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@di--lestrade-blog
A Hit and Run
Sally raised her eyebrows at Greg’s admission, but said nothing. It wasn’t her place to speculate over who and what Lestrade worried over. Stepping back so that they were at a respectable distance from each other, she allowed her mind to turn to professional matters once more.
“Right, well, I’m going to need Miss Morstan’s details. Specifically, her address.” There was an awkward pause before Sally continued in a slightly apologetic tone, “I don’t really have a choice but to bring her in. After all, she is now guilty of a traffic infraction.”
Lexi smiled softly through her sadness and decided that it would be safe to look at him. She searched his face, but could find no trace of anything negative toward her. He meant it and he wasn’t just saying it to comfort her now then runaway later.
With that knowledge, she wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head against his chest. Her eyes closed as she felt herself physically relax and her mind start to slow down a little. She sniffed once before speaking. “Tea sounds like a good idea. What problems cannot be solved by tea?”
Victor pulled her close, running his fingers through the golden strands of her hair. He certainly hoped she understood that she was virtually incapable of making him hate her. She was a wonderful woman, and he’d never encountered anything in her that had made him stop.
Pressing a kiss to the top of her head, he lead her to the kitchen. Selecting a mug, he poured her a cup. “Drink up, love.”
Greg cleared his throat. "Right. Of course," and headed over to his desk, collecting a few pages to hand over to Sally. "She's a sweet girl, her boyfriend wants to marry her- he just loves her so much," he tried to explain, still looking obviously relieved. "I wouldn't want anything to happen to her."
A Hit and Run
“Okay, thank you. I just need…” Sally trailed off, belatedly registering Greg’s signs of anxiety. Immediately, she was concerned. “Sorry, is this a bad time?”
She took a step back, intending to leave and give Greg some space, but he got up and walked directly to her. Sally braced herself, expecting to hear whatever terrible news it was that the DI had received since they last spoke just under an hour ago, and was surprised when instead he continued to ask her about the traffic incident. Startled into response by his frantic questioning, she answered, “Yes, I was there. It was just a minor collision between a vehicle and a person. Nothing serious, no major injuries. The only issue is that the driver -Morstan, did you say?- did not stop to identify themselves afterwards. But Greg, this can wait. Are you okay? Did something happen…?”
Sally had automatically placed a reassuring hand on Greg’s arm and was slowly directing him back towards his chair. She was distantly aware that she was switching into her placating mode -the manner she generally adopted when handling distressed relatives and hysterical lovers- but it took her a moment to consciously recognise the nature of his questions and behaviour.
“Oh! Greg, did you know one of them?”
Lexi pressed her lips together and looked down at the floor. Another threat of panic started to rise in her, but she held it together the best she could. She couldn’t look at him this time. No one would react positively to this story and she didn’t want to see the negativity of his reaction.
Her head shook slowly as she spoke. “No, I ran away.” She could feel the shock that wanted to settle over her. The unusual calmness people experienced when something traumatic happened, but she didn’t want to be calm. Feeling calm wasn’t right. She needed to feel something even if it was constant adrenaline in order to stay sane for the time being.
“I drove off. I didn’t know what else to do.” Lexi stood up and started walking around the room. “I should have stopped or turned around or not hit a person with that bloody car, but that man.” The tears started again at the memory of the man’s furious face. “He was so angry. He started walking towards me. I thought… I don’t know what I thought. I just wanted to get away. Get home. Get out of the car.” She stopped walking, leaned against the wall near the door, and looked at her hands has she started to pick at her nails. “You must think I’m awful.”
Victor shook his head, crossing the room. Taking her hands, he tried to catch her eye. “I don’t think you’re awful. I’m fairly certain I’m incapable of it.” He smiled softly. “It’ll be okay.”
His mind strayed to the tea he had made. Drinking it may calm her nerves. “I made tea,” he said lamely, nodding towards the kitchen. “We can figure things out over a cuppa, hm?”
Greg let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and nodded. "Right. Right. I know Morstan..a friend of a friend, I suppose," he said, waving his hand to dismiss that. "I apologise, it's just that-" Greg stopped himself, not bothering to go into details she didn't need to know. "I'm glad she's not hurt." Completely distracted as to why Sally was here in the first place, he gently shook his head, standing and composing himself. "Now what did you want to see me for?"
