Taking Out Other's Problems
Jan. 27th, 2012 05:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fakeasain56Title: Taking Out Other's Problems
Rating: G
Word Count: about 4000
Authors Notes: Lots of crossovers. Six of them to be exact, including Doctor Who, Torchwood, Sailor Moon, Iron Man, Batman, and Buffy the Vampire Slayer, not necessarily in that order.
Summary: For the Kink Meme: So not even half way through the investigation that NSY opens into Lestrade and his dealings with Sherlock, he realizes that he's going to be scapegoated and tossed out. Despite his intentions to work the thing from the inside and made sure that Sherlock's is vindicated he realizes that it's not a possibility.
He can't do any good for anyone anymore.
Lestrade says, "Fuck it and fuck you."
Then he goes off and joins SHIELD/UNIT/Torchwood/Hellsing/Justice League/Green Lantern Corps/Sailor Senshi/becomes the Doctor's companion/whatever and takes out a lot of his frustration on the criminal/villainous/undead element.
1.
Lestrade knew he was going to be kicked out. That much was obvious. They needed a fall guy, and professional outsiders were descending on his cases like flies. Gregson had looked like he had swallowed a lemon when Lestrade had taken all the blame; Dimmock sat quietly in the corner, quietly stunned.
That left his here- in the middle of a dead end road, wondering what he was supposed to do now. He only had a short time before he was completely tossed out.
He groaned, scrubbed at his face, and breathed out to turn and face the person following him. “You know, if you want to follow me, you could at least come keep a lonely old man company.”
“Not quite so old.” The woman trotted out of the darkness- she had an American accent.
Lestrade frowned- what was an American doing following him around? He wouldn’t be surprised at a British police officer was following, trying to make certain he didn’t attempt to pull a runner or anything.
“Not so young to think that an American lady looking for me in a dark alleyway is a purveyor of good news.” Lestrade murmured dryly, glancing around, wondering where her escort was.
“I don’t have any escort, I can take care of myself thank you.” Her chin jerked up smoothly, and one arm- lithe muscles beneath that layer of body fat- tossing back hair. “What we’re more worried about is what you’re about to do.”
“Me?” Lestrade glanced around again, unsure of whether to be flattered or alarmed. “Why not cut all of this beating around the bush. I have a divorce to finalize and job searching to begin.”
He sighed wearily- he could already imagine the trouble coming with that. He was far too old to go around looking for new jobs, especially in this economic climate.
The woman’s lips pursed. “I’m here representing S.H.I.E.L.D.”
“Shield?” Lestrade frowned in confusion, before he remembered, “Ah, that organization that deals with the superheroes.”
“That’s right. We’re recruiting and we heard tales of you working with Sherlock Holmes-“
“You have heard the news- Sherlock’s dead.” He didn’t flinch away from the word, only his dark eyes expressed the sorrow eating away at him. “He’s been declared a fraud. That is why I’ve being kicked out.”
“Loyalty is what we’re looking for Mister Lestrade.” The woman snapped back, her own eyes alight with amusement. “Something that you have. And patience too. Both are traits we need.”
“Sorry if you don’t exactly inspire loyalty.” Lestrade gave up looking for her companion who was probably pointing a sniper rifle at his head even now. “Can I ask why you’re really here?”
“We’d like to recruit you. Your experience is needed on a mission.”
“My experience.” Lestrade repeated in disbelief.
“You’ve worked with men thought mad before.”
Lestrade couldn’t help it. Out of all of his (admittedly few) talents, working with madmen was on the top. His shoulders hunched as he began to laugh hysterically in the back of a dingy, dirty alleyway, across from an American, with a gun aimed at him somewhere. Wasn’t this his life in a nutshell?
The woman took a step back as he howled in the backstreet, the windows rattling curiously as neighbors wondered what was going on.
It took him a good few minutes, but he got himself under control enough to gasp out, “Fine, fine.”
“Fine what?”
“I’ll give this job of yours a whirl.” He straightened slowly, clutching at his gut. “Just on a by the case basis understand.” Now he was beginning to sound like Sherlock.
“Fair enough. You may just be able to return to you job one day.”
That didn’t seem very likely… Still, it was a nice thought.
Two hands reached out to clasp each other, and Lestrade shook firmly.
Time to begin a new chapter to his life.
After he quit his job. Screw the police. Still, he'd have to see about bringing John in on some of this. Only fair after all.
2.
Working for S.H.I.E.L.D was interesting: Tony Stark’s gaping face when he had refused to do whatever the man ordered had been icing on the cake- but Lestrade was getting restless. He was being shoehorned into babysitting duties more and more, and it hurt.
It terrified him when he woke up and his first thought was that he should kick Stark out of bed and feed him his families’ special hangover cure.
So, it was without regrets he terminated the contract (the sobbing scientist clinging to his legs asking him to stay was a surprise) and found himself adrift with some money in his pocket, but not much.
Eventually he found himself in a three story, completely empty, building overlooking a lake, crowbar in his hand.
“Just had to get involved didn’t you Lestrade, couldn’t pull a John and slam the door shut in someone asking you for help. Nope, instead here you are fighting off giant trash cans by dropping them into the lake.”
“EXTERMINATE!”
Aha, prey was coming. Lestrade lined up his shot, and swung.
