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pennywaltzy · 5 years

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Every English Village Has Its Secrets (An “In Our Neck Of The Woods” Story)

And I’m finally getting a chance to update this! Not sure if I will finish it in the next five days for WIPBB, as I still have two pieces of art to create and two other fics which are closer to finishing than this one, but I got hit with the idea of a family line being killed off (a la the musical “A Gentleman’s Guide to Love and Murder,” one of my faves) and decided to run with it. So even if I don’t finish this for WIPBB, enjoy the new update!

Every English VIllage Has Its Secrets - When Greg and Sally get called to Midsomer County for a case, right from the start Greg knows it will be a headache when Mycroft offers him lodging (so long as he's alright with his former lover being his housemate for his time there), and it doesn't get much better when he meets DCI Tom Barnaby and immediately their Detective Sergeants take an instant dislike to each other when Sally arrives the next evening. And that isn't even getting into the actual case itself and all the secrets hidden in the village of Elverton-cum-Latterley...

Barnaby did a good job of laying out what wasn’t in the case file that had been given to him at the Yard: there was a woman involved, though she currently wasn’t being considered a suspect; it was a delicate situation as she was married to a prominent businessman in the village who had political aspirations. The affair was to be kept under wraps as much as possible but Greg could see that there was a slight twinkle in Barnaby’s eye that he thought meant Barnaby would use the information as leverage, if needed, and as a large stick if that didn’t work.

Made him realize there were fewer policeman like himself and Barnaby in circulation at the various police stations in the United Kingdom, and one day they’d all be put out to pasture and the whole thing would be run more by people like DS Donovan and DS Troy. He could only hope they learned the valuable lessons from coppers like their superiors.

There were more details given in the ride from Causton to Elverton-cum-Latterly than he had expected, and he was making mental notes. Based on the comment from Barnaby he had the feeling if Troy had been driving, there would have been a wreck, so he decided to make sure if he was in a car either Sally or Barnaby was driving. Sally, at least, had mastered the skill of holding on a conversation and paying attention to the road at the same time, something he wasn’t sure Troy had grasped yet. But he wasn’t about to disparage the man; his input of things he had observed could be valuable as well.

Finally they arrived at the inn and he saw there was still crime scene tape blocking off an automobile in the lot. “Is that his car?” Greg asked.

Barnaby nodded. “It’s been looked through and dusted for any suitable prints. We’re simply waiting for his next of kin to come to claim it.”

Gregory got out of Barnaby’s car and went to look at the powder blue Alfa Romeo Giulietta Spider. From 1956, he reckoned. He’d been a bit of a car buff when he’d been younger and had scrimped and saved to own a 1971 Volvo P1800 that had been a custom convertible job. It was sitting in the garage of his mother’s home, needing repairs, but he reckoned Eileen would enjoy working on it as she got older, as she seemed to be a budding car buff in her own right. But he remembered that this was been Alfa Romero’s first convertible after the war and they stayed in production pretty much untouched until the mid-60s. The vintage 50s first runs were extremely valuable. And he noticed this car was not the only one of its ilk; in the covered parts of the inn’s car park, there were more classic roadsters. “Was there a vintage car show in these parts coming up?” Greg asked, looking at Barnaby and Troy.

Troy nodded. “Fundraiser for the village’s widow and orphans fund, organized by the local church.”

“Interesting. But he wasn’t killed for the car? It looks spotless, aside from fingerprint powder.”

“Not as far as we can tell,” Barnaby said. “But John Granger was full of secrets, apparently. He had a wife that he was separated from who is technically the next of kin, and the family had no idea she existed.”

“A man has a wife his family doesn’t know about, a lover in the outskirts of London, and a vintage car that no one wants to come to claim so far,” Greg murmured. He shook his head. If Mycroft’s brother was here, he would have solved it all instantly and made them look like fools, though he doubted few could make Barnaby look as foolish as he himself felt sometimes when dealing with Sherlock. He then looked over to the inn. “Is any of Granger’s family in the area, or are they all holed up in London making noise?”

Troy grinned at that. “His sister is here, at the inn,” he said. “I can get her?”

“Yes, you do that, Troy,” Barnaby said. Troy nodded and then left the two men. “She is a handful.”

“I deal with that on the regular,” Greg said. “Not just with suspects and families. My own preferred consultant can be a primadonna in his own right at times.”

