#lestrade x donna

[anonymousewrites]

A Study of the Heart and Brain (Book 4) Chapter Nine

Father Figure! Sherlock Holmes x Teen! Reader

Chapter Nine: Deadly Surprise

Summary: Lestrade pulls the Holmses into another case, but they find something more interesting to pursue.

            “Hi,” said Lestrade.

            “Afternoon,” said John.

            He entered 221B. Lestrade was ready to explain his latest case, but he had to wait for John to arrive since (Y/N) and Sherlock wouldn’t start working on their case without John.

            “He says you’ve got a good one, Greg,” said John.

            “Oh, yeah,” confirmed Lestrade. He sat down in the client chair. “It was David Welsborough’s fiftieth birthday. He’s celebrating, there’s a party going on, everyone’s having a great time. He even gets a call from his son. His son wishes him happy birthday before he asks for his father to check something on his car to settle a bet with his friends about some decoration. David Welsborough goes out, takes a photo of the decoration for his son, and sends it to him.”

            “A week later, something really weird happens,” continued Lestrade. “Drunk driver, he’s totally smashed. The cops are chasing him. And he turns into the drive of the Welsborough house to try and get away. Unfortunately, his car hit the son’s parked car, a spark hit dripping petrol, and the whole thing went up in a blaze. The drunk guy survived. They managed to pull him out, but when they put the fire out and examined the parked car, there was a body.”

            John frowned and leaned forward. “Whose body?”

            “The son,” said Lestrade.

            “What?” said John.

            “The son who was in Tibet,” said Lestrade. “DNA all checks out. Night of the party the car is empty. Then a week later, the dead body is found at the wheel.”

            Sherlock chuckled, and (Y/N) cocked their head as they ate a lollipop.

            “Yeah, I thought it’d tickle you,” said Lestrade.

            “You got a lab report?” said John.

            “Yeah, Charlie Welsborough’s the son of a cabinet minister, so I’m under a lot of pressure to get results,” said Lestrade.

            “Tell me about the seats,” said (Y/N).

            “The car seats?” said Lestrade.

            “Yes,” said (Y/N).

            Sherlock nodded, held out their hand, and took the folder from Lestrade. He flipped through it and showed the pages to (Y/N).

            “Made of vinyl,” said Sherlock.

            “Two different types of vinyl present,” said (Y/N).

            They exchanged a look.

            “Was it his car? The son’s?” said (Y/N).

            “Yeah, not flash. He was a student,” said Lestrade.

            “Well, that’s suggestive,” said Sherlock.

            “Why?” said Lestrade.

            “Vinyl’s cheaper than leather,” said Sherlock.

            “Yeah, right,” said Lestrade.

            “There’s something else,” said John, looking at the medical report.

            “Yes?” said (Y/N).

            “According to this, Charlie Welsborough had already been dead a week,” said John.

            (Y/N) twirled their lollipop in satisfaction at the news. “Excellent.”

            “Is it my birthday? Is that why we get such a good one?” Sherlock grinned.

            Lestrade heaved a sigh.

            “You want help?” said Sherlock.

            “Yes, please,” said Lestrade.

            “One condition,” said Sherlock.

            “Okay,” said Lestrade.

            “Take all the credit,” said Sherlock. “It gets boring if we just solve them all.”

            “Yeah, you say that, and then John blogs about it, and you get all the credit anyway,” said Lestrade, rolling his eyes.

            John chuckled. “He’s got a point.”

            “Which makes me look like some prima donna who insists on getting credit for something he didn’t do,” said Lestrade.

            “Well, I think you’ve hit a sore spot, Sherlock,” teased John.

            “Like I’m some sort of credit junkie!” Lestrade was still grumbling.

            “Definitely a sore spot,” said John.

            “So, you take all the glory, thank you,” huffed Lestrade.

            “Okay,” said Sherlock, holding up his hands.

            “Thanks all the same.” Lestrade sighed. “Just solve the bloody thing, will you? It’s driving me nuts.”

            “Anything you say, Giles,” said Sherlock. (Y/N) and John looked at Sherlock in alarm, and Lestrade glowered. “Just kidding.” As Lestrade put his papers away, Sherlock mouthed to John, “What’s his name?”

            “Greg,” mouthed John.

            Lestrade looked back up, and everyone pretended to look innocent.

            “It’s obvious what happened, isn’t it?” said John.

            (Y/N) tilted their head. Did he get it, this time?

            “John, you amaze me. You know what happened?” said Sherlock.

            “Not a clue, it’s just you normally say that at this point,” said John. (Y/N) snorted.

            “Well.” Sherlock stood. “Let’s help you solve your little problem, Greg.”

            Lestrade blinked. “You hear that?” He had gotten his name right.

            “I know,” said John.

            (Y/N) just hummed innocently and grabbed their sweater.

            “So, how’s it going then, fatherhood?” said Lestrade.

            “Oh, good, great. It’s amazing,” said John.

            “Getting any sleep?” said Lestrade, amused.

            “Christ, no,” said John.

            “You at the beck and call of a screaming, demanding baby, woken up all hours to obey their every whim?” said Lestrade, glancing at Sherlock with a smirk. “Must feel very different.”

            “I’m sorry, what?” said Sherlock.

            “Yes, well, you know how it is,” said John, going along with the joke. “All you do is clean up their mess. Pat them on the head.”

            Sherlock was indignant. “(Y/N) was never like that.”

            “You got them as a teenager,” said John.

            “Fair enough,” said (Y/N), shrugging.

            “Not that they’re much better,” said John.

            “Hey.” (Y/N) frowned.

            John and Lestrade laughed out loud.

l

            “Charlie’s family is pretty cut up about it, as you’d expect,” said Lestrade as he led the way up the drive to the Welsborough house. “So go easy on them, yeah?”

            “You know me,” said Sherlock.

            “Does going easy mean ignoring facts if they are ‘uncomfortable?’ That isn’t practical,” said (Y/N).

            Lestrade sighed.

            “Hi, hello,” said John, answering the phone. “Got ‘em, don’t worry. Pampers, the creams you can’t get from Boots.”

            “Yeah, never mind about that,” said Mary over the phone. “Where are you now? At the dead boy’s house?”

            “Yeah,” said John.

            “What does he think, any theories?” said Mary.

            “Uh, I texted you the details,” said John.

            “Yeah, two different types of vinyl,” said Mary.

            “How do you know about that?” said (Y/N) curiously.

            “Oh, you’d be amazed at what a receptionist picks up,” said Mary mysteriously. “They know everything.”

            “Solved it, then?” said Sherlock.

            “I’m working on it,” said Mary.

            “Oh, Mary, motherhood’s slowing you down,” teased Sherlock.

            “Pig,” said Mary, equally as playful.

            “Keep trying,” said Sherlock.

            “So, what about it, then? An empty car that suddenly has a week old corpse in it,” said Mary to John. “What are you gonna call this one?”

            “Oh, ‘The Ghost Driver,’ ” said John.

            “Don’t give it a title,” said Sherlock.

            “People like the titles,” said John.

            “I hate the titles,” said Sherlock. “(Y/N), tell him.”

            “Dad hates the titles,” said (Y/N).

            “I meant say that you don’t like them—”

            “I don’t care,” said (Y/N).

            “—but thank you all the same,” said Sherlock.

            “Give the people what they want,” said John.

            “No, never do that. People are stupid,” said Sherlock.

            “You do everything (Y/N) wants,” said John.

            “And (Y/N) is clever,” said Sherlock as if it was obvious (and it was).

            He walked into the room with the Welsborough’s, and John rolled his eyes before turning off his phone. (Y/N) was pleased with the praise and followed Sherlock. Lestrade was amused by the entire family.

            “Mr. and Mrs. Welsborough,” introduced Lestrade.

            “I really am most terribly sorry to hear about your daughter,” said Sherlock confidently. (Y/N) was already looking around the room carefully.

            “Son,” said John.

            “Son,” said Sherlock.

            “Mr. and Mrs. Welsborough, this is Sherlock and (Y/N) Holmes,” said Lestrade. (Y/N) straightened at the name proudly.

            “Thank you very much for coming,” said Mr. Welsborough. “We’ve heard a great deal about you. If anyone can throw any light into this darkness, surely it will be you.”

            “Well, I believe that we can,” said Sherlock. He smiled while looking at (Y/N) and then frowned.

