#timid intern comes in like 'um inspector-'

[enzombie]

yeah ok but what about an office sitcom about the bureaucratic side of fillmore graves like someone joins fillmore graves and they aren't suited for the army stuff so they get stuck with the bureaucrats and it's them slowly finding out that, not only do they carry fillmore graves as they favour jock leaders that don't do anything, they also are all completely insane

[mistymoonstorm]

GMS Fanfiction - Sherlock/MC - Meeting

Partly due to a spell of writer’s block - and partly because I wanted to XD - I took a story prompt from @jane-runs-fast, so this is for you! The prompt is Sherlock meeting the MC from his point of view.

Sorry for the wait, and sorry for the fact that it might be a little boring. As this is a rewrite, I had to borrow a bunch of dialogue from the prologue to keep it consistent, so none of the dialogue here is mine, even if I may have tweaked a little bit. Enjoy!

Sherlock didn’t hear the door start to open, nor Mikah’s excited greeting in return to whomever had come to visit. He was lost in his mind, the conversation between John and Lestrade as they droned on about some boring, uninteresting case merely white noise in the backdrop. Easily ignored.

The most recent episode of ‘The Midfall Murders’ was flashing through his thoughts, tiny scenes and details picked clean of all they could offer him. He often did this while waiting for the next plotline to analyze, lest he be driven to other, less harmless activities to keep him occupied.

Such as firing rounds at the wall, even if Mikah had turned a rather peculiar shade of red the last time he’d done so.

A soft feminine voice sounded over the banister near the entrance to the hall, drawing him from his reverie. Sherlock turned his head slowly. Something was familiar.

“He’s just in here-” Mikah was saying, as the boy’s golden head came into view.

“Stop right there,” said Sherlock, glancing at him sharply. There was a woman behind him, her face mostly concealed by shadows cast from the window. From her posture, he would guess she was- “A flight attendant? No. An actress, since childhood.”

“Don’t change the subject, Sherlock!” growled Lestrade. “John, this is your fault. You’re supposed to keep an eye on him, aren’t you?”

“George,” began John coolly. He sighed. “I’m not Sherlock’s mother. Or his father, obviously. And even if I did keep an eye on him, Sherlock will always be Sherlock. Even the Queen herself couldn’t control him.”

As they were speaking, Irene leaped down from where she’d been lying in Mikah’s arms, darting across the rug. Her tail flicked, irritable from the commotion.

The mystery woman cleared her throat. “Um, they look kind of busy. Maybe I’d better come back another time..“

Mikah half-turned to smile at her. “Don’t worry. They’re always like this.” After he was finished speaking, he moved further into the room. “Alright, guys. No more arguing. We have a guest.” He made a motion to the woman, who hesitated for only a moment before stepping into the light.

Sherlock felt his mind come to a screeching halt, leaving him with a jarring moment of silence where nothing was thought or deduced. Flaxen hair. Amber eyes. Features he recognized even now that his brilliance was failing him.

Guinevere Stark stood in his apartment, lingering somewhat awkwardly near the door even if her squared shoulders warned of confident determination. She wore a faint, nervous smile as she looked briefly over them, as if she’d come here without prior knowledge of what to expect.

“Hello,” she said. Her voice, clear and unobstructed by walls, sent Sherlock further into his spiral.

John held his hand out to her, smiling calmly. “Nice to meet you. I’m John H Watson. Feel free to call me John.” Judging by the look on his face, John already liked what he saw. A muscle in Sherlock’s jaw ticked, but try as he may, he couldn’t manage to do anything but stare.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you John. I believe I’ve read that you’re Mr. Holmes’ assistant?” she asked, shaking his hand.

John’s answering smile was wry. “I suppose so. I’m actually a doctor, but no one seems to know me as that anymore.”

Lestrade offered his hand next. “George Lestrade.”

“He doesn’t look it, but he’s actually a police inspector at Scotland Yard,” said John amusedly.

Lestrade eyed him grumpily, too used to the barbs to get truly angry. “You could have left that part out.”

Guinevere just smiled, shaking his hand as well. “It’s nice to meet you, Inspector Lestrade.”

