Greg Lestrade “Seeing London Part 1″ (x reader)
Hi, guys, this is my first story. I don't really know how to work Tumblr too well haha, but I'm trying. Please send me requests or if u wanna collab on stories lmk. I love the sherlock cast and I would love to keep writing imagines or fanfics with them!
You wake up from a not so comfortable sleep in one of the best hotels in London. You squint your eyes, adjusting to the gloomy light pouring in from the window. You stood up and looked outside in London. Taxis flooded the streets. People walked by on the sidewalks. The sun tried to show itself from behind the clouds. You groaned. You’ve never been here before, but a job opportunity swept you away. A detective at Scotland Yard.
You sighed. “What would they think of me?” You said to yourself and walked to the bathroom, freshening up. Your soft (Y/HC) colored hair loosened up in soft curls. After you brushed your teeth and washed your face, you looked at yourself in the mirror and tried to smile. Although you were awfully nervous and have been for the past few months, you never gave yourself time to appreciate your features, both physical and mental. Your medium naturally colored pink-red lips turned into a wide smile. You admired your (Y/EC) colored eyes for they were in fact beautiful. Your skin with a slight golden tan was soft. You turned your face to the side, revealing a semi-sharp jawline. Your body was athletic from your high school years. (you were quite a sporty person. Your arms folded on the outside curve of your waist. You looked deep into your eyes and focused. This job was important to you. You were smart, smarter than anyone else you’ve been told. You can do this.
After mentally sustaining yourself, you opened the hotel closet. You packed enough clothes for how long you would be staying in London (if you were sure about the job) and you wouldn’t hesitate to buy more clothes at the shops. You ran your hand along with the shirts and pants and decided on a black colored pair of palazzo pants and a tight cream-colored shirt to tuck underneath with a black blazer. The pants hugged your waist but flowed as they went down. You looked at the shoes you brought. Five heels, 3 flats, and one pair of sneakers. You decided on a pair of black heels. You stood in front of the mirror, making sure you looked more than perfect. You put your hair in a loose low ponytail, allowing your curls to be partly free. You grabbed the perfume on your nightstand and sprayed some on your wrists, neck, hair, and a tad on the rest of your body. It was a soft smell but it invigorated anyone who was nearby, including yourself. First impressions were everything to you, especially today. You grabbed your cell and the black crossbody purse and put it on. You swiftly walked out into the hallway. Anyone that passed by could feel your confidence and stamina. You were ready.
The front doors to the hotel shut behind you. You looked up at the tall buildings and to the taxis in front of you. It wasn't like this at all back home. You were from the coastal country and you loved it. The quietness, peacefulness. The sea and grass and mountains. You started to miss it but snapped out quickly. You couldn't be sentimental, not just yet. You stepped out from near the doors and to the street to call a taxi. In less than 5 seconds, one came hauling towards you.
You stepped inside and said, “Scotland Yard, please.”
“Yes, miss,” the man said.
The taxi sped past the buildings and made sharp turns everywhere. You haven’t gotten accustomed to London yet and couldn't imagine driving by yourself. You would get lost without question. The taxi stopped in front of a tall beige-colored building.
“This is it, miss,” he said. You thanked him, paid, and stepped out. You stepped in front of it. The building let off a cold vibe to you, but of course, it would. It's new. You watched as many people left and went into the building. They looked like robots. A coffee in each of their hands. They carried either a purse or a briefcase. Many were on the phone, either shouting or loudly speaking. It didn’t remind you of yourself.
“This is what people turn into,” You thought.
You checked your watch on your wrist. 7:10 am, it read. You were early for the meeting at 7:30, but it was good. You walked in the bunch of people coming in and out and got your game attitude on. You didn't know how many other new detectives there would be, but you had to impress and do well. You slipped your frame in between two people as they walked in the door. The interior was quite beautiful, but you couldn't stop and admire it. You walked straight, not knowing where you were going. A skylight illuminated the whole floor. There were about five floors of offices. The bigger ones had glass walls. The bottom floor had couches, chairs, tables, and a front desk. You walked to it and saw a man typing away. He was dressed as any detective would. He had glasses and dark attire. Some stumble was on his face.
He lifted his head and met your eyes. Not saying anything for about 5 whole seconds. You looked down, this has happened to you more than once. You smiled at him and he shook out of it.
“Sorry, miss, not my most...f-focusing morning. How may I help you?” A wide smile was plastered on his face. You smiled back and shifted through your pockets getting out a notecard that was mailed to you when you heard you got the job offer.
It read - Greg Lestrade 202
You showed him the card and he nodded approvingly. “New detective, I see?” he asked.
You nodded. “I see. You want to go up to the second floor across the hallway over there - he pointed - and then meet this man named Jake. Well you see he might not be here today, so you best go to the left,” he spits out. His British accent seemed to make him talk even faster. You didn't understand him at all.