            (Y/N) stared at a small sidetable. It had a bunch of pictures of Margaret Thatcher on it, but something felt missing. It was a shrine of sort, but the pattern was off. (Y/N) could feel it.

            “(Y/N)?” said Sherlock.

            (Y/N) blinked and refocused. “What?” They looked at the Welsboroughs. “Were you saying something?”

            Mr. Welsborough cleared his throat. “Well, Charlie was our whole world.” He held his wife close. “I-I don’t think we’ll get over this.”

            Sherlock looked at (Y/N) as they got distracted once again. He looked at the Welsboroughs. “So, sorry, will you excuse us for a moment?”

            (Y/N) walked towards the table, and Sherlock followed. John, confused, trailed after them.

            “What’s wrong?” sighed John.

            “Something’s off,” said (Y/N). “This table is wrong.”

            “How?” said John.

            “Not sure yet,” said (Y/N).

            “You’re relying on your gut?” said John.

            “Gut feelings represent data processed too fast for the conscious mind to comprehend,” said Sherlock. “(Y/N), try to narrow it down.”

            “Something is missing. The pattern,” said (Y/N). “It’s wrong.” They looked at the Welsboroughs. “What is this?”

            “It’s a sort of shrine, really, I suppose,” said Mr. Welsborough, confused. “Big fan of Mrs. T. Big hero of mine when I was getting started.”

            Ew.

            “Right. Yes,” said Sherlock. He paused. “Who?”

            “What?” said Mr. Welsborough.

            “Who, who is this?” said Sherlock.

            “Are you serious?” said Mr. Welsborough.

            “Sherlock,” said John warningly.

            “It’s Margaret Thatcher,” said Mr. Welsborough coldly. “The first female Prime Minister of this country.”

            “Right. Prime Minister?” said Sherlock.

            “Leader of the government,” said Mr. Welsborough.

            “Right,” said Sherlock.

            “For God’s sake, you know perfectly well who she is,” said John.

            “I know who she is,” said (Y/N). “She’s—”

            John covered their mouth before they said something about Thatcher’s politics that would offend Mr. Welsborough. Only when they stopped trying to talk did he uncover their mouth.

            “Focus on the case or whatever this whole thing is about,” said John. “Are you sure it’s not nothing?”

            “(Y/N) is right. The gap is wrong,” said Sherlock. “The whole thing’s verging on OCD, which makes sense because (Y/N) is neurodivergent so was more likely to notice that it’s off instead of just a gut instinct. This figurine is routinely repositioned after the cleaner’s been, and this picture’s straightened every day.”

            “But this ugly gap remains,” said (Y/N). “Something’s missing, recently enough that it hasn’t been filled in.”

            “Yes, a plaster bust,” said Mr. Welsborough.

            “A plaster bust,” repeated (Y/N).

            “Oh, for god’s sake, it got broken,” said Mrs. Welsborough, irritated. “What the hell has this got to do with Charlie?”

            “Rug,” said (Y/N), now so far past the Charlie case that they were barely paying attention.

            “What?” said Mrs. Welsborough.

            “It can’t have broken here. There’s a rug on the floor thick enough to protect from cracking should it fall, and the force of the fall wouldn’t be enough to overcome the rug softening the landing,” said (Y/N).

            “Does it matter?” snapped Mrs. Welsborough.

            “Mrs. Welsborough, my apologies. It is worth letting them do this,” said John.

            “Are your friends quite mad?” she exclaimed.

            “No, they’re assholes, but it’s an easy mistake,” said John.

            “Look, no, we had a break-in,” said Mr. Welsborough. “Some little bastard smashed it to bits. We found the remains out there on the porch.”

            “The porch where we came in?” said Sherlock, feeling his instincts telling him to look at this more closely.

            “How anybody could hate her so much, they’d go to the trouble of smashing her likeness,” said Mr. Welsborough. “I don’t know.”

            Again, (Y/N) opened their mouth to give the facts, and John covered their mouth.

            “Why didn’t they smash the rest? Why only the bust?” said Sherlock, looking at the rest of the undisturbed shrine.

            “Oh, Inspector, this is clearly a waste of time,” said Mrs. Welsborough. “That stupid teenager is simply causing trouble and disrespecting—”

            “We know what happened to your son,” said Sherlock, not standing for anyone insulting (Y/N).

            “You do?” said Mrs. Welsborough.

            “It’s quite simple. Superficial, to be blunt,” said Sherlock. “But first, tell me, the night of the break-in. This room was in darkness?”

            “Well, yes,” said Mr. Welsborough.

            “And the porch where it was smashed, I noticed the motion sensor was damaged. So, I assume the light there is permanently lit?” said Sherlock.

            “How did you notice that?” said Lestrade.

            “We lack the arrogance to overlook details,” said (Y/N).

            “So you’re saying the thief smashed it where they could see it?” said John.

            (Y/N) nodded in confirmation.

            “Why?” said John.

            “Don’t know,” said Sherlock. “Wouldn’t it be fun if we knew?”

            Maybe to search inside the bust? But for what, no clue, thought (Y/N).

            “Mr. Holmes, please!” said Mrs. Welsborough.

            Sherlock sighed and looked at (Y/N). “Go ahead. Solve the case” If Mrs. Welsborough wanted to insult them, then he would have (Y/N) prove just how smart they were (and stick it to her).

            “It was your fiftieth birthday, and you were disappointed that your son hadn’t made it back from his gap year,” said (Y/N), looking at Mr. Welsborough. “Because he was supposed to be in Tibet.”

            “He was,” said Mr. Welsborough.

            “No,” said (Y/N).

            “No?” Mr. Welsborough furrowed his brow.

            “The first part of your conversation was a pre-recorded video,” said (Y/N). “Easy enough, especially with a parent in a generation unaccustomed to using editing software or technology for pranks. But this trick was going to be a surprise.”

            “Trick?” said Mr. Welsborough.

            “Obviously,” said (Y/N). They held up two fingers. “There were two types of vinyl in the remains of the car. One was the car seat. The other was a good copy. It was basically a costume.”

            “You’re joking,” breathed Mr. Welsborough. His face had fallen.

            “I’m not,” said (Y/N). “All he wanted was for you to get close enough to the car so he could surprise you.” They paused. “But something went wrong. I can’t be sure quite yet, but we suspect Charlie suffered some sort of seizure. He had been feeling unwell. He died there and then. No one had any reason to go near the car, so he remained there until the accident with the drunk driver. The fire revealed that he had been there all along.”

            “Oh, god.” Mrs. Welsborough sobbed.

            “Poor kid,” murmured Lestrade.

            “Really, I am very sorry,” said Sherlock. He bowed his head. “Mrs. Welsborough, Mr. Welsborough.” He exited the room with (Y/N).

            John followed, expecting to find them leaving. No, they were crouching outside on the porch examining the ground.

            “This is where it was smashed,” said Sherlock.

            “That was amazing,” said Lestrade, chasing the group out after giving his condolences to the Welsboroughs.

            “What was?” said (Y/N).

            “The car, the kid,” said Lestrade.

            “It was obvious,” said (Y/N).

            “What’s so important about a broken bust of Margaret Thatcher?” said John.

            “Can’t stand it. Never can,” said Sherlock. “There’s a loose thread in the world.”

            “Doesn’t mean you have to pull on it,” said John.

            “What kind of life would that be?” said (Y/N), smiling.

            John groaned. The Holmses really were the most exhausting family in the world sometimes.

Taglist:

@stilesstilinskiforlife-blog

@im-making-an-effort

@ilse235

@schrodingers-intelligence

@awsedrftgyhujikol

@lxserthxngzzz

@forever1313

@mentallyunstablemanlover

@roo024

@ohimjustagirlidrathetnotbe

@snowy-violet

[0therainbowmind0]

LF RP-partner

Hi! I am looking for people to share some fun writing bits!

Preferably writing either original BL/BG

Fandom wise: Harry Potter (Snarry, GGAD etc), Sherlock (Mystrade), Suits.

Smut is a welcome, but not really into hardcore BDSM, dom/sub much. Quite like fluffy and smutty cutis etc.

English is not my native language, my grammar is bad.

Would there be anyone? :)

[mousedetective]

A Well-Timed Rescue (A “The Private Lives Of Teachers” Story)

And here is @awinterbornrose‘s commission! I’m sorry it’s pre-ship, but I promise any further Lestrade/Donna I write for this series shall all be gifted to you, m’dear. ::blows kisses::

A Well-Timed Rescue - Donna finds herself in a sticky situation with a higher-up, but Greg arrives in a surprisingly well-timed moment to come to her rescue.

