Chapter Text
Captain John Watson, recently of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, really didn’t mind being a street cop. He liked the nitty-grittiness of it, the adrenaline of catching a thief in the act, the thrill of saving someone from a mugging or stabbing. It was fine for now anyway. When he was on the beat his leg didn’t hurt that much, he assumed due to the extra exercise. He sure as hell wasn’t going to use his cane while working, which would make him seem weak to some enterprising criminals. As soon as he was back at his small apartment, or whenever he had a few days off, his limp came back with a vengeance. PTSD, his therapist had said.
John had pulled the short straw and was currently watching the traffic back up along the M25. He sighed at the thought of pulling over another person who couldn’t make ends meet. Sometimes he could let them off, but most of the time he had to write them a ticket. The times John pulled over a rich person he was glad because he didn’t feel so guilty. His radio burst alive with static before a DI came on and asked all available officers to converge on a hostage scene on the other side of London. John gave a bored sigh. He never got those!
He jerked his head up as something on the roadway caught his eye. A…purple Lamborghini??? John did a double-take, and the way the traffic had slowed even more, so did everyone else. Who on earth would drive that kind of car through downtown London?
John’s interest was piqued even more when he saw that the Lamborghini had black lights affixed to the bottom, sides, and top of the car, giving it an otherworldly look. John pulled into the traffic and followed the car at a distance. He didn’t like profiling, but he had good instincts, and when the car increased from 10 to 100 km in less than 3 seconds, he wasn’t surprised.
The driver of the car appeared to be considering his options as he glanced repeatedly at the police lights in the rearview mirror. He finally pulled over.
As he walked up behind the car, John noted the license plate, LKMY JNK, and rolled his eyes. Great. One of them.
He stopped beside the driver’s side window, which slowly rolled down after he gave it a hard knock.
“Yes, what may I do for you, officer?” came the low, succinctly pronounced words, layered with scorn.
John leaned down and what he saw did not surprise him: an attractive, haughty male who looked like he owned the world. Really, really attractive. Ahem.
John steadied his blue eyes on the man, trying to size him up. He instantly regretted it. John blinked and looked away after a few moments. He needed to remain professional, but something about LKMY JNK’s intense grey eyes made him falter.
“Er, yes. License and registration please. Do you realize you were going 40 km over the limit back there?”
LKMY JNK gave him the most affronted, queen diva look he had seen in some time.
“And do you realize you are hindering a police investigation, possibly causing a convicted criminal and mass murderer to escape the country, endangering the lives of your fellow officers and those of your superiors, not to mention innocent civilians, just so you can reach some ridiculous quota and maintain a dominant role in your increasingly pathetic life?”
John bristled. “That’s enough. You don’t know anything about me!”
“You are recently invalided back from Afghanistan or Iraq, you saw heavy action and likely received a bullet wound, possibly to your leg which you favor, more likely your leg is psychosomatic and the bullet wound is elsewhere. You don’t like working traffic work but you enjoy the job overall for now, it pays for your small apartment where you live by yourself and more importantly gives you the adrenaline rush you crave from the war.” The man narrowed his eyes before they blew wide again with knowledge.
“Ahhh….and you miss it.”
John stared, his eyes wide in shock. “That was bloody amazing!”
“Really?”
“Yes, or course. Absolutely fantastic,” John grinned.
“That’s not what most people say.”
“What do most people say?”
“Piss off.”
Steel grey eyes met deep blue eyes in a few moments of shared mirth.
“As amazing as that was, I still need your license and registration, Mr….?”
The man in the Lamborghini sighed dramatically, replying curtly “Lestrade”. His eyes had become hard and unreadable again, and his eyebrows were lifted high on his head as if he was insulted. He held out an ID, which John took.
John looked at the ID, realizing the picture of this Lestrade person (and did that say Detective Inspector?) did not match the man in the Lamborghini. Looking up sharply into amused eyes, John saw the man wink at him before the inevitable screech of wheels.
Oh no he did NOT! John breathed hard through his nose to keep his anger at bay. He jumped back into the cruiser.