Barnaby nodded. “I was surprised he didn’t accompany you. Even we’ve heard a bit about the brilliant man solving cases at Scotland Yard who isn't a Yarder.”

“He’d have considered this too low on his scale,” Greg said. “But Sally is just as good. She had plans I didn’t want to interrupt too much, so she agreed to cut her holiday short and see if she’s even needed at that point.”

“It’s good to have a life outside of all this,” Barnaby said. “Speaking of, my wife said if you came early she wanted to know if you’d come by for supper. Joyce had said something about steaks, perhaps.”

“I’d like that,” Greg said with a grin. “Been a while since I had a good homecooked meal I haven’t had to make myself.” He thought to the stew the night before and the conversation and time spent with Mycroft. It’s what his home life should have been with his wife, but she preferred to eat away from home, usually without him and with whoever she was shagging at the moment. He didn’t care, as it gave him peace and quiet after long days, but he missed the company sometimes.

Barnaby was going to say more but Troy popped his head out, his eyes wide as he frantically signaled for the two men to come to the entrance to the inn. They went over and he loosened his tie slightly. “Sir, I don’t know how to tell you this, but...there’s been another murder,” he said to Barnaby. “The victim’s sister was just found in her bedroom here, with stab wounds to the chest.”

“We may need your DS’s help after all,” Barnaby murmured to Greg as he turned to face him.

“And sooner, I take it,” Greg said with a nod, reaching for his mobile. Sally was not going to like this at all...

#sherlock #midsomer murders #mystrade #tom x joyce #fanfic #fanfiction #greg lestrade #tom barnaby #gavin troy #my au: in our neck of the woods #Multipart: Every English Village Has Its Secrets

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pennywaltzy · 5 years

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Every English Village Has Its Secrets (3/?) (An “In Our Neck Of The Woods” Story)

OMG, so apparently I had chapter 3 of this mostly written out during last year’s WIPBB round, and didn’t realize it until I saw that I only had two chapters up on AO3 and realized I hadn’t posted it. A quick finish and voila! Here you all go!

Every English Village Has Its Secrets - When Greg and Sally get called to Midsomer County for a case, right from the start Greg knows it will be a headache when Mycroft offers him lodging (so long as he's alright with his former lover being his housemate for his time there), and it doesn't get much better when he meets DCI Tom Barnaby and immediately their Detective Sergeants take an instant dislike to each other when Sally arrives the next evening. And that isn't even getting into the actual case itself and all the secrets hidden in the village of Elverton-cum-Latterley...

READ CHAPTER 1 | READ CHAPTER 3 | HELP ME SURVIVE? | COMMISSION ME? | BUY ME A KOFI?

He woke up to an empty cottage and a fresh pot of coffee with some cereal choices and a few scones to take with him to Causton. That had been one of the more endearing things about Mycroft; to most people, he came off as a snob, but if he truly cared about you, so long as you weren’t family, he was quite the softie and very adamant on taking care of everyone else. It was an attribute he had thought his wife shared but sadly, that had not turned out to be the case.

He had only been out to Causton once, and not from this part of England, and he wanted to meet Barnaby at a setting other than the crime scene, just to make sure his presence would be tolerated. He had the feeling Sally might cause a bit of discomfort between themselves and the Causton CID but it couldn’t be helped. She was caustic but brilliant, almost like Sherlock. He felt that was probably one of the many reasons his DS and his consultant hated each other, but he managed to more or less keep the peace between them so hopefully he could do the same here.

He went looking around for a map and after a moment found one near the telephone, just where his mum had kept hers. One day he’d have to ask Mycroft about this, about whether he had been in contact with her before her death and gotten the chance to properly say good-bye. Otherwise, there might be a trip up North in order so he could. He loved his mother, but she absolutely would have seen Mycroft without telling him she was.

Not that he blamed her. Mycroft had let him meet his family once and that had been one time too many. It was obvious there had been something wrong with the way he was raised, and while he’d always suspected it was an outside influence on Mycroft’s part, his parents had made very sure Mycroft knew he was not the favoured child. Sherlock hadn’t been there for the visit, but it had become extremely obvious that Sherlock was the one who held that position in the Holmes family.

His own mum, on the other hand, was one of the kindest women he’d ever met, opening her door to anyone who needed a safe space for a night or a warm meal. He’d always wondered why she had never been taken advantage of when she got older. Perhaps Mycroft had had a hand in that.