The crowbar connected beautifully, and the giant tin can toppled out of the window into the lake below. It sunk to the bottom comically.
Lestrade wished for a stiff drink.
He slipped further back into the shadows, and waited for the next machine to pass by; it was actually a bit of a let down. The tales of being invaded by space weren’t quite as terrifying in real life as it was in fiction.
Or maybe it was just him.
“Spread out and exterminate the Daleks!” The order from below made him frown slightly as he leaned out of the window to see what looked like a team of highly trained men storming into the building.
Something new.
A slight grin curved his lips as he hefted his crowbar, and whistling cheerfully, he leaned out to call, “Oi, know if these things are taken out by water? I dropped a few of them into the lake.”
The man in charge seemed to freeze, looking up at Lestrade back to the lake. “I-That’s right. Uhh-“
“Call me Lestrade. What organization are you in?”
“UNIT.” They were free with their information- not surprising seeming how Lestrade was probably in the middle of their covert operation. “What are you doing here?”
“Vacationing.”
UNIT. Something new. And no Tony Stark or Nick Fury to have to deal with! Perfect.
“Here?!”
“Well- the neighbors leave much to be desired, but it used to be my job to clean the rubbish out.” The remembrance of his job stung, slightly. Not as much as it used to, just a dull ache. “I got complaints to file after this you know.”
The sounds of shooting filled the air, and Lestrade plopped himself on the ledge of the window, running a hand down his face.
Was he getting too old for this?
Probably so.
But- it was something to do, something to help forget a man named Sherlock Holmes.
“Unit huh? Hope you don’t mind me tagging along here for awhile.”
Extra little piece:
Jack Harkness yawned as he leaned back against the wall. Having to keep up with UNIT wasn’t high on his list of things to do. Most of the guys on it were either purely heterosexual or taken; not that that had stopped him before.
Still, new people who were hot and bisexual did not just walk through the front door-
Oh hello there silver fox.
Jack straightened predatorily, licking his lips hungrily as a silver haired man strolled casually after the UNIT team, looking slightly rumpled, but completely in control. He just exuded the classic charm of a man who knew exactly what he was doing.
Abandoning his post, he trailed the silver-haired man down past the various rooms and offices to the cafeteria. There, the man mournfully checked his pocket, bought a doughnut, and preceded to sit himself with his sorry excuse for a breakfast and make it look sexy.
Or maybe it was just him.
Jack sauntered up to the cafeteria and placed in an order for the biggest spread of food one could possibly get. The cafeteria manager looked at him reprovingly, until Jack made a slight motion to the man in the far corner.
She gave him some extra pudding for that.
So, nope, it wasn’t just him.
Whistling cheerfully he proceeded to Sexy Central and plopped down across from the man. The man shot him an unamused look. “I came bearing gifts- want some?”
“I don’t do charity.”
“It isn’t charity if you exchange something for it.” Jack let his eyes linger suggestively on the groin.
“I- What?” Confusion. Aww, how sweet- the man didn’t even realize his appeal.
“Name’s Jack. Jack Harkness.”
“Lestrade.” He bit into the doughnut, eyeing the man across from him speculatively. Jack tried to look as innocent as possible.
“Now then,” He licked his finger, and Jack watched the tongue appreciatively. “What were you saying about an exchange?”
“You and me-“ Jack began, mind already running into lewrid descriptions-
It was abruptly cut off when a hand grabbed the back of his shirt, yanking him stumbling to his feet. “Jack Harkness, you’re missing the meeting! Come on you-“
“Wait, but I- there was- SEX!”
“Yes, yes, you can have sex with the poor man later. Feel free to take his breakfast, he doesn’t need it.”
Lestrade grinned as he waved a casual salute at the woman, and his eyes met Jack’s squarely; “I’ll be around for a short time- if you want me, you’ll have to move fast.”
Jack was so totally ditching the next couple of missions.
It wouldn’t do to disappoint the newest visitor- Jack had always promised that people who came around to Torchwood would be in for the ride of their lives.
3.
It ended with a talking cat being launched out of his window. It was shortly followed by a golden wand. The window slammed irritably shut, as a voice grumbled about impossible acts.
The cat glowered at the window for a moment, before stalking away, muttering about going to Japan and trying there.
It started when said cat pawed at the window, meowing mournfully to be let in. It was promptly chased off by a flying object (it still swore the object looked like a flowerpot, but wasn’t about to be stereotypical).
It came around later, nosing around the open window, glowering at the man inside.
The room was a cheap hotel room; the man inside was one that fate seemed to enjoy. Obviously one that traveled which was perfect- he could take down evil while traveling from place to place.
The cat was attacked by yet another mysteriously object (boot this time) and chased off.
Lestrade frowned at the empty space where the black cat had been sitting. “I hate cats.”
This remark brought a glower from the black cat.
She slipped in through the open window. “My name is Luna.”
Lestrade froze in the act of returning back to the papers he had been reading. “I’ve gone insane.”
“My name is Luna and desiney-“
“A talking cat. Destiny.”
The conversation went downhill after that. Lestrade expressed his disbelief, Luna insisted on it.
Lestrade had quite enough by the time he had gotten around to the uniforms. “I am not wearing a dress.”
“It’s the magical uniform! It will grant you powers-“
“Not. Wearing. It.”
“You must.”
“No, I don’t!”
