Meeting the Holmes, a sherlock fanfic

AN: I love Sherlock, but this is something that kind of hit me. Like a writing bug of sorts. Hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: I don't own BBC Sherlock or the glorious Sherlock Holmes

The first time that Detective Inspector Lestrade had met Sherlock Holmes was in what could only be described as a repugnant back alley watching as two more than shady characters made a deal. It had only been a few weeks out of the academy and though it wasn't the first drug deal he had seen go down it was certainly the strangest. Watching a 16 year old debate the current market rate of diacetylmorphine with someone who looked like he couldn't even spell the word 'cat' on a good day was about as interesting as it gets.

He and his partner quickly broke up the meeting before the kid could get beaten into a bloody pulp and dragged both back to the yard. He had only sat down about a minute before he got called off to some meeting with his boss. He had stupidly left Sherlock locked to the chair before sweeping out of the room. How much trouble could one handcuffed boy get into in 5 minutes.

When he returned to the room he had discovered empty handcuffs and a case file on his desk where there hadn't been one there before. The case file was a week old murder that one of his colleagues had left on their desk. It was a middle aged woman who had been found strangled on her bed. The woman's husband had been arrested and the case closed, but Lestrade had noticed something off about the case.

It seemed that Sherlock had noticed something too, because on the top of the case file was a note:

It wasn't the husband.

Check her safety deposit box.

The second time had been more of a glimpse in the crowd of people watching as he released the husband of the murder victim from jail. They caught the bank teller red handed with the deposit box key and murder weapon still in her flat.

He had only seen a flash of the face before he felt something drop into his pocket.

You're welcome.

He didn't see him for quite awhile after that. Lestrade always imagined he saw the face in the crowds of London. He was once positive he saw the face sitting next to some homeless people asking for change, but when he looked back the mysterious boy was gone.

Lestrade was even once walking down the street to his apartment fondling a very important piece of jewelry when he felt someone brush by. He hadn't been pick pocketed since he become a police officer, but this had felt very much like that.

Do it.

She's the best chance you've got.

It was three months after his engagement when he saw Sherlock next. An entire year passed since the grungy alley. It was probably the worst state he had ever seen Sherlock in.

The drug dealer's house that they were raiding was a particularly grimy one. The walls and floors all needed a good washing, or demolishing, and he had seen better furniture in a garbage heap. It was the last place he thought he would find the strangely well-kept boy who solved a murder, but there he was.

The boy was doped out of his mind lying on a couch that more bacteria in it than yogurt.

"Officer Lestrade, how nice to see you in these parts of town. I meant to congratulate you on your engagement. Well done, old buddy." The boy gave a lurch off the couch. "I don't think I ever introduced myself before, Sherlock Holmes, at your service."

The newly christened Sherlock then did a kind of wobbly tumble that Lestrade guessed was supposed to be a bow, but would have been more of an introduction of Sherlock's face to the ground if Lestrade hadn't caught him.

"Sherlock, please put your hands behind your back." Lestrade grumbled. He moved quickly and cuffed the swaying boy. He got Sherlock into the back of his car before the boy could fall down anymore times.

The ride back was longer than any that Lestrade had ever dealt with before. The babbling of the drugged up boy was difficult to understand, but when he pointed out a robbery in progress Lestrade had to call for back up. By the time they got to their destination they had stopped 2 robberies and 5 pick pockets.

Lestrade had learned from their first confrontation though and made sure that when he locked Sherlock to his desk someone was watching. It was unfortunate timing when he had to report the nights events to the chief and Sherlock was still at his desk, but there was no alternative.

He spoke as quickly and precisely as he had ever done and finished in close to 10 minutes, but when he returned to his desk he wasn't surprised to find the boy missing. Luckily enough, the boy hadn't even gotten to the next desk before he collapsed. Lestrade found him a desk over looking over a case file, with a pen crossing out things.

He grabbed the boy and quickly tossed him into a cell before the boy could run away again.

He moved back to his desk, but picked up the case file that Sherlock had been working on. Scribbled in the corner of the paper that had a list of suspects names was an unfinished note. Every single name had been crossed out except one which had been circled.

It's a wonder you ever get the right guy. Your brains are too small to function...

Lestrade must have pulled him away in the middle of writing it. He rubbed his eyes and sighed.

The first time that Detective Inspector Lestrade had met Mycroft Holmes was only an hour after he had arrested the man's delinquent younger brother in a raid. He had barely started on the paperwork for the night when the young man strolled into the room. He could have only been in his mid-twenties, but looked much older. The suit he was wearing was slightly crumpled and assistant that scurried after him looked more than a little haggard.

