Where Do We Go From Here?

Chapter Ten

Gregory Lestrade was not a complicated man.

Not by any means. He was easygoing, laid back, and only stern when it was absolutely necessary. Again, he wasn’t a complicated man.

But, when two teenagers (Jesus Christ- teenagers) are thrown into his office for breaking and bloody entering a crime scene (a murder scene, nonetheless), one looking smug and the other red in the face, a not complicated man is forced to deal with a rather complicated situation.

This is not my division.

The taller of the two, after having yanked his arm away from Lawrence, straighten his scarf and popped the collar of his rather expensive looking coat, spoke first. “We would like to see the crime scene, DI Lestrade.”

“Sherlock!” the blond boy hissed and Greg could only raise his brows in disbelief (whether from the request or the kid’s name, he wasn’t sure.) (Possibly both.) “We are already in enough bloody trouble. Keep your big trap shut.”

The taller kid (Sherlock, what type of name is that?) only rolled his eyesin response, wrinkling his nose. “Oh, please, John. What more trouble could we possibly get into now?” he drawled and Greg could already feel the migraine this would caused between his ears. Why is it always me?

“Lawrence, Geoff, you’re dismissed.” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and waving his hand dismissively. “I’ll take it from here.”

The ta- Sherlock, watched him with a type of intensity that was a bit unnerving altogether whole the bl- John seemed to avoid eye contact altogether.

Alright. Let’s get this over with.

“So, you two care to explain why you were here of all places?” he paused, leaning forward. “Isn’t it a school night anyways? Shouldn’t you be home?”

Sherlock scoffed, bloody scoffed, shoving his hands in his pockets and John groaned from behind him. “Isn’t that obvious, Detective Inspector?” And when Greg didn’t respond right away, the teen seemed to grow frustrated. “To see the body, of course.”

“Sherlock, seriously, shut up before I get charged with assault.” John snapped.

Greg leaned back once again, arms folded across his chest. “You aren’t seeing the body.” he said simply, shrugging as if it wasn’t a big deal. And it wasn’t, honestly. “And I’m willing to let you both off with just a warning-”

“What?” Sherlock looked at him as if he spoke an entirely different language. And who knows, maybe he did.

Too bad he knew for a fact that he failed public school French and only knew English. “You aren’t seeing the body.” he repeated, slower this time to get his point across. “We aren’t letting a couple of kids see a murder scene, okay? It’s inhumane.”

“Oh, please.” Sherlock went on, scowling. “I’ve seen far worse. I’ve studied the process of a decaying cat on the side of the street once. Maggots inhibited the body within five hours. The eyes rotten out within four days. It was nothing more than a skeleton within three weeks. This is hardly inhumane.”

“Oh god, shut up, please?” John was sitting now, head in hands.

Greg couldn’t help the small, amused smile crossing his lips before he pressed them into a firm line and grimacing. “That’s still not enough to let you into a bloody crime scene. I would listen to your boyfriend, take my offer and go about your ways.”

The blond boy seemed to choke on air. “I-I’m not his boyfriend.”

The curly haired teen didn’t respond to the comment, eyes narrowed. “I need to check out the body. It might be linked to Carl Powers’ death.”