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Post by GREGORY LESTRADE on Oct 9, 2011 22:48:56 GMT -5
The case was simple – open and shut domestic murder. The killer had been incredibly stupid to leave so much evidence behind. Finger prints, blood, no alibi, reason to kill, DNA…all signs pointed to the twenty-one year old Harold Lorne, who had vehemently protested against killing his year-younger wife for about ten minutes before realizing he was fighting a losing battle and allowing himself to be arrested. Of course, the wife had still been alive when the police arrived, called by a neighbor who had heard the wife’s screams and right suspected trouble.
It pained Lestrade’s to see the young woman die. And she did die, she died in the back of the hospital ambulance while speeding downtown to get to the nearest hospital. Of course Lestrade hadn't known this, and he’d followed the ambulance in his police car to the hospital. The hospital staff had continued to try to breathe life back into the woman, but it had failed miserably – she was too far gone. The multiple stab wounds on her chest had caused too many punctures and too much blood loss for her survival rate to, well, exist by the time that the police and ambulance had arrived to the crime scene.
Lestrade was informed twenty-three minutes after arriving to the hospital by a stocky, kindly-looking nurse who gently informed him that Lena Epstein Lorne was dead. Lestrade had nodded calmly at this, showing little emotion as was per appropriate. He was experienced, and he’d seen lots of deaths before. This was nothing new. And yet it affected him more greatly than he’d anticipated. Perhaps it was because of the fact that he was very tired, or because the dead woman shared his past-wife’s name, or even because he was feeling a bit ill today anyway, but he let the sadness get to him this time. It wasn’t a terrible, gripping sadness, but a low, depressed sort of cloud that made Lestrade feel as if he were suffocating. Suddenly he was very glad that he had a mountain paperwork waiting for him at his desk in the police station to fill out.
He quickly stood from the chair in the waiting area he was sitting in and walked towards the elevator, taking long, hurried strides. Jabbing the down button with more force than was strictly necessary, Lestrade entered the small lift, which was thankfully empty. After specifying to the machine that he wanted to go to the lobby floor, Lestrade closed his eyes and leaned against the wall opposite the elevator’s door. He closed his eyes for a moment and breathed out steadily, trying to remind himself that a seasoned officer like him should not be so torn up about a petty case like this. It worked fairly well, and he muttered to himself, “Everything is the way it should be.” He knew it wasn’t really, but the words comforted him, and Lestrade’s uncommon fit of sadness was mostly over. Of course, he was still a bit gloomy feeling, but when he opened his eyes to the ding of the elevator, signifying he’d made it to the lower level of the building, he was, what he could say, was fine. It was fine as it would ever be.
Lestrade sighed, slightly annoyed and still a bit depressed over his emotional interlude, and so walked very quickly out of the elevator towards the door. It was the building, he supposed. The building was depressing; it was a hospital, people die in hospitals. ‘But they also get cured,’ he reminded himself as he hurried towards the exit with his head bowed as he walked. 'And that's a good thing.' And so it was that Lestrade was not expecting himself to run into another person when he did just that, and he found that he was suddenly being thrown onto the ground from the impact.
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Post by DR. HASTIE LANYON on Oct 11, 2011 11:24:46 GMT -5
Doctor Lanyon always walked his patients to the front door of the Hospital.
For one thing, it was somewhat of a standard procedure for him. It was always lovely when people left, as it more often than not meant they were better. And that, obviously, was a very good thing. Another was that Living in New York could be fairly dangerous at times, and he always wanted to be sure that whomever he had recently treated would not immediately be rushed back to the ER due to some form of accident. These weren't obviously the only reasons. In fact there were many, varying from those already stated to the simply fact that sometimes, he just liked to walk somewhere after being in a room all day.
That wasn't to be taken the wrong way, of course. Hastie loved his job. It had been his vocation for as long as he could remember, and never once regretted those years of medical training. But he supposed that becoming a Doctor was not the sort of thing anybody could regret. Or at least not in the same way as, say moving to a new country.
Which, as it happened, Lanyon had also recently done.
Hastie's relocation to New York was not without it disadvantages - but in the same way, nor was it without positive points. One of these, for example, was the amount of work.
Surely one day he would regret ever wanting to be in the Hospital so much as he found himself to be, but until then, Lanyon loved every minute he had worked. In fact, he had rarely been anywhere else in the city since his arrival only a week or so ago.
