Disclaimer; everything you recognize is not mine in any way. All rights belong to the BBC, Moffat/Gatiss/Doyle and the rest.

"It is not flesh and blood but the heart which makes us fathers and sons." - Friedrich Johann Schiller

"Freak!"

Sherlock flinched internally at the name but kept his face smooth. When he was a child he had thought that when the name calling would end in his adult years if he just somehow survived school. But somehow bullying had invited itself to his adult life too. People said he didn't have emotions, but oh were they wrong. He just learned not to care. But this name, 'freak', hurt his feelings more than any and it threatened to show. It beat against his brain as he scratched impulsively at his arms, right where the track marks used to be. He had been clean for a year now. But it hurt too much. He wanted to feel numb, because numb was better than pain, he couldn't think with pain, he needed pain to stop, these childhood memories to go away.

Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade noticed him scratching at his arms. He leaned in close and made sure no other officers were watching before he whispered in the young mans ear;

"Sherlock, take a deep breath for me."

Sherlock growled.
"Lestrade-"

"Sherlock, take a deep breath and close your eyes."

Sherlock sighed and did as ordered.

"Alright, thank you. Now put your hands away. Quit scratching at yourself. Breath like me," he started breathing in and out slowly, showing the detective how it's done.

Sherlock copied the older mans breathing, forcing his hands off of his arms and resting them at his side.

Lestrade nodded.
"Better now?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and nodded.
"I'm fine. I was fine before. Why you forced me to calm down when I was already in a calm state is beyond me."

He stepped away from the Detective Inspector and raised his voice to address the officers around the body.

"The victim was an asthmatic, strangled by her attacker with a strong cotton fiber cloth, crushing the trachea and rendering her unable to breathe. The victim then fainted from lack of oxygen and died three minutes later. Her purse is missing but her inhaler is in her hands and there are clear signs of resistance. A mugging. No work of your 'serial killer' here. No need for me nor my deductions. Goodnight."

He turned with a swish of his dark coat and crossed the police tape. Lestrade had seen the look in his eye, the look of a sad bullied child who would retreat in a corner and cry. But crying was not Sherlock's usual coping mechanism. However, Lestrade knew what was. He was not going to let Sherlock slowly kill himself that way. Not again.
He turned to his team.

"Alrigh' guys! Wrap this up an' get back to the Yard! Donovan, you're in charge!"

Sally turned and rolled her eyes.
"There is no point in chasing after him. He will probably just go home and deplete from his 'non-existing' stash."

Lestrade nodded.
"That's exactly what I'm trying to prevent."

Donovan sighed as Lestrade ran under the police tape and chased down the young genius.

Sherlock was walking very slowly as if in deep thought.
And he was. He was elbow deep in his own misery, childhood memories threatening to form tears in his eyes. Donovan and Anderson always brought out the worst of the memories. He tried shoving them back in the dark rooms of his Mind Palace, forcing himself to be numb for the time being. It wasn't enough, not numb enough, he needed desperately to be numb, why, please-

Lestrade finally caught up with him.

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks and turned to face the detective inspector.
"I am in no state to be followed home. I suggest you turn back now."

Lestrade shook his head.
"Who says I'm following ya home? Maybe I'd like to take ya somewhere, huh? Did you ever think of that?"

Sherlock swallowed.
"What do you want?"

Lestrade shrugged.
"Would you care to join me for dinner? I don' know about you, but I'm positively starved."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.
"I don't want dinner."

Lestrade rolled his eyes.
"Surely you've not had anythin' since this morning?"

Sherlock scoffed an turned to walk off again.
"Goodnight, inspector."

Lestrade sighed.
"At least let me buy you coffee." he called out, hoping somehow this would get the young man to listen.

Sherlock stopped walking away but did not turn.

"...if you truly insist..."

Lestrade smiled.
"I do. C'mon. I know just the place."

Sherlock looked around the empty street before following the older man down the road to call a taxi.

They climbed in and Lestrade noticed how stiff Sherlock was, acting as if he were afraid to move, eyes closed as if he were blocking out the world. Lestrade guessed that if he did move that he would start lashing out and yelling, or perhaps even crying.

When they arrived Sherlock got out without a word and he and Lestrade entered the restaurant.
Sherlock froze in the doorway.

"I...forgot my wallet." he mumbled as if he just remembered this fact, almost embarrassed.

Lestrade shook his head and pulled out his own leather wallet.
"I'm buying, it's fine."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow but continued on until they were seated.

"Whatt'ya want?" Lestrade asked as he scanned the laminated paper in his hands.