A Hit and Run
With the exception of a certain Detective Inspector’s office, the lights were mostly off on Sally’s floor. She shook her head in sympathy as she headed for the filing cabinets at the back. Greg worked far too hard, in her opinion. Most of her colleagues were out the door the minute the clock struck five, and although Sally genuinely loved her job, she wasn’t too keen on overtime either. She sometimes wondered if Greg’s apparent commitment to work had anything to do with having nothing to go home to. If so, Sally could relate.
Having found the Motor Collision Incident Report forms, she made her way to Lestrade’s office, pulling out her notepad as she did. Sally knocked once on the door to announce her arrival before entering. “Sir, did you run the plates?” she asked, lingering in the doorway.
Lexi let herself be led into the house. If it wasn’t for Victor she would have sat on the doorstep for the rest of the night in a subtle state of panic. She took hold of his hand with both of hers feeling it might help her regain some of her composure. It didn’t help at first. Tears kept rolling down her cheeks, but sobs didn’t threaten to escape from her throat.
She started to calm down after another moment. The tears slowed, the shaking stopped, and she felt more in control of herself. Her nerves had calmed enough for her to take a few deep breathes. Thinking about telling Victor almost caused her to recede back into a form of hysteria, but she forced herself not to. She would have to tell him and it was better to tell him now instead of when the police started knocking down the door.
“Okay… Okay.” Her hand let go of his to wipe away the tear streaks as best she could. Another deep breath and she looked at him. “On the way home I um…” She squeezed his hand slightly hoping he wouldn’t leave her after this. “I hit someone.” Her words started to feel thick in her mouth, but she spoke hurriedly wanting to get it out. “Someone that wasn’t in a car. They’re alright… I think. He was standing and walking when I drove off.”
Victor cupped her cheek gently, wiping away tears. He waited patiently as she formed the words. When she finally did, he blinked, trying to process what she had told him. He knew that he had to remain calm, or risk upsetting her further. “You hit someone? Did you give them your insurance numbers and that?” She was upset, shaken most likely. The question he asked was a lame one, but he had to ask.
His eyes searched her up and down, searching for something else that could be wrong. He couldn’t come up with anything. But Lexi was very delicate. It was evident from man of her reactions that hitting someone would potentially traumatise her, accident or no.
"Berling and Morstan, both clear driving records, no warrants, no nothing. Just an honest accident," Lestrade said quickly, making his way from his desk to Donovan looking far more frazzled than he should. It wasn't his first traffic collision, but it might as well had been by how worried he looked. "You were there, weren't you? At the collision. What happened exactly? Any serious injuries?" Lestrade didn't even dare asking if there were fatalities. And he knew it was unprofessional to become emotionally involved with work and he had it to an art, to be able to stand over a dead body and not panic, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't calm himself over this. Though he did regret his wish to have more interesting things come up. This was certainly not what he had wanted.
A Hit and Run
Mr Berling was the sort of man that made Sally appreciate no longer being a police constable stuck on traffic duty; pompous, arrogant and rude. After establishing that he wasn’t injured badly (just a bruised knee, scraped palms and wounded dignity), Sally had attempted to compile an incident report on her notepad, which was already bothersome enough without any of the proper forms on hand without Mr Berlings utter refusal to cooperate.
For Sally’s simple question of, “are you okay?” he snapped back, “does it look like I’m okay?”. As for her cautious enquiry on whether he recognised the model of the car, Mr Berling indignantly yelled, “I’m sorry I was too busy being run over to notice what model the car was!” Sally hadn’t had to put up with this level of blatant disrespect in years, but it had been a long day and she was too tired to do anything but ignore it.
The only useful information she got out of the middle aged man was that the driver was an “idiot blonde”, and presumably female, from his furious mutterings of “women shouldn’t be allowed behind the wheel”.
Eventually Sally managed to pull together enough for a rudimentary witness statement, and after noting down his contact details, she sent Mr Berling on his way, assuring him she’d get back to him the minute “that dangerous menace” was caught.