It ended with the cat being thrown out of the window to a great deal of colorful language.
Lestrade swore that he was never going out drinking with Jack Harkness ever again.
4.
Another day, another group trying to kill him. It seemed to be status quo lately. The only real difference was that this time, the person trying to kill him wasn’t a person at all- it was a werewolf. A werewolf.
He ducked low, and the wolf bounded over his head and into a tree. Quickly he backed up, swearing beneath his breath while searching for anything for even the slightest bit of silver in it.
When he got his hands on Jack Harkness and Tony Stark he was going to strangle them both. Not just strangle them, but shake them until some molecule of sense appeared in that fluff they call brains.
They taught him about aliens, superheroes, mutants and everything in between, but they just had to leave out supernatural, didn’t they? They just had too.
“Hey, mister, look out!” A young woman armed with what looked like a silver pen bounded over his head, the full moon light gilding the pen in a shimmering pattern. Lestrade backed up a step as the pen unerringly buried itself into flesh.
Not a second later, the woman was standing right in front of him, blocking his view of the body. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to keep right on moving, could I?”
“Not likely.” Lestrade quipped back, “Not every day you see a werewolf.”
“Did you get bitten?”
“No, living with a superhero taught me how to duck.”
Alright, maybe he wasn’t going to kill Tony. But Jack was still open.
“You’re rather calm for something like this.” The woman frowned at him.
“It’s nothing terribly new.” Lestrade muttered back, running a hand across gray hair. Her eyes flickered to watch the movement. “I’m just-“
“HEY! ANNA!”
“Oh, Buffy’s calling.”
“Buffy?”
“My teacher. She’s the first Slayer… Do you want to come with us? It’s all girls, but… You could probably join the Watcher’s guild.”
Lestrade shook his head, “No thank, I’m not looking to join any organizations.” He smiled gravely, hand reaching out to clasp hers firmly. “You take care of yourself. Watch your teacher.”
She glanced back from him to where Buffy was standing on top of a hill. He could see even from this distance that she was a very beautiful woman- Still, he had places to be.
Mycroft had managed to send him a message about a place called Atlantis. He was here in America to check it out.
But… well… what could a little time hurt?
“So you’re hunting werewolves?”
“Yes, a pack just moved in.”
“I’ll help out I guess. I have a few tricks that Jack gave me, alien technology that should kill them.”
If not he was going to have a very, very long talk with Jack about empty promises. If the weapon could fight aliens, why not supernatural incidents?
Probably because that’s just how his life was working lately. “Lead on. I’ll follow.”
Atlantis would just have to wait.
5. In which things get suddenly very serious
When he had first heard the name John he had considered bolting. Relaxation came in the form of hearing the word Shepherd attached.
All feelings of peace however were abruptly chased away as he rounded a corner and found John Watson, holding a clipboard and a bag of medical instruments (he was going to be surgically taken apart his mind gibbered in fear) at his side.
Both men froze in the middle of a crowded hallway, neither trusting themselves to speak. The silence stretched on for at least a good few minutes, ticking by quietly, marked only by the sound of footsteps.
Lestrade coughed, unexpectedly, eyes brushing close. When he opened them again, the clipboard had been tucked away, and John Watson was watching him. No violence yet.
Yet.
“Lestrade.” Last name basis. He winced slightly.
“Mister Watson. What- What can I do for you?”
John drew in a deep shuttering breath, and he could see it, the pain still in his eyes- muted now. John had been grieving, and time was bringing open wounds down into scars.
“I heard you lost your job.”
“It was either walk out or be arrested, and if I was arrested I’d be dead in a fortnight.” Coppers don’t last long in prison. It was a toss up between them and pedophiles in who had the shortest life span and which guards were more likely to look away and allow it to happen.
“I know.” John breathed in deep, “Did you actually-“
“I called John, and I wondered for a few moments. But well- then I remember the junkie on my bed going through withdrawal and it didn’t make sense. He could solve the cold cases just by looking at them. How could he possibly fake that?” He was pleading.
He doubted it would make a difference. If John was going to punch him-
“Greg.”
First name. “Yeah John?”
“I still don’t know what to do.”
“…Neither do I.” He admitted, low and soft. “I’ve been wandering around different organizations. Nothings really…”
“Nope. This place however, it’s been the best so far.” John murmured.
Lestrade grinned, “Is that so? Shall I stick around then?”
John grinned back.
The alarms went off over head, “So then, I take it that’s our signal to get to work?”
“Oh, absolutely. What kind of gun would you like?”
“Got a stun baton or something?”
“Yeah, we should- unless you’d rather wield a magic sword.”
“That’ll do.”
It was perhaps the oddest fight that took place; one that aliens might’ve laughed at. Two men armed only with magic swords charging an army of aliens armed to the teeth with advanced weaponry.
They might’ve laughed.
But the few remaining survivors of the army came crawling home instead, whimpering in fear of humans, and very quickly mothers scolded and frightened their children to sleep with tales of Lestrade and Watson.
6.
Gotham City was a dirty, terrible place to live. Lestrade wandered down the streets, hands stuck in the pockets of his long coat, every nerve tingling. He had heard tales about the crime rate- he had heard tales of a vigilante prowling the streets, but wasn’t about to fall prey to some young punk on the streets.
He ran his thumb across the cellphone, the cool metal reminding him.