"Are you the one responsible for my brother?" The business man almost scowled down at him. Lestrade knew from the instant he saw him that the man was not to be trifled with lightly.

"I'm sorry I don't know who you are and since I haven't called any next of kin for anyone I'm more than a little confused."

"My name is Mycroft Holmes and I was informed that you were holding my brother in this pigsty of a jail. I request that he be released. I have money for bail if that is required." He motioned to the nervous assistant behind him.

"Do you understand that your brother has been arrested for drug possession correct?" Lestrade asked the annoyed man.

"Of course. What else could he possibly be here for?" He almost looked sad for a moment, but Lestrade couldn't be certain it wasn't just a flicker of the lights it was gone so quickly.

"I'll show you to him."

Lestrade lead the posh man to the jail cells and was more than surprised when the boy he knew jumped from the bunk.

"Mycroft. I have something for you." He smiled as his seemed to search himself for something. He grinned widely when he pulled out a small bag filled with white powder. Lestrade's eyes widened as he saw Mycroft pluck it from his brother's hands and give it to Lestrade. Sherlock frowned as he watched it return to the policeman. "I thought you would like it."

"Sherlock, we have discussed this before." He shook his head as he said this. "Now, when can you release him?"

Lestrade threw off the surprise and took the bossy man back upstairs. It took more than a few forms to sign, but Sherlock was released that night. Lestrade watched them go with a kind of shock on his face. The two were very different people, but Mycroft certainly seemed to care about his younger brother if the way he threw his jacket over the shivering boy was any indication. Lestrade heard a whisper as he was leaving that gave him pause.

"I was just so bored, Mycroft. So bored."

Lestrade got home late that night and his wife had already been asleep by that time, but they had a kind of tradition about these nights. He got comfortable and headed to the kitchen where his leftovers from dinner would be waiting in the oven. He saw the note on the counter she left for him.

Beloved G,

Someone delivered this today for you.

Love you.

Lestrade picked up the envelope next to it carefully. It never hurt to be too suspicious.

Thank you for taking care of him.

It was a couple years before he ever saw the two of them again, but it came with a bang. Lestrade never knew who invented texting, but it could only have been done to piss him off. The little notes that he had always got from Sherlock started to appearing full force in text messages. They always came from different phone numbers and were never about the same thing, but it always had to do with a murder.

Sherlock helped with the first serial murder he ever had to take on as an Inspector and did such a fantastic job of it Lestrade couldn't think of any reason not to consult him occasionally. The problem always came when he handed the case file to Sherlock, because as much as he didn't want to he always noticed the flash of bliss that crossed his face.

Sherlock had changed from the boy he once knew, but one thing never really changed. Sherlock was still the consummate addict, he just switched his drug of choice.

The last time he had seen Mycroft Holmes was the night after he had hired Sherlock as a consulting detective for the first time. He had been relaxing in his home, he had gotten off earlier than normal which was unusual, but a knock at the door was even more so. He answered it to find Mycroft standing there leaning on an umbrella with what could only be described as bodyguards standing around the big black car in his street.

"Mister Holmes. It's been awhile since we last met and I was wondering how you knew where I lived." Lestrade exited the door and closed it behind him, business belonged outside of the house.

"My job is information, Inspector. I would like to make a request. I know it is unusual to inform relatives about incarcerations if the person has not requested it, but I would like to be informed about Sherlock's adventures."

"It seemed to me that you were close friends after you got him out of jail."

"Despite what you may have thought about my relationship with my brother I am positive you got it wrong. The only time me and my brother have ever gotten along was when he was on drugs. I know that he will not tell me himself, but I worry about him." Once again Lestrade saw that flash of sadness. "He is attracted to the adventures of legwork and I cannot convince him of the advantages of desk work. I know my brother will get himself into more than one tumble, but I would like to be informed if he has any brushes with death."

"I somehow get the feeling that you will be watching him anyway." Lestrade stated.

"No surveillance is perfect and my brother has more than adaquate means of preventing me from getting the knowledge I want. All I'm asking for is a call every time he gets himself into something he can't get out of." Lestrade thought for a second and then nodded. The man wasted no more time than to stalk back to his car.

"He's lucky to have a brother like you watching out for him." Lestrade said suddenly.

"I'm quite sure he doesn't see it that way." Mycroft was gone within the next minute.

Lestrade entered the house again and was just getting comfortable on the couch when the news started talking about the death of a woman through what appeared to be a wild animal. Lestrade only had the time to sigh audibly before he heard the ringing of the house phone and the ping of his cellphone informing him of a new message. He knew a night off was too much to ask for. He only glanced at the message before putting on his work clothes, kissing his wife, and running out the door.

You know where to find me.