Pulling out her phone, Sally hailed a cab and directed it to New Scotland Yard before starting to dial. There was only one person she imagined would still be at work at this time, and after three rings the phone was picked up.
“Detective Inspector, hello. Would you be able to run a number plate for me?”
Lexi hardly heard the door open behind her. The same image of the man landing on the ground and him walking towards her door kept replaying in her head. When someone appeared in her line of site she jumped and tried to move away. In the next moment her mind finally registered that the person was someone she trusted. She started picking at a loose thread on the end of her sleeve subconsciously as she studied his face waiting for the rest of her mind to catch up.
Taking a deep, but shaky breath, the rest of the person became clear to her. Part of her felt silly about not remembering. Victor was meeting her here. She felt relieved and the shaking started to subside. However, that only let the tears come through. Enough of the panic had subsided and was now letting through the other emotions: anger, sadness, disappointment, more guilt.
By the expression on his face, he was waiting on her to say something. Her mouth opened once, but closed again. She swallowed hard and tried again. “Vic… I, uh…” Her voice stuck again. The thread pulled loose from her sleeve from her fiddling with it. Her hands smoothed over her face before she tried talking again. “I… I did… I hit…” It was no use. She couldn’t get the words out and she was becoming frustrated with herself.
Lexi knew what she had done, but trying to tell someone what she did seemed to make it more of a reality to her. She didn’t want to see his reaction to what she had done. The tears started to run down her cheeks and a sob nearly escaped from her, but she closed her hand over her mouth to stop it.
Victor stared at her, reaching over to wipe tears from her face. He was really worried now. “Lex, talk to me. What’s going on?” Gathering her against his chest, he carefully helped her to stand. Supporting her weight, he led her inside.
He didn’t like this. Not at all. From the way she was crying, Victor’s mind was rapidly coming up with horrible possibilities. Someone had died. She’d been hurt. Something had happened with the law. The last was probably the most ridiculous, as Lexi was seemingly incapable of doing something that would harm or otherwise wrong another person. It would have to be an accident or some sort of misunderstanding. If it was one of the earlier options… Victor wasn’t a hundred percent sure he was socially equipped to help, but he would try.
“Let’s just sit down, hm?” he said he as they settled on the couch. Keeping her close, he cooed to her. “Shh. Tell me what’s wrong. Lex, I can’t help unless you tell me.”
Greg was sure Sally had finished her shift, but ran the licence. It was odd, he found, the driver seemed to have a perfect record. Normally there were driving suspensions on those who fled the scene. But the rest of it was fairly routine, until he noticed the name: Ms Morstan, Lexi. The name was all too familiar and he felt his heart sink, remembering what Victor had told him about her. Was she hurt? Did Victor know?
Greg was about to return Sally's call when he heard a knock on his office door. It seemed Sally had arrived back at the Yard just in time..as usual.
A Slight Decay
Sally crossed her arms, unimpressed. “Not if you don’t do anything, it won’t.”
She caught onto Greg’s attempt at changing the topic -really, he was trying that again?- but gave his question due consideration. She thought about how she’d called out to Sherlock the previous day, and how they’d initially tried for polite conversation. She furrowed her brow as she remembered genialities turning into subtle insults and barbs, until eventually she’d snapped and they were shouting at each other on the street. She recollected how angry she’d been and all the hurtful things she’d said, and how vulnerable he’d look in return. Sally hadn’t intended to emotionally manipulate Sherlock into revealing everything, but that was what had happened.
“It probably had nothing to do with me,” she lied. “He just needed someone to know the truth, and I was there. Plus, there’s the advantage of having somebody on his side in Scotland Yard.” Sally hated lying, especially to her superior, but she wasn’t going to reveal Sherlock’s moment of weakness to Lestrade.
“Look, I don’t know what’s happened between you two, but obviously this… disagreement is benefiting no one. Sherlock’s having no luck when it comes to work, what with half of London and the Met still thinking he’s a fraud, and I don’t even need to say anything about our arrest rates, do I? You’ve admitted that we need him, and Sherlock could really do with our support right now. So don’t you think it might be worth trying again?”