Then again, that amount of patients was caused by the positively huge population number of New York. And this, of course, always caused both the streets surrounding and the Hospital itself to be relentlessly busy. Which often proved to be a problem, when compared to the calm-in-comparison surroundings in which he had grown up.
In fact, one of Hastie's least favourite disadvantage of the busyness of the roads, were related to his preferred choice of transport. Having never been a fan of cars, and always one in favour of helping the environment, Lanyon traveled wherever he could on a bicycle. But the number of cars, and his quite unfortunate clumsy tendencies caused him to be frequently hit by said vehicles. Though, as he really was rather lucky, he always walked away with extremely minor injuries.
The recent results of a small collision were hidden beneath brightly-patterned children's plasters (or band-aids, as they were called in America). That was the works of one little Timmy Haydon, who had just left the Hospital with his Mother and Father.
The Doctor turned, staring at his right arm, and thoroughly distracted as he attempted to figure out whether the pattern consisted of caterpillars or snakes, but found his aims of reaching the lift interrupted. As he had, obviously accidentally, walked directly into someone. Or... turned.
And that someone had subsequently been thrown, rather forcefully to the floor.
"Golly!" He exclaimed. It wasn't a word he would choose to almost-shout, but rather force of habit - his mother had tended to use the word an awful lot, and it seemed Lanyon had (quite unfortunately) picked it up, "I'm so sorry, are you alright?" He rushed toward the stranger, and offered a hand to help him up.
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Post by GREGORY LESTRADE on Oct 12, 2011 21:05:09 GMT -5
Lestrade, who had, as, one does, shut his eyes tightly when he fell, and made a noise that sounded something like "Akch." Of course he would run into someone, just now. ‘Karma is a bitch,’ he thought in the second between his falling and the stranger speaking.
"Golly," he heard the person whom he'd just run into cry, and Lestrade opened his eyes to find a rectangular-faced, slightly long haired doctor standing over him. Lestrade just sat there for a moment, a bit shocked at hearing the word golly used. It seemed so… Well, old-womany. It was, by itself, connected with uncomfortable, stifling lace, knitting, and, well, the elderly in general. It seemed...proper, somehow too. And like any person who'd been to Britain once on a business trip, he connected Britain with politeness and serial killers (well, mostly people didn't connect the serial killers part). This man was British, that much was obvious by his accent, but he was most obviously not an old lady (and hopefully not a serial killer).
"I'm sorry, are you alright?" The Doctor asked Lestrade worriedly, and held out a hand to help him up. Lestrade took it with his own and stood.
"Thanks," he said, his tone apologetic, "Sorry for running into you like that." Lestrade said. He brushed himself off a bit, the little but still existent dirt from the floor falling off of him easily.
"Ah, Gregory Lestrade," he introduced himself politely, holding his hand out once again, though this time for shaking. He smiled slightly, a small part of his mind thinking, ‘This man is a Doctor, he has lives to save, and I should not be wasting his time.’ But he’d already spoken and his hand was already out, and it’d just be rude to retract it, so he just kept still, waiting for the Doctor to reply.
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Post by DR. HASTIE LANYON on Oct 13, 2011 15:33:40 GMT -5
"Sorry for running into you like that."
Lanyon was fairly sure that it had been his own fault, really. And even if it hadn't, it wasn't like he was going to admit it was the other man's.
"No, honestly, it was my fault." He smiled sheepishly, internally deciding that it was caterpillars that patterned the 'band-aid'.
The man didn't look particularly cheerful, and had an air of authority about him - the sort of habit only very few people had in a Hospital. Though he seemed polite, which was enough for Hastie to immediately warm, somewhat, to him. The Doctor had always despised bad manners, and often grew quite irritated at the positively huge amount of them in the city.
"Ah, Gregory Lestrade,"
The words interrupted his thoughts (Lanyon had a terrible tendency to mentally 'drift away' at times). Lestrade offered out a hand, and the Doctor shook it, bearing a friendly smile. Perhaps he was aiming to cheer the man up. And, due to succeeding to do so every day with children in the Hospital, Hastie was rather good at that.
"I'm Hastie Lanyon." He chuckled lightly as he said the words. Even Lanyon himself had never quite been able to get over how ridiculous his name sounded in general conversation. 'Lanyon' was fair enough - after all, surnames were almost always rather odd (despite the few, typical 'Smith' or 'Jones'). But Hastie... well, the man himself frequently wondered what would persuade a parent to name their child so preposterously. Perhaps that added to the reason he became a Doctor. 'Doctor Lanyon' sounded quite ordinary.