Sherlock didn't even look down at his menu.
"Nothing looks good." he protested.

Lestrade shrugged.
"Well...I'm getting a burger 'n' cheese chips."

"What would your cardiologist say to that?"

Lestrade raised an eyebrow.
"Hmmm. You're right. Maybe not the chips then. And perhaps a salad instead of a burger."

The waitress came by and pulled out a notepad.
"What can I get ya?" she asked, her accent clearly Welsh.

Lestrade cleared his throat.
"One salad - no dressing, one mini burger, and two cups of coffee please."

The waitress smiled and left, leaving the two detectives alone.

"I thought you decided against the burger...?" Sherlock asked, eyebrow raised.

Lestrade sighed and ran a hand through his greying hair.
"Yeah. I did."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed.
"I told you I do not want anything."

"Actually, I believe you said 'Nothing looks good'. And if I recall correctly, you didn't even glance at the menu."

Sherlock looked away, knowing Lestrade just drove him into a trap. He would just have do deal with it. Lestrade was the one wasting his money, not him.

The waitress came back a few minutes later with the burger and salad in hand and distributed them accordingly before pouring coffee in two mugs.

Sherlock sneered at the food on his plate and put two sugars in his coffee while Lestrade started his salad.

"Why?"

Lestrade raised an eyebrow, lettuce sticking out of the corner of his mouth. He quickly swallowed and cleared his throat.
"'Why' what?"

Sherlock avoided eye contact with the older man as his hands started to shake and he started scratching at his arms again.

"Why are you doing this?" he almost whispered.

Lestrade fixed his napkin on his lap.
"Um...can't two mates catch dinner after a long day of work?"

Sherlock scoffed.
"Since when have we been 'mates'? We hardly qualify as acquaintances...But that is not what I am asking."

"What are you asking?"

Sherlock looked to the side, finding the empty table beside them more interesting than their conversation.

"You are attempting to keep me...sober..." he used the word lightly.

Lestrade put his elbows in the table.

"I know what a few words can do to a man, 'specially one who has trouble with..." there was a short pause, "...But you are more than that. You are more than just an addict or a freak. You're brilliant! I mean, how on earth d'ya know about my bloody cardiologist? You are part of my team and you should be treated with respect. And no matter what those idiots say or call you, it doesn't mean that they are right."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.
"You would call your officers 'idiots'?"

"I'm off the clock." he smiled as he said this, "Besides, everyone is an idiot from time to time."

Sherlock sighed and continued to scratch his arms until his eyes wandered to the plate on the table and he suddenly indulged himself of the burger in front of him, eating the entire thing in less than a minute before sitting back, one trembling hand over his still growling stomach.

Lestrade laughed, sipping from his mug.
"Geez. If I had not known better I would have said you had not eaten in days."

Sherlock frowned.
"Something like that."

Coffee nearly spewed out of Lestrade's nose.
"What?" he exclaimed in shock.

Sherlock swallowed.
"Nine days to be precise. Not counting when I stole a doughnut from the Yard."

"Sherlock, why on earth would you not eat for nine days?"

Sherlock looked down at his shoes.
"I never eat when I work. It slows me down. And even if I wanted to it's hard to find food to eat when you have no money to buy it."

Lestrade raised an eyebrow.
"You've not got any money?"

Sherlock gulped and looked up at the older man for just a moment before shaking his head slightly, just enough for Lestrade to see it.
"No. It's not like it matters. I don't need money. Food is not important and I don't need sleep-"

"Do you even have a place to live?" Lestrade asked.

"I got evicted four days ago. My brother has taken possession of all of my belongings."

"Are you not crashing with him?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"I don't have that great of a relationship with him."

Lestrade's jaw had completely dropped to the floor by now.
"Wha-He's your brother! I could kill that bloody git! Wait, no...please don't tell me you've been living on the streets..."

Sherlock didn't answer.

"Ah, c'mon, SHERLOCK! You know what kinda people live in the streets! You need to be as far away from them as possible! Why are you doing that to yourself?"

Sherlock swallowed.
"My brother did offer his help...for a price. He's rather controlling."

Lestrade sighed and waved the waitress back over and ordered another mini burger and a small chocolate milkshake.

A few seconds passed before Lestrade broke the awkward silence that had fallen at their table.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Sherlock scoffed.
"It's not exactly a proper topic, my bankruptcy. Besides, I don't need help with anything. I'm not a charity case."

"You still could have told me."

Sherlock peeked a look his way before his eyes went back to the table beside them.

