"What are you doing here?" Lestrade jerked upright, startled out of the half-dozing state he had slipped into at some point during the night. Attempting to blink the sleep from sandpaper-thick eyelids and stifle a yawn at the same time, Lestrade looked around, for a brief second not entirely sure where he was or why he was there.

His gaze fell on the figure in the bed, now awake, sitting up, and fixing him with a glare that might have been intimidating under the right circumstances. Coming from this pale, stick-thin man-child who had just woken up from a near overdose, it was more than a little pathetic.

"Hospital called me," Lestrade told the boy warily. He had had time enough yesterday evening-and last night-to place him. "My number-"

"Was in my cell." The boy interrupted. "Shut up. It's obvious enough how you got here, but why? Why are you here?"

Lestrade stared at the boy. "Not really the type to just ignore a call that someone's in hospital, I guess," he finally said, "even if I don't have a clue who they are."

The boy rolled his eyes. "Sentimental of you." He made the comment sound like an insult. "Why are you still here?"

"No one else ever came." He said. "Couldn't just leave, could I?"

The boy glared at him. "I'm not a child." He informed Lestrade haughtily. "I don't need looking after."

Lestrade felt his eyebrows inch upward, but refrained from disagreeing with the boy aloud. Instead he shrugged. "Anyway, I needed a break from the office. Maybe you were just an excuse?"

"Liar." The attempt at making peace failed. "You are tired, and stressed, and nearly at the end of your wit, not that it would take much for you to reach that point, but you are far too stubborn and suffer from far too much misguided loyalty to your job to make up ridiculous excuses to get away from it, so why are you really here?"

"Don't do that." Lestrade snapped, then caught himself. "I don't know," he admitted, "I didn't want to leave with no one else here."

"And I suppose I should be grateful?" The boy demanded, and Lestrade blinked, surprised at the amount of hostility and contempt once again being sent his way by someone he barely new.

He shrugged, trying to decide how to proceed. "If you like." He replied, keeping his voice casual. "Did it for me rather than you, I guess. I don't even know your name, after all. I can go, if you want."

The boy sniffed. "Why would I care whether you go or stay?" He asked, trying and succeeding in sounding bored, of all things.

Lestrade shrugged again. "Don't suppose you would," he replied, leaning back in his seat. "Don't suppose you want to share how you got my number?" He asked.