This is highly unexpected: it more than shows in Lestrade's expression as he follows the urging and looks to brace himself. Ship, then. A very legitimate ship full of very legitimate sailors and legitimate piracy... and legitimately impossible facial hair, but that's a very back-burner detail being noted.
(Approaching Sanji in the street in the middle of the day. Great idea, Greg, looks like that's working out about as well as the last time you tried it.
Christ, they've got to stop meeting like this.)
He lets his eyes wander a bit numbly for a few moments and doesn't bother asking how this happened (if he waited on a how half of anything happened to him anymore, he'd never leave his flat), instead putting his focus on the other people in the picture for the most part; because if they've noticed two blokes in suits suddenly popping in on their little pillage, they're damn good at keeping it to themselves. Not that he's about to try drawing any attention to the fact himself, quite frankly.
There's a quick look to Sanji when his grip tightens, and a frown- bad sign? The boy bursting out of the galley is confirmation enough of that, scrawny and yellow-haired and familiarly curly-eyebrowed and wielding a bloody pair of kitchen knives, and Lestrade promptly comes to the conclusion that he doesn't quite like where this is going. That would be around where he reflexively makes to step forward, actually, only to stop the movement halfway and turn to his latest traveling companion. Prepare to be hissed at, Sanji, as gentlemen do. ]
What is this? Do you know? [ Benefit of the doubt, innocent until proven guilty. He can always scrape up a bit to give, for all that forming his own conclusions is well underway. Can we do anything, do you know, is the bigger unspoken question. ]
action; asfjdlafkadfl. THAT IS ALL.
This is highly unexpected: it more than shows in Lestrade's expression as he follows the urging and looks to brace himself. Ship, then. A very legitimate ship full of very legitimate sailors and legitimate piracy... and legitimately impossible facial hair, but that's a very back-burner detail being noted.
(Approaching Sanji in the street in the middle of the day. Great idea, Greg, looks like that's working out about as well as the last time you tried it.
Christ, they've got to stop meeting like this.)
He lets his eyes wander a bit numbly for a few moments and doesn't bother asking how this happened (if he waited on a how half of anything happened to him anymore, he'd never leave his flat), instead putting his focus on the other people in the picture for the most part; because if they've noticed two blokes in suits suddenly popping in on their little pillage, they're damn good at keeping it to themselves. Not that he's about to try drawing any attention to the fact himself, quite frankly.
There's a quick look to Sanji when his grip tightens, and a frown- bad sign? The boy bursting out of the galley is confirmation enough of that, scrawny and yellow-haired and familiarly curly-eyebrowed and wielding a bloody pair of kitchen knives, and Lestrade promptly comes to the conclusion that he doesn't quite like where this is going. That would be around where he reflexively makes to step forward, actually, only to stop the movement halfway and turn to his latest traveling companion. Prepare to be hissed at, Sanji, as gentlemen do. ]
What is this? Do you know? [ Benefit of the doubt, innocent until proven guilty. He can always scrape up a bit to give, for all that forming his own conclusions is well underway. Can we do anything, do you know, is the bigger unspoken question. ]