tonight?"
"Don't placate me Lestrade. I am not a child that you can say maybe if you are patient and good, and not cause explosions in the kitchen today; nanny will give you a treat. " Sherlock waved Lestrade off dismissively, ignoring the mans laughter all the way down the stairs disappearing somewhere in the rain. Sherlock absentmindedly acknowledged the DI didn't have an umbrella, he would soak through within minutes, serves him right.
Greg sighed irritably, sending a text to the impatient Sergeant Donovan.
I'm here what did you and Anderson find so important?-G
Lestrade shook his head he'd taken a cab to the crime scene, two uniforms in rain slickers still securing the tapped off area.
"Sir." One of them nodded.
"You're still here? It's a bit late." He pulled his coat around him, still not helping with the rain. "Oh, where are Smith and Howard?" Lestrade didn't recognize the two uniformed men.
"We were told to stay on scene, seems the Sergeant has something originally missed and we are waiting on the scene to be released." Greg frowned, maybe these two were new he hadn't seen them before.
"Well I'll try and hurry it up so you two boys and get out of the rain and home to your families." He stepped over the yellow tape, "Sally!" he called out, thankfully the crime in question was committed under a tunnel bridge, shielding him further from the rain. Although it was in a rather rough neighborhood, Lestrade caught sight of a black car newer with tinted black windows, parked over at the end of the tunnel. Who the hell would park that nice of a car in this neighborhood and that aside what was it doing on the unreleased crime scene? He swore at himself for not carrying a torch and the battery powered lamps they used to keep the scene lit, due to the lack of light under the tunnel bridge, the lamps were flickering reaching the end of their short power limit.
Why Sergeant Donovan, would have him come down here again was a mystery. Open shut case, they cleared it in a day, a kid was stabbed by his friend over drugs. The victim's friend, a boy of 18 confused almost immediately after being questioned. Something caused Lestrade to pause his phone buzzed, he read the text just when the tunnel lit up, and the sound of a running engine echoed. He put his hand over his eyes, moving back, the uniforms where still behind him, so shouted over his shoulder. Receiving no answer to his call, Lestrade felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, instinct born of years as a DI warned him something was wrong, very wrong and it was best to turn around.
Something caught his eye, in the corner just hidden in shadow two forms slumped next to each other, he started towards them the cars engine still going, but no one was getting out. "This is a police secured scene!" he growled "How about you turn the lights off-" he stood now in front of the two slumped figures, he caught his breath feeling suddenly sick.
Two uniformed police men, the one on the left had blood staining the middle of his uniform, PC Howard, a man who always teased Lestrade on his love for cappuccino's instead of the black tar they called coffee at the office. That same man was slumped over a bullet hole in the center of his chest already having run dry of any blood the now stilled heart would pump no more. The other officer, Smith, new by about three months, the middle of his forehead marked red from a bullet, Lestrade could only guess what the exit wound at the back of the young man's head looked like. Dead for a few hours he guessed, he made a dash for the two PC's outside, halting suddenly, were they even officers?
"Come on Detective, we need to chat." Someone had opened the black cars door, the sound of it shutting echoed through the tunnel. Lestrade looked at the text message from Sally again.
Lestrade figured he had a few minutes to live,
"Come now Greg, don't act like this. We're mates. Lets have that chat." Greg's eyes widened he recognized that voice, a mixture of fear and anger hit him like a wave.
"I have nothing to talk to you about. And you have nothing I want to hear."
"Don't I? You should have taken the money Greg, you would be a richer man. Instead you will be a dead one. Now don't make this hard. We have a few questions and then we'll let you go for a swim, after we shoot you."
"Fuck off." Lestrade moved back his feet clumsy on the slippery cement of the dark tunnel. He definitely only had a minute to live, enough time to get out a text to Sally to warn her-
"No none of that copper." One of the phony PC's grabbed his wrist in a tight grip. Wrenching his arm painfully behind him putting him on his knees and Greg dropped his mobile. "The boss wants a chat." The other man pushed him forward, causing him to land on his face. That'll leave a mark, he thought irritably. He pulled himself back up, swinging connecting with the bigger mans jaw, surprising the thug enough to give Greg room to dart for an opening but the other fake PC sent a hard elbow to the DI's gut before he could go far, bastard had been hiding in the shadows.
"Lets go somewhere more private. Get him in the trunk."
"Any way I can call my wife? Let her know I wont be making it home for dinner." Lestrade coughed. "You know how she worries, for old times sake?" He was going to disappear and his body would be found washed up near the river, or some dark alley. That's how these men did business; he after all had investigated some of their more recent handy work. The two thugs holding his arms looked up at their boss.
"Sure, seeing how I'm not completely heartless, and your wife always had such a nice rack, but no funny business make it quick." A snap of the man's fingers and Lestrade had his phone thrust in front of him. He received a text and thinking it was Sally he hit call.
"I sent you a text so we wouldn't have to talk, you defeat the-"Sherlock's irritable tirade was cut short.
"Honey." Greg tried to keep his voice even, "I wont be home in time for dinner. Go ahead without me. Just remember to be polite."
"Lestrade are you drunk?" Sherlock thought this a joke and a poor attempt at that, but something in the edge he caught in the DI's voice kept Sherlock from hanging up. Something wasn't right, Lestrade had been long separated from his wife, he lived alone. This was something else, definitely not good. Sherlock was listening now, straining to absorb everything all back ground noses, the clearing of a man's voice off to the side. An echo, the sound of rain dripping, he was in a tunnel. All right but where?
"Oh, yeah the extra set of keys are in my desk yes well I can't really talk sweetie. Just get the keys and go ahead drive the new car. Yes, I wanted to have dinner by the river as well. It is a popular spot after all." He caught his executioner's dark glare a signal to make it short. Damn his luck the last person he was going to talk to was Sherlock; well at least he'd figure it out. He always did, Lestrade just hoped it was in time to save Sally and Anderson along with the others on his team. He swallowed, clasping his eyes shut.
"Lestrade you're in trouble where are you?" Sherlock kept his voice low. "Tell me something about them-"
"I have to go now honey. Tell little Molly I'll be seeing her soon. Don't worry I'm just going out with some of the guys from the Yard. Tell Johnny not to forget to keep an eye on the dogs keep them close. You know how irritable they get. Don't wait up, we'll be out late. Goodbye." Lestrade couldn't think of anything else as a heavy blunt object, one of the PC's torches most likely struck him hard at the base of his skull where the head meets neck.
Sherlock frowned now starring at the mobile in his hands, the line went dead, usually in such a circumstance he'd call Lestrade with the cryptic message but it was Lestrade that needed help. He didn't believe he would make it, especially if mentioned seeing Molly soon. Sherlock groaned, "Dammit Lestrade, you would make me do this." He dialed a number that he'd locked somewhere in his mind palace under a file that held very little information worth memorizing.
"Sergeant Donovan." the female's prickly voice answered. Nails on chalkboard to his sensitive ears, Sherlock took a deep breath and tried to remain civil.