The extra food had arrived and Lestrade pushed the plate toward the young man.
"Just...Eat. Eat before I die of a heart attack. Which might be sooner rather than later if you don't cooperate." Lestrade mumbled, pulling a hand through his grey hair in stress and frustration.

Sherlock eyed the food for a moment in contemplation, mouth pooling with saliva before he pulled the milkshake towards himself. He never really had one before (or if he had, he deleted all memory of it) so he was surprised to find that he truly liked it. He finished half before moving on to the second mini burger.

When he couldn't eat anymore he pushed the plate away towards Lestrade's elbow.

"Better?" Lestrade asked, finishing what was left of the other man's burger. He decided his heart could handle a bite of beef.

Sherlock nodded.
"Definitely, yes."

Lestrade smiled and paid for the food, leaving a generous £20 for the waitress before he and Sherlock grabbed their coats.
"You can crash at my place. My wife won't mind. She's out."

Sherlock mumbled something about 'cheating' under his breath and Lestrade rolled his eyes before he and Sherlock climbed in a cab.

They entered the house and Sherlock examined it, taking in each element before turning to Lestrade.

"Nice place." he commented.

Lestrade took his coat and hung it in a hanger.
"Now, you can stay here until you get yourself a place, but on one condition; no drugs. We clear on that?"

Sherlock nodded and asked if it was OK to take off his shoes. Lestrade approved and readied the couch for the night and making sure the bathroom was tidy before giving Sherlock a pair of spare pajamas, which Sherlock gladly took and gave Lestrade his clothes to be washed for the morning.

They both sat down on the couch and watched a bit of telly before Sherlock broke their silence.

"Thank you."

Lestrade raised an eyebrow.
"It's no problem. Things have been quiet around here since my wife's been away and-"

Sherlock shook his head.
"No. Thank you. If you hadn't bought me dinner...I...Let's just say I probably wouldn't be alive right now."

Lestrade swallowed against a lump that had clogged his throat.

"N-No problem. Really." he stuttered.

"Oh, and here's this." Sherlock reached into his pocket and smiled, handing something to Lestrade, who had his eyebrow raised.

Sherlock had handed him his own badge.

"Really, Sherlock? You took my badge again?"

Sherlock chuckled.
"I couldn't help myself, detective inspector. It was just too easy."

Not twenty minutes later had the consulting detective nodded off, snoring lightly into the cushions. Lestrade sighed at the sight of seeing the poor young man so vulnerable. He reminded himself to have a stern talk with Donovan and Anderson about their bullying, only hoping they would ease off when they realized what it actually did to the man. Greg refused to believe that this boy had been sleeping on the sidewalk and picking from dumpsters, living steps away from dealers. No doubt would Greg had not offered to buy him food would the young man be dead of an overdose by now. This thought pained him, but also gave him a glimpse of happiness. Maybe he could keep Sherlock off the drugs for good this time. He smiled as he turned off the lamp, leaving Sherlock in peaceful darkness, pulling a blanket over his shivering form. Lestrade sighed as he turned the heater up. It was freezing. Sherlock was still snoring softly when Lestrade went to his room. He closed the door and pulled out Sherlock's phone that he had taken from the Consulting Detective's coat while he slept and searched the contacts list. The phone started the dial tone and he put the device to his ear.

"What on earth could you possibly need at this hour, Sherlock?" a hostile voice asked from the other end.

"Is this Mycroft Holmes?" Greg asked angrily.

The voice on the other end was taken aback for a moment as he recognized the voice from previous meetings.
"Detective Inspector Lestrade. My apologies. How did you acquire my brother's mobile?"

"B'cause he's asleep. In my house. On my couch." Lestrade spat.

Mycroft swallowed.
"I am terribly sorry. That, I'm afraid, is my doing. He told me that he was searching for a flat. I, like a fool of a brother I am, gave him the benefit of the doubt."

Greg rolled his eyes.
"Obviously. Look, he's welcome to stay 'til he gets a place-"

"There are a group of unoccupied flats two blocks away. I will speak with the landlord in the morning."

"Yeah, I s'pose that'd work."

"Thank you, Detective Inspector. I know what you did tonight. I am grateful."

Lestrade swallowed. It's not every day you get a 'thank you' from both Holmes brothers.

"No problem."

He heard the phone beep steadily on the other end and knew Mycroft had disconnected the call. He rolled his tired eyes and climbed into bed, dreading having to work at five in the morning tomorrow. Slumber overtook him as he pulled the duvet up to his chin and began snoring the night away.

Finished