The Science of Starting Again//Book Five

Chapter 8~ Lost Girl

Lestrade's P.O.V

Her hands would not stop shaking. Although she tried to control it, her alcohol always managed to find a way over the lip of the glass, dribbling down the side and dripping onto the table. I frowned, watching as my best friend tried to drink her nerves away when all it did was make it worse. It was so strange to see, difficult to swallow. What had happened to the woman who was so cool and collected, who nearly always had perfect control of her life? What happened to that woman who could shoot a gun with a steady hand or could run as fast as the wind? Where had her laugh gone, the light in her eyes? Where was her spark? I couldn't help but wince at that thought. I think that was the hardest thing to take in: her lack of child-like spark. I think the alcoholism would've been more bearable had she still been her, but now...

"I didn't mean to get you into danger, Greg," Teddy whispered, setting her drink down. I nodded, running a hand through my dark silver hair.

"It's okay," I lied.

"No it isn't."

"Yeah, you're right, it isn't," I admitted with a sigh, rubbing my face. Teddy stared down at the table, a fixed expression of pain and guilt etched into her face. It was hard to read her like this. I was so used to her being happy, singing along to songs at work or cracking jokes about my age. Even when she was stressed or sad I could read her a bit better, understand a little how she was feeling. This was different though. She was going through something I couldn't understand. Just because I couldn't understand it, though, doesn't mean I didn't want to.

"Teddy-" I began, but she shook her head, clenching her fists.

"Please don't ask me that," she mumbled.

"I haven't asked you anything yet."

"But I know what you're going to say. You're gonna ask me to talk to you, to open up and tell you what's going on up here," she replied, pointing at her head with one long, pale finger. "I just can't, Lestrade. It's... it's too difficult."

"But they say it helps," I told her. "Teddy, you can't keep this all locked up inside."

"Sherlock can, why can't I?" She said with a raised eyebrow, picking up her drink again. I watched her drink, eyebrows furrowed together in disapproval.

"Sherlock can because he's Sherlock. You're you. You're Teddy, and obviously whatever you're dealing with is causing you a lot of pain. I mean, the drinking..."

"Don't start with that again, Lestrade," Teddy replied, face growing dark. I bit my lip, pulling back slightly.

You can't keep slinking back whenever she snaps, a small voice in my head said. You keep doing that then she's not going to get better. She needs a wake-up from someone. If you're really her friend, you'd tell her that what she's doing to try and cope with her pain is wrong, no matter the consequences.

"Teddy-"

"Stop it, Lestrade. Let me drink in peace," Teddy muttered. I growled, glaring at her.

"No." I said, before I reached over and snatched the drink from her hand. With a startled yell Teddy stared at me as if I had gone mad, watching as I walked towards the bar with her half-empty drink.

"Lestrade, this isn't funny!" She cried, but I ignored her protests. Slamming the drink onto the counter I made eye contact with the bartender, pointing towards Teddy.

"If that woman ever sets foot into this pub again, don't serve her alcohol. She's an alcoholic who's days of drinking are now over. Pass the message along to any other pubs in the area if you can. Teddy Holmes, that's her name," I told her. She nodded numbly, peering over my shoulder to where a fuming Teddy was standing, her small but angry frame making her way towards me.