*** Author's Note ***
Towel Day Prompt: "...any man who can hitch the length and breadth of the Galaxy, rough it, slum it, struggle against terrible odds, win through and still know where his towel is, is clearly a man to be reckoned with." ― Douglas Adams, The Ultimate Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
He's seen a lot of things. A lot of things. Absurd things. Not just weird, but truly bizarre things. Peculiar, in the best possible way, things. Nauseatingly horrifying things. The most awe inspiring beautiful things, and the most unspeakably hideous things. He's seen the very best and the very worst of what the universe, in all her multidimensional, unpredictable, yet somehow easily manipulated glory has to offer (and a few things he had to take by force as well).
She's a fickle bitch and it's been grand, this flirtation they've had.
But every man has his breaking point. The one thing his mind cannot conceivably wrap itself around. The thing that brings him to his knees, and not in the way one would hope to be brought to one's knees.
He's lived his whole life - longer than anyone would ever assume just by looking at him - letting the illogical nature of a universe full of beings contending with each other over things that don't matter guide him. If something feels good, he does it. If it doesn't, well, he might try it a little first just to be sure, but then if it really doesn't feel good, fuck it.
He's hitchhiked across the galaxy and back more times than he can count, wandered through portals to dimensions beyond imagination, but apparently Greg Lestrade's breaking point is seeing Sherlock Holmes, the one most logical being he's ever encountered, hovering above Baker Street as if human flight were the most ordinary, everyday occurrence (he visited the Earth where it was once - those people were freaks. A shame it's gone, that was a very good time).
Greg's seen Sherlock, and John, flying. Which means John knows about Arthur. Damn. The spacecraft in the park can only belong to one man. Zark,* what an arse. And the Vogons and Grebulons are currently in orbit. He's been expecting this day, he's just not prepared for. He's also not prepared, though he's not surprised at all, when he wakes after his little spell for the first face he sees.
"Ford, is it? Ford Prefect." Greg rubs his hazy eyes with the heels of his hands. He's very uncomfortably sprawled on a very uncomfortable couch, which means those idiots managed to at least get him inside 221b.
Ford nods. He waits for Greg to move his hands and then starts prodding his face. Greg sighs and lets him go. These blokes from Betelgeuse Five are odd. Best not to make any sudden movements, as he's just as likely to think he's being hit on, or about to be murdered. Nothing in between. Always extremes.
He glances over and spots Zaphod passed out in John's chair. Well, one of his heads and two of his arms seem dead to the world at least. Both legs, the far right arm and the left head seem a bit twitchy. He can smell the turpentine and can only guess. It's probably just good he's not dead.
And Mycroft's slumped in Sherlock's chair.
Someone's been busy.
"I do know you, don't I?" Ford sits on the coffee table and gives him room to sit up. "You travelled with those gypsies…"
"Hey! That's offensive. They are intergalactic nomads. Have some tact." Greg huffs and they stare at each other a moment before they both laugh. "You should've seen your face."
"Knew it. You're…"
"I'm called Greg here. Greg Lestrade." He tilts his head toward John And Sherlock, both hovering nearby with matching looks of shock on their faces. Ford nods in understanding (he wasn't always called Ford Prefect, but Earthlings do so love to give things names).
Ford leans in. "So you were at…"
Greg's grin is the definition of cheeky. "With that girl…"
"And she…"
"In the thing…"
"And you…?"
"Oh yes." Greg wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.
"And that time on Betelgeuse Three, you were hitching with that band who played my uncle's wedding."
"Man, I don't remember much from Betelgeuse Three." Shrugging, Greg holds his palms up.
"You did that thing with those twins?" Ford supplies. "Damn. Those twins."
"Oh, that time on Betelgeuse Three." Greg laughs. "No, I definitely remember that."
"I'm sorry, I don't understand what's happening here." John - or is it what's his name? - glances between Greg and Ford.
It looks like John. But he's flying… well, hovering. Greg's never seen John do that. "Oh hey, uhm…"
"Arthur," Ford is happy to supply.
Greg nods his thanks. "Arthur. I see you've been activated. That's terrible, just because of, you know," he points up, "impending doom. Sorry about John, Sherlock, Mycroft didn't see any other way."
"Greg, it's me, John." He shrugs. "Actually, we're both in here."
"And what do you mean, 'sorry about John'?" Sherlock demands as he looms ever nearer.
