BBC Sherlock Imagines

Lestrade: The Failed Deducer

For the fifth time you texted Sherlock Holmes the same message: 'Where are you?' And for the fifth time you waited and no reply came. You had waited, but Sherlock was usually a quick texter.

"No response?" asked Greg, scratching his head nervously.

"Zip. I don't know what to do. We could have our normal people look at it, but they're asking for Sherlock specifically." A rich politician's wife in Britain had been murdered a day ago, the body only having been discovered hours earlier. The politician, having been confirmed to be in France at the time, ruling him out as the culprit, and has requested Sherlock to do the investigating - he knew he was the best.  Now, you and your troops of Scotland Yarders stood around anxiously awaiting the arrival of the saving grace of Sherlock. But he had yet to come. It had been an hour already, an abnormally long period of time for Sherlock to not show up. He usually was here before Scotland Yard, especially if he was requested.

"Well what are we supposed to do? He's expecting Sherlock to find out who did it," grumbled Greg.

"Excuse me, are DI Lestrade?" A tall man in a clean cut suit emerged from behind a police car. "I'm Carl Warren, the... victim's husband. Where is Sherlock Holmes at?"

"We're trying to get ahold of him best we can at the moment, if you wait a little longer I'm sure he'll be here soon."

"I can't wait. My dear wife has been..." he fought back the tears,"killed. Someone must inspect this crime scene NOW."

"I'm sorry sir, we have no other detective's that match Sherlock's skills."

"Well what about you?" asked the man pleadingly. You almost snorted out of amusement, but thought it was an inappropriate time. The look on Greg's face however was priceless. "You work with Sherlock Holmes don't you? And you're a detective inspector. You should investigate." Greg shook his head lightly and made wide eyes at you. Him and you both knew his inspecting skills were not up to par. "Please," begged the man.

"Uh I guess I could take a look," muttered Greg, sending a scared look in your direction. You patted his arm reassuringly, but deep down you were already laughing at what you knew was going to be and entertaining failed deduction.

~

Inside, the house smelled of death. It was not the gross carcass smell, but the smell of complete sadness and lifelessness floating down the hallways and through doors. After ascending the stairs and walking down the wide hallway to the bedroom, you finally saw the woman. She lay in a mangled manner, her neck twisted in a way it wasn't supposed to be and her arms sprawled out like she was making a snow angel. Blood dripped from her mouth and from a gash on her head. The lead of forensics, who thankfully wasn't Anderson, grabbed his clipboard, ready to write down what Greg observed. Greg looked your way nervously again, you gave him a thumbs up and a reassuring smile. He tried to return it, but failed as his eyes fell upon the woman. He bent down next to her and steadied himself. You watched as he put two fingers up to her neck.

"Well she's definitely dead," he stated loudly. You face palmed, and Eric, the lead of forensics, eyed him dumbly. Thank you captain obvious. "And she has a gash on her head, right above her left ear. It's small in diameter, but cut very deep, uh definitely not from a bat or anything. Maybe a knife, probably steak if I had to choose a specific kind. Although butcher is a possibility." He moved down to inspect her arms, bruises in the shapes of fingerprints marked them up and down. "These here are bruises, made from what looks like to be fingers. Somebody was uh, holding onto her very tightly, and not in a loving or caring way." Not the time to try and be funny. Where is Sherlock? He needs to show up right now. Greg now moved down to her legs. "Her legs are hairy."

"What does that have to do with anything?" asked Eric.

"Well perhaps she was uh killed because she was having an affair with another man and didn't shave her legs." Somebody end this torture. Please.

"You're right about one thing Garfield," came a deep voice from the door. Thank you Jesus. "She was having an affair. But her death had nothing to do with hairy legs." Greg exhaled, happy to be free from pretending he was some mastermind detective. Let's be real here, he still didn't know it was you that turned his windshield wipers up on his car everyday after work. And it's been 7 months.

"Finally you're here Sherlock, we really need you on this case," I sighed.

"Obviously," he remarked proudly. Greg got up from his kneeling position on the floor, a relieved smile on his face. Suddenly though, it changed into confusion.

"'Garfield', really?"

A/N

I love Greg. I was watching A Study In Pink last night and I never realized how funny he really is. I mean honestly he's not the best inspector, kind of has his blonde moments, but his little comments and actions are hilarious. Oh man, love that guy. Deducing is definitely not his division.

Sooooooooo my story has 2k+ views?! I love you all so much for reading this. I really do. I don't know how to thank you. Honestly.

Okay so tomorrow night how would you all like another update? I feel like I've been slacking lately. I just need to get back into my writing groove.

On another note, I have like 30 reaction gifs from Sherlock I just saved last night and now when people text me stuff, I use those to respond because they're amazing.

Btw Rupert Graves in glasses? Definitely a yes.

Okay bye children

Enjoy