"I know, feel free to laugh."
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Post by GREGORY LESTRADE on Oct 16, 2011 16:05:54 GMT -5
Lestrade smiled slightly, hearing the man’s earnest, “No, honestly, it was my fault.” Always so ready to take the blame or give it, either or, people were. Lestrade had to guess that this man was either a push over or hadn’t been in this city for long – he guessed it was the second one – if he still retained decent manners. He giggled slightly at his own thoughts.
“I’m Hastie Lanyon,” the man – Lanyon, said chuckling. Lestrade felt his smile grow a bit larger; quite an interesting name, that was. “I know feel free to laugh,” Lanyon continued.
“Ah, no, I won’t,” Lestrade made out, though he found himself laughing a bit anyway. He covered his mouth slightly with his left hand, trying to hide his hypocritical and telling smile. “Sorry, that’s, ah, a very unique name indeed.” He felt a bit bad, laughing at a basically-stranger’s words like that, but Hastie Lanyon, really? It was just too rare to seem real. But anyway, the doctor seemed to be saying the “feel free to laugh” in good humour, so Lestrade managed not to feel so bad about it.
“Well, Doctor Lanyon, I don’t want to hold you up, so, I’ll just be on my way then,” Lestrade said. A selfish, unnoticed part of himself wanted the man to stay not-busy for the moment. Talking about things – feelings-type things – was not something that Lestrade enjoyed. However talking, in general…it was nice. It made thing feel clearer, even if the other person’s actual words seemed to do the exact opposite. The times when he could connect with another person – those were the only moments when he felt a,s if not more, accomplished than after solving a case, and for no reason at all.
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Post by DR. HASTIE LANYON on Nov 18, 2011 17:57:05 GMT -5
“Ah, no, I won’t,"
Though Lestrade seemed to laugh anyway.
Hastie didn't mind, really. In fact he had never really got over how ridiculous his name sounded both when uttered aloud, and written on paper.
“Sorry, that’s, ah, a very unique name indeed.”
He smiled, somewhat thankful of the gentle way the Detective Inspector had placed his opinion.
"That's certainly one way of putting it." Lanyon spoke, raising an eyebrow. He had definitely heard much worse, though wasn't exactly fussed by what people thought. It was always nice to see that people here had manners, though.
“Well, Doctor Lanyon, I don’t want to hold you up, so, I’ll just be on my way then,”
Hastie nodded slightly, and stepped aside in order to let the Detective pass. He raised his left arm as he did so, staring at the watch face on his inner wrist. Lanyon's eyes narrowed in thought for a brief second, before reaching out his right arm in order to stop Lestrade from walking.
"You don't happen to know a good place to get coffee, do you? Only I haven't been here long, and I don't really... know... anywhere..." He trailed off, wondering just how ridiculous he actually sounded. Running a hand through his hair, the Doctor tried his best not to look as sheepish as he felt. A plan that wasn't exactly working out very well so far.
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Post by GREGORY LESTRADE on Nov 21, 2011 9:38:19 GMT -5
Lestrade nodded back, and began to walk away. Thinking that though he was still a bit upset, talking to the man had genuinely made him laugh, and he was now feeling a bit better. Though, he’d better get back to the police station, because the others would of course want to poke and prod and berate him with all sorts of mundane details about the murder that really, he knew would not help. This was, at least for the time being, over their heads. And while he hated to admit it, he was going to have to call Sherlock Holmes, most likely. Damn it. He hated that. Come to think of it, no, actually, he did not want to hurry back at all.
Lestrade had nearly begun his reluctant exit from the hospital, but was stopped by Doctor Lanyon’s arm in front of him. He looked around at the man – they were the exact same height – confused and a bit amused. It was an interesting way of stopping someone, anyhow.
The detective inspector listened as Doctor Lanyon began to say, in no such consistency, that he was wondering if Lestrade knew a good place to get coffee in this city. He watched, the edges of his mouth twisting upwards, as Lanyon ran his hand through his hair, making him looks far more flustered than he probably meant to. But yes, Lestrade did know good place to get coffee. He was still only about a month new here too, but with a job such as his, he made very sure that where to get good coffee was the first place he knew of in this damned large city. He was rather impressed that the good Doctor had managed to go long enough to get a job without it, actually.