Her eyes flicked to Sherlock. Almost unconsciously, he sat up a little straighter, his heart squeezing. He was largely unfamiliar with the emotions that ran through him as their gazes met, but they were not unpleasant by any definition of the word.

“By the way,” said Lestrade thoughtfully, breaking their stare. Annoyance washed through Sherlock, his eyes narrowing imperceptibly. “Pardon my asking, but have we met before?”

John shook his head, exasperated. “George. That’s a little rude. Honestly, everyone sees where you’re trying to take this.”

Mikah was quick to nod his agreement. “Yeah. That’s a pretty old pick-up line, huh?”

Lestrade floundered, ears reddening. “W-wait! No! I wasn’t trying to come on to her! I really have seen her somewhere before!”

John glanced back to Guinevere. Comprehension lit his eyes. “..Hold on. Now that you mention it, I think I have seen her somewhere.”

Guinevere’s lips twitched. She was obviously used to this. “That’s probably because I’m-”

Sherlock’s brain finally snapped back to life, running a million miles a minute. He had so much he wanted to say, to ask. Before his conscious could catch up, his mouth was already moving. “So you’ve come to hire me? If it turns out to be a boring assignment, I’ll be quite upset.” His tone was frosty, his words biting.

He immediately wanted to take it back, but could not. So he continued.

Sherlock rose from his chair, striding briskly to where Guinevere stood, stiff with shock. “Let us review. You’re an actress. You started acting as a child, and now you’re preparing for your first lead role. You don’t have any fans who present you with money or gifts.”

Lestrade watched them quietly. “An actress? You were saying something about that before she showed up here, weren’t you?”

But Sherlock wasn’t listening. His focus was on Guinevere, on the shifting emotions she was displaying.

He saw her surprise fade into confusion, then understanding. She had clearly settled on the fact that he must know her purely from the television. She was wrong.

“After rehearsal, you came straight here-” He cut himself off, cocking his head. “No. You stopped by a cafe.”

“Aha!” exclaimed John from the other side of the room. “I’m sure I’ve seen her before. She’s-”

“You had cinnamon tea at Lucci & Mason,” said Sherlock. The scent of the spice clung to her, however indistinct. “And you’re also the one who figured out the answer to that quiz I gave Mikah, aren’t you?”

It was a rhetorical question. He knew the answer.

“Aww.” Mikah sighed. “So you figured out I wasn’t the one who solved it. I knew you would.“

Sherlock continued to observe Guinevere’s changing expressions, unconcerned by the growing chaos from the others. She was staring at him, eyes wide.

Then she was beaming up at him, brighter than the sun. “Amazing! You’re just as good as they say in the newspapers, Mr. Sherlock Holmes.”

Heat rose in Sherlock’s chest and drifted up his throat towards his ears. “Better, actually,” he said, using his most indifferent tone in an attempt to combat the flush he felt creeping on him from her praise.

John was still excited about his ‘discovery’ behind them, trying to catch Sherlock’s attention. “Listen, Sherlock! She was in-”

“Mikah,” said Sherlock, his eyes still on Guinevere. “Get Ms. Stark some tea.”

Mikah frowned hard at him. “I don’t mind getting tea, Sherlock. But how many times do I have to tell you to not shoot your gun at the wall?” He gestured pointedly to the pattern of holes in question. “If the wall ends up crumbling, I’m not going to just send you a repair bill. I’m going to have you build me an entirely new house.”

Sherlock didn’t spare him a glance. “I’m always careful to not let that happen when I shoot.”

John was already shaking his head. “You have the patience of a saint, Mikah.”

“You’re too patient!” protested Lestrade. “Every time he’s bored, he shoots off that gun, and guess who has to respond to the calls? Think about what that’s like for me!”

This time, Sherlock did look at them, though there was no apology for them on his tongue. “All I’m doing is having a little fun to stave off the boredom, yet every time I do you come barging in here. Think about what that’s like for me, Lestrade.”

Lestrade’s mouth fell open. “Excuse me?!”

Guinevere just stared, unsure what to say.

John took pity on her, touching her arm lightly and leading her towards the couch. “Don’t worry. They’ll stop soon. Just have a seat over here, Guinevere.”