Fandoms: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV)

Relationship: Greg Lestrade/Donna Noble

Characters: Donna Noble, Harold Saxon, Greg Lestrade

Additional Tags: Attempted Sexual Assault, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Pre-Relationship, POV Donna, Awesome Donna Noble, Protective Greg, Greg Lestrade & Donna Noble Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Harold Is A Sleaze, Greg saves the day, Hugs, sticky situations, Power Dynamics, Co-workers, Workplace

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Another long day at the office. Not that this was the particularly worst job she’d had; starting as a temp in office after office had been a rude wake-up call as to just how harsh it could be to be a secretary. But about ten years ago she’d been lucky enough to land the job here at Coal Hill, and it was a rather nice, cushy job. The headmaster was a decent bloke, the pay was good, her co-workers weren’t absolute morons, and the hours were usually decent.

Except at the beginning of the year. Then it was bloody hell.

And there was one glaring exception to the “her co-workers weren’t absolute morons” rule, too. Pity his office had to be near hers.

Donna grimaced as Harold leaned against the doorway into her office, leering slightly. She knew he had a wife at home; Mrs. Saxon made no bones about it when she came to visit the Deputy Headmaster. Oh, if she only knew he gawked at all the younger birds who taught at the school and then tried to play grabby hands with her arse if he could get her alone. It had gotten to the point she’d made sure there was always one other person in the room, preferably of the male persuasion, or her arse was nestled comfortably in a seat, but every once in a while…

Well, there were nights like tonight.

And on nights like tonight, she kept her desk between them and her hand nice and close to pepper spray. Illegal, she knew, but her grandfather hadn’t raised a fool, not with gams like hers.

“What do you want, Harold?” she asked, crossing her arms and tilting her head, giving him a look that she hoped came across as scornful and annoyed.

He looked her up and down. “Thought you could come out with me to get a bite. It’s been a long day. You deserve a treat.”

Donna scoffed. “The only treat I want right now, mate, is a long soak and a glass of wine. Neither of which I need your help with.” She uncrossed her arms and began packing her satchel to go home, trying to figure out in her head how to get around Harold when he was blocking the door. “Besides, don’t you have a wife at home?”

“She’s at her mother’s,” he said, coming into her office.

“Then maybe you should be a good little boy and call her and see how she and her mum are doing,” she said, trying to stay aware of where he was in relation to her and her desk, panicking ever so slightly when he began to edge to the side of her desk instead of towards the front.

“Now, whoever said I was a good little boy?” Harold said, his tone sounding smarmy, and Donna swallowed the ever growing sense of panic down as her hand edged towards the canister of pepper spray.

“Get the hell away from my desk, Harold,” Donna said.

“Or what?” he said. “No one else is here. Last of the teachers went home for the night.”

“You bloody bastard,” Donna replied loudly as Harold reached over to touch her side.

Harold was about to reply when there was a sharp rap at the door, like a wooden object hitting the door. Donna nearly jumped out of her skin, and she and Harold both turned in the direction of the door. Donna was relieved to see one of her co-workers she considered the good blokes, Greg Lestrade, standing there, his hand carved umbrella handle resting against the doorjamb. “Sorry to interrupt. Just realized I left my lesson plans in Holmes’s office. Don’t think he’d mind if I’m let in to go get them, will he?”

“Oh, not at all,” Donna said, glaring at Harold. “Right this way.”

Harold glared back, and then made his way out of the office, nearly crashing into Lestrade as he walked by him. “I seemed to have aggravated the PM,” Lestrade said wryly.

“Oh, you got in the way of him committing sexual assault,” Donna said bitterly as Lestrade came over. She picked up a pile of papers and realized her hands were shaking, and after a minute she rolled them up and smacked Lestrade on the shoulder with them a few times. “I don't know whether to hug you or slap you.”

“Do I get a vote?” he asked, moving away from the onslaught slightly but not stopping her. After a moment Donna stopped hitting him and he was surprised when she wrapped her arms around his neck. “You are not the huggy type.”

“No,” she said. “And if you tell anyone, I’ll deny it to my dying breath.”

He chuckled slightly and then hugged her back, rubbing her back gently. “Our secret, then.”

Donna set her chin on his shoulder. She knew making light of what could have happened was her way of coping with it, but really, it was a horrifying thought. If Greg hadn’t shown up when he did, it could have been a truly terrible night if her pepper spray hadn’t done the trick and she was able to get away. “I think I could use a few pints,” she said.

“Only a few?” he asked.

“Well, maybe some pints and some good pub grub.”

“Well, then I’ll take you somewhere and treat you,” he said.

She pulled away, shaking her head emphatically. “Bollocks that. Never let it be said Donna Noble doesn’t pay her debts. You got me out of a sticky situation so tonight, pints and grub are on me. Next time, we’ll see.”

Lestrade gave her a grin. “So I rate a next time for being a knight with a white umbrella?”

She tilted her head back and forth. “Maybe. Don’t push your luck. We’ll see how tonight goes.” She gathered her things and then motioned for Lestrade to leave the office before her, casting an uneasy glance at Harold Saxon’s office. She wasn’t sure what the repercussions would be, but she was hoping whatever they were, they wouldn’t be awful.

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[lazynoodlepuff]

I got tagged by @mrspockomakeitso - thanks :D I guess snooping around your blog ended up with me getting noticed or sth haha Also I might have forgot to post it earlier whoops

Rules: name your top 10 favorite characters from 10 different fandoms then tag 10 people.

1. Donna Noble - Doctor Who

2. Leonard McCoy - Star Trek TOS 

3. Clint Barton/Hawkeye - Marvel Comics

4. Data - Star Trek TNG

5. Sokka - Avatar The Last Airbender

6. Jaskier - The Witcher TV 

7. Dick Grayson - Batfamily but from tumblr I don’t read much comics

8. Sherlock Holmes - books and Granda series I guess

9. Crowley - Good Omens

10. Bilbo Baggins - The Hobbit

I tag @lionesshathor @coinly @lestrade-london if you’d like to play along but no pressure x

[meganmoonlight]

slowburn/fake date/ enemies to lovers: 1. uhura (tos), scotty (tos) and sulu (tos), 2. DI Greg Lestrade (Sherlock BBC), Alec Scudder (Maurice) and Paul Prentice (Different for Girls), 3. Sally Donovan (Sherlock), Donna Noble (Doctor Who) and Dana Scully (The X-Files).:)

Oh, these are actually easier! XD

FIRST BATCH:

slow burn: Nyota Uhura (TOS) - no, it definitely wasn’t the first thing I thought of. It really wasn’t...

fake date: Hikaru Sulu (TOS) - I’m not sure why, but that scenario sounds hilarious.

enemies to lovers: Montgomery ‘Scotty” Scott (TOS) - I have no idea why we would be enemies, but that was the only answer left *lol*

SECOND BATCH:

slow burn: Paul Prentice (Different for Girls)  - that would definitely be something.

fake date: DI Gregory Lestrade (Sherlock BBC) - that would be one way to get Greg and Mycroft together...

enemies to lovers: Alec Scudder (Maurice) - I don’t even know. This is so bizarre.

THIRD BATCH:

slow burn: Dana Scully (The X-Files) - yes, please.

fake date: Donna Noble (Doctor Who) - oh, we would have so much fun together-not-together! I would love that so much!

enemies to lovers: Sally Donovan (Sherlock BBC) - that would definitely be an adventure.

[srebrnafh]

Unexpected guests and consequences (Sherlock x Doctor Who)

There was a police box right in the middle of their living room.

When Sherlock emerged from his bedroom (after-case collapse) John was already there, holding a mug of tea and sipping it slowly as he walked around

“Hm,” he fetched himself the second mug and went in the other direction, eyes as close to the object as possible. “Interesting.”

“I’d say so. But did you have to put it in the middle of the room?”

He frowned at John, who was staring at the front (he assumed it was a front - there was a plaque on it) of the object with familiar exasperation.

“Why would you assume I put it here?”

“Well, I didn’t, and I don’t see Mrs Hudson doing it, so by the simple process of elimination...”

“Don’t strain yourself, John. Your skills don’t lie in the area of deduction.”