He chuckled lightly at Lanyon's antics, and tried to think of the name of the shop that he went to often, but rarely looked up at the title sign. “Yes, ah, Café de Les Gens, it’s just two blocks from here. There coffee’s very good.” He paused for a moment, thinking about work. He thought ended. A childish bit of his mind might’ve even taken over the rationale bit and said something along the lines of ‘screw work.’ “Are you free right now? We could go.” Lestrade was aware that this could be taken the wrong way. In that case, the good Doctor would simply leave, and Lestrade would go get the coffee on his own (because now that he’s started thinking about a cup, he could really use one).
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Post by DR. HASTIE LANYON on Jan 1, 2012 21:36:59 GMT -5
Hastie withdrew his arm as soon as Lestrade stopped, smiling in sheepish way that he had previously been determined to not show. The man was rather tired, in all honesty - and held an exhausted sort-of-look that was probably far too old for his years; the result of being overworked a little bit too much recently. Of course, he was overworked by choice, as it has been his decision to stay late nights and work in the ER.
Yes. He definitely needed coffee.
And fortunately, he was due a break around four minutes ago.
“Yes, ah, Café de Les Gens, it’s just two blocks from here. There coffee’s very good.”
Ah, well that was certainly good news. Hastie has already decided that, if it was good coffee, he would be sure to remember the location. That was, if he could - the streets of New York were, despite many of his efforts, fairly confusing to work one's way around. Especially if one happened to be completely and utterly useless with directions even in a familiar environment.
It was rather surprising that he was such a good Doctor.
“Are you free right now? We could go.”
He almost breathed a sigh of relief at this. Lanyon was sure that if he was resulted to wandering about in his white coat in search of a cafe wouldn't be a situation he would cherish.
"Yes, now sounds great. My break started about five minutes ago now, anyway." Hastie chuckled again, and stepped out of the doors (which had previously been alternating between sliding open and closed of their own accord - due to the just-near-enough-to-trigger-the-motion-sensor actions of the two), before spinning around to face Lestrade when he realized that he hadn't a clue which direction to go.
"Lead the way!"
Lanyon grinned, shoving his hands in his pockets. He really was looking forward to a coffee that wasn't, for once, directly from the machine in the hospital. It wasn't that the stuff was nasty, more that it lost taste when one drank too much.
And he had drunk far too much.
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Post by GREGORY LESTRADE on Jan 13, 2012 9:06:36 GMT -5
"Yes, now sounds great," Lanyon said "My break started about five minutes ago now, anyway." It took Lestrade perhaps a second too long to figure out what "five minutes ago now" actually meant, and decided, yeah, he really needed to drink coffee. And smoke. God yes.
He followed Lanyon as the Doctor began to step (somehow cheerful-looking-ly) out of the hospital through the automatic door, but stopped when Lanyon suddenly turned back around in a flurry of white-lab-coat and a general blur. "Lead the way!" Lanyon exclaimed. Lestrade laughed; despite being quite smart, he often forgot to think about the simple things, like when inviting one for coffee, you should generally tell the other person how to get there. He was already feelings considerably more cheerful than ten minutes ago, because, well, people. Connecting with people, helping them… Perhaps this wasn't a good example of 'helping', but these were the times where he was really only truly happy. Work made him happy, very much so, but it was in a different way.
"This way," Lestrade huffed out between a strange sort of giggle that he wasn't sure was exactly warranted by a trip to a coffee shop. He started briskly down the sidewalk in front of the hospital towards the direction of the cafe. As they walked, he looked at Lanyon in more detail now: average, visually, but he seemed to be a bit more wired than most people. Not in the way that he would go off and blow someone up sort of wired, but the kind of wired that just rung of days of primary schools spent being scolded for 'not staying still.' He had a almost alarmingly bright plaster pasted onto his right arm with a pattern that had… worms, or caterpillars, or something along those lines on the tape. Suppose he works in pediatrics, then?
In an attempt to make some small conversation, Lestrade motions towards Lanyon's arm. Granted, it was a small motion, for anyone who lived on the streets of New York City knew better than to make any extravagant motions on a public sidewalk, even though it wasn't overly crowded on this street. "What's that then? Do you work with kids?" Lestrade asked.
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Post by DR. HASTIE LANYON on Jan 14, 2012 17:04:27 GMT -5
Lanyon followed Lestrade cheerfully as he 'lead the way'. He was definitely very happy that he would soon be drinking coffee that wasn't the typically dull beverage he tended to almost live on during long nights. But there was also the fact that Greg seemed friendly enough to be good company, and it was always nice (somewhat of a necessity, in fact) to have friends outside of the workplace.