"We are one mistake away from losing our jobs. In fact I'm still a bit surprised as to why we didn't get fired on the spot when it was found out that Sherlock was helping us, do you understand?" he asked quietly after a long pause, picking his words out carefully. "Can you imagine what would happen if the superintendent found out we're using Sherlock again after all of this?"
Greg paused, feeling an unsettling churning in his stomach. Nervousness, something he hadn't felt for the longest time. A thrill he had long forgotten.
"I do think it's..worth the risk..if we had Sherlock back. I do. I need you to know our jobs are on the line." Greg paused for a moment. "God do we need him back."
A Slight Decay
Sally stared, taken aback. “You- what? You already know?” A moment later, relief flooded through her. “Oh God. That makes things so much… simpler. Why didn’t you say so earlier?”
If Sherlock had trusted Greg enough to tell him already -the more she thought about it, the more foolish she felt for thinking Sherlock would tell her and not the DI (who he was much closer to and on friendlier terms with) first- then it wouldn’t be a betrayal of his confidence to discuss what they’d spoken about with Lestrade. “Everything, as far as I’m aware. He explained about Moriarty, and the reason behind the pseudocide, and his three year disappearance, and… hold on…”
Sally trailed off as she began to fully process the meaning behind Lestrade’s words. It took a moment for the realisation to sink in. “Wait… you’re saying that you’ve known, all along, what Sherlock had done for you…” Sally shook her head and rephrased, “what he went through for you… and you didn’t do anything about it?”
"Yeah, yeah, hold on!" Greg raised his hands defensively, refusing to make eye contact. "I did..try..to do something about it. I did. But it didn't go..over..as well as I had hoped. We're..ah..we're not on good terms as is. It's just..really complicated right now. Really complicated." Greg kept quiet after that, all defenses up again, not wanting Sally to also say he was wrong.
"But..it's gonna get better," he finally added in. Things got better when enough time passed, he figured.
Greg tried to gain control of the conversation again. "How did you manage to get all of that out of him..you of all people," he tried to add in a sheepish grin, hoping the semi-subject change was enough to throw her or at least distract her for the time being, he wasn't in the mood to have someone tell him he was wrong.
A Slight Decay
Despite herself, Sally couldn’t help but grin. “Well… we went for coffee.” It sounded ridiculous even to her own ears. “We went for coffee and we had a bit of a talk.”
She paused here, absent-mindedly fiddling with the forgotten cup in her hand as she thought over the events of the previous day. That Sherlock had told her what he did was obviously a huge extension of trust on his part, and Sally wanted more than anything not to betray that trust. But at the same time, Greg had to know what Sherlock had done for him. It was in his best interests for Greg to know… wasn’t it?
“He cares about you, Lestrade,” she said instead, aware that she was stalling. “He doesn’t show it in the usual ways, because… well, he’s Sherlock Holmes. Nothing he does is proper. But he does. He really does care about people.”
That comment earned her a confused tilt of the head from Greg. Greg couldn't really picture the two in the same room without insulting each other, let alone having coffee. Part of him didn't even want to believe her, it sounded so false. But he kept quiet and thought better then to mention his disbelief- he was sure Sally wasn't one for lying.
“I know. Yeah, we..talked,” he added- that wasn't the complete truth of the matter, but he decided small details didn't matter right about now. “I know all of it..unless he thought it wise to leave some parts out.” Greg stayed quiet for a moment. “Did he tell you everything?” he asked cautiously, not knowing how much he could or couldn't say to her, how much of it all was a secret or not.
A Slight Decay
“You do have a point there,” Sally sighed. Even if she did manage to convince Lestrade to trust Holmes again, there was little they could do. Sherlock wasn’t part of the Yard, and without any proper credentials he was just an admittedly clever civilian parading around with a make believe title. As much as she wanted to help the “consulting detective”, she couldn’t very well risk their jobs.
Sally bit her lip, suddenly guilty. “I should mention… I saw him yesterday.”
Of course Greg would question her sudden of change of heart regarding Sherlock. He was a police officer, after all; it was his job to pick up on these things. Perhaps, she considered, if Greg knew the real reason Sally was so adamant in re-instating Sherlock at the Yard, he’d be a lot more cooperative. She was just unsure as to exactly how much she could tell him.
