Hey guys! So I'm starting a new Sherlock fix, what with the hype of tomorrow and series 3! :D basically, this will be following along with the trailers slightly, with the rest just coming from my own head.

All characters belong to the BBC, and so do any quotes in bold.

I really hope you enjoy this, please please review,rate and favourite, and a happy new year everyone! :)

Ps. I will get back to my Mortal Instruments fanfic soon, I promise

Thank you!

Lestrade POV

"Sherlocks not dead," Anderson said, delight filling his voice. "It's so obvious."

Anderson's words ran through Lestrade's head as he walked into Scotland Yard, holding a cup of coffee in one hand.

Climbing the steps to his floor, he walked into his office, shutting the door and sitting down. He had no desire to socialise with anyone at the minute.

Parting with Sherlocks stuff yesterday had been harder than he would have liked to admit.

Lestrade groaned and hit his desk with his hand. What was wrong with him? The bastard had been dead for two years and Lestrade still couldn't get over it.

Hearing a knock at his door, Lestrade sighed and went to answer it, groaning inwardly as Sally Donovan stepped into his office and took a seat.

After Sherlocks death, Lestrade had been demoted and Donovan had taken his place. Lestrade wouldn't have minded this that much, had it not been for her completely superior attitude.

"You met up with Anderson yesterday, I heard." She said.

"Yes," said Lestrade, rather defensively. What's it to you?"

At this, Donovan raised her eyebrows. "Lestrade, I wouldn't advise you to talk to me like that. Given your current...position."

"My goodness Sally, it was two years ago."

"It's Donovan or Detective Inspector to you. And it doesn't change the fact that you trusted a psychopath and a murderer with classified information. And you still believe in him, I can see it in your eyes."

"Sherlock Holmes was the real deal," said Lestrade quietly. "I don't care what the press say. Nothing will convince me otherwise."

Donovan sighed and rolled her eyes. "So how's Anderson doing?" She asked.

"Fine." Said Lestrade shortly.

"Still obsessing over Holmes?"

"Are we done now?" Asked Lestrade, quiet anger in his voice.

Donovan stood up and made towards the door. "We were good friends once, Greg. I wish you'd stop letting the likes of Sherlock Holmes come between that. Just ask yourself this, in the seven years you knew him, what did he ever do for you?"

With that, Donovan left, and Lestrade went and sat behind his desk, completely miserable. Sighing, he put his head in his hands, completely lost about what to do.

"Why did you have to do it Sherlock?" He whispered. "None of us even realised how much we needed you until you were gone."

-
Sherlock POV

Sherlock stood in an alleyway, leaning against a wall. He hadn't been out in public for two years now. Mainly because he was tracking down Moriarty's web, and also because he was still recent news for the majority of that time. He couldn't be recognised.

However, his time to come out of hiding would be drawing near soon, and he felt he could do with some fresh city air.

Currently he was in Germany, having travelled travelled around a large percentage of the world destroying his would be assassins. And thankfully, he was coming closer to home.
He had actually finished with Moriarty's web now, and was simply waiting for the right opportunity to return to London. Because even though he abhorred even the thought of sentiment, he missed his home.

Slipping out onto the street, he walked slowly-people in a rush were noticed more, and the last thing he needed was to draw attention to himself- and leisurely. He pulled his hat further over his face-which was thankfully not a deerstalker- and pulled his coat around himself.

Staring at one of the shops off to his left- a incredibly fancy shop that only the richest could afford- he noticed the private security guard standing outside the door. To any passer-by he would simply look like a normal man, waiting for a wife in the shop, considering the clothes he was wearing, but Sherlock knew better. Given his alert posture and the discreet but not invisible ear piece he was wearing, this was clearly a guard for someone in the shop. Sherlock raised his eyebrows, must be someone important then.

Having been in the process of making these deductions while walking, Sherlock didn't even notice where he was going into he crashed into a woman.

Sighing he stared at her impatiently. "Do watch where you're going he said shortly."

Turning back to the shop, he felt his entire being go cold as a man walked out of the shop, two security guards behind him, and the one at the door joining him.
Sherlock struggled to control his breathing again, attempting to turn around and walk away before he was spotted. As he turned, a single question occupied his mind. What was his brother doing in Germany.

He was nearly at a corner, ready to turn and disappear when someone spotted him and grabbed his shoulder. "Oi. Aren't you that Sherlock Holmes bloke from the tele?" The man asked. "Thought you was supposed to be dead or something."

Sherlock cursed his luck. Of course the one day he decided to venture into a city he is unfamiliar with would he the same day his brother is there, and some inarticulate fool who clearly couldn't even speak English properly, nevermind German.

Turning around, Sherlock gave the man a very dangerous glare. "If you desire to live out the remainder of your rather pathetic life, I suggest you leave. Now."

Looking up, Sherlocks breath caught when he say Mycroft looking up from the paper he had been reading to see the source of the commotion.

The brothers eyes met and it seemed like the entire square froze. Nothing else seemed to move as the two men stared at each other.

Mycrofts face seemed to be going through some nerve related problem, because go face changed about 10 times in 10 seconds. Sherlock recognised some of the emotions, but not all of them. There was surprise, confusion, anger and betrayal among them, but the rest were a mystery to Sherlock.

Before he could do anything to escape, a man was behind Sherlock with a gun pressed into the small of his back. Follow me. Sherlock couldn't help being mildly impressed as he let the man lead him through an alleyway towards a sleek black car, clearly belonging to Mycroft. So distracted was he by seeing his brother, he hadn't even noticed Mycroft send one of his men to stop Sherlock from escape. There was a small grin on Sherlocks face as he slid into the car. For all his brothers logic and intelligence, he still had thought his own little brother dead for two years. That much had been clear from his face.

A few minutes later, Mycroft slid into the car beside Sherlock but said nothing. He merely nodded at one of his men, and before Sherlock could do anything, he felt the familiar haze induced by drugs come over him, and he could only stare at the needle in his arm helplessly as his vision turned dark.