The Many Adventures of the Inspector and Detective

by CaptMickey

Summary:

There are a few things that Inspector Tobias Gregson likes.... but Herlock Sholmes isn't one of them.

Otherwise known as the day to day life of England's brightest mystery solvers.

He flicked his pocket watch open and saw the time; two minutes ahead of schedule to wind it per usual.

Like clockwork, Tobias Gregson twisted the crown as needed until that satisfying and familiar ticking sound was heard. Checking to see the hands moving accordingly, he click the watch shut and leaned into his seat, taking his bowler hat off as that was a wrap to his day.

It wasn't a particularly long day, but it wasn't exactly the most relaxing one either. The latest crime to hit the streets was a serial burglar who, as far as he could tell thus far, was a rookie. Broken glass that littered the ground, a modus operandi of taking anything that was shiny, and leaving an absolute mess of the place that was robbed. Between calming the owners and guiding the bobbies, he had his hands filled. 

The last thing the inspector needed was–

"Ah! There you are, my good fellow!"

…a headache.

Plopping across from him at the pub was an ever smirking supposed 'Great Detective' and he could feel the ache in his head building up with every passing second.

"Sholmes." He grumbled. 

"Good evening to you as well, Inspector." Herlock greeted, looking pleased.

"What is it?" Gregson snarked, glaring harshly at Herlock in hopes that, perhaps this once, he would use that supposed logic of his and leave. 

"Why, I just thought it was an opportune time to have a lovely chat with you."

"Doubtful…" He huffed. "You're here regarding the serial burglaries."

"Using that logic of yours, excellent." Herlock clasped his hands together. "And as much as I would love to sit and talk about it at length, it is unfortunately only partially as to why I'm here."

"...Partially?" Gregson raised a brow.

"Yes."

The two men stared and Gregson could have sworn his eye twitched. He could push him away, in fact, he probably should do that, but Sholmes looked downright comfortable as he stared at him with that borderline mischievous smile, as if quietly telling him that he was not about to budge and it would benefit him greatly to converse… least he wants an even bigger migraine.

"Bloody hell…." He took a breath."What's the other reason, Sholmes?"

"I require the ripe wisdom of yours in regards to the insights of various locations as to take one of importance for the evening that pertains feast and enjoyment."

Sholmes spoke eloquently, of that there was no doubt. But it bordered often enough into what Gregson 'affectionately' referred to as 'Sholmisms'. Where it was a very simple request in the form of a blasted philosophical question using every blasted word in the English language. So naturally, Gregson stared, unamused. 

"You… are looking for a place to take a guest to that has a dinner and a show?"

"Exactly!" Herlock beamed.

Gregson groaned. Why couldn't he have just said that? 

"Who's the guest?"

"Why, naturally myself, Iris and yourself–"

"No."

"Oh come now, why ever not?"

"Would you like me to list it alphabetically or numerically?"

Herlock leaned back, pondering with a finger on his temple.

"That was rhetorical, Sholmes."

"Ah."

Gregson crossed his arms. "We're not friends, we're barely coworkers."

"Well, not with that particular attitude." Herlock remarked, mimicking the gesture of his own arms crossed with the added effect of dropping one long leg over the other.

"The point being," he continued, disregarding that retort, "why bother inviting me?"

"You're a detective, my dear fellow, I'm sure you can piece together as to why."

"I'm off the clock." For a brief sliver of a moment, Gregson saw Herlock off guard. But it was only for that moment and clearly this pest of a headache with legs wasn't leaving. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Right, who else are the guests?"

"Just us three." Herlock answered. 

"And the dinner is when?"

"Tentative, but ideally on for Friday eve."

"This Friday?"

A nod. 

Friday eve, just the three… Gregson tried to go over the facts whilst going over the detail of the calendar, a finger pressed to the side of his own temple. Was there an upcoming holiday? No, none he was aware about otherwise he would have heard of it from one of the other inspectors or bobbies. They were rather obnoxious about it… so if not a holiday, just the three, on that friday–

Oh.

Gregson looked at Herlock, eyes with full awareness.

"Is it already Iris's birthday?"

Herlock had a sly smirk, as if relieved that Gregson finally caught on. "That she does, dear fellow."

Gregson, however, slammed a hand on the table. "Why not open up with that?!"

"Because guessing is much more fun! Wouldn't you agree?" Herlock grinned.

"Not when it's in regards to Her Ladyship's birthday!" 

Herlock, however, let out that obnoxiously loud laugh of his while Gregson rubbed his face for what felt like the umpteenth time in the last five minutes. The man truly knew how to get under his skin in record time, it was astonishing.

"You know the Good Knight?" Gregson asked. "The pub?"

"The one that's a few blocks from the park?"

"The very same. A few blocks further there's a small shop that lets you have tea and sandwiches."

Herlock grinned. "I'm very much inclined to figure how you know of such a place, dear inspector."

He'd rather not have to deal with the Great Detective's logic and reasoning spectacular.  "I was informed of it by another private inspector, supposedly his associate has a fondness for the place and I know Iris has a fondness for tea. Ergo, thought of there."

"Oh, you must stop taking the fun out of guessing games." Herlock pouted. 

At that, Gregson smirked. 

"Right, I shall see you Friday for lunch then!"

"Wait–" he watched Herlock get up, looking back to his usual self.

"Have a pleasant evening, Inspector– Oh! Before I forget." The Great Detective snapped his fingers. "Your criminal is on Fresno Street. Until tomorrow!"

Before Gregson could sputter a response, Herlock sped off out of the room, leaving the poor man alone, thinking over what was said between Iris's birthday and the criminal. He slowly exhaled and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Of course the Great Detective would resolve the case quickly, because now Gregson had no excuse to avoid the blasted lunch.

"Damn you, Sholmes…" He huffed under his breath.

Notes:

I basically just wanted a fic showing Herlock and Gregson in that Buddy Cop Platonic kinda way and, well, here we are.