John had decided to go back to London; go back to protect the city they loved. Saving the world together after about the fiftieth time got boring. Lestrade kept wandering; he couldn’t return to London now, not with the entire police force after his hide.
A dark shadow crossed rooftops up above. Lestrade whirled, hand twitching for the police baton no longer there, and swore under his breath as he backed up, eyeing the rooftops. He had been around mutants, aliens, werewolves, vampires, all sorts of otherworldly environments- none of them were quite as disquieting as what was going on right now.
“Wait just one minute, would you? Oh Go…”
The man’s tall, lean frame froze when his and Lestrade’s eyes met. Even in the darkness he could see gray hair, and a thick, bristling mustache. The man’s long trench coat swirled around his legs, and lines of exhaustion were etched on his face.
There was a gun holstered at his side, Lestrade noted distantly, and a police badge next to it. A police officer? And a dark shape- “You’re not a corrupt cop are you?” He asked hopefully.
The older man huffed out a laugh, “No, I’m not.”
“Good.” Lestrade began scaling a nearby ladder to approach the man. The other allowed him, his own eyes picking Lestrade apart.
“You’re not a resident of Gotham City. They don’t dare look up too often.”
“Nope, I’m not. Name’s Lestrade.”
“A brit I see. I’m Gordon.”
“Gordon.” Lestrade frowned slightly, attempting to place the name. “Sounds familiar, but…”
“The Police Commissioner of the city. After the last one died of poison. About… oh, nine years ago?”
That… explained a lot. “I remember now- Gotham City, second most corrupt city in America, and home to the World’s most feared vigilante, Batman.”
Tony Stark had muttering about tracking down Batman sometime, but Lestrade wasn’t overly concerned with it.
Maybe he should have paid greater attention.
“Yes Bat-“ Gordon agreed, before his eyes fell on something behind his back.
“If I turn around will I find an alien?”
“No.”
“Supernatural creature?”
“Maybe.”
“Time traveling doctor?”
“Nah.”
“Vigilante?”
“Yes.”
“In a bat costume.”
Gordon eyed whatever was behind him speculatively for a moment, mustache twitching in what could be a smile. “Yes. Or he could be a half-bat creature, there’s some debate about that.”
“Right.”
Lestrade slowly turned, and found the dark form crouched on a jutting gargoyle, mouth twisted into an ugly frown.
“G. Lestrade.” The voice was deep and rumbling, threatening, “Former member of London’s Police Force. Served there for twenty years. Then you quit amidst the Sherlock Holmes scandal.”
“That one? I heard about it, but didn’t follow it.”
“Sherlock Holmes was not a fake.” Lestrade said slowly, each word feeling like a heavy stone. “He really was that smart.”
“You left.”
“I’d rather not die in prison.”
“You don’t believe it.”
“I’m waiting for him to return.” The words surprised him.
The scowl deepened a little more, as the crouched figure rose to full height. He was taller then even Gordon, every inch solid muscle. Lestrade didn’t flinch. “How do you know he’s coming back?”
“Because I didn’t spend several months making him detox on my couch for nothing. I did not risk my job for a man who could fake being that brilliantly, I didn’t endure being yelled at, cursed at and shunned for a man who pretended. I did not ignore laughter and jeers for a man who was fake. I did not.”
It should have been words overflowing with anger, hot and heated; it came out stiffer then wood, Lestrade glowering down narrow-eyed at the ground.
Gordon squeezed his shoulder supportively. “Don’t worry, I know how that feels. I once asked for a transfer- all of the cops laughed at me, saying that I should have been able to solve my own crimes without a giant bat.”
Batman growled, low and dangerous. “They wouldn’t last ten minutes in Gotham.”
Gordon shrugged, mouth twisted in a bitter frown. “It’s still the image, don’t you think?”
Batman’s scowl grew more dangerous. Gordon sighed, shaking his head. “Want to give Gotham a try? Sounds like you’re already at your lowest, and even I don’t know anything about Sherlock Holmes, but if you’re willing to stand up to Batman, then I think you have what it takes.”
That… That was the sweetest offer of them all. It wasn’t just about fighting. It was about justice.
Justice for the little people, justice for the battered wife, the verbally torn down husband.
Not the action, not the violence, but justice.
“It won’t be easy. The justice system is corrupt; more cops are in the criminals pockets then an average police force.” Gordon’s warning didn’t much deter him.
He had time… right? Did he really-
His cell phone began to ring, and he blinked, hand dipping into his pocket. He pulled it up and out, a single text flashing on the screen.
Need your least dull officer in 221 B Baker Street. SH
No way. No bloody way.
The screen went dark, leaving him to stare at it soundlessly in the dark. “Lestrade?”
Grodon’s voice broke him out of his mind rut. “I-I’m afraid I’ll have to decline. It looks like I have unfinished business back at home. I just got a text from the worlds greatest idiot-“
Another text flashed onto the screen.
Hurry up. SH
“And I need to go keep him in line.” Lestrade finished. “Good luck Gordon. If you ever need someone to complain too about crazy people nosing in on official investigations, just give me a call, or drop me an e-mail.”
“I’ll do that.” Gordon smiled, hand reaching out in a firm shake, ignoring the giant, bat-clad man looming across from them. “Good luck.”
“Thanks mate.”