She smiled, though her eyes were still troubled. “Thank you.”

Mikah was already disappearing into the kitchen. “I’ll get some tea!”

“Just how many shots have you fired into this wall? The holes seem to spell out letters,” Lestrade was saying, squinting at the pattern.

Sherlock regarded him with disdain. “They’re initials. H.L.”

Lestrade blinked. “Whose initials?”

“Yours. Harold Lestrade.”

Lestrade’s face went crimson. “My name is GEORGE! You should know that by now!”

Sherlock waved him off, apathy returning now that his moment of weakness was cooling. “I use every last bit of my brain’s processing power, so I always delete unnecessary information from my internal memory.”

It made perfect sense to him, but Lestrade apparently thought otherwise. “Are you saying my name is unnecessary information?!”

Sherlock ignored his outrage, sitting back down in his chair just as Irene hopped onto the arm. He stroked her absentmindedly beneath the chin.

“This is a surprise,” John said to Guinevere, smiling. “I never expected you to show up here. To tell you the truth, Sherlock is a big fan of ‘The Mid-’”

“She has good posture, and from her movements, the way she walks and the clarity of her voice, I can tell she’s had formal training in each,” interrupted Sherlock, as he returned to studying her.

“Hey, Sherlock.” John frowned at him. “I’m talking to her right-”

“She’s with three men she’s never met before, and yet the smile on her face is very natural, not timid or nervous. She’s used to having all sorts of people she doesn’t know look at her.”

“So you’re telling me to shut up then? Alright. I’ll shut up.”

“When she breathes, she doesn’t raise her shoulders or chest. That’s because she learned to breathe from the abdomen when she was a child. In other words, she’s been acting since she was a child. For the most part, she’s not wearing brand-name clothing, and her jewelry has been passed down from her mother. So she doesn’t have any fans giving her money or gifts.” He paused as understanding dawned on her face. She’d figured out that he was explaining for her benefit. “A script is visible within her bag. It’s too early for her to be coming back from a performance. She’s on her way back from a rehearsal. Judging by how worn out that script is, and the number of pages you have labeled as well as their distribution throughout the book, you’re playing a major role. The title of your play is written on the spine of the script. In that particular play, the only major role played by a young woman is the female lead - the heroine. So you’re new to major roles, and they have high hopes for you.”

“A moment ago you were saying that I drank cinnamon tea at Lucci & Mason’s,” said Guinevere. She gazed at him curiously. “Could you tell that just by looking at me?”

“No,” replied Sherlock evenly. “Your fingertips give off a faint aroma of cinnamon. That’s because just earlier you were stirring tea with a cinnamon stick. The only place in London that serves Ceylon cinnamon from Sri Lanka is Lucci & Mason.”

Though he did not usually feel pride from his deductions, he felt it now, blossoming in his chest as Guinevere smiled.

“Okay then. How did you know I solved that quiz you gave Mikah?”

“Mikah always passes by Lucci & Mason when he takes his walk, and rushes when presented with a deadline, so his judgement is not always what it would otherwise be. It was a simple quiz, but I did not expect him to bring me the solution before time was up. And yet he did. Mikah is friendly by nature, but the tone he used with you showed that he liked and felt gratitude towards you. This is because he met you on the road, and you told him the answer to his quiz. And there you have it.”

“I guess I did make the right choice in coming to you for this, Mr. Holmes.” She was still smiling, but unlike those she had shared earlier, this one was tinged with relief.

Though his mind was quickly processing this new development, Sherlock’s face did not change. “And you’re just now realizing that?”

John quickly stepped in, grinning. “What he means to say is that he’s glad you think so.”

Guinevere laughed. “It’s okay, John. It doesn’t bother me.”

“So she’s a saint, then,” said Lestrade, blinking. “She’s too good to be your client, Sherlock.”

“Quiet.”

“Yes, sir,” he muttered sarcastically.

“I’m done with my little show,” Sherlock said, once again addressing Guinevere. “I’ve shown you what I can do, now it’s your turn to talk, Ms. Stark. I hope your request won’t be one I find boring.”

It was a bluff, of course, even if he refused to actually admit it. He would take any case that came from her, regardless of its actual level of mystery.

End