"Look, they weren't sure how the device would work." Greg sighs. "When the time came, the beacon was supposed to alert the Vogons and Grebulons, as well as summon Zaphod back here. It's designed to protect the Keeper of the Knowledge at all costs, so while dormant, they gave him a soldier's mind to keep him alive."
"We already know all of this!" Sherlock pulls John… Arthur?... Greg has no idea… close and wraps a protective arm around him. That's new. "What did you mean?"
"The Vogons aren't interested in John at all, so when the device activated, it was supposed to completely override the system. Like a new software update, deleting the outdated bits." He smiles apologetically at… John, yeah that's John… and exhales slowly.
"We must've shorted something out with the laser drill." Ford actually looks relieved.
"How the fuck did you get a laser drill into a plural sector?" Greg looks truly impressed.
"Random is very protective of her weapons."
"Random... I knew a girl once..." Greg shakes his head. "Never mind. The device. They programmed it to keep certain aspects of John's combat training, but nothing else." He looks from John to Sherlock (who is seething) to Ford. "If Arthur is activated, the John Watson Protocol should have been deleted. It's obsolete."
"What?" Sherlock roars as he lunges toward Greg. John stops him. Barely.
"Sherlock, we knew this was something terrible. But that isn't what happened. I'm still here." John pulls Sherlock back to face him and reaches up to cup his jaw. "I'm here." Sherlock nods and rests his forehead against John's.
"Finally got yourselves sorted, eh lads?" Greg's smile fades. "Bad luck, that. Considering."
"We've got a plan." John murmurs, still focusing on calming Sherlock.
"Yeah, well, so do the Grebulons." Greg cards his hand through his hair.
"We know about the…" Ford glances at John. "The device. The big boom."
"That's his plan," Greg nods to Mycroft. "I hitched a ride with the Grebulons back before they tried to erase the Earth. Thought a race of people whose cryostasis had failed and were on their way to a war that wasn't scheduled to happen for a few decades might be a pretty trippy ride."
"Of course," Ford nods in agreement. "Damn Guide Mark II and that damn temporal reverse engineering. Caused no end of issues."
"Exactly. Having access to all the potential dimensions made typically peaceful people war hungry. And the Grebulons are spoiling for a fight." With a sigh Greg stands and stretches. "Once they get ahold of the Keeper of the Knowledge, they plan on starting a war with the Vogons, and destroying the earth anyway."
"How do you know all this? You've been here," Sherlock turns to face him and motions broadly to the flat. "How could you possibly know what the Grebulons," he struggles with admitting the truth of an alien race, "are going to do?"
"They trusted me." Greg shrugs. "Even when I bailed on them, stowed away on that Tricia girl's transport, and came to Earth… Went to that Earth? Whatever. They kept contact. Wanted me to be a spy." He pulls a device from his pocket that looks straight out of a 1960s Earth sci-fi space drama. "Especially after the Treaty was signed. Mycroft's people found me, asked me to guard the Keeper of the Knowledge and the Official Time Tracker." He winks at Sherlock. "That's you, mister bee expert."
"So… So wait." John frowns. "Do you work for the Grebulons or the Treaty Council?"
"Yes."
"You're in it for the money." Ford stands and claps him on the back. "Playing them against each other. Brilliant."
"Yeah, I'm really just in it to keep from being bored. The money helps. And chasing after these two," Greg point to Sherlock and John with his thumb, "has been anything but boring." He turns to John. "So, what's the plan? I'm down for anything and ready to get off this rock."
Greg Lestrade has seen a great many things. Been a great many places. Has learned to always be prepared.
He isn't prepared for the flat door to swing open. Rosie enters, assisting Mrs. Hudson on her sore hip. Behind them is Random carrying a tea tray with fresh, undrugged tea, and sandwiches.
"Well!" Greg laughs with surprise. "I never expected…"
"You!" Screams Random. She throws a tea cup at Greg's head before lunging at him.
*** A/N ***
Zark is a curseword Ford uses throughout the HGTTG series.
Temporal reverse engineering is referenced in "Mostly Harmless." It's the technology used for the newest version of The Guide, or The Guide Mark II, to let people see unlimited potential information. It also allowed the conglomorate that financed The Guide to make only one copy of The Guide, but sell it limitless times. And allowed the Vogons to figure out a way to destroy all the Earths, which the Grebulons did.
One Earth's Tricia McMillan, not the one who eventually became known as Trillian (who is also Random's mother), actually faked a horscope for the Grebulon leader, triggering the events that lead to the destruction of all the Earths.
Random is an angry woman. She throws things and has scary weapons.
Wow. Any other questions? Just ask.