Lestrade went home.
~End~
Rating: G
Word Count: about 4000
Authors Notes: Lots of crossovers. Six of them to be exact, including Doctor Who, Torchwood, Sailor Moon, Iron Man, Batman, and Buffy the Vampire Slayer, not necessarily in that order.
Summary: For the Kink Meme: So not even half way through the investigation that NSY opens into Lestrade and his dealings with Sherlock, he realizes that he's going to be scapegoated and tossed out. Despite his intentions to work the thing from the inside and made sure that Sherlock's is vindicated he realizes that it's not a possibility.
He can't do any good for anyone anymore.
Lestrade says, "Fuck it and fuck you."
Then he goes off and joins SHIELD/UNIT/Torchwood/Hellsing/Justice League/Green Lantern Corps/Sailor Senshi/becomes the Doctor's companion/whatever and takes out a lot of his frustration on the criminal/villainous/undead element.
1.
Lestrade knew he was going to be kicked out. That much was obvious. They needed a fall guy, and professional outsiders were descending on his cases like flies. Gregson had looked like he had swallowed a lemon when Lestrade had taken all the blame; Dimmock sat quietly in the corner, quietly stunned.
That left his here- in the middle of a dead end road, wondering what he was supposed to do now. He only had a short time before he was completely tossed out.
He groaned, scrubbed at his face, and breathed out to turn and face the person following him. “You know, if you want to follow me, you could at least come keep a lonely old man company.”
“Not quite so old.” The woman trotted out of the darkness- she had an American accent.
Lestrade frowned- what was an American doing following him around? He wouldn’t be surprised at a British police officer was following, trying to make certain he didn’t attempt to pull a runner or anything.
“Not so young to think that an American lady looking for me in a dark alleyway is a purveyor of good news.” Lestrade murmured dryly, glancing around, wondering where her escort was.
“I don’t have any escort, I can take care of myself thank you.” Her chin jerked up smoothly, and one arm- lithe muscles beneath that layer of body fat- tossing back hair. “What we’re more worried about is what you’re about to do.”
“Me?” Lestrade glanced around again, unsure of whether to be flattered or alarmed. “Why not cut all of this beating around the bush. I have a divorce to finalize and job searching to begin.”
He sighed wearily- he could already imagine the trouble coming with that. He was far too old to go around looking for new jobs, especially in this economic climate.
The woman’s lips pursed. “I’m here representing S.H.I.E.L.D.”
“Shield?” Lestrade frowned in confusion, before he remembered, “Ah, that organization that deals with the superheroes.”
“That’s right. We’re recruiting and we heard tales of you working with Sherlock Holmes-“
“You have heard the news- Sherlock’s dead.” He didn’t flinch away from the word, only his dark eyes expressed the sorrow eating away at him. “He’s been declared a fraud. That is why I’ve being kicked out.”
“Loyalty is what we’re looking for Mister Lestrade.” The woman snapped back, her own eyes alight with amusement. “Something that you have. And patience too. Both are traits we need.”
“Sorry if you don’t exactly inspire loyalty.” Lestrade gave up looking for her companion who was probably pointing a sniper rifle at his head even now. “Can I ask why you’re really here?”
“We’d like to recruit you. Your experience is needed on a mission.”
“My experience.” Lestrade repeated in disbelief.
“You’ve worked with men thought mad before.”
Lestrade couldn’t help it. Out of all of his (admittedly few) talents, working with madmen was on the top. His shoulders hunched as he began to laugh hysterically in the back of a dingy, dirty alleyway, across from an American, with a gun aimed at him somewhere. Wasn’t this his life in a nutshell?
The woman took a step back as he howled in the backstreet, the windows rattling curiously as neighbors wondered what was going on.
It took him a good few minutes, but he got himself under control enough to gasp out, “Fine, fine.”
“Fine what?”
“I’ll give this job of yours a whirl.” He straightened slowly, clutching at his gut. “Just on a by the case basis understand.” Now he was beginning to sound like Sherlock.
“Fair enough. You may just be able to return to you job one day.”
That didn’t seem very likely… Still, it was a nice thought.
Two hands reached out to clasp each other, and Lestrade shook firmly.
Time to begin a new chapter to his life.
After he quit his job. Screw the police. Still, he'd have to see about bringing John in on some of this. Only fair after all.
2.
Working for S.H.I.E.L.D was interesting: Tony Stark’s gaping face when he had refused to do whatever the man ordered had been icing on the cake- but Lestrade was getting restless. He was being shoehorned into babysitting duties more and more, and it hurt.
It terrified him when he woke up and his first thought was that he should kick Stark out of bed and feed him his families’ special hangover cure.
So, it was without regrets he terminated the contract (the sobbing scientist clinging to his legs asking him to stay was a surprise) and found himself adrift with some money in his pocket, but not much.
Eventually he found himself in a three story, completely empty, building overlooking a lake, crowbar in his hand.
“Just had to get involved didn’t you Lestrade, couldn’t pull a John and slam the door shut in someone asking you for help. Nope, instead here you are fighting off giant trash cans by dropping them into the lake.”
“EXTERMINATE!”
Aha, prey was coming. Lestrade lined up his shot, and swung.
The crowbar connected beautifully, and the giant tin can toppled out of the window into the lake below. It sunk to the bottom comically.
