Chapter Text
One
Sherlock was careful to ease the door shut behind him, barely a sound escaping as it latched closed. He turned in the darkened flat, hearing the sound of rushing water and realized that his stealth was for naught, Lestrade was in the shower. Ah well, it was always good practice. Now where would Lestrade have left that file?
As he searched the flat with his penlight, listening carefully for the sound of the shower turning off, he became frustrated that the file wasn’t in the sitting room where Lestrade usually went over case files he brought home with him. He made his way further into the flat, sliding into Lestrade’s bedroom where the DI was showering in the en suite.
Cocking his head, Sherlock realized he could hear Lestrade’s voice over the sound of the shower. Did Lestrade often speak to himself while bathing? But, no, that wasn’t the tempo or tenor of the man’s speaking voice. He was … singing?
Sherlock crept close to the bathroom door and pressed his ear against the thin wood. Now he could make out the words Lestrade was singing, but they made no sense. They were more like gibberish. Lestrade’s voice rang out clearly through the wood.
“Moses supposes his toeses are roses, but Moses supposes erroneously, Moses he knowses his toeses aren’t roses, as Moses supposes his toeses to be!”
Sherlock pulled back and stared at the door as though it would help him understand the nonsensical lyrics. Dear God? Had Lestrade had a stroke? Should he rush in, begin to administer first aid? He should've made John come along, but for all that his friend had been a soldier he was crap at breaking and entering. But no, while the words made no sense, they weren’t slurred. This must be an actual song. Sherlock heard the shower cut off and he turned to leave the room, case file forgotten.
Lestrade’s voice continued to ring out, echoing in the small room. “A mose is a mose! A rose is a rose! A toes is a toes!”
Sherlock shook his head and fled the flat.
Two
Years later, Sherlock had all but forgotten the incident with the singing DI.
It was again the middle of the night and he was heading towards Lestrade’s office. He’d seen the older man that afternoon at a crime scene and had noticed that Lestrade seemed distracted, less quick to smile. Not that the DI often grinned at crime scenes but Sherlock usually managed to eek out a quick flash of teeth from the other man with his usual comments and behavior. He wasn’t certain why but Lestrade’s behavior that day had stayed with him after he left the crime scene.
Later, after he’d solved the crime and texted Lestrade the culprit’s identity, Sherlock settled into his thinking pose on the couch. He reviewed his recent interactions with Lestrade. He was frustrated to realize that he’d missed something somehow. He always missed something! Something was definitely going on with Lestrade and had been for some time. Sherlock was certain of it. The detective went over Lestrade’s recent behavior and concluded the man was most definitely acting more subdued lately, almost depressed.
This was not on.
Sherlock needed the man at his peak performance, he couldn’t work with the other Detective Inspectors at the Yard. Dimmock was alright but far too eager to please and kowtowed to Sherlock. Which, admittedly was flattering at first but now was simply irritating. He got enough praise from John, he didn’t need Dimmock simpering after him. DI Gregson was an arrogant sod who refused to consult with Sherlock but Lestrade… Lestrade challenged him. The older man never let him run roughshod over his team or his crime scenes but did let Sherlock do his work. Lestrade helped Sherlock and Sherlock helped Lestrade. Their’s was delicate partnership and Lestrade’s behavior was unsettling Sherlock. Thus his decision to confront Lestrade after hours where he could be sure to have time to ferret out what was going on with the older man.
He bypassed the lift and took the stairs, lightly jogging to the fourth floor where the Major Crimes department was located. Sherlock exited the stairwell and made his way past the empty cubicles. No one was there as he had planned, the only sources of light on the floor came from the low emergency lights and far ahead the doorway to Lestrade’s office.
Sherlock strode confidently across the floor, pondering how best to broach the topic with Lestrade. Normally, he’d storm in and demand an explanation. Yet… maybe a gentle approach would be best, after all, Lestrade had been… off … for quite some time and didn’t mention his issue/problem/illness/???? to the consulting detective any of the dozen times they’d seen each other lately. Yes, a delicate touch was required here. Surely Lestrade knew he could trust Sherlock. Sherlock did, after all, ‘die’ for him. Wait, did Lestrade know that? He must.
His steps slowed. Someone was singing softly.
The words were indistinct at this distance but Sherlock immediately recalled the incident at Lestrade’s flat and knew that once again he’d discovered Lestrade singing by himself. A grin played across his handsome face. Perhaps if he were to stumble upon Lestrade singing, he could use the humor of the situation to his advantage and get the stubborn DI to open up to him.
He softened his steps and moved into the shadows, creeping towards Lestrade’s office and his open door. As he grew closer and heard the tone of Lestrade’s singing, the smile slid off his face. As before, he didn’t know the song but it served to illustrate Sherlock’s point: something was most definitely off with the good detective inspector.
“Cellophane, Mister Cellophane. Shoulda been my name, Mister Cellophane. ‘Cause you look right through me, walk right by me, and never know I’m there…”
Still a few feet from the door and hugging the wall, Sherlock stopped. Lestrade’s voice sounded so plaintive. What on earth could cause him to sound like that?
“I tell ya, cellophane, Mister Cellophane. Shoulda been my name, Mister Cellophane. ‘Cause you look right through me, walk right by me, and never know I’m there. Never even know I’m there.”
Lestrade was sad? Was that the issue? It must be. But. Why was Lestrade sad? The desk lamp turned off and Sherlock could hear the sounds of Lestrade neatening his office and gathering his belongings to leave. Sherlock decided not to confront the other man after this new development. Sherlock raced across the floor back to the stairwell and was through the door before he heard the faint sounds of Lestrade locking his office door.