Even if they were only going to get a coffee.
Knowing that if he attempted to, Hastie would never remember the way to the coffee shop (no matter how easy it was to find), he decided to avert his attention to odd habits of his. And, as one of these was taking at least three pieces of advice from the kids he worked with every day, the Doctor began to walk carefully on the pavement, making sure to never step on any of the cracks.
It was relatively easy, as it turned out.
The man would probably think he was insane.
But if he did, he would obviously be wrong. After all, Lanyon wasn't insane. He just had a lot of quirks.
Lestrade motioned toward his arm bearing the rather garish plaster.
"What's that then? Do you work with kids?"
The Doctor couldn't help but chuckle as he spoke. The sleeves of his white coat had been rolled up so the material wouldn't irritate the thing - and he became suddenly aware that both the plaster, and purposefully avoiding any crack presented before him on the pavement as combined factors possibly made the man look like some sort of overgrown child.
Maybe he was.
"Yes, I'm a paediatrician. Was hit by a car this morning again and one of the kids thought the scratch deserved a plaster." Grinning, he raised the arm slightly as if to scrutinize the pattern. He honestly was rather intrigued to know what it was decorated with. And simply 'settling' for one or the other wouldn't do.
"Do they look like caterpillars or snakes to you?"
Overgrown child rang a voice in the corner of his mind.
But he ignored it.
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Post by GREGORY LESTRADE on Jan 14, 2012 18:46:04 GMT -5
Lestrade watched the man walking beside him started to walk a bit oddly. The police man glanced down to find the source of the strange way: Lanyon was avoiding the cracks. The cracks on the pavement. Lestrade softly bit his lower lip to avouch giggling. This man certainly had a plethora of interesting habits, along with his so unique name.
"Yes, I'm a pediatrician. Was hit by a car this morning again and one of the kids thought the scratch deserved a plaster," Lanyon grinned, raising his thin arm to show Lestrade better. It action strongly reminded Lestrade of his daughter. "Do they look like caterpillars of snakes to you?"
"Er, caterpillars. I think that there'd be a tongue out if it were snakes," Lestrade said, not really caring that yes, they probably sounded like primary schoolers, and also… Wait, back up a mo, hit by a car again?
"Hang on a second," Lestrade started, "Did you just say you got… Hit by a car?" He didn't ask what he would usually say: 'Are you alright, was everybody okay,' because, well… Lanyon had gotten away with a simple scratch on his arm, and so Lestrade wondered if the car hit the Doctor, or if the Doctor hit the car. Usually he'd give the man the benefit of the doubt, but seeing as they had met ten minutes ago and were now discussing the color of a kids' plaster, he supposed he could let it slip.
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Post by DR. HASTIE LANYON on Feb 13, 2012 12:04:37 GMT -5
"Er, caterpillars. I think that there'd be a tongue out if it were snakes,"
Ah, of course! Hastie let out a grin as he lowered his arm again. The man honestly hadn't had the sense to notice that the creatures on the pattern didn't have tell-tale tongues.
"Hang on a second, did you just say you got… Hit by a car?"
Lanyon stared for a moment, as if it were he who thought he had heard incorrectly. In all fairness, however, the Doctor didn't really see anything wrong with his being hit by a car. After all, the occasion on which it happened was so often nowadays, the fact that he was knocked off his bicycle almost every day barely bothered him anymore. And he was, truthfully, rather astounded by how well-built his bicycle must be to withstand such common accidents.
He walked away fine all of the time, anyway - and only once had there been so much as a dent on the offending car.
"Yes," he spoke rather slowly, as though he thought Lestrade would have a hard time catching up with his ordinary, mile-a-minute talking pace.
"Well, it was more of a mutual collision. Round a corner. It's really all right though, this is all that there is to show of it, to be honest." Hastie laughed lightly and gestured toward his arm again.
Though he was no longer paying attention, and looking at Greg instead of the pavement below his feet, Lanyon was still, somehow, not stepping on a single crack.
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Post by GREGORY LESTRADE on Feb 13, 2012 18:49:53 GMT -5
“Yes. Well, it was more of a mutual collision. Round a corner. It’s really all right though, this is all that there is to show of it, to be honest,” the Doctor laughed, gesturing to his caterpillars-and-not-snakes patterned plaster. Lestrade sort of gaped at the man. Well, as well as a man can gape, when being forced to continue walking at an at least considerably brisk pace due to the sheer amount of other people walking down the not extremely busy but still somehow crowded New York sidewalk.