Lestrade wished for a stiff drink.
He slipped further back into the shadows, and waited for the next machine to pass by; it was actually a bit of a let down. The tales of being invaded by space weren’t quite as terrifying in real life as it was in fiction.
Or maybe it was just him.
“Spread out and exterminate the Daleks!” The order from below made him frown slightly as he leaned out of the window to see what looked like a team of highly trained men storming into the building.
Something new.
A slight grin curved his lips as he hefted his crowbar, and whistling cheerfully, he leaned out to call, “Oi, know if these things are taken out by water? I dropped a few of them into the lake.”
The man in charge seemed to freeze, looking up at Lestrade back to the lake. “I-That’s right. Uhh-“
“Call me Lestrade. What organization are you in?”
“UNIT.” They were free with their information- not surprising seeming how Lestrade was probably in the middle of their covert operation. “What are you doing here?”
“Vacationing.”
UNIT. Something new. And no Tony Stark or Nick Fury to have to deal with! Perfect.
“Here?!”
“Well- the neighbors leave much to be desired, but it used to be my job to clean the rubbish out.” The remembrance of his job stung, slightly. Not as much as it used to, just a dull ache. “I got complaints to file after this you know.”
The sounds of shooting filled the air, and Lestrade plopped himself on the ledge of the window, running a hand down his face.
Was he getting too old for this?
Probably so.
But- it was something to do, something to help forget a man named Sherlock Holmes.
“Unit huh? Hope you don’t mind me tagging along here for awhile.”
Extra little piece:
Jack Harkness yawned as he leaned back against the wall. Having to keep up with UNIT wasn’t high on his list of things to do. Most of the guys on it were either purely heterosexual or taken; not that that had stopped him before.
Still, new people who were hot and bisexual did not just walk through the front door-
Oh hello there silver fox.
Jack straightened predatorily, licking his lips hungrily as a silver haired man strolled casually after the UNIT team, looking slightly rumpled, but completely in control. He just exuded the classic charm of a man who knew exactly what he was doing.
Abandoning his post, he trailed the silver-haired man down past the various rooms and offices to the cafeteria. There, the man mournfully checked his pocket, bought a doughnut, and preceded to sit himself with his sorry excuse for a breakfast and make it look sexy.
Or maybe it was just him.
Jack sauntered up to the cafeteria and placed in an order for the biggest spread of food one could possibly get. The cafeteria manager looked at him reprovingly, until Jack made a slight motion to the man in the far corner.
She gave him some extra pudding for that.
So, nope, it wasn’t just him.
Whistling cheerfully he proceeded to Sexy Central and plopped down across from the man. The man shot him an unamused look. “I came bearing gifts- want some?”
“I don’t do charity.”
“It isn’t charity if you exchange something for it.” Jack let his eyes linger suggestively on the groin.
“I- What?” Confusion. Aww, how sweet- the man didn’t even realize his appeal.
“Name’s Jack. Jack Harkness.”
“Lestrade.” He bit into the doughnut, eyeing the man across from him speculatively. Jack tried to look as innocent as possible.
“Now then,” He licked his finger, and Jack watched the tongue appreciatively. “What were you saying about an exchange?”
“You and me-“ Jack began, mind already running into lewrid descriptions-
It was abruptly cut off when a hand grabbed the back of his shirt, yanking him stumbling to his feet. “Jack Harkness, you’re missing the meeting! Come on you-“
“Wait, but I- there was- SEX!”
“Yes, yes, you can have sex with the poor man later. Feel free to take his breakfast, he doesn’t need it.”
Lestrade grinned as he waved a casual salute at the woman, and his eyes met Jack’s squarely; “I’ll be around for a short time- if you want me, you’ll have to move fast.”
Jack was so totally ditching the next couple of missions.
It wouldn’t do to disappoint the newest visitor- Jack had always promised that people who came around to Torchwood would be in for the ride of their lives.
3.
It ended with a talking cat being launched out of his window. It was shortly followed by a golden wand. The window slammed irritably shut, as a voice grumbled about impossible acts.
The cat glowered at the window for a moment, before stalking away, muttering about going to Japan and trying there.
It started when said cat pawed at the window, meowing mournfully to be let in. It was promptly chased off by a flying object (it still swore the object looked like a flowerpot, but wasn’t about to be stereotypical).
It came around later, nosing around the open window, glowering at the man inside.
The room was a cheap hotel room; the man inside was one that fate seemed to enjoy. Obviously one that traveled which was perfect- he could take down evil while traveling from place to place.
The cat was attacked by yet another mysteriously object (boot this time) and chased off.
Lestrade frowned at the empty space where the black cat had been sitting. “I hate cats.”
This remark brought a glower from the black cat.
She slipped in through the open window. “My name is Luna.”
Lestrade froze in the act of returning back to the papers he had been reading. “I’ve gone insane.”
“My name is Luna and desiney-“
“A talking cat. Destiny.”
The conversation went downhill after that. Lestrade expressed his disbelief, Luna insisted on it.
Lestrade had quite enough by the time he had gotten around to the uniforms. “I am not wearing a dress.”
“It’s the magical uniform! It will grant you powers-“
“Not. Wearing. It.”
“You must.”
“No, I don’t!”
It ended with the cat being thrown out of the window to a great deal of colorful language.
