Sherlock Puppy

Part 7

by Cyberwolf (wolf at mydestiny.net)
4/15/02

All disclaimers in Part I

Chapter VII: Wesley Flushing

Lestrade smiled to herself as she jogged. She breathed in deeply, savoring the relatively fresh morning air, scented by the grass and flowers of the park. She glanced down at the golden-furred puppy trotting at her side. For such a little guy, Seeker was surprisingly quick on his paws.

A new pet, a new day, and no pressing cases to solve. Lestrade’s smile widened.

At that precise moment, as if triggered by the smile, a man fell into step beside her. Lestrade’s smile became rather fixed. The man was lean and lanky -- not that tall, actually, but appearing lanky because of the proportioning of his limbs to his body. Red hair was gelled -- with quite a large amount of the stuff, so that his hair shone in the morning sun as if oiled -- into place above a wide, jut-jawed face, with watery gray eyes and the pale skin common to redheads -- though in his case, it was more than pale, it was positively pasty. Even his numerous freckles appeared washed-out.

"Hey, g’morning!" he greeted her cheerfully. "Nice weather for a run, innit?"

"Hello, Mr Flushing," she returned, not slackening her pace and endeavoring mightily not to increase it.

"No, no," he protested, "You’ve known me for too long to call me formally. Call me Wes, why don’t you, Lizzy?"

Lestrade’s fixed smile very nearly turned into a grimace. She had only known him for about two months, having started to jog in this particular park only recently, but that was two months too many for her. A neighbor of hers, who could be counted upon to know all the gossip around the neighborhood, had given her the full lowdown on Wesley Flushing after Lestrade came home complaining about that short red-haired loser who had tried flirting and succeeded in annoying.

He was a government employee, working at the Department of Public Sanitation -- in what capacity was unknown, but it was quite certain that it was in a low position. For one thing, he was out ‘sick’ fairly often, and on these ‘sick’ days could be seen on his apartment balcony, reading magazines and drinking beer. For another, Wesley Flushing struck no one as the type of person they would be interested in promoting. He was lazy, rude, not at all diligent or intelligent, and his idea of higher education was going to school someplace with high altitude.

Lestrade knew that the girls in the neighborhood called him ‘Flushing Toilet’ due to his rather dirty mouth -- and mind -- but he was relatively clean-mouthed around her. This actually alarmed her more because it seemed that, in his own Flushing way, he was trying to court her.

First Moriarty and then the Toilet! Is there something wrong with me, that I always attract the weirdos? Why can’t I ever be noticed by someone like.... She cut off that line of thought rather abruptly because that way led to angst worthy of any of those over-romantic, sappy, gag- inducing holo-soaps -- and Lestrade hated soap operas.

She realized that the Toilet....no, Flushing, even if she disliked him that was no reason to call him names....had just asked her a question.

"Er....sorry, I drifted off there. What’d you say?"

He said, again, his tone slightly hurt as if her ‘drifting off’ was a grave offense of some sort, "I asked if you wanted to see the Vaunted at the Kiduron Theater tomorrow night." He puffed his chest out, and since this disrupted his breathing, fell back a step. "I’ve got a friend who got me front-row tickets."

Lestrade had never heard of the ‘Vaunted’, and was pretty sure she didn’t want to. The types of acts who performed at the Kiduron were....not her style.

"Oh, sorry, Mr Flushing," she said, hoping like hell that her face wouldn’t crack from the strain of maintaining the smile. "I’ve got work tomorrow night, can’t bow out now at this short notice."

"Oh, come on, you’ve got a whole day! You could come up with an excuse easy!" he said encouragingly.

Just because you don’t take your job seriously doesn’t mean I don’t! she thought furiously at him. Instead, she said, (mildly, she hoped) "It’s a little harder than that. My boss is very perceptive. And I don’t think I’ll be good at lying to him." She wondered if Flushing even knew she was a Yardie.

"You know, this is the third time I’ve asked you out. And you always have some excuse. The first time, it was, ‘Got to meet my friend,’ and then it was ‘Sorry, have got a prior engagement.’ But someone told me you spent the whole night at your apartment. I think you’re lying to me," Flushing said, his tone ugly. He grabbed her arm, forcing her to spin around.

Lestrade tensed, but fought down the urge to toss the man over her shoulder. What the hell? He was keeping tabs on her? She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. "Mr Flushing, if you don’t remove your hands from me right now, I will...."

"What? What will you do?" he laughed, a contemptuous sound. "I think you owe me an explanation, girlie...." Flushing said, advancing threateningly.

Girlie! Lestrade thought, enraged.

Flushing suddenly yelled in pain. "Get it off!" Seeker had launched himself at the red-haired man, clamping his tiny, needle-sharp teeth into the flesh of Flushing’s right thigh. He clung to Flushing’s leg, the spandex which Flushing wore offering little protection from the dog’s surprisingly strong jaws.

Lestrade gave a tug of the leash, and Seeker released his bite and leapt back to Lestrade’s side. He took up position in front of her like a guard-dog; and Lestrade had this suspicion that if he had been a bit nearer or a little bit bigger, he would have behaved more like an attack dog and bitten Flushing where war-dogs were trained to -- in the groin.

Flushing looked up, to see Lestrade gazing at him coldly. "Your dog’s a menace!" he snarled. "I’m going to go to the authorities...have it put down...."

"Like to New Scotland Yard?"

"Exactly, like New Scotland Yard," he agreed, ignoring the fact that animal control was not the Yard’s jurisdiction. "And to...." He trailed off, as he stared wide-eyed at the New Scotland Yard badge Lestrade fished out from under her shirt.

"If you bring any charges against me or my dog, you can be sure that I’ll be returning charges of harassment, stalking, assault, and whatever else I can think of in the meanwhile. And, Flushing, considering your record, who do you really think they’ll believe?" She watched in satisfaction as Flushing blanched. That had been a bluff -- she wasn’t sure that Flushing had a record, but it had been implied by some other people. This confirmed it.

"But since I’m in a nice mood today, I’ll let you go with only a warning....come near me again, and I won’t be nearly as pleasant." She glared at the man. "Well, what are you waiting for? That was the warning! Go!"

Flushing limped off, his leg bloody and his eyes tearing. Lestrade smirked as she watched him go. Though she’d probably file a restraining order just in case, the Toilet didn’t strike her as the sort of man who had enough spine to return. Especially considering the reputation of Yardies....

Besides, she thought, What was he thinking? Trying to bring charges against my dog? Who could put down my Seeker? He’s too cute!

She crouched down beside her puppy, ruffling the fur and laying a kiss directly on top of his soft, puppy-smelling head. "Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy? You’re a good boy! You’re a very good boy!" she cooed. "Good boy, good Seeker!"

AN: Did I make Wesley into too much of a jerk? Is it plausible? I'm just going for the incredibly-annoying factor, here.

And I know it's OOC for Holmes to bite someone, but it wasn't exactly _him_...remember what I said about the puppy-brain intrinsic with his? Hehehehe...

Hey, is anyone going to do that Shakespeare crossover that Mary suggested?

On to Part 8!

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