Fic Rec: An Empty Station
Jan. 3rd, 2013 10:51 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
butterflyweb.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
221b_recsTitle: An Empty Station
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ivywatcher
Pairing: Gen
Length: 17,000+
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: none
Verse: Sherlock BBC
Author's summary: In the wake of the Reichenbach Fall, Greg Lestrade confronts a life that is often complicated, never easy, and not even entirely in order. Here’s the thing: Sherlock Holmes was no killer, but he always was a liar.
Reccer's comments: Lestrade is consistently my favorite narrative voice when it comes to Sherlock fic, and ivywatcher's Lestrade is all but plucked from the screen and put to paper, he feels so genuine. With all of the post-Fall fics out there, the pitfalls are easy to recognize by now and she avoids them all neatly, giving you characters that are painfully, fundamentally grieving, but holding their heads high despite it all. The out-of-order sequence works brilliantly to keep the tension throughout the fic and heightens the mystery Lestrade finds himself unraveling. I adore how competent and determined this Lestrade is--a good detective and a better friend, and this fic is very much my head-canon for him post-Fall from here on out.
The text, received at 3:48 pm from a blocked number, reads as follows:
Go to St. Bart's immediately. S.E. John will need you. -MH
S.E. means Sherlock. Emergency. There was a span of roughly seven months, about six years ago, when he and Mycroft Holmes needed that kind of shorthand. He hasn't seen it in a long time, and it sends a cold dread down his spine. He looks up at the Super, who's nearly maroon at this point. His shouting is probably rattling cups down by the water cooler, but Lestrade doesn't hear a bit of it.
The thing is: Lestrade listened to Anderson, and to Donovan, because he does in fact trust their judgment (outside their opinions on each other), and he knows full well that he needs checking from time to time. You know what I'm saying, you just don't want to think about it. He took the issue to the higher-ups strictly because Donovan would have done it otherwise, and her going over his head would have shipwrecked the both of them. You're not seriously suggesting... He'd taken the lashing accordingly, especially after the stunt with John and the punch and the failed arrest and the escape, which had been frankly embarrassing for everyone involved who wasn't Sherlock.
The tirade has gone on without him. It's now gotten to, “You've consorted with a bloody madman, Lestrade! Who knows what kind of havoc he's been playing on us, what information he's gotten! Once he's brought in and convicted you'll be linked to a killer, we can't have that kind of thing associated with—”
The thing is: Lestrade hadn't believed a word of it, not really. Not for more than about a minute, anyway. He's a lot of things, but blind hasn't ever been one of them, thanks, and he knows Sherlock Holmes better than sight. Sherlock's no murderer. Never has been, never will be, and anyone that's seen him around John Watson for ten seconds knows that's true.
Lestrade can count on one hand the number of times that Sherlock has turned out to be wrong.
He can count on one finger the number of times that Mycroft Holmes has told him to go somewhere, S.E., and it has not been entirely warranted.
Author:
ivywatcherPairing: Gen
Length: 17,000+
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: none
Verse: Sherlock BBC
Author's summary: In the wake of the Reichenbach Fall, Greg Lestrade confronts a life that is often complicated, never easy, and not even entirely in order. Here’s the thing: Sherlock Holmes was no killer, but he always was a liar.
Reccer's comments: Lestrade is consistently my favorite narrative voice when it comes to Sherlock fic, and ivywatcher's Lestrade is all but plucked from the screen and put to paper, he feels so genuine. With all of the post-Fall fics out there, the pitfalls are easy to recognize by now and she avoids them all neatly, giving you characters that are painfully, fundamentally grieving, but holding their heads high despite it all. The out-of-order sequence works brilliantly to keep the tension throughout the fic and heightens the mystery Lestrade finds himself unraveling. I adore how competent and determined this Lestrade is--a good detective and a better friend, and this fic is very much my head-canon for him post-Fall from here on out.
The text, received at 3:48 pm from a blocked number, reads as follows:
Go to St. Bart's immediately. S.E. John will need you. -MH
S.E. means Sherlock. Emergency. There was a span of roughly seven months, about six years ago, when he and Mycroft Holmes needed that kind of shorthand. He hasn't seen it in a long time, and it sends a cold dread down his spine. He looks up at the Super, who's nearly maroon at this point. His shouting is probably rattling cups down by the water cooler, but Lestrade doesn't hear a bit of it.
The thing is: Lestrade listened to Anderson, and to Donovan, because he does in fact trust their judgment (outside their opinions on each other), and he knows full well that he needs checking from time to time. You know what I'm saying, you just don't want to think about it. He took the issue to the higher-ups strictly because Donovan would have done it otherwise, and her going over his head would have shipwrecked the both of them. You're not seriously suggesting... He'd taken the lashing accordingly, especially after the stunt with John and the punch and the failed arrest and the escape, which had been frankly embarrassing for everyone involved who wasn't Sherlock.
The tirade has gone on without him. It's now gotten to, “You've consorted with a bloody madman, Lestrade! Who knows what kind of havoc he's been playing on us, what information he's gotten! Once he's brought in and convicted you'll be linked to a killer, we can't have that kind of thing associated with—”
The thing is: Lestrade hadn't believed a word of it, not really. Not for more than about a minute, anyway. He's a lot of things, but blind hasn't ever been one of them, thanks, and he knows Sherlock Holmes better than sight. Sherlock's no murderer. Never has been, never will be, and anyone that's seen him around John Watson for ten seconds knows that's true.
Lestrade can count on one hand the number of times that Sherlock has turned out to be wrong.
He can count on one finger the number of times that Mycroft Holmes has told him to go somewhere, S.E., and it has not been entirely warranted.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}