Lestrade swore that he was never going out drinking with Jack Harkness ever again.
4.
Another day, another group trying to kill him. It seemed to be status quo lately. The only real difference was that this time, the person trying to kill him wasn’t a person at all- it was a werewolf. A werewolf.
He ducked low, and the wolf bounded over his head and into a tree. Quickly he backed up, swearing beneath his breath while searching for anything for even the slightest bit of silver in it.
When he got his hands on Jack Harkness and Tony Stark he was going to strangle them both. Not just strangle them, but shake them until some molecule of sense appeared in that fluff they call brains.
They taught him about aliens, superheroes, mutants and everything in between, but they just had to leave out supernatural, didn’t they? They just had too.
“Hey, mister, look out!” A young woman armed with what looked like a silver pen bounded over his head, the full moon light gilding the pen in a shimmering pattern. Lestrade backed up a step as the pen unerringly buried itself into flesh.
Not a second later, the woman was standing right in front of him, blocking his view of the body. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to keep right on moving, could I?”
“Not likely.” Lestrade quipped back, “Not every day you see a werewolf.”
“Did you get bitten?”
“No, living with a superhero taught me how to duck.”
Alright, maybe he wasn’t going to kill Tony. But Jack was still open.
“You’re rather calm for something like this.” The woman frowned at him.
“It’s nothing terribly new.” Lestrade muttered back, running a hand across gray hair. Her eyes flickered to watch the movement. “I’m just-“
“HEY! ANNA!”
“Oh, Buffy’s calling.”
“Buffy?”
“My teacher. She’s the first Slayer… Do you want to come with us? It’s all girls, but… You could probably join the Watcher’s guild.”
Lestrade shook his head, “No thank, I’m not looking to join any organizations.” He smiled gravely, hand reaching out to clasp hers firmly. “You take care of yourself. Watch your teacher.”
She glanced back from him to where Buffy was standing on top of a hill. He could see even from this distance that she was a very beautiful woman- Still, he had places to be.
Mycroft had managed to send him a message about a place called Atlantis. He was here in America to check it out.
But… well… what could a little time hurt?
“So you’re hunting werewolves?”
“Yes, a pack just moved in.”
“I’ll help out I guess. I have a few tricks that Jack gave me, alien technology that should kill them.”
If not he was going to have a very, very long talk with Jack about empty promises. If the weapon could fight aliens, why not supernatural incidents?
Probably because that’s just how his life was working lately. “Lead on. I’ll follow.”
Atlantis would just have to wait.
5. In which things get suddenly very serious
When he had first heard the name John he had considered bolting. Relaxation came in the form of hearing the word Shepherd attached.
All feelings of peace however were abruptly chased away as he rounded a corner and found John Watson, holding a clipboard and a bag of medical instruments (he was going to be surgically taken apart his mind gibbered in fear) at his side.
Both men froze in the middle of a crowded hallway, neither trusting themselves to speak. The silence stretched on for at least a good few minutes, ticking by quietly, marked only by the sound of footsteps.
Lestrade coughed, unexpectedly, eyes brushing close. When he opened them again, the clipboard had been tucked away, and John Watson was watching him. No violence yet.
Yet.
“Lestrade.” Last name basis. He winced slightly.
“Mister Watson. What- What can I do for you?”
John drew in a deep shuttering breath, and he could see it, the pain still in his eyes- muted now. John had been grieving, and time was bringing open wounds down into scars.
“I heard you lost your job.”
“It was either walk out or be arrested, and if I was arrested I’d be dead in a fortnight.” Coppers don’t last long in prison. It was a toss up between them and pedophiles in who had the shortest life span and which guards were more likely to look away and allow it to happen.
“I know.” John breathed in deep, “Did you actually-“
“I called John, and I wondered for a few moments. But well- then I remember the junkie on my bed going through withdrawal and it didn’t make sense. He could solve the cold cases just by looking at them. How could he possibly fake that?” He was pleading.
He doubted it would make a difference. If John was going to punch him-
“Greg.”
First name. “Yeah John?”
“I still don’t know what to do.”
“…Neither do I.” He admitted, low and soft. “I’ve been wandering around different organizations. Nothings really…”
“Nope. This place however, it’s been the best so far.” John murmured.
Lestrade grinned, “Is that so? Shall I stick around then?”
John grinned back.
The alarms went off over head, “So then, I take it that’s our signal to get to work?”
“Oh, absolutely. What kind of gun would you like?”
“Got a stun baton or something?”
“Yeah, we should- unless you’d rather wield a magic sword.”
“That’ll do.”
It was perhaps the oddest fight that took place; one that aliens might’ve laughed at. Two men armed only with magic swords charging an army of aliens armed to the teeth with advanced weaponry.
They might’ve laughed.
But the few remaining survivors of the army came crawling home instead, whimpering in fear of humans, and very quickly mothers scolded and frightened their children to sleep with tales of Lestrade and Watson.
6.
Gotham City was a dirty, terrible place to live. Lestrade wandered down the streets, hands stuck in the pockets of his long coat, every nerve tingling. He had heard tales about the crime rate- he had heard tales of a vigilante prowling the streets, but wasn’t about to fall prey to some young punk on the streets.
He ran his thumb across the cellphone, the cool metal reminding him.