Greg nodded in agreement, he knew he was right after all.
But the last thing she said caught his attention, even making him tilt his head to the side in confusion. "Did you now?" he asked quietly, not knowing if she'd continue or not. "Can I ask what happened?" he prodded, noticing a guilty look on Sally.
PROMPT #37
Tell us about your character’s last argument. Did they spit venom, or was it just the other person’s turn to get the milk?
Greg wasn't exactly sure how the argument began. One moment he was cleaning out the cats' liter box, the next moment, he was in the midst of an argument. And he hardly had time to think of responses and he was losing the moment it all began, floundering about, not even knowing how it started.
And one thing went to another and next thing he knew, he was sleeping on the couch that night, coming to one conclusion: it's best to bypass the argument with Mycroft and head straight to the couch.
PROMPT #36
Write a typical day in the life of your character.
When Greg first started working for the Yard, he was so sure he'd live an adventurous life, like someone in a spy movie. Work would be an adventure and exciting and he either hit a block with his career or being a Detective Inspector just wasn't all that exciting. Especially with declining crime rates. So a regular day was staring longingly at the few reports he had. Sipping on lukewarm coffee, glancing out of the dusty window, wishing a terrible crime would just pop up.
In short, a day in the life was boring and dull and somewhat hateful.
A Slight Decay
“We’ve had the past four years to prove that we can do our job independent of him, and look what we have to show for it,” Sally countered, gesturing at the meagre pile of files and papers on Lestrade’s desk. “Have you thought to ask him?” she continued, thinking of Sherlock’s mention of his current lack of work, “because as far as I know, Sherlock has never passed up a chance to rub in our faces how inadequate we are without him.”
Sally tipped her head in consideration of Greg’s last statement, remembering how affected Sherlock had been the previous day. She tried to imagine the same person traipsing around on crime scenes, spewing out observations and being his usual condescending self. She had no doubt he could do it, but Greg was right. It still wouldn’t be the same.
“I won’t deny that things will be different, but honestly, it can’t be any worse than this. I don’t understand why you’re being so stubborn. You’re willing to admit that we need him and yet you’re, what, too proud to do anything about it?” Sally shook her head, making her disappointment evident. “This isn’t what I expected of you, Detective Inspector.”
So maybe he was a little proud. A little too proud for his own good- but that wasn't the point, was it? That wasn't the problem. Of course not. No.
"The thing is, we're not supposed to be using an outsider's help," he retorted using his superior's words. That kept replaying in his mind, the night four years ago when he was nearly certain he would be losing his job once it was found out the Yarders were using someone else's help. "If that happens again, we could all very well lose our jobs."
But that didn't even seem like a good enough retort. "Do you want me to talk to him? Or get something started at least? I'll try. I..I guess I just find it a bit odd, is all. Out of all people I'd least expect you to want Sherlock Homes back on the team." But how the hell was he supposed to win Sherlock back? After promising him he wasn't after him for help with cases. And he could somehow see that wouldn't go over well.
A Slight Decay
Frustrated that Greg had misconstrued her words, Sally frowned, “that’s not what I meant at all.” She momentarily relaxed when he finally acknowledged the issue of the former consulting detective, but then he went on to say it wasn’t a problem, and all sense of small victory was lost.
“With all due respect sir, I have to disagree. This has everything to do with him. I’m not questioning the capabilities of you or the team, but having had his aid for so many years, we’d grown dependant on it. You know I’d usually be the last person to defend Sherlock Holmes, but I did my research. Our success rate improves notably whenever we have his help. Cases are solved faster, and a lot cleaner. And now we don’t have him, we’re floundering. You and I, and pretty much everyone else has noticed by now. How long do you think it’s going to be before they connect the dots, and come to the same conclusion we have? You have to face the facts.”
Sally paused here; less for dramatic effect, and more to consider her next words carefully. But there was little to consider. Here in the office, with barely any chance of Sherlock hearing it himself, it was a lot easier to admit the obvious, and it needed to be said. “We do need him, Lestrade.”
And he needs us, she added mentally.
