AN: I was going to write this as a one-shot but it wasn't working for me. It will probably just end up with 3 chps at the most. And I will finish it before Xmas! This is my first time writing Pre-John Sherlock and Paternal!Lestrade so let me know your thoughts on it!

Disclaimer: I own nothing

Greg's phone buzzed violently at him from its place on the kitchen table. He was thankful for the interruption. He and his wife, Emily, were attempting to play the role of "loving couple/parents on Christmas eve" and failing miserably at it.

She was sitting on the living room, surrounded by gifts that she was wrapping. Greg was meant to be taking care of them, but he was working on a report from a botched stake-out that had to be finished. Crime never rests, so he couldn't either.

He didn't need to see the glares Emily kept shooting towards his turned back to know she was angry. He couldn't say he blamed her, but he'd have thought she'd grown accustom to his work habits by now. The buzz cut through the tense silence of the flat and he answered it with such swiftness it suggested desperation.

"DI Lestrade speaking." He greeted, causing his wife to glance up in something akin to resignation. If it was a work call she knew she couldn't keep him there.

There was a pause on the other end, in which he heard a clamor of muffled voices before an all too familiar smooth baritone answered "Ah, wasn't sure I'd reach you. Glad I did though, seeing as I only get one phone call in here."

Greg couldn't stop a growl of frustration from escaping his throat at the words. "Sherlock? What's going on? Are you alright?" he inquired, moving from the kitchen into their bedroom and closing the door.

"I'm perfectly fine Inspector, save for the fact that one of your idiotic colleagues locked me up nearly an hour ago for helping them solve a double homicide." Sherlock sneered in response.

Greg took a calming breath and ran his free hand over his eyes. Of course Sherlock had to go poking around crime scene on Christmas Eve.

"Well it shouldn't come as a surprise to you. It's not normal for Uni age kids to show up on crime scenes and insist on solving the murders themselves. No one else knows who you are Sherlock."

"I'm aware of that Inspector. And I didn't intend to solve it on my own, though I'm quite capable of doing so. I simply wanted to give them a tip in the right direction. I told them to contact you to verify my credentials, but they refused." Sherlock responded smoothly.

"You don't have any credentials Sherlock! For god's sake..." Greg trailed off in exasperation and wondered how someone could be so brilliant and also so naïve.

"You can't go poking around crime scenes without permission. And no one is going to give you that permission except for me. And that's only on occasion, alright?"

There was a long silence on the other end and Greg was beginning to wonder if Sherlock had hung up on him. Finally, in a surprisingly soft tone Sherlock spoke.

"You're quite right. I'll focus my attention on consulting in private matters in the future."

Greg let out a gentle sigh of relief and smiled to himself, pleased that he managed to get through to Sherlock. "Good. I'm assuming you need me to come get you then?" he offers, knowing Sherlock would loathe having to ask himself.

"If you'd be so kind." Is all Sherlock says, but Greg can detect the hint of relief and gratitude within his voice. He wonders if Sherlock really thought that he would leave him there overnight.

"Right. Be there in a few minutes. And stay out of trouble 'til I get there. No deducing the guard's secret romance or anything, alright?" He says, already digging into his drawer for a clean pair of socks.

"Too late." Sherlock mumbles into the receiver and then it clicks off.

Greg mutters a few choice words under his breath, wondering what sort of bullshit he'll have to put up with from the guards to get Sherlock out of there. Not to mention the politics with the arresting officer. He suspects that this arrest isn't as much about Sherlock's antics as it is about turfs wars. He knows there are a few newly promoted DI's trying to make names for themselves. Especially Bradstreet and Gregson.

"Who was that, hon?" Emily inquired as he came back into the sitting room. The pet-name is more of a habit than an endearment.

"You know the kid I've told you about that shows up on crime scenes and gives us tips?" he says, shutting down his laptop.

Emily paused in her wrapping for a moment before giving a derisory smile "What the junkie?" she inquires.

Greg winces just slightly at her response, but nods in agreement. Partially because he doesn't want to start a fight and partially because it's, unfortunately, true.

"Yeah. Apparently he showed up at a crime scene earlier this evening and got himself locked up for interfering. He needs me to go and fetch him." Greg explained, already donning his coat.

A scowl formed quickly upon Emily's face "But Greg, its Christmas Eve." She protests, gesturing to the scattered gifts and paper on the floor.

He nods resolutely and argues "All the more reason he shouldn't spend the night in a cell."

He began winding his scarf about his neck and Emily threw her hands in the air, saying "Fine. It's not like you've ever listened to me anyway. Why start now?"

Greg blew out a sharp breath threw his nose, attempting to calm his rising ire and placated "I'll be back in under an hour alright? Promise. I'll help finish up the gifts for the kids and it'll be as though nothing ever happened."

Emily snorted and said "Sure. I've heard that before. 'Just an hour' then when you finally show up sometime the next morning you're so damn tired you just collapse."

Greg opens his mouth to protest but Emily halts him with a sharp wave of her hand. "Just go." She says, turning her back and continuing with her work.

Greg hesitates for a moment, hand on the door knob. He knows he should say something, but words fail him. So instead he just exits the flat.

Emily is going to kill him. Greg knows it as surely as if she was holding a loaded gun to his head. "But it's not as if I can do anything different" he thinks to himself as he leads Sherlock up the stairs to his flat.

He had very little trouble getting Sherlock out to his surprise. The guards couldn't wait to get rid of him. Even his cell-mate, a serial arsonist, was unnerved by him. When he led Sherlock out to his care and asked him where home was Sherlock answered with an address in a part of town so bad Lestrade refused to take him back there.

"You can't seriously live there!" he'd protested. Somehow he'd always imagined Sherlock in an upscale neighborhood.

Sherlock had shrugged in response and said "It's the only place I can afford on my own."

"But don't you have a brother?" Greg protested.

A subtle snarl formed on Sherlock lips as he answered "I have no need for his charity." And he refused to say anymore on the matter.

So, Greg felt he had no choice but to take Sherlock home with him. He could sleep on the couch and in the morning Sherlock could catch a cab to him parent's house.

Still, as he unlocked his door, he wondered what had possessed him to do so. He barely knew Sherlock, beyond the four cases he'd helped to solve. He hadn't even known him a full year, and know he was going to spend Christmas Eve with him. This would be good.

Writing is my division, reviewing is yours!