John had decided to go back to London; go back to protect the city they loved. Saving the world together after about the fiftieth time got boring. Lestrade kept wandering; he couldn’t return to London now, not with the entire police force after his hide.
A dark shadow crossed rooftops up above. Lestrade whirled, hand twitching for the police baton no longer there, and swore under his breath as he backed up, eyeing the rooftops. He had been around mutants, aliens, werewolves, vampires, all sorts of otherworldly environments- none of them were quite as disquieting as what was going on right now.
“Wait just one minute, would you? Oh Go…”
The man’s tall, lean frame froze when his and Lestrade’s eyes met. Even in the darkness he could see gray hair, and a thick, bristling mustache. The man’s long trench coat swirled around his legs, and lines of exhaustion were etched on his face.
There was a gun holstered at his side, Lestrade noted distantly, and a police badge next to it. A police officer? And a dark shape- “You’re not a corrupt cop are you?” He asked hopefully.
The older man huffed out a laugh, “No, I’m not.”
“Good.” Lestrade began scaling a nearby ladder to approach the man. The other allowed him, his own eyes picking Lestrade apart.
“You’re not a resident of Gotham City. They don’t dare look up too often.”
“Nope, I’m not. Name’s Lestrade.”
“A brit I see. I’m Gordon.”
“Gordon.” Lestrade frowned slightly, attempting to place the name. “Sounds familiar, but…”
“The Police Commissioner of the city. After the last one died of poison. About… oh, nine years ago?”
That… explained a lot. “I remember now- Gotham City, second most corrupt city in America, and home to the World’s most feared vigilante, Batman.”
Tony Stark had muttering about tracking down Batman sometime, but Lestrade wasn’t overly concerned with it.
Maybe he should have paid greater attention.
“Yes Bat-“ Gordon agreed, before his eyes fell on something behind his back.
“If I turn around will I find an alien?”
“No.”
“Supernatural creature?”
“Maybe.”
“Time traveling doctor?”
“Nah.”
“Vigilante?”
“Yes.”
“In a bat costume.”
Gordon eyed whatever was behind him speculatively for a moment, mustache twitching in what could be a smile. “Yes. Or he could be a half-bat creature, there’s some debate about that.”
“Right.”
Lestrade slowly turned, and found the dark form crouched on a jutting gargoyle, mouth twisted into an ugly frown.
“G. Lestrade.” The voice was deep and rumbling, threatening, “Former member of London’s Police Force. Served there for twenty years. Then you quit amidst the Sherlock Holmes scandal.”
“That one? I heard about it, but didn’t follow it.”
“Sherlock Holmes was not a fake.” Lestrade said slowly, each word feeling like a heavy stone. “He really was that smart.”
“You left.”
“I’d rather not die in prison.”
“You don’t believe it.”
“I’m waiting for him to return.” The words surprised him.
The scowl deepened a little more, as the crouched figure rose to full height. He was taller then even Gordon, every inch solid muscle. Lestrade didn’t flinch. “How do you know he’s coming back?”
“Because I didn’t spend several months making him detox on my couch for nothing. I did not risk my job for a man who could fake being that brilliantly, I didn’t endure being yelled at, cursed at and shunned for a man who pretended. I did not ignore laughter and jeers for a man who was fake. I did not.”
It should have been words overflowing with anger, hot and heated; it came out stiffer then wood, Lestrade glowering down narrow-eyed at the ground.
Gordon squeezed his shoulder supportively. “Don’t worry, I know how that feels. I once asked for a transfer- all of the cops laughed at me, saying that I should have been able to solve my own crimes without a giant bat.”
Batman growled, low and dangerous. “They wouldn’t last ten minutes in Gotham.”
Gordon shrugged, mouth twisted in a bitter frown. “It’s still the image, don’t you think?”
Batman’s scowl grew more dangerous. Gordon sighed, shaking his head. “Want to give Gotham a try? Sounds like you’re already at your lowest, and even I don’t know anything about Sherlock Holmes, but if you’re willing to stand up to Batman, then I think you have what it takes.”
That… That was the sweetest offer of them all. It wasn’t just about fighting. It was about justice.
Justice for the little people, justice for the battered wife, the verbally torn down husband.
Not the action, not the violence, but justice.
“It won’t be easy. The justice system is corrupt; more cops are in the criminals pockets then an average police force.” Gordon’s warning didn’t much deter him.
He had time… right? Did he really-
His cell phone began to ring, and he blinked, hand dipping into his pocket. He pulled it up and out, a single text flashing on the screen.
Need your least dull officer in 221 B Baker Street. SH
No way. No bloody way.
The screen went dark, leaving him to stare at it soundlessly in the dark. “Lestrade?”
Grodon’s voice broke him out of his mind rut. “I-I’m afraid I’ll have to decline. It looks like I have unfinished business back at home. I just got a text from the worlds greatest idiot-“
Another text flashed onto the screen.
Hurry up. SH
“And I need to go keep him in line.” Lestrade finished. “Good luck Gordon. If you ever need someone to complain too about crazy people nosing in on official investigations, just give me a call, or drop me an e-mail.”
“I’ll do that.” Gordon smiled, hand reaching out in a firm shake, ignoring the giant, bat-clad man looming across from them. “Good luck.”
“Thanks mate.”
Lestrade went home.
~End~
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Date: 2012-01-28 07:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-01-29 06:41 am (UTC)