“But - wh,” you tried to ask, but his attention was directed to another person who spoke loudly to him. You sighed angrily and checked your watch. 7:13. You’re okay. You have enough time. You started walking to the elevators, to go to the second floor, which was the only thing that made sense to you. The doors opened and you pressed 2. As soon as they opened back again you hurried out. You walked along the hallway, peering into the offices. Everyone was at silent work. You walked alongside a glass-walled office and saw a man sitting on the desk, chatting away. Judging from his outfit and desk, you assumed he was a secretary or something of that sort. You knocked the glass door and let yourself in.
He looked at you and said, “I’m gonna have to call you back.” You walked closer to his desk.
“Hi, I’m (Y/N). I was told to come up here by the front desk.. for Jake. He would take me to Detective Lestrade.
“Oh, you see Jake is not here today, but I’m in for him. I’m Anderson, its nice to meet you.” He extended a hand to shake and you did. His grasp was firm and he seemed very cordial.
You smiled at him. “Do you happen to know where he is, sir?” A light blush colored his cheeks and he bumped a few pencils off his desk.
“Oh, p-please call me Anderson. Sorry about that. You’re from America?” he asked as he walked to the door, motioning you to come.
“Yes, I am,” you politely responded.
“Oh, very nice. America is a beautiful country!” The two of you walked down the hall and made a right turn to a large office. You could judge from the half glassed wall. You saw a man facing the other side on his chair. Papers flooded his desk and he sat, writing away.
“Here he is,” Anderson said happily. “Good luck.” He knocked on the door not once, but twice.
“Come in!” An angry British accent screamed. Anderson opened the door and you stood behind him, not yet visible in the door frame.
“Uh- Detective Lestrade, one of the new detectives-”
“They’re here already? Well, christ can’t they follow time orders? Surely they won't be on my team,” he said, not even looking at Anderson.
Anderson coughed as he stepped aside for you to walk in the door. Lestrade looked up, and he stuttered something ineligible. He dropped his pen and knocked a stapler off his desk.
“I’m sorry, i- uh didn't mean that. At all. I’ve just been so busy and didn't - w. I uh didn't-,” he stuttered badly. You could tell he was nervous and something else..from the slight blush of his cheeks.
“I understand Mr. Lestrade,” you said assuringly and smiled at him.
“Oh, so you’re American?” He smiled widely and nodded. “Don’t get too many of them in here, really. Oh and please don’t call me that, call me Greg.”
You looked down, embarrassed. “I will, Greg.”
He kept staring at you as if he were amazed at something. You looked back, smiling. He seemed charming. His salt and pepper hair was messy but fascinatingly. He looked put together, but charmingly messy at the same time. It was awkward, but you kept smiling at him.
“I’m (Y/N),” you said, extending a hand.
He broke out of his trance. A pair of firm rough hands grasped your soft skin and lightly shook it.
“Were there any other detectives with you?” He asked.
You shook your head. “I didn't see anyone. Were there supposed to be a lot?”
“Eh- just a few, but I’m going to send them to work with my other colleagues. I don’t want more than one person working with me,” he said and typed away on his phone. You stayed silent, trying not to smile. You were going to be working with a senior detective all by yourself.
“Done,” he said. “So you were -,” he was cut off from a phone ringing.
He picked it up, “What now?” His voice was urgent and powerful. “I’m over there in ten,” he said and stood up quickly.
“(Y/N), you’re coming with me.” He lightly grabbed your shoulder in a hurry out of the door. He lightly jogged and you were barely able to keep up in heels, but you managed. You clutched your purse as you ran slightly behind him, unaware of where you were going. You soon reached another exit and Greg ran to the end of the sidewalk, calling for a taxi. A taxi rushed to him and you stood next to him. He held the door for you to get in and then sat next to you.
“337 Chapel drive,” he told the driver. The taxi sped off and Greg texted someone on his phone. You stayed silent, looking out the window.
“(Y/N), do you know Sherlock Holmes?” he asked.
You shook your head. “I don’t, who is he?”
Greg laughed. “Oh, you’re gonna like him alright. He’s a detective..but not like us. He doesn't work at Scotland Yard, but he’s much better than all of us,” he told you.
You looked at him. He stared directly in your eyes. This whole time felt slightly awkward between you two, but you tried to embrace it. Greg seemed great, after all, he was your boss. “He seems very nice,” you said.
Greg chuckled. “Not everyone would agree to that. Just don’t let him get to you.”
You nodded. “What was that supposed to mean? You thought.
The car slowed down and you hopped out with Greg. A line of townhouses ran down the side. Greg walked to the nearest one and went up the oddly built stairs, almost tripping on them. There was almost no space between the steps and the doors and he cradles the railing and tried to open the door, but it was locked. He knocked hard.