So many questions, but at least now there was a chance he might get answers.

He studied the map, then poured some coffee into a thermos for the drive and stashed two scones on a plate to eat in the car. He supposed he’d get chided for crumbs in the seat but he didn’t care. The sooner he got this case taken care of, or whatever his part in it ended up being was all wrapped up, the sooner he could take advantage of what was to have been his holiday.

It didn’t take long to find Causton, surprisingly, and finding where the police were housed was even easier than he had expected once he got into the proper area. Causton, unlike London, had changed very little in the time since his last visit. Maybe one day when London got to be too much, he’d retire to a place like this.

He made his way into the Causton CID and once he flashed his credentials he was directed to where Barnaby and his DS were situated in the building. It wasn’t all that different than the NSY, he mused as he made his way by glass windowed offices with desks and paperwork piled high on them and not much else in the way of personalization. By the time he got to Barnaby he was greeted by a man almost Sally’s age, perhaps a bit older but not much, and he showed him the last bit of the way before going past and handing another man a file. “I ran into the detective inspector from London,” the young man said, and then he frowned as he straightened up and smoothed his rather garish tie down. “DI…?”

“Lestrade,” Greg said, holding out a hand for the younger man to shake. “But Gregory will do.”

“Pleasure to meet you, DI Lestrade,” the young man said.

“Troy, if a superior officer says to call him something else, you call him by what he prefers,” the man sitting at the desk said in the tone he recognized as “my DS is still green, so please be patient.” Greg cracked a smile to reassure the young man that there was no harm done, and he relaxed as his superior officer stood. “Tom Barnaby.”

“Pleasure,” Greg said, offering Barnaby his hand. The two men shook hands and he was pleased to see that Barnaby knew the secret to a good handshake. Perhaps that was another lesson he’d pass along to the younger man. “My Detective Sergeant had some personal business to attend to so she’ll be arriving later, but I thought I’d come in and see if I’m even needed.”

There was a slight scoff from Troy at the mention of Sally being female but Barnaby only gave a sharp glance and it tapered into silence almost instantly. “Well, I don’t know if you’re needed, per se, but it never hurts to have another set of eyes and ears on hand. And if it makes dealing with the family easier with you being here...”

“You can fob me off on them if you need to,” Lestrade said. “Despite my superiors and the family wanting me to come in and take over, I’m fully aware it’s proper to be support.”

Barnaby gave him an approving nod. “There aren’t many like you in London I bet, Gregory.”

Greg chuckled. “I’ll admit I’m a dying breed, yeah. But that’s the way I like it. Hopefully, I can impart some wisdom on Donovan and she’ll continue the line at least a little longer.” He nodded to the seat across from Barnaby. “Perhaps you could fill me in?”

“We were about to go back to the crime scene if you’d like to view it,” Troy said. Then he glanced at Barnaby to make sure it was alright that he had interjected.

“By all means, join us. But Troy?” Barnaby said.

“Yes?” Troy asked, his eyes widening slightly.

“I think I’ll be driving and our guest will be in the passenger seat. You can sit in the back.”

“Yes, sir,” Troy said, looking sheepish. “I’ll go get the car, sirs.” And with that, he left.

“He tends to get a bit...distracted,” Barnaby said. “I don’t think Scotland Yard would be pleased with us if we managed to get you mangled in a car accident.”

Greg chuckled. “No, I suppose not.” Barnaby stood up and the two men left. He had the feeling things were going well so far. Whether this would continue when Sally and Troy actually met, well...it was too soon to tell.

#sherlock #midsomer murders #mystrade #tom x joyce #fanfic #fanfiction #greg lestrade #tom barnaby #gavin troy #my au: in our neck of the woods #Multipart: Every English Village Has Its Secrets

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pennywaltzy · 6 years

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Every English Village Has Its Secrets (2/? - An “In Our Neck Of The Woods” Story)

And this was another one I had planned on doing for WIP Big Bang that I ended up dropping today. I have two new chapters so here’s one today and you’ll get the second tomorrow!

Read Chapter 1 | Read Chapter 2 | Commission Me? | Buy Me A Coffee?