"And we shouldn't have grown dependent on him in the first place," he retorted, hoping she didn't know exactly how the Yard started to use Sherlock's help.
After calming down for a moment, he sighed. "Look, I'm not saying we don't need his help..because we do. But we should be able to do our job without anyone else's help. And..as far as I know, I'm not even sure he would even want to come back." And frankly, Lestrade didn't want to face him, not now. Not after how their last conversation ended on such a sour note. "And it certainly wouldn't be the same."
A Slight Decay
Sally observed Greg’s nervous attempts at beating around the bush with mild amusement. She knew where this was heading -she had spent more than enough time contemplating it herself- but if Greg was going to avoid acknowledging the subject then she would do the same. Sally could understand wilful ignorance, but this was just being thick.
“I don’t know about that, sir. I was under the impression that it was getting more difficult, actually. And with the rate of education being much higher these days than when you…” she let her words peter out when she realised what she had been about to imply. Shaking her head, she quickly rephrased. “All I’m saying is, well, you remember I went for that CID course early last year? It didn’t seem any less strict than my initial training. Even more so, in my opinion.” After a second of thought, she added, “then again, you would expect crime investigation to be stricter than traffic regulations.”
At this point, Sally started to take pity on Lestrade. He sounded so anxious and hopeful, she could only imagine the pressure his superiors would be putting on him at this point. This was one of the reasons Sally wasn’t all too attracted to the higher supervisory ranks. There was a lot of responsibility on your shoulders.
She registered the hesitancy in his tone, and coupled with the evidence of his bad day, she decided he deserved a break.
“This downward trend,” she began, “it started about four years ago.” There was a small pause before she continued. “I know this because I checked. I made sure of it. It wasn’t obvious at first, but there was a definite drop in arrest rates beginning early 2011. The fact that no one noticed it is understandable though, what with everything else that was going on back then.”
Sally searched Greg’s eyes for a moment, wondering if he was still merely in denial, or if he was genuinely as oblivious as he was demonstrating. Whilst talking she had unconsciously leant forward; almost conspiratorially. Upon realising this, Sally straightened up, then asked, ”you do understand what I’m getting at, don’t you?”
Greg cracked a smile, seeing where Sally's comment was going and he was about to jokingly pull the "But who's the senior officer?" card in an attempt to lighten the mood somewhat, but he felt a bit crushed by reality. Because he didn't deserve his title. It was luck really, that he ran into Sherlock those years ago and just a whim he took his advice at first. It could have been any new officer that had a run-in with the boy, he just happened to be in the genius' path. Pushing that thought aside, he only nodded at Sally's comment.
"So you suggest there be more opportunities for training courses throughout the year and after initial training." Yes, that wasn't exactly what she stated, but it would be rather easy to suggest that to his seniors. Of course the crime rates aren't his fault, it's everyone higher up for not giving enough training opportunities. Again, it was a mere attempt at shifting the responsibility, but it would certainly get him off the hook if it were one of his superior's fault.
Of course it turned to the worse..or at least Sally had a similar train of thought as he. Of course playing dumb was the easy way to attempt to get out of it. But he somehow felt he had done enough of that and he was sure Sally was now onto his attempts at trying to weasel his way out of it.
"Look, Sherlock was..is. Sherlock is not an officer, he is not part of our team therefore we don't need him- we never needed him. This has nothing to do with him." Some part of him thought that maybe Sally wouldn't see through that bluff. A long-shot really. And who was he kidding.
A Slight Decay
Sally was in the middle of a call when Lestrade tersely ordered her into his office. She raised her head to tell him she’d be with him in a moment, but he’d already stalked off, and from the look of the tense set of his shoulders and his weary, dripping gait, it was apparent today was not a good day to keep him waiting. With a sigh, Sally hung up the phone (“Sorry Mark, I’ll have to call you back later”), grabbed the cooling cup of coffee from her desk and hurried after him. She managed to get in just in time to hear Greg’s question of “how are you?” “Uh… I’m fine, sir,” she responded, admittedly confused by the conflicting signs of his tone and his body language. “Better than yesterday, thank you,” she added carefully. Surely he wasn’t irritated over her tardiness the previous day; not after having good naturedly waved her apologies off and sending her home? She watched as he squelched into his seat, not sure if she was supposed to sit down or stand and be yelled at.