He looked down at you and said. “Don’t be nervous. Show me your best skills, (Y/N)”
You smiled at him and swallowed. You were ready. You were smart. You thrived in places like this.
The door swung open and almost knocked Greg down. You almost fell backward but caught the railing before. He didn't even notice and sped inside. The houses musty smell ran up your nostrils, causing you to scrunch up your nose. It was dark inside and you could barely see Greg.
“Sherlock!?” he screamed.
“Sherlock!?” he screamed louder.
“Back here!” A deep voice spoke loudly from afar. You couldn't tell where.
“I’ll get some light,” you said and walked to the door. You tried to open it, but it was stuck.
“It won’t open?” Greg asked.
You said no and tried to open it again. It seemed like minutes went by.
No answer. Great. This was your first day and you’re stuck in a dark house on a case about god knows what. You almost tripped on the foreign objects on the floor, but somehow managed to steady yourself.
“(Y/N)?” Greg called out.
You tried to walk to his voice and bumped into a person. Strong arms steadied you and felt your chin.
“At least I found you, I can’t find anything else..must be a door or,”
A door swung open near the two of you and bright light poured on the floor. A tall man with dark curly hair stood in front of it, motioning you two in.
“Expected better from you, Lestrade,” he said with a deep British accent.
“A hidden door, really?” he asked.
You followed behind Greg and allowed your sensed to infiltrate the room. You saw a body on the floor with a man hovered over the body, inspecting it. Neither of them saw you walk in. The smell of the room didn't change except for the slight smell of blood. It looked like a living room. It was cluttered with a few antiques and picture frames. One large window allowed for the most light to pour in. There were no other windows in the townhouse. You looked around the room. A fireplace. A gun on the floor. A knife next to it. A torn down picture frame. A small hole in the wall.
You smiled. You knew how this man had died..if that was what they were trying to find out.
“Sherlock, how did he die?” Greg asked.
Sherlock turned to him. He looked around the room. A bullet wound straight in the abdomen, but who did it? His eyebrows furrowed in and he looked in deep thought. You tried not to snicker, but a faint noise escaped you.
Sherlock directed his attention to you and Greg looked at you too. You stared at them.
“I know how he died,” you said.
“Oh, really?” Sherlock said. His tone was snarky and his eyes squinted up.
“(Y/N), you do? I-I mean, you were barely here,” Greg said.
You tried not to roll your eyes at Sherlock. If he was supposed to be the smartest, then he definitely didn't look like it. Just by observing the room in a few seconds you had a good idea. You walked over to the body focusing on the wound and examining every other spot of it. Then you directed your attention to the other parts of the room. It was so obvious.
“You want to know how he died or who did it?” You asked them. The man huddled over the body looked at you surprisingly. Greg stood with his mouth open, confused.
“Tell me both,” Sherlock said with his hands on his hip.
“He didn't die from an abdomen shot, that was quite after actually. He died from an overdose. Pills to be exact.” You crouched to his body and opened his eyelids. “Pinpoint pupils. A painkiller. He was on a walker being this young.” You pulled up his pants. “Stitches along his leg, recent. Trauma, probably a mild car accident or something to that matter. His killer drugged him in his tea.” You touched the cup. “This wasn’t too long ago. You walked to the fireplace and examined it and the wall. The killer is a middle-aged man black hair recently married, but tensions are high because he likes to inflict pain on people,” you told everyone.
Sherlock, Greg, and the man by the body looked at you. Sherlock laughed, “Is this some kind of joke? A woman murdered this man and not by painkillers I can deduc-,” you cut him off.
“It was a man because there’s a burnt photograph of the dead man and a woman presumably his wife. He was jealous of probably nothing and killed this man. A sample of cologne is also burnt,” you said as you picked up a mini sample bottle in the corners of the ancient fireplace. You walked over to the body and showed him the short black hairs on the ground near it. “That’s his hair. They were fighting. It wasn’t too well because the man was already sedated, but he managed to anger this man in some way.” You stood up and looked at Greg. He stood in awe.
“Sound right. Sherlock?” he asked. Sherlock looked around the room for 3 minutes before saying anything.
“Yes. I knew it,” he said.
Greg rolled his eyes, “Could you be any more jealous, Sherlock?”
“He is too,” the man by the body said to you with a kind smile.
“Well, (Y/N), I’m extremely impressed. I mean your skills are amazing. That was quite fast. Faster than Sherlock can ever and way faster than me,” he said.
You smiled. Greg was nervously touching his neck and hair. “Why are you so nervous?” Sherlock asked.
“Well I-uh, you know. I’m not,” he replied.
“You li-,” Sherlock started.