“Well them, Mr Smarty Pants, if you didn’t plunk this police box - by the way, where did they find one, I thougnt these weren’t made anymore - in our flat, then who did? Lestrade, just to get back on us for that last paperwork SNAFU?”

“I don’t think any of our acquaintances had their hand in bringing this object in here,” Sherlock tapped the wood with his fingertips.

“Why would you say that?”

“Oh, John” a new voice said. “You see, but you don’t observe. Isn’t it what you always say, Sherlock?”

A thin man in a long brown coat was standing right next to them, in the open door of the box. Before he could utter another word, John had tackled him to the ground, pushing Sherlock away in the same move.

“I don’t know who you are, Mister, but I won’t let you touch him” he growled, tightening his hold on the stranger.

“Oi!” a redhead had peeked out of the box and was now looking at the first intruder with something akin to...

...to what John looked when he was staring at Sherlock, most probably.

“And didn’t I tell you, ‘not in the bloody living room’, ‘park around the corner and walk to the door like normal people’ and you said ‘normal is boring’. Well, here you are. Trying to sneak up on a soldier, of all people. So sorry,” she smiled at John. “Trying to weed the weird out of him, but it’s an uphill battle. Hi. Donna Noble. I suppose you’re John Watson.”

He took the proffered hand and shook it, while still maintaining his hold on the man.

“Hold him like this for a moment, he was asking for it,” she rolled her eyes. “He was being impossible, so I let him do what he wanted... Did you get your lesson then? Or should I ask John here to kick your ass a little bit, so that it finally sticks in your mind to listen to me when it comes to human beings and their reaction to large blue boxes?”

The man deflated a bit.

“Now you can let him go” Donna suggested. “You could have already, anyway, he is not dangerous - well, not in normal situations - but he deserved to be taught a little lesson.”

The man straightened slowly, pulling his suit down and massaging his neck.

“Forgot his bloody reflexes” he murmured. “Sorry about the mess, boys, but I thought landing here would cut down on the formalities. Hello, I’m The Doctor, I’m an alien, and this is my spaceship, TARDIS.”

“It’s a time capsule” Sherlock finally managed to interrupt them. “This one has been... stolen.”

“Borrowed,” The Doctor corrected him with a haughty sniff. “Or even more correctly, she had kidnapped me. So there.”

“You stole a spaceship and you brought it here? What are we supposed to do with it?” John sounded a bit winded, but at least - Sherlock was happy for his level-headedness - wasn’t openly disbelieving. Probably all these SF movies had stretched John’s brain enough to encompass the idea of a spaceship...

“Why are you here?” he finally asked the man, at the same exact moment when John asked “Do you want a cuppa?”

“Of course they want some tea, they are bloody British” he snapped at his companion. “At least she is, as to him, I’m holding the judgement, but he sounds like someone from the North... Scotland? Desperately trying to talk like someone from around London - very good job on the accent, by the way - and yet, not the actual North of England, somewhere...” he found himself next to the sofa, so he flounced into it. “Now, tell me who you are, really. Because I keep having these dreams...” he frowned at the stranger. “And I see you in them. But you have a different face.”

“They had been in for too long” the man said to his friend. “We need to find their modules. The problem is, they can be anything... Do you have any items of importance that are broken?” he turned now to John and Sherlock.

“Mate, most of this flat is broken,” John gestured towards the shelves brimming with knicknacks.

“Oh... But something specific, like... like a box that doesn’t open or an old watch, or...”

“John has a broken watch” Sherlock couldn’t resist. “Why would you need it?”

“John, could you bring it? I need to see it.”

“No.”

John, for once, decided to be stubborn. Right there, middle of the doorway, feet set at shoulder-width, shoulder stiff, hands clasped behind his back.

Ah, Captain Watson.

“Who the hell are you and what do you want with us, with our things and especially with my bloody watch?” John growled.

“Aaah. Here it is,” the strange man smiled at the redhead. “I knew he was down there somewhere!”

“Doctor, just... stop it. Not everyone loves to hear you talking of them like they are a specimen in one of your experiments!”

Sherlock was experiencing an overwhelming amount of flashbacks. Also, a migraine. John wasn’t looking any better.

“You two, explain yourselves, now.”

A delicious frisson of excitement went down Sherlock’s spine. The man from the box only rolled his eyes at John’s stubborn stance.

“You two are absolutely insufferable. Always have been. No wonder you found each other again, you... you...”

“So you say they were not left like this on purpose?” Donna was smiling at them as if they were the greatest entertainment she had ever seen.

The stranger - Doctor - raked through his hair with both hands.

“Of course not. They were in different countries, they were never supposed to come into contact, they...”

“What?”

The flatness and tightness in John’s voice drew everyone’s eyes to him. He had lost his stiff posture and his left hand was shaking like a leaf.

His leg buckled and Sherlock was by him in a flash, holding him up, guiding him slowly into a sitting position. He experienced a fleeting feeling of astonishment when John’s right hand tightened on his wrist and his friend leaned into him, breathing spasmodically.

“I have no idea who you are and what you want from us” he said, not looking up at the intruders. “But you will leave now - don’t care how - and get your capsule out of our living room and never again importune us in this way.”

The man ignored his pronouncement and crouched by them with a worried frown.

“It’s his breathing bypass, trying to kick in” he said slowly. “You two had been under much too long. Donna, go to their bedroom, use my screwdriver, find that watch!”

“There is no ‘our’ bedroom” Sherlock pointed out angrily. “John sleeps upstairs.”

Not that he would have protested if the situation was going to change, but that was neither here not there.

“You what? How long have you been here, together?”

Sherlock looked up at the Doctor and saw an honest expression of worry. Nothing else.

“Two years in January, so twenty two months. Why?”

“And you are still not... That has never happened before. Well, anyway. Donna, upstairs, find that bloody watch. Check nightstand, box under the bed, anything he has in his closet. Shoo!”

He chewed on his lower lip and finally extended his hand towards John, touching his chest, now fluttering with shallow breaths. There was a whirring sound and footsteps coming from the room above them, but he ignored that input, focusing on the stranger in front of them.

“John, listen to me. Listen to me, soldier. You are going to be fine. Just try to synchronise your breathing with Sherlock. Stop fighting it, or your heart will give in. You have only one now, we can’t afford letting it get damaged. Come on. Nice and slow. In... Sherlock, breathe, or he won’t know what to do ...out. In... out. Slow and steady. Just like this.”

Thumping on the stairs marked Donna coming back - that woman was so common that Sherlock still could not connect her in his brain to the man who... well, obviously wasn’t.

“I’m an alien” the man informed him in a distracted tone. “Donna is human, from Earth.”

“Are there other options?” John’s voice sounded weak and Sherlock had to stop himself from tightening his hold on the soldier.

“Well, right now, only a few. Wait a century or two and your bunch will be all over this galaxy. And a few neighbouring ones, too.”

“Well” John laughed and started to sit up. “Not like we will see it, but it’s nice to know anyway. Oh...” he looked up at Donna, who sat down next to them, cross-legged, and was leaning towards them, holding his watch. “You found it then. Why is it... so important?”

The Doctor sighed.

“You two had been undercover agents, after a fashion. Or maybe sleeper agents. Not sure. Not in enemy territory - well, John was. What happened to get you back to London? No, wait. Injury. They shot you? You were supposed to be a medic!”

“Combat medic” John sighed and moved a bit, bringing his side... more into contact with Sherlock’s body? “Got shot when... never mind. How do you know about us? What do you know about us?”

“You were both sent here in order to temporarily hide you from certain... powers. People who would have been interested in playing each of you against the other, or use one to manipulate the other. You have been inseparable since the Academy and... I am bungling this, right?” he looked up at Donna.

“Totally” she rolled her eyes. “He is a Time Lord. A type of alien. Not the same aliens as flying saucers, these are annoying little buggers. Humanform, as you can see, some differences inside - two hearts, backup breathing system - have seen him cheat on witch trials - and more neurons in one cubic inch of brain than I have in my whole body. Can taste and hear time. I am human, as he said, London, England, Earth. Local girl. He picked me up and we went for a spin, now I’m serving as public relations officer because his communication skills suck.”

He felt John shaking at that. With laughter.

“Oi,” he scolded his friend softly. “Don’t you go drawing parallels!”

“Why? She is describing us to a T. Well, not the double heart part, but imagine you trying to cheat on witch trials. You totally would.”