“Rrr—ight,” Lestrade answered, and then started to giggle a little. Wow, that was weird. This strange guy was certainly making him laugh a lot today, even if he was a bit odd. But then, everybody of interest was. “I see.” Lestrade smiled, and then shoved his hands in his pockets. It was a rather casual gesture he tried to avoid doing too often, but then again, he didn’t often go out for coffee breaks with random strange doctors.
Looking down, he noted that Lanyon was still managing not to step on the sidewalk cracks, even though he had turned his cheerful gaze onto Lestrade. “Break your mam’s back, then?” He joked. He quickly realized that that might have sounded slightly patronizing, and so grinned and motioned towards the sidewalk for clarification. He suddenly realized that for the last five seconds, he too had been avoiding cracks. How’d that happened? The man’s childish and frankly delightful behavior was catching, it seemed. Lestrade forced himself to step on a crack; fun was fun, but he felt he was perhaps a bit too old to be participating in this particular branch.
Even if Lanyon seemed to be able to manage to do it and still seem like a perfectly responsible adult. A stunningly childlike one, but responsible none the less. He still had the air of “doctor” written over his stance, even if it wasn’t obvious (well, obvious beside the fact that he was wearing scrubs and a lab coat).
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Post by DR. HASTIE LANYON on Feb 14, 2012 13:32:36 GMT -5
Hastie was almost delighted to notice that the other man had picked up his habit, and was doing the same as he (which was taking a child's advice, and not stepping on the cracks), if only for a few seconds. In all truth, the Doctor only did notice that Lestrade had been doing so when the man deliberately put one foot directly over a horizontal line on the pavement.
Still, even if it was subconscious, it was rather funny.
Apparently Gregory seemed to think so too (or at least found something amusing - Lanyon found himself not really minding what), as he started to giggle. Giggle! Which, in turn, only forced Hastie to do exactly the same.
Oh, what a sight they must have been.
“Break your mam’s back, then?”
It was just a phrase (one that commonly assisted the act of avoiding pavement-cracks), but there was no denying the fact that the bluntness of just the thought in general caused a little bit of a break, somewhere, in the Doctor's demeanour. Caused a slight falter in his animated expression, a subtle pause in his step.
Why, oh why, did just a simple saying have to remind him so violently of Holly?
That was just ridiculous. It wasn't even a reference to her - but rather his mother. Though, as it happened, it was the same crash in which they had both perished. Which was an unfortunate thought, but one he couldn't seem to tear his mind away after touching upon.
Blimey, it was a wonder he hadn't had a breakdown yet.
"Are we nearly there yet?" Lanyon questioned with a goofy chuckle. It was somewhat of an effective way of diverting his attention - after all, it seemed to work. Because now, at least, the man was focusing the majority of his concentration of that promise of a good coffee, that was sure to be not far away.
But there was still just a shred of his mind elsewhere. Which was a thought that worried the Doctor to no end.
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Post by GREGORY LESTRADE on Feb 14, 2012 20:20:03 GMT -5
Lestrade was alarmed at the sudden change in Lanyon’s demeanor. He looked…? Oh God, what if he actually had broken his mother’s back or something? The fact that Lestrade himself had put the frown on Lanyon’s face made Lestrade feel terrible.
“Oh – God, I’m sorry!” Lestrade apologized quickly, though he didn’t really know what he was apologizing for.
“Are we nearly there yet?” Lanyon inquired, ignoring him. But the smile that had reappeared on the Doctor’s face – the chuckle – it wasn’t real. It so, so wasn’t real. It made Lestrade want to cry a little inside.
“I – yeah. We’ll be there in less than a minute,” Lestrade answered, and looked down at his feet. Stepping on cracks. He almost wanted to skip over them again.
They walked in silence for the short time until the shop came into view. Café de les Gens. “Ah, here we are,” Lestrade tried cheerfully, but… Well, what they say about bad moods being catching was certainly true. In the few seconds of silence, Lestrade’s had wandered back to the murder from this morning. Lovely.
Pushing the door open, the rush of warmer air him the two men as they stepped in. Lestrade stopped. “Here we are,” Lestrade said lightly (and perhaps a bit more grimly than was meant or needed), and looked up at the menu of food and drink that was displayed on the glowing board above the counter. “I think I’ll have something to eat, too. You?”
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