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He was still on the loose, a murderer that teased and dodged every trick the Yard threw at him. He was vicious and nameless, seemingly targeting at random, any age, any gender, any walk of life. Lestrade had pulled Sherlock into the investigation, but even he seemed stumped for the moment. The thought that even Sherlock couldn't crack this case sent shivers down Lestrade's spine. His victim count was already at seven and he knew it wouldn't end any time soon unless they could stop him. He spun the shiny gold ring on his finger, placed there only six months ago by his very lovely Molly in a ceremony that found them on the shore. He smiled thinking about how beautiful Molly was in her white dress, hair down and blown back by the salty winds, the tips of her toes peeking out from the sand as she walked. She is what keeps him going through these long, tedious, and stressful work days, knowing that at the end of them he has her to go home to.
The sound of his office door being flung open jarred him from his thoughts and he sighed as the tall, black haired man strode in and sat in one of the chairs in front of the desk. John hurried in behind him and shut the door.
"You could at least knock, Sherlock, Greg might be in the middle of something," John sighed.
"Tedious. He doesn't have anything to do since we've exhausted all leads on this case…so far," Sherlock said, a bit of irritation in his voice. Lestrade didn't know if this had to do with another reprimanding or the fact that the great Sherlock Holmes had in fact run out of leads.
"Do you have something new?" Greg asked hopefully.
"Unfortunately, no. I was merely hoping that your wife would be here so I could ask her for another arm." Sherlock said, tossing the rubber band ball that sat at the front of Lestrade's desk in his hand.
"Now why would Molly be just sitting in my office? She's probably home. She was excited to start hanging pictures in the nursery, had me pick some out before I left this morning."
"Ah, yes, the child. Is the fetus still causing her to crave peanut butter and pickles? Or those horrendous mood swings?"
Lestrade covered his face with his hand and rubbed his eyes.
"Can you please stop referring to the baby as 'the fetus.' We have a name picked out you know."
Sherlock waved his hand, disinterested, but John smiled and asked what they had chosen.
"Molly wanted something simple but pretty, I think I bought five baby name books for her before she finally found it; Lena Grace," Lestrade proudly said.
"That's really nice, mate, I like it," John said, smiling.
Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Well now that that's over, can we get back to the serial killer at large in our fair city?"
"So you do have something new, Sherlock?" Lestrade asked, slightly exasperated.
"I didn't, but you and John blathering and this little ball helped me realize something. The killer is tidy, methodical, tightly wound, just like this ball, but," Sherlock showed the two men a crack in one of the bands and threw it on the ground, watching as several bands exploded, "there are cracks in every killer and sooner or later he'll make a mistake. The pressure is on him, it's only a matter of time before we get something."
Lestrade opened his mouth to say something when Donovan poked her head in the office.
"Got another one, sir, young woman, found beaten in an alley…" Donovan seemed nervous as she trailed off, an odd look on her face.
"What is it, Sally?" Greg prodded.
"Sir, the victim was found near your flat and she's…she's pregnant," She said, her voice slightly trembling.
Suddenly it felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room, John and Sherlock's panicked eyes trained on Lestrade. Lestrade felt his heart start to race as he stood, his hand quickly reaching for his mobile as he dialed Molly's number.
It went straight to voicemail.
"GODDAMNIT!" Lestrade shouted, running out of his office as fast as he could, John and Sherlock chasing after him.
They arrived at the scene minutes later, blue lights on and Lestrade driving more recklessly than they had ever seen. John had tried several more times to reach Molly while they were driving, to no avail. Lestrade threw open the door and ran out into the street, cold, wet drops of rain starting to fall on his thin white dress shirt.
He ran to the scene praying that his Molly and his baby weren't laying there lifeless. He pushed past several officers and came face to face with his worst nightmare.
A small, brown haired woman, face beaten beyond recognition, lay sprawled on the ground wearing a burgundy sweater and jeans that he could swear Molly had in her closet. The unmistakable swell of the woman's belly made bile rise in Lestrade's throat. He thought of that morning, his Molly girl standing in their half finished nursery, showing him different animal pictures she had found to hang up. He remembered feeling the soft kicks of his daughter against his hand as he kissed Molly goodbye.
His fists clenched as he screamed and punched the brick wall of the building next to him, swinging wildly at anyone who dare try to come near him. His Molly, his daughter both gone in the blink of an eye, everything he ever wanted, everything he had to live for, gone and bleeding in this godforsaken city. He felt arms grab at his, trying to calm him down, but he felt superhuman, ready to take on all the murderers in the world one on one if it would bring him to the man who had destroyed his whole world. He felt mad, foam gathering at the corners of his mouth as he screamed in agony. He would find this man and torture him, kill him for everything he had done.
"Greg!" The shout of his name in that baritone voice, heard above all the other raised voices, stopped him enough to focus on the people around him. He saw Sherlock standing with John and then saw the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.
His Molly stood between them, tears tracking down her face and raindrops glistening on her hair, shopping bags in hand. Lestrade forgot everything around him and frantically ran to her, hugging her and picking her up in his strong arms, crying that he had her safe and alive.
"Greg, sweetheart, I'm alright, I just went out for more things for Lena and my phone died and I'm so sorry," she sobbed.
"Don't you ever say sorry again, love, never for anything, you can do anything, you can have the whole world, the stars, and the moon," he choked out, brushing the wet hair out of her face, the shine of blood on his knuckles apparent, "The baby's alright?"
"She's been so active today, here, feel." She placed his rough hand on her swollen belly, a light tap tap kicking on his palm.
A new round of tears flooded from his eyes, "Jesus, Molly, I thought I lost you both today," he murmured in her ear.
"You didn't, Greg, you didn't. We're here, safe and sound."
Lestrade's supervisor put him on administrative leave until the birth of his daughter, a healthy, strong 8lb girl with downy brown hair and his dark eyes. The happy little family enjoyed their quiet nights at home, the fire lit to protect against the chill of the London winter. It was during one of these nights that Lestrade looked up to see Molly walking around, humming to the little bundle she held against her chest as she put away some glasses from dinner. A text alert rang from his mobile,
The cracks were certainly showing. Found him. Come to Baker Street when you can.-SH
He sighed and closed his phone, shuddering to think about the man's last murder, those blinding, few minutes on a rainy night where he thought that he had lost everything he loved.
"Was that Sherlock?" Molly asked in her sweet voice.
"Yeah, they caught the murderer, damn shame it wasn't before we found that poor woman and her baby boy," Lestrade sighed.
Molly simply nodded and sat next to her husband, handing their daughter to him. He held her in his hands, her tiny fingers clasping around his thumb. He smiled as she cooed, her eyes slowly shutting as she drifted into sleep. Everything had turned out well, his family was safe and for that, he was forever thankful.