Sally bit back a sigh of relief when Greg started on the issue of arrest rates. His stormy mood made sense now. To be honest, she’d been expecting this talk for some time. Closing the door behind her, Sally sat.
“Yes, sir. I did.” She lowered her voice and continued grimly, “I saw the report the other day, sir. Apparently we haven’t had figures this low in over a decade.”
Greg nodded as if hearing bad news for the first time. The hope of someone's small mistake on the reports suddenly vanished and he felt his stomach drop. Of course he knew this was the outcome, but he enjoyed the idea of avoiding it.
"That's right," he agreed with her, nodding again, feeling more like a drinking bird than anything. "Now I'm sure crime hasn't just stopped on its own and we're no longer needed." But Greg held his tongue, not wanting to explore the idea that he was part of the problem. Certainly not! After years at the Yard and promotion after promotion and having the highest arrest rates on the team, it obviously didn't have anything to do with him. Not at all. Nope. Impossible. Could not happen. Not at all. So he ended up concluding it was best to play the "Back in my day" or "When I was your age" card. As childlike as it was to shift over the blame and responsibility to someone else, he certainly found it to be the best way to cope with this.
"Now, do you have any idea what would account for this?" he asked slowly and somewhat quietly. "I have heard training has become far too relaxed over the years, newer officers getting hired without the experience and- and proper..proper education for reality." Because he didn't have anything to do with it. No. "Do you think that could be..er contributing to the problem?" So he probably sounded less than actually convincing, but he hoped..well he didn't even know what he hoped to accomplish with that. It was more of skilled floundering he had learned over the years working. Half the time it managed to get him out of a tight position.
Meet up in Aisle 5
Victor grinned conspiratorially, leaning over the cleaning products in his basket. “I’ m going to pop the question actually. As soon as it’s convenient.” His grin turned bashful. “And as soon as I work up the courage.”
Victor's grin was contagious apparently, Greg soon mirrored his expression. "Are you now?" he asked, heading over to the check-out aisle, sure he had enough cleaning products to now last him the rest of the year, or maybe even two.
"Well then, I wish you all the luck in the world- not that you'll need it though," he said quietly, close to Victor, as if Lexi somehow had spies located all around the store, "there's no doubt in my mind that she'd ever pass you up- she's a smart girl and I'm sure she knows a good guy when she sees one."
A Slight Decay
“Office. Now.” The command was hardly audible as he brushed past Donovan's desk. Getting poured on outside, left high and dry coffee-wise and knowing full well he'd be getting snapped at by the chief superintendent soon didn't leave him feeling in all of the greatest moods.
Lestrade didn't glance behind his shoulder to see if Donovan was even following him, he simply headed to his office, unlocked the door and flicked the lights on. They gave off a familiar low humming sound as well as an irritating flicker from a near burned out light.
Crossing the office to the back wall of windows, he pulled the blinds up which in turn filled half of the office in a light coating of dust. Of course it was probably best to have the blinds down anyway- the wet and dreary landscape hardly set the office or himself into a better mood.
“How are you?” he asked suddenly, turning around to hopefully face Donovan, providing she even heard his earlier request. Somehow he found his pleasantries didn't make anything more or less pleasant, but it was a try at least.
And cutting to the chase, he sat at his desk and began to fiddle with various papers he didn't bother to file the night before, sorting them, putting them into a neat pile. Of course the papers on his desk nearly screamed what he was about to say. “As you've probably realised, arrest rates are low,” he began, nodding to the stack of papers, a week's worth of paperwork, hardly enough to make half of what he was used to. “Oh! Have a seat, take a seat,” he muttered, motioning to the two chairs in front of his desk.
“Right..well, as you know, arrest rates are low,” he repeated himself, “and I highly doubt it's from a sudden decrease in crime. Now..have you noticed the decrease?” Although he doubted that approach would actually work, he wanted to try it. Maybe he could blame the sudden decrease on someone's faulty paperwork or somehow come up with proof that things were in fact normal and where it should be. It was a far-fetched plan, but those things did happen, didn't they?
