BBC Sherlock Imagines

Lestrade: He first Meets You

You sighed and stared up at the Scotland Yard building. You hated interviewing people, you hated writing bullshit that nobody cared about, you hated journalism. But the job paid, and it was getting you closer to your dream job of being a digital copyrighter. Opening the door, you braced yourself, policemen and detectives clouded the building, all in pristine suits and uniforms, worry etched into all their eyebrows. You were supposed to be writing about the history of Scotland Yard and how it has come to be successful as it is today. Looking down at the slip of paper in hand, it read DI Greg Lestrade, you stopped a young man walking past you.

"Excuse me, can you show me to DI Lestrade's office?"

"Right this way," he said. "Names Anderson, I work along closely with Lestrade." You nodded your head, pretending to care.

"(y/f/n) (y/l/n), I'm here to do the Scotland Yard story for the Smoke City paper."

"Well you've met the right person, I do a lot of medical stuff for Scotland Yard." You nodded kindly again, and he smiles proudly. He led you down a couple halls, eventually coming to a door. He knocked lightly, nobody answered, but he walked in anyways. A man with silver hair sat behind a desk, a fist supporting his head and his other hand holding a stack of papers. Without looking up he said,

"Anderson, why knock if you're just going to come in anyway?" Anderson cleared his throat and the man looked up. His eyes flashed up to you, darted to Anderson, then came back to meet yours. He stayed locked in eye contact with you a second before abruptly standing, in which he knocked against the front of his desk and a picture frame fell over. Hurriedly he scooped it up and set it right, then awkwardly clearing his throat, made his way over to you. Holding out his hand, he smiled crookedly,

"Greg Lestrade," he stated simply. You introduced yourself and you shook his hand. "So, you've come to do the story I'm guessing?" he said, looking at the paper sticking out of your bag.

"Yes, I just need to speak to you and some of your employees."

"Would you like to interview me?" asked Anderson, stepping close to you.

"Uh, sure," you said nervously. He smiled again, and you grimaced.

"Anderson, you're scaring her," said a deep voice behind you. You turned around and there stood a tall man with curly hair, and another man with short her blondish hair. He walked past you, not bothering to say excuse me, and headed for Lestrade. "What's a reporter doing in your office, you hate reporters?" asked the man. Lestrade's face reddened and he glared at the man, who was looking at his phone.

"I don't ha-"

"Don't try to come up with excuses, you were just complaining about them coming in to do the story," continued the man. Lestrade was looking anywhere but at you. You scoffed, thinking this whole situation to be funny.

"It's okay, I hate reporters too," you said sarcastically, trying to lighten the mood. Everyone, even the tall man, turned to look at you, crazily, if you might add. "Well it pays the bills," you said defensively. Awkward chuckles were exchanged from around the room.

"Well now that's out of the way, what do you need me for?" the tall man asked Lestrade.

"Sherlock, leave," he stated angrily. Ahh, Sherlock Holmes, how could you have missed it? The hair!

"Just because you're embarrassed doe-".

"Sherlock, not good," said the man who must be John. You had heard of these duo through the grapevine at work, you would have rather done a report on them. Sherlock stopped, looked at the ground, then turned to exit the door. John smiled apologetically and followed him. 

"Anderson give us a minute," said Lestrade. Anderson scattered out the door and a pregnant silence filled the room. 

"I really don't hate reporters," started Greg. You waved him off.

"Well I actually do," you added. 

"Yet you are one?" 

"It's a long, long story." He nodded his head. 

"Well, shall we get started?"

A/N

First one, don't forget that I take requests so don't be shy! Also, feedback is welcome, don't be afraid to be blunt.

(I used "don't" three times in that note, I don't think I know any other words.)