The Saracen Assassin
Missing scene from The Blind Banker. John is a tad upset that no one mentioned the Saracen incursion at 221b Baker St. to him. Sherlock is upset that Lestrade can't come out to play. Set after they leave Van Coon's apartment and before they arrive at the restaurant to see Sebastian.
Lestrade turned away from the body of his dead mugger as Sally Donovan tapped him on the shoulder.
"Freak's here," she announced, sounding almost cheerful. "You didn't send for him, so I get to toss him out on his arse this time, right?"
Lestrade breathed deeply, praying for patience. It was a real question who annoyed him more at times, Sherlock Holmes and his complete lack of social skills or Donovan and her implacable resentment of the consulting detective. Why couldn't they both just grow up? Looking in the direction that Donovan had indicated, Lestrade saw Sherlock bearing down on him with storms clouds in his face and a resigned looking Dr. John Watson in tow. Trying to cut down on the casualties before hostilities commenced, he turned and sent Sally to recheck one of the witness statements, then turned back to face his storm cloud.
"Hullo, Sherlock," Lestrade said before the younger man could speak, "How's your case going then?" He was certain he knew why Sherlock had tracked him to his current location, so he figured they might as well cut to the chase.
"How dare you fob me off on that incompetent idiot, Dimmock?" Sherlock demanded heatedly. "I needed you, not some tosspot who should never have been promoted to the rank of inspector."
"I thought all police were idiots," Lestrade countered.
"You are," Sherlock agreed with alacrity, "but I know how to work with you. You're trained properly." Lestrade blinked rapidly in response to this, almost too stunned to speak, and then noticed John shift slightly as if distancing himself from Sherlock's position both physically and morally.
Clearing his throat, Lestrade said, "Thanks, I think."
"It wasn't a compliment," John muttered, causing Sherlock to turn and fix the doctor with one of his patented unreadable looks. Lestrade was sure that John was right, but he saw no point in taking offense. Sherlock was Sherlock, and he no more expected manners out of him than he expected his autistic cousin to start tying his own shoes at the age of thirty-five.
"Oh, I know that," Lestrade assured John before recapturing Sherlock's attention with a hand waved in front of his face. "Look, I won't ask what's wrong with Dimmock because I'm sure you have a list you'd love to share with me at great length and, frankly, I don't have the time." Sherlock scowled. "I've had a very busy day, Sherlock, as you well know. I've haven't even been able to finish processing that bloke from your flat."
"That is no excuse for – " Sherlock broke off as his phone beeped, announcing an incoming text. "Mycroft. Ruddy…" Turning away without explanation, the consulting detective walked a few yards off, texting madly. Lestrade just shook his head and shifted his gaze back to Dr. Watson, who looked as if he felt enough embarrassment for both himself and Sherlock.
"Sorry about this," John said. "He and Dimmock didn't get on."
"Yeah, shocking that," Lestrade agreed and the two men shared a hasty grin, united by their mutual frustration with, and resigned acceptance of, Sherlock's quirks.
"So," John said curiously, "what bloke?"
"Hmm, oh, the one in your flat," Lestrade explained. "Still have to finish the paperwork."
John shook his head in puzzlement, eyebrows raised. "Who?"
"I don't know what – " the doctor began, but Lestrade cut him off, unable to believe that John didn't know what he was talking about.
"The one who tried to kill Sherlock this morning." At John's look of appalled incomprehension, Lestrade enlarged upon his theme, "with a sword."
"With a – someone tried to kill Sherlock with a sword!"
"He didn't mention it?"
"No he didn't bloody – Sherlock!"
Lestrade's eyes widened at the military tone of John's voice, then widened still more when Sherlock spun around, dropping the hand holding the mobile phone to his side. Sherlock was staring at the doctor as if surprised by his tone, but it was the faint look of alarm in his eyes that took Lestrade aback.
"Have you gone round the twist?" John demanded, marching over and getting well into Sherlock's personal space. "Did someone attack you in our flat this morning?"
"What is the relevance of – "
"Yes or no?" John snapped.
"Yes," Sherlock said.
"And you didn't tell me because…" John's voice trailed off enquiringly.
"There was no reason to tell you. It has no bearing on our current case."
"It has some bearing our life," John said in a soft tone that made the hairs stand up on the back of Lestrade's neck. For a short man and a doctor, John did menacing surprisingly well.
"No, it doesn't. Now, Lestrade, I want – " Sherlock made to go around the doctor, turning his gaze on Lestrade, but John grabbed him by the lapels of his coat and spun him back around to face him, earning an even more shocked look from his colleague.
"Sherlock, if someone tries to kill you, I have a bloody right to know. What if he tries again? What if he comes back when you're not there? What if he tries to kill me? Shouldn't I know these things ahead of time?"
"Why, so you can write about it in your blog? There is no other reason to even mention the event. The attempt failed. The assassin is in police custody. The man behind the assassin knows that he has failed and is unlikely to make a second attempt within the next – "
"Unlikely?" John repeated. "Unlikely! You are barking mad! If someone tries to kill you, you tell me. If someone attacks you with a sword, you tell me. If someone breaks into our flat, you tell me. There is no possible interpretation of this event that does not end with you telling me!" John shoved Sherlock away, threw a disgusted glare in Lestrade's direction – that left the DI wondering what he'd done to earn the man's wrath – and then headed for the street at a rapid pace.
"Where are you going?" Sherlock called after him, hands spread out, completely ignoring the now insistent beeping coming from his mobile.
"To solve this bloody case. The instant it's done you are bloody well telling me every detail about the Saracen Assassin – and yes, I'm calling it that on my blog!"
"What about me?" Sherlock said, still sounding more stunned than Lestrade had ever heard him before.
"If you're done badgering Lestrade, you can come," John shouted without looking back, "but I'm done waiting for you, so make up your genius mind and get a move on."
Sherlock glanced in Lestrade's direction, grimacing uncertainly, but for once the consulting detective's mind seemed to be lagging behind his body, his feet already trailing after the doctor. John shouted, "Taxi!" and Sherlock started running. Even the echo of Lestrade's laughter was not enough to make him slow down. Well, well. Army doctors, it seemed, were not to be trifled with.