He had to admit that. Yes, he would.

Donna handed John the watch and wrapped his hand around it.

“There is a trick his people use, when they want to hide their biological signature, they mimic local life form. Intelligent life form, of course. Humans are easy, the physiology is the same, don’t have to re-learn how to eat or go to the loo. He did it once, but you two are apparently on your second stint. This watch, if I guessed it right, holds John’s memories. When you open it, you will regain your old self and your proper bodily functions will kick in, including the breathing...” she glanced worriedly at her friend. “He thinks you’ve been stuck as humans too long and parts are leaking through. Sherlock, you said something about a time capsule, right?”

He glanced at the box in the middle of his floor.

“Sure. It has the chameleon circuit on, so it’s supposedly blending in, although why is it tuned in to the sixties, no idea. It has a perception filter, too, so we didn’t treat it as very unexpected to see... it... there...”

For the first time in ages he felt like his mouth was working completely independently from his conscious mind.

“Sherlock?” John’s wheezy voice attracted his attention back to the floor on which they were sitting. “What did you just...”

“No idea,” he admitted. “I...”

“Leaks. John’s body is responding first, his brain will catch up in a moment. Sherlock, your brain reacted first, but expect similar breakthroughs in the organism, soon. Focus now, do you have any old object that is seemingly broken, but could be decorated with this kind of pattern?” the Doctor showed him John’s watch and the circular engraving on the envelope.

“N-no...” he shook his head. “I don’t think so. But you are welcome to check my room...”

He was feeling worse with every passing minute.

Donna disappeared and a whirring noise was back, now in his own bedroom. It must have been some kind of detector... he shook his head.

"If we really are what you claim," he said slowly. "How come you are surprised to see us together? Why were we separated?"

"For your own safety" the man sighed. "You two, together, form a... a team, a partnership, that transcends time and space. People tried to separate you before, but you fight back towards each other. John... Well, I will use that name for him for the time being, it will be courteous to Donna. John has been known to unconsciously bend the rules of probability to get back to you. How lucky has he been this time?"

Sherlock frowned, looking down at his friend - more than a friend? - who was now resting, eyes closed, still breathing in sync with him.

"He was shot in Afghanistan, retired, moved back to London. Went for a stroll in the park, met an old Uni friend, chatted. They talked about John sharing a flat with someone. Said friend had heard me bemoaning my need of flatmate the day before. Not that I needed one for financial purposes - that's what I told John, but... well. Otherwise Mycroft would have never allowed me to... Wait a second. Mycroft. Who is he? If I'm some kind of special agent from... whatever, another planet, then Mycroft is not my brother. Or is he also one of these agents?"

"Ah," the stranger cringed. "Tall, dark ginger, permanent scowl?"

"Beaky nose and propensity for umbrellas."

"Mycroft Holmes, yes. You have... a past. He is a UNIT liaison, one of the elite officers who manage extraterrestial contact events in Britain."

"What?" John sounded torn between laughter and disbelief.

"Got it!" Donna appeared in the corridor, carrying a snuffbox in her outstretched palm. "Also, I need a shower. Desperately. You" she pinned Sherlock to the floor with her glare. "Have you never heard of a vacuum cleaner, mister?"

John snorted, but quieted soon, focusing on his breathing.

Sherlock snatched his snuffbox out of Donna's hand.

"This is empty and I've never used it" he turned it over in his fingers. He didn't remember it being decorated with these circles - were they circles? - but it was, right on the bottom...

"You have to open them and just... let the memories get back to you. It's best done sitting down, but maybe not touching..."

Sherlock snapped the snuffbox open and with his other hand he pressed the button on John's watch.

"Sherlock, what are..."

"What's the worst that can happen?" he asked quietly. "You know we've been off recently, and if this doesn't work, we'll only have opened a watch and a snuffbox..."

Oh.

That felt different.

There were places in his brain he never remembered using.

His Mind Palace suddenly went into other dimensions. There was no way for it to be built in a reasonable 3-D fashion he had maintained until now.

There were rooms in it, whole corridors of just him and his partner, running around, running towards the danger, in the thick of it.

His brain hiccoughed.

There was a luminosity somewhere nearby, something touching the surface of his mind, like a glove surrounding it carefully, cushioning it.

"Forming the telepathic bond again" someone said in a distance. "That's so beautiful I could cry."

"Why do your people keep trying to separate them?"

"They were too powerful together. Too dangerous. When they went into full meld, they transcended even out Council's ability to manage. They were thought useful, but too unpredictable."

"But... why find them, then? Wouldn't it have been better for them to just... stay like this?"

John. John was a good name for what his partner embodied. Goodness, stability, proper values. Well, proper for them, not for these stuffed shirts in the Council. And oh, how they angered the elders. Refusing to let go, to be sorted into proper ranks. Scientist apart from the fighter. They found their back to each other again and again and again, twice under the influence of the chameleon circuit, to boot!

we used to look different then

Oh. The link was now formed and so their thoughts...

you had the curls, but that five o'clock was atrocious. beard burn all the time

You are the one to talk. You had a proper moustache then!

well... that was expected of me, as an ex-military

Poppycock. You were just trying to get your revenge for that time...

I wasn't the one running around the flat in my shirt indecently unbuttoned halfway down my chest!

Oh. Well. 

and these open collars? cravats undone, scarfs and ties only there for show, never actually covering yourself properly? it's a wonder we weren't arrested!

John...

There was coughing somewhere nearby.

"Respiratory bypasses working."

"Are they waking up?"

"Minds still need a few minutes. They are in full meld, no idea what they are talking about."

You were always so proper, shirts buttoned, ties perfectly tightened. Do you know how many times I wanted to unwrap you like a Christmas present?

well, you did, finally

That I did.

He opened his eyes finally, to see The Doctor and his companion watching them from the sofa curiously.

"Back with us, Seeker?"

He swallowed. Flexed his jaw. Squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again.

"There is something very wrong with her timelines" he said. "They are looped."

"OK, he seems fine. Soldier? You awake?"

His partner hummed quietly and pursed his lips.

"I feel an inordinate compulsion to punch you on the nose" he said without opening his eyes. "But I won't. Still, don't come too close to me in the next half hour, or you will get punched."

The Doctor sighed with a laugh.

"Now, you two, I need you to..."

"No" Soldier stood up in one fluid move. "Half hour. And you two better get into that capsule and repark it somewhere."

"What...?" Donna glanced at The Doctor in surprise. "You said they should come with us! We can't just leave them..."

"You can and you will. Because we've been stuck in these forms for over ten years" Soldier growled. "And what I need to do right now - and I mean right now - should happen without any witnesses. So, go."

He felt the blue, blue, bluest eyes measuring him up and down.

Donna squeaked as Doctor pulled her into the capsule.

"What are they...?"

"They've been apart for eight years and living in separate bedrooms for two. Guess what they are going to be doing now."

"But... we need them!"

The door closed with a resounding "snap" and the capsule soon disappeared.

"We have to tell him about the broken brakes" Seeker said softly.

"We will. But not now. Now..."

Seeker drew him closer.

"Let me" he pressed his lips into the greying blond strands. "Let me cherish you. We don't have much time, but let me."

He heard Soldier gasping and felt his tense body under his hands.

"You've been taking such good care of me, love, even without knowing us to be us" Seeker whispered. "Let me now."

The hard form in his embrace softened and the accepting warmth flew through their thought-link.

"Bed" the Soldier - sometimes named 'John' - whispered.

"Bed" the Seeker - but he would keep 'Sherlock', too - answered.

[taccuinodiunasognatrice]

The Six Thatchers: La teoria dell’alibi

Dato che il fandom sta viaggiando ad una velocità pazzesca con le teorie e non tutti riescono a stare dietro a tutte le meta, ho pensato di raccogliere qui sia la teoria dell’alibi originale che le conclusioni a cui si è arrivati, e anche alcune teorie che supportano questa teoria. (E poi mi piace proprio tanto questa teoria, quindi ne dovevo scrivere.)

Concordiamo tutti che The Six Thatchers è strana, e la domanda è sorta spontanea: ma gli eventi che abbiamo visto sono successi davvero? 