He pulled up to the lodgings Mycroft had mentioned after sorting out a few things with his wife, knowing full well unless she was taking her newest lover out of town they’d probably end up in his home now, and picking out some clothing and the essentials and a book for good measure. The one he was reading now was meant for uni students but he had wanted to learn more about the sciences and see if he could ever wrap his head around the way Sherlock’s mind worked. Most of it made little to no sense, but some of it he understood, which he felt was at least a promising start.

Some things had changed a lot since uni, he thought as he got out of the car and looked at the lodgings, realizing it looked very familiar. So apparently, some things had not.

He built a place for himself that was like my mum’s place, Lestrade thought with a warm smile. Oh, he was sure inside it would be more upscale than his mother’s home, God rest her soul, could ever have hoped to be, but it brought about good memories of a time he sorely missed.

He wondered if Mycroft knew the basis of this place was in his possession now. His wife hated it because it was so far from London, but he’d loved the place she’d retired to when he went into uni. Apparently, Mycroft had too.

He went to the front door and found it unlocked and so he let himself in. To his surprise, it wasn’t nearly as posh as he had expected it to be. A little unlived in, sure, but he knew Mycroft still spent more time in his dungeon office than he did anywhere else. This place being unlived in was expected. “Hello?” he called out.

“In the kitchen, Gregory,” Mycroft called back.

If the layout was the same he knew exactly how to get there, could even count the steps, and he was pleasantly surprised to find the kitchen looked damn near the same as his mum’s. “She would have loved this, you know. She always did like you more than Maureen.”

“Your mother was a woman ahead of her time,” Mycroft said with a fond smile.

“That she was,” Greg agreed with a nod. He could smell something cooking and tilted his head as he looked at Mycroft. “Am I expected to eat all of that delicious smelling stew or are you going to simply watch?”

“We’ll share the stew, but the bread is all yours,” he said. “Fresh from the baker, among one of the last loaves made today. I figured a good crusty sourdough would pair well.”

“For a man who didn’t seem to like food you always knew a lot about what went well,” Lestrade said. Oh, he knew the truth; Mycroft wasn’t as thin and slender as he was now during their time together, having dropped a few stone as the years went by, but he remembered he had always loved to help his mum cook. “And we don’t have to continue that line of thought if you don’t want to.”

“Much appreciated,” Mycroft said quietly. He went back to the stove to stir the stew. “Don’t breathe a word to my assistant that I do actually eat real food.”

“What’s her name? Amanda? Aretha?”

“Andrea, but she is to be called Anthea in public,” he said. “Though I suppose she’s still a little green she’s an enormous asset. I may take her off her duty of monitoring Sherlock’s movements to spend more time with me in meetings. She gives invaluable advice. She picked up the secret language rather quickly.”

“Well, so did I,” he pointed out.

“I had much enjoyment teaching it to you,” Mycroft said.

Lestrade found the tiniest blush on his cheeks, remembering just how he had been rewarded when he had done well. “Are you expecting similar things to happen now? I know you know about my situation.”

Mycroft shook his head. “As much as I might enjoy it, you made a vow to...her, and even if she can’t remember the similar ones she made in return you will not break yours, no matter how much you may want to.” Mycroft was oddly quiet as he said that last part, as though he wasn’t sure there was truth to what he was saying.

Greg moved over and turned Mycroft’s face towards him. “I do still care. It didn’t end badly, or as badly as it could have, it just ended. And perhaps, in time, things will be better.”

“Between you and her?” Mycroft asked.

“Between you and I,” he replied. “I only stay with her for my daughter, and she’s old enough to understand her mother doesn’t love her father and her father has loved men and women in his past.” For a moment he cradled Mycroft’s cheek in his hand. “She’d probably like you to boot.”

Mycroft just for a moment let himself shut his eyes and stand there, a small smile on his face. “So, there may be hope?” he asked.

“There may be,” Lestrade said. “Now just isn’t the time.”

“I understand, Gregory.” He lifted his head up and moved away from Lestrade’s palm, but the smile still stayed. At least it was all out in the open now, and he found himself meaning every word he had said. His heart had never stopped loving Mycroft, and while he’d had room for more people as years passed, he knew he had made a mistake in his marriage. When there was a chance, he would leave, once he knew he stood a good chance of getting custody of Eileen.

Until then, they simply had to wait, and he knew Mycroft would, and for some reason that made him immeasurably happy.

#sherlock #midsomer murders #mystrade #greg lestrade #mycroft holmes #mycroft x lestrade #multipart: every english village has its secrets #my au: in our neck of the woods

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