“Sherlock, stop it,” the man near the body said. He looked into his eyes very seriously and widened his own eyes.
You walked out into the dark hallway looking both directions even though you could not see anything. You stared in a direction for a long time because you had a nervous feeling deep inside of you. You took a smell of the musty air and noticed a small trace of....cologne. Your heart dropped. You still stared in the corner for a while. Suddenly, a silver shimmer so faint, only the most observant could make out. You whipped your body back in the room.
“I do know one other thing,” you said.
Greg and Sherlock whipped their backs around and said “What?” in unison.
“The killer is still here.”
You walked out of the doorway and stared in the distance. Was it a gun? A knife. You weren’t sure. You guessed it was a knife from the type of shine it let off.
“(Y/N)? Where? Get back,” Greg said. You did so, but you still maintained your stare into the distance. Sherlock and a short man emerged from the room.
“I don’t see anything,” he said.
“Me either,” the short man said.
“Hello? Is anyone there?” Greg called out.
Silence. You knew what was there. You slowly walked along the sides of the wall, silent enough to spook whatever was there. You walked slowly, careful not to trip on the objects on the floor. Greg slowly swung you around and tried to drag you back.
“(Y/N), there is nothing there. Come on now,” he said, but you didn't listen. You knew you were near the corner and started to crouch down with your arms slowly extended. You could sense Greg behind you, but the more you walked, the more he walked back into the living room. You knew there was....something over here, but what? You could hear the chatter of everyone in the living room and heard your name a few times. They probably thought you were delusional and quite weird, but you didn't let that stop your intuition.
“Hello?” you said softly.
All of a sudden an arm wrapped around you and covered your face. You didn't try to speak, it wouldn't work. You felt something cold pressed against your neck. A knife. You knew it. He was here. Why? That didn't matter now. Your life mattered. What were you going to do?
“You exposed me. They weren’t supposed to know someone else killed him. It was supposed to be suicide,” he said. Hot air breathed down your face as he tightened his grasp around you.
Suicide? Was this guy dumb? Clearly was not suicide, even a moron could pick up on that. You tried to slip out of his grasp, but he only tightened his arm around your stomach. It hurt badly as if your ribs were crushing in. The knife pressed down harder on your neck, you weren't sure if you were bleeding, but it wouldn't surprise you.
“(Y/N)? Come on back,” Greg shouted from within, but he didn't come out.
You went crazy. You wanted so badly to be let free. You could hear their chatter still, they were so nearby, yet so far at the same time. You swallowed hard, you knew you couldn't stay like this forever. What was this man even doing? Obviously, he was going to hurt you and you were in a compromising situation, but the next few decisions you made had to be smart ones. You quickly jabbed his stomach, hoping he would fall back, but he didn't. You went crazy, trying to hurt him. The knife pressed hard on your neck. You winced momentarily. He suddenly grabbed you and faced him toward you. He was so strong and you were nothing compared to him. His hand was still over your mouth when suddenly he took it off and stabbed you in the abdomen powerfully. You screamed loudly, falling on the floor. You pulled the knife out quickly, as it made you uncomfortable. Why? Why did you do that? The man ran down the hallway.
“He has a knife!” You managed to say loud enough for the detectives to hear. Suddenly you heard a gunshot and loud thud. You clenched your stomach, your hand was bloody and you couldn't see much. It hurt badly. The worst pain you ever felt in your life. On the first day? This? Was this it for you?
“O-Ove,” you managed to make out. You heard quick footsteps come to you.
“Are you okay?” He asked.
“I’ve been stabbed,” you said weakly. His grasp around you tightened as he searched you with his hands, stopping at your stomach. They were shaking.
“Christ! Bloody hell! John?!” Greg’s voice screamed loudly. There was a hint of something you hadn't seen in him. Despair? Sadness?
His strong arms picked you up and carried you to the living room. You saw Sherlock and John.
“Bloody hell!” They screamed.
“Kick the front door open, now!” Greg demanded. The two of them ran out and bolted the door open. Greg ran outside carrying you in his arms.
“You’re going to be fine, (Y/N),” he told you. You looked into his eyes. Tears streamed down his face. He barely knew you and was crying over you. You saw your shirt. Thankfully it was black and hid most of the blood.
Sherlock and the short man desperately called for a taxi and one came flying by. Greg quickly but carefully hopped into the cab and shouted at the man to go to the nearest hospital.
“I think this is it,” you weakly said to him. You felt your whole body getting weaker by the second. More blood was pouring out of you and your eyes began to squint. You hoped this wasn't it.
“No, no you’re fine! Drive faster for christ's sake!” Greg screamed.
You closed your eyes. You were too weak. Greg nuzzled his head on your chest, silently crying. You were peaceful now. You were still awake, but you were scared. But most of all you were at ease.