Premesse

Nella stessa puntata noi abbiamo l’MI6 che ha modificato il video che provava che Sherlock ha ucciso a Magnussen in modo tale da scagionare Sherlock, e riguardo al racconto a cui His Last Vow si ispira, i Mofftiss hanno detto che secondo loro, gli eventi raccontati ne L’avventura di Charles Augustus Milverton non sono andati come Watson li ha descritti: nel racconto Watson e Holmes assistono all’omicidio di Milverton per mano di una donna di cui però non si parla. E se Watson e Holmes conoscessero quella donna (come hanno poi cambiato i Mofftiss)? E se fosse stato in realtà Holmes ad uccidere Milverton e Watson, per proteggerlo e coprirgli le spalle, avesse inserito una donna a caso e reso così Holmes innocente? I Mofftiss credono che i due amici siano capaci di coprirsi le spalle su questo soggetto. 

Mentre stavamo sclerando sulla puntata, è uscita una foto, e a questo punto linko direttamente l’inizio della discussione riguardo l’alibi: The game is on/over 

Teoria principale

Il pensiero semplice e nudo quindi è: Sherlock sta raccontando gli eventi di TST in modo tale da creare un alibi per John che in realtà ha ucciso Mary, proprio come l’MI6 ha modificato il video per creare l’alibi per Sherlock. 

(x)

E’ già stato fatto prima?

Non è la prima volta che questo succede all’interno della serie: oltre al video modificato, in questa puntata abbiamo quest’informazione:

MYCROFT: Appointment in Samarra. SHERLOCK: I’m sorry? MYCROFT: The merchant who can’t outrun Death. You always hated that story as a child. Less keen on predestination back then. (Sherlock narrows his eyes.) SHERLOCK: I’m not sure I like it now. (He picks up his coat from the chair in front of the desk and starts to put it on.) MYCROFT: You wrote your own version, as I remember. Appointment in Sumatra. The merchant goes to a different city and is perfectly fine.

 (x)

in A Study in Pink Sherlock afferma di esser riuscito a far arrestare Angelo con un crimine minore rispetto a quello di cui la polizia lo aveva accusato ( parallelo tra ASiP e TST ) , e spostandosi sul Canone, spesso si è pensato a John Watson come ad un narratore inaffidabile, in quanto non dice sempre come sono andati davvero fatti, e ammette lui stesso di omettere dei dettagli ai lettori. E si parla di modificare gli eventi o scegliere cosa raccontare o meno anche quando Watson ci introduce il caso dell’abominevole sposa.

WATSON : Over the many years it has been my privilege to record the exploits of my remarkable friend, Mr Sherlock Holmes, it has sometimes been difficult to choose which of his many cases to set before my readers. Some are still too sensitive to recount … whilst others are too recent in the minds of the public. But in all our many adventures together, no case pushed my friend to such mental and physical extremes as that of The Abominable Bride. 

(x)

HOLMES: Have you written up your account of the case? WATSON: Yes. HOLMES: Hmm. Modified to put it down as one of my rare failures, of course? WATSON: Of course.

(x)

Quindi non dovrebbe suonarci nuova la narrazione inaffidabile, eventi modificati, realtà modificate. In questa specifica puntata, possiamo credere che Sherlock stia raccontando gli eventi ad Ella, un po’ come The Reichenbach Fall, ma li stia modificando per, appunto, creare un alibi per John: John non è mai presente nelle scene in cui tutto va a farsi a benedire, per esempio arriva all’acquario solo dopo che Mary è stata colpita. 

Se fosse vera, cosa cambia? Cosa ne consegue?

Se fosse davvero così, si spiegherebbero un’infinità di cose che vediamo nella puntata, come per esempio la velocità a cui procede la puntata o alcuni comportamenti non proprio IC dei personaggi oppure la scena della morte di Mary, che è hollywoodiana al cento per cento (Sherlock non può proprio resistere al tocco di drammatictà). Questo non significa però che gli eventi raccontati nella puntata siano falsi: si tratta del resoconto di Sherlock dal suo punto di vista, quindi alcuni dettagli sono stati cambiati, altri mantenuti. Mary è morta in quell’acquario, tutta la storia di A.G.R.A potrebbe essere vera, cambia solo che in realtà è stato John ad uccidere Mary. E l’allontanamento può avvenire per due motivi: per mantenere l’alibi, John e Sherlock non devono farsi vedere perché John teoricamente dovrebbe essere arrabbiato con Sherlock per la morte di Mary, e perché se ha dovuto uccidere sua moglie perché Mary stava minacciando Sherlock (???), perché Sherlock si è messo nei guai senza aspettarlo (???), beh… non è proprio una cosa che fai tutti i giorni, ammazzare tua moglie per salvare il tuo migliore amico. 

Su questo soggetto consiglio due meta a proposito di come Vivian e John siano molto simili e la meta che confronta le varie ferite da proiettile che vediamo nella serie tv. 

E i testimoni? C’erano Lestrade, Mycroft e altri agenti di polizia lì presenti, com’è possibile che la verità non sia uscita fuori da quella stanza? 

(x)

(x)

E nel blog c’è un caso in cui i testimoni hanno mentito a proposito dell’assassino: x

Teorie nate in seguito all’Alibi theory

TST is so godamn blue: a meta che si può riassumere con: dove c’è il blu, gli eventi sono andati in modo diverso da come ci vengono mostrati.

Più il teschio del quadro si illumina, più gli eventi sono modificati: Projection , l’idea di @quietlyprim (e il reblog che mostra che non è esattamente una novità) 

Rewatch the aquarium scene (alla fine della quale otteniamo i bramati Tre Garrideb)

Conclusioni

Se le cose fossero andate davvero così, si spiegherebbe perché il titolo The Lying Detective, sia Sherlock che Lestrade infatti in questo scenario hanno mentito e nella puntata si potrebbe rivedere come sono andate le cose davvero in TST. La storia proseguirebbe, al contrario dell’EMP Theory che quasi richiede che la storia ricominci dall’ospedale di HLV, il che causerebbe la perdita di divertimento (e inoltre il ricominciare la storia dicendo che era tutto un sogno è un espediente utilizzato quando il prodotto sta fallendo, e BBC Sherlock non sta precipitando). 

Spero di esser riuscita a farvi amare questa teoria che mi ha conquistata appena l’ho letta ieri sera, se avete considerazioni da fare, scrivete pure, e spero di aver chiarito le idee a chi era confuso da questa teoria.

[afteriwake]

In Flight Bonding (2/?)

Switched to Donna’s POV for this part, asked for by the lovely @strangelock221b. I hope you enjoy it!

In Flight Bonding - Greg and Donna share a seat on a flight from London to New York, and what starts as a friendly conversation takes a turn for the interesting when they realize they have a few mutual friends.

READ PART 1 | READ PART 2

The flight took off not that long after they settled in their seat, and thankfully, no one tried to take the middle seat. But Donna had perked up a bit; she didn’t mind being chatty with a silver fox like Greg. Not that her taste in men ran towards silver foxes, but maybe it should. The idea of having a place to stay if there was a delay, though, and a friendly ear overrode her flirting for the time being.

It had been a rough few months with the divorce and the notoriety that was brought with it. She hadn’t liked being tabloid fodder very much. And then...He came back. It was supposed to have killed her but some of the Doctor's residues must have been in her brain because it didn’t. Just memories, and a lot of hurts. She knew logically he’d done what he’d done to save her life, and she knew he’d been the one to slip her the winning lottery ticket which had made her life better and worse, in the long run, but still. Logic didn’t always trump emotion, so she was on her way to Los Angeles to visit an old friend from the temp pool who’d married well and retired to the sunny climes of California.

She couldn’t shake the feeling she knew something about Greg from the Doctor. Something interesting. But her memories were still fuzzy and she didn’t poke and prod them much for fear of dropping dead. She liked being alive, thank you very much.

And then it hit her. “Say, have you ever known anyone named Jack?”

“I’ve known a lot of Jacks and Johns in my line of work,” he said, taking the seatbelt off when the sign flashed above their heads.

“Jack...Harkness?” she asked. She watched him turn red, and she knew. “Dined and ditched?”

“Wined, dined, and ditched. Before my wife, obviously. But at the time, I was just a punk out of Chiswick and he was...dapper. Just my type.”

“Oh! So you’re bisexual,” she said quietly.

He nodded. “Not that I go waving that particular pride flag out, but yes. Haven’t been with anyone since my wife and I divorced, though there was a man I fancied. The older brother of a consulting detective I worked with. That was just a mess waiting to happen so I admired from afar.”

“I know that feeling well,” she said. “I have shite taste in men, since the first man I was set to marry tried to kill me.”

He raised an eyebrow and looked like he had decided to take a stab at something, just to see. “The High Empress of Racnos?”

Donna’s eyes went wide. “You know him! You know him, don’t you?” Then she leaned in and dipped her voice lower. “The Doctor?”

“I do,” he said, a delightful grin spreading on his face. It was a very nice grin, very fetching. And very inviting; the fact he was a friend of the Doctor, enough to know about her, and the fact she knew about him via Jack, meant it was a small world after all.

But what a conversation they could have...

[afteriwake]

"It's really pouring out there." Noble Copper

So I finally decided to add more to this series with this prompt for a Greg/Donna story, so I hope you all enjoy!

Flirting Or Not? (A “Like A Good Neighbour...” Story) - Donna loans Greg an umbrella and asks for repayment, and Greg calls a friend to find out whether he was being flirted with or not.

Read @ AO3 | Series Page | Help Me Survive? | Commission Me?

He was going to get soaked trying to get from his apartment to his car to get to work. He should have known better than to assume he had a working umbrella the last time he’d been in Tesco shopping. But then he felt an umbrella over his head and a body press near him as he locked his door.

"It's really pouring out here," Donna said, before handing him another umbrella. “Use my spare.”

“You’re a godsend,” Greg said, giving his neighbor a smile.

“Least I can do,” she said with a small smile of her own. “This building is really shite, isn’t it? With all the rain we could at least have covers over our doors to lock up.”

Greg opened his newfound umbrella and then put it over his head and Donna moved hers away. “If I could build a few for the ground floor apartments I would, but I doubt the management would let me.”

“That’s too bad,” he said. “I wanted to thank you for dinner last week. I was going to say you could let me cook you something so I don’t set off the alarms at, oh, three in the morning, but I’m thinking you now owe me another meal for the umbrella.”

“Am I borrowing or keeping it?” he asked with a grin.

“Depends how good the meal is,” she said with her own grin. “Tonight? Around six?”

“Here or somewhere else.”

“All up to you, depending on how badly you want a working umbrella,” Donna said before turning back to her apartment. He watched her walk away, a wide smile on his face, and then shook his head as he headed to the complex car park and went for his car. There was something about Ms. Donna Noble that he was fascinated by. They’d made it a point to chat more since their early morning meeting over his burnt meal, and he found her quite fascinating, even if she was a bit sharp in her observations. He was used to it from being around Sally and Sherlock, though, so it wasn’t so bad.

Speaking of Sally, it had been so long since he’d felt interested in anyone that he had no clue what to do, and he’d have to ask her for help. Since Anderson had been ejected from the picture and she’d gotten her promotion to Detective Inspector, she’d had a much more active social life. And maybe that could help him get his own.

He mused about what he knew about Donna from her own mouth. Divorced, ex-millionaire though she wasn’t entirely destitute, working as a temp to get back to her roots (though not that she needed to), brash and blunt and...nice, in her own way. Very different from his own ex-wife, but in some ways exactly what he might have been looking for in a partner. But was she interested in him? The conversation about the umbrellas inferred she might be, but then again, he almost needed to be hit over the head to realize a woman was flirting with him.

He set his mobile in its holder and dialed Sally’s mobile before he started the car. She wasn’t working under him anymore, but they were still both at the Yard and still good friends. If anyone would know what to do about this situation it would be her.

“Donovan,” she said.

“Did you even look at who was calling?” he asked with a chuckle.

“I don’t have to be awake for another two hours so I assumed it was an emergency,” she said sourly. “Sorry. Was enjoying my nice warm bed.”

“Alone or…?”

“Alone today.” He heard her huff as she stretched and then she spoke again. “What’s up?”

“I have a question. Of a personal sort.”

“Oh?” she asked, her tone intrigued.

“Remember the neighbor who I woke up with burning food?” he asked her, leaning back into the driver’s seat.

“The ginger?” she asked.

“Yeah. I was out getting soaked this morning, since my brolly broke, and she offered me one. She was going to offer dinner but then...she sort of flirted with me? Said I could owe her dinner for giving me the brolly? I think I want to take her somewhere, but...would it be a date?”

“Yeah, Greg, that would be a date,” Sally said with a chuckle. “Take her someplace nice. You know she likes Chinese, so try Thai, maybe. Or Japanese. Something similar but different. And make sure you cover all the drinks she wants.”

“I don’t even know if she drinks,” Greg said.

“Well, then hold off on getting a pint until you do,” Sally said with a slight yawn. “Can I go to sleep now? I still have two hours of beauty rest left.”

“Go. You need it.” He paused. “Not that you’re ugly, but...”

“Yeah, I get it. See you at the Yard,” Sally said before hanging up.

Greg glanced at the umbrella on the seat next to him and then grinned. He’d definitely try and make it a date to remember if that’s what it really was going to end up being.

[afteriwake]

In Flight Bonding (1/?)

A new fic! This is another cheer-up fic for @strangelock221b with the Noble Copper ship this time. Enjoy!

In Flight Bonding - Greg and Donna share a seat on a flight from London to New York, and what starts as a friendly conversation takes a turn for the interesting when they realize they have a few mutual friends.

READ @ AO3

He never minded sitting in the middle of an aisle on the plane, but today he was in luck, he thought to himself. He’d managed to score an aisle seat, which helped with the tingly feeling that if there was an emergency he would be unable to help in a snap. He had the same feeling when he managed to score a window seat, but at least there he was distracted. As he got to his seat he saw a ginger woman sitting by the window, looking out. He was stuck by her, in that she wasn’t lovely but...well, striking. She had bags on both seats, though, and that would pose a problem.

“Ma’am, I’ve got the aisle seat,” he said, and she turned to look at him, an irritated look on her face marring her features momentarily before she closed her mouth and shook her head.

“Sorry,” she said, moving the bag from the aisle seat to the middle seat. “I was hoping I could sit alone, just because I don’t want conversation.”

“I can leave you be, but I do need my seat.”

“Of course,” she said with a nod.

“But we can recommend that anyone trying to take the middle seat find someplace else to sit,” he said, opening his suit jacket and revealing the emblazoned holder of his coppers badge. She perked up a bit as he closed his suit jacket and sat down.

“I’m sorry. Normally I’m chatty, but I’m annoyed by the delay. I don’t know if I’m going to make my connecting flight in New York at this rate.” She paused. “Can’t you get them to hurry the hell up?”

He chuckled. “I’m not sure a badge is that persuasive, but if anyone causes trouble, I can whip them in line with it.” He got comfortable in the seat and looked at her. “Where are you headed?”

“Los Angeles,” she said. “Visiting an old friend. You?”

“Just New York. Cross-jurisdictional case.” He looked around. The airplane was filling up rapidly so hopefully, they’d leave soon and his companion would make her flight. Then he turned back to her. “I’m Greg Lestrade.”

“Donna Noble,” she said, reaching over to offer her hand for a handshake.

He shook it and realized her skin wasn’t soft, and there were small callouses on her fingertips. Whatever she did, it probably involved a lot of typing. But what struck him, even more, was the name. It seemed familiar. He knew it from a conversation with the Doctor, but he couldn't reveal that without sounding crazy. So he tried to remember the context of the conversation and a way to bring up his familiarity with her popped up. “You’re the lottery winner.”

“Yeah, I am,” she said, her lips tightening into a line slightly. “Before you ask, it’s invested, and my husband left me when he realized I wasn’t going to support his every whim. Bastard.”

“My ex-wife could join his club,” he said.

“Coppers don’t make that much, do they?” she asked, the tightness in her lips gone and replaced by a curiosity in her eyes.

“No, but I had an inheritance,” he said. “She figured it was her fun fund, so to speak. It’s all gone now, mostly spent on the divorce. But it was worth it to have control over my finances again.”

“Here here,” Donna said. The captain got on the intercom then, saying they would take off shortly and that they needed to pay attention to the safety protocols being demonstrated by the flight attendants. “Finally.”

“When does your connecting flight leave?” he asked, turning his body as much as he could in her direction.

“Almost immediately after we were supposed to land,” she said. The expression on her face was glum. “I don’t want to be trapped in La Guardia for the night.

“You can go to my hotel with me if you need a place to crash,” he said. “I have a double room if you’ll just have a few hours to kill. Room service and crap telly were my plans once I got settled.”

The corner of her lips quirked up in a smile. “And what makes you think I go to hotel rooms with random coppers?”

He tapped the side of his nose. “Intuition.”

She laughed at that and he smiled. She really was prettier when she smiled. “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” she said, turning to face him.

“One can hope.”

[mousedetective]

For the ship thingy: Donna/Greg #16 please

So this is super short, but it sparked an immediate response that took forever to post because I hit my post limit earlier. But here it is now, the start of a new series!

Also, my Ko-Fi link works now, so if uou like what I do, buy me a coffee! It literally helped me get the actual coffee I need to deal with my migraines when my first ones were bought today.

Smoke Alarms At 3 AM (A “Like A Good Neighbour...” Story) -Donna gets a surprise when she meets her new neighbour when his smoke alarm goes off at three in the morning.

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The blaring of a smoke alarm at three in the morning was not what she wanted to meet her new neighbour over, but the walls of this place were paper thin despite being “luxury” flats. Luxury her arse, Donna thought to herself. She was already regretting moving into the building and she hadn’t even been there an entire weekend yet.

She banged on the door for her neighbor. “Oi! Whatever it is you’re attempting to cook, it’s probably charcoal by now! Turn off your bloody alarm!

The alarm went on for a few more minutes and then stopped, and so she stopped banging. She wasn’t sure she wanted to see the foolish uni student or half-wit single executive on the other side of the door, but they needed to learn manners. The door opened and everything she was going to say tumbled right out of her brain.

This was not what she had expected.

There was an older gentleman, though not much older than her, with salt and pepper hair and a sheepish smile on his face. And bright eyes framed by specs; they reminded her of someone but she couldn’t quite place it. “I’m really sorry,” he said, running a hand through his short hair. “I was going over a case and just...forgot.”

“I have food,” she blurted out.

“Are you offering to share?” he asked, surprised.

“Yeah,” she said. “You can cook, but under my supervision.”

He chuckled and really, it was a nice rumbling sound, warm and soothing. “Maybe takeaway would be better. I know all the local twenty-four-hour places.” He moved so she could come in. “You could join me?”

“Least you can do,” she said, pulling her shawl around her shoulders. And there was the laughter again. Oh, she could get lost in that sound. “You got wrapped up in a case, you said?”

He nodded as he shut the door behind them. “I’m a Detective Inspector for Scotland Yard,” he said before extending his hand. “Greg Lestrade.”

“Donna Noble,” she said, shaking his hand. Big, strong hand, warm with a few callouses. Whatever it was he did at the Yard, he did rough work, too. “I’m a secretary.”

“How did you end up here?” he asked as he let go of her hand.

“False advertising,” she said sourly. “My actual apartment is nothing like the show apartment.” She looked around. “Yours looks cozy, though. Homey.”

“I take care of repairs myself. The management that runs this complex is shite so I usually pitch in where I can and make minor repairs when I have the time for the rest of the residents. Usually I’m repaid in food, and I was trying to heat up a lasagna when...”

They moved to the counter and she saw the charred food in the throw-away pan. “Yeah, I think it’s more briquette than edible at this point,” Donna said. She looked up and saw the sheepish grin was back on his face. This really was a much lovelier encounter than she had expected. “Have any menus for these twenty-four-hour delivery places?”

“By the refrigerator,” he said. “How do you feel about Chinese?”

“You’re speaking my language,” Donna said with a smile of her own. Somehow, she had the feeling that she might be spending more time in thisapartment than her own. Hopefully. If she was lucky.

And something told her she just might be.

[mousedetective]

For the 10 before 900: Donna/Greg please :)

Mwuahaha....I am evil and horrible and I am STILL NOT MAKING THEM A COUPLE!!! But there is a hug and a kiss in the hair and Greg has admitted he likes her in this fic? So I’m not completely evil? But here you go hun!

--

A Bit About The Past -Greg tells Donna how he ended up working at Coal Hill.

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“Have you gotten to meet any of the candidates for the deputy headmaster position yet?” Greg asked, starting to sort the Chinese takeaway he’d just paid for that he’d brought into the kitchen. There weren’t many women he brought over to the flat because, to be honest, it was a rather dismal piece of shite, but he ended up putting most of his salary into either making sure is students had the best materials available to them or into the projects he worked on in his off time. He was lucky Mycroft allowed him to use the school facilities after hours to work on what he chose but the acclaim his projects brought in competitions around the country was good for Coal Hill.

Though, unfortunately, not good enough to get the woodworking classes a budget increase. But then, it was a rather niche class, he supposed. A dying art in the days of technology. Everyone appreciated good craftsmanship but no one appreciated the craftsmen who made the crafts.

Way of life, he supposed.

Donna snorted a laugh out, shaking her head as she wandered into his kitchen. “Oh, there were no candidates. Mr. Holmes had his deputy headmistress picked out as soon as the governors officially gave Saxon the boot. And I don’t add the “mistress” part lightly.”

Greg grinned. “Oh. It’ll be good to see Andrea on a regular basis, then.” he said.

Donna’s jaw dropped and she looked at him. “What?” she asked flatly.

Greg chuckled. “Andrea Carter. Or, rather specifically, Andrea Carter-Holmes. Mycroft’s wife. Former PA at his old job, but not that good at it. Came from an education background. But they were a match made in heaven, actually. She’s actually quite competent around primary schools. She must have whipped Hartley Primary into shape.” He looked up and tilted his head. “I wonder what they tried to tempt her with to stay?”

“She was at Hartley Primary?” Donna asked before shaking her head. “They were one of the worst in the area a few years back, and now they give us a run for our money.”

“All due to Andrea,” Greg said. “So play nice.”

Donna gave Greg a glare. “Well, now that I know she’s the bosses wife of course I’ll play nice,” she said. “I’m not a simpleton.”

“I’ve told her about you,” he said. “I think she wants to make your acquaintance especially.”

Donna gave him a peculiar look and then grabbed him by the shoulder to physically turn him to face her. “You know, I’ve never known the whole story between you and Mr. Holmes. I think I want to know it. Now. Spill the beans, Greg.”

He looked at her for a moment, and then went back to rummaging through the cartons. “I was a security guard at the business that Mycroft was the partner in. I’d worked my way up to just under head of security, so I had a lot of responsibility on my shoulders, knew the ins and outs of the building, knew all the lads on the team as well as...well, as well as I know my own girl. And one day I noticed a few of them acting a little shady. Brought it up to my superior but he brushed it off. Then I overheard something I shouldn’t have about Mycroft and a kidnapping attempt. Broke protocol, warned Mycroft, the whole thing fell through. Most everyone was rounded up and prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.”

“Most?” Donna asked quietly.

Greg nodded. “My superior was in on it. I’d been moved to Mycroft’s personal team and a few weeks later my superior tried to get revenge. Screamed about how it had all been an attempt to extort money for ‘years of underpaid and under-recognized service,’ he said. He confronted us in the car park, shot me in the hip. Another of Mycroft’s team killed him. When I was recuperating, Mycroft visited me in the hospital and we talked. Found out we had a lot in common, and we became friends. While I was recuperating, we both decided a change of pace might be good, and we both fell in here. Been here ever since.”

“And that why the--” He watched Donna bite her lip. Oh, he knew Donna knew the situation between him and his ex like it was her own story now. As long as they’d been friends, she’d heard almost all of it over and over. Just never the reason why his ex had started cheating. But now he nodded, and he could see the flash of understanding in her eyes followed by a flash of anger. “I’ll clock her.”

“Do that, I lose visitation with my daughter,” he pointed out.

“One day,” she said, raising her finger. “One day I will have the opportunity and a valid reason and the freedom and then POW! I’m going to slap her so hard her eyes will be viewing the hollow space in her head where a brain should be.”

Greg chuckled and then leaned over, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close and then, in a move that was rather uncharacteristic for him, pressing a kiss in her hair. “Just knowing you will means a lot, Donna.” He felt her stiffen for just a second, and then she slid her arm around his waist and set her head on his shoulder. It was in moments like these he could almost be convinced there was a chance she might fancy him, but that was rather a pipe dream. She could do better than him, and frankly, she deserved better. After a moment of keeping her close he let her go. “Come on. There’s dumplings here somewhere calling our name. Let’s go eat them.”

She let go and then went to start sorting through the cartons. Maybe one day, there might be something. Doubtful, but maybe...if for once luck was on his side.