Summary:

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a man lacking a role model must be in need of a father figure. But there are many who refuse to acknowledge this necessity as desire...and for them, these dreams just cannot be.

There's been an unmentioned relationship between Sherlock and Lestrade ever since Lestrade found Sherlock hanging around a gruesome investigation at age five.

A/N: So...I think this is the fic that happened when I watched The Dark Knight too many times. As it happens, I seem to have given Lestrade and Sherlock a Gordon and Bruce type of relationship. Entirely accidental, I assure you. This fic documents their interactions throughout the years and focuses on the unmentioned family-type feelings between the two.

Credit goes to Mem for the book art.

Let me know what you think!

It was raining.

Not a hard pour but a persistent drizzle that soaked skin to the bone and permeated clothes for hours after one returned to a dry location. The umbrella did nothing to deter the aimless drops as they fell onto recently dug earth and the beautiful oak coffin.

His curly, dark hair had fallen into his eyes so often that Sherlock had stopped bothering to brush it aside. While many might have thought his lack of tears unnerving, Sherlock simply didn't see that point of needless emotions. His tears wouldn't bring his father back. Truth be told, Sherlock wasn't sure he wanted his father back. He was much more partial to mummy anyway. As the grave diggers started to lower father into the earth, the group began to disperse. Deciding to take this as express permission to wander off, Sherlock turned and strode as purposely as a five year old could across the cemetery to the unrecognizable noises that were pressing on his ears on this most unfavorable day.

"It's raining. I have perimeter duty and it's raining." I took off my hat and briefly wondered who I had pissed off to get this duty. I shook out the hat and put it back on my head. Rolling my neck and stretching, I fought a yawn by taking a sip of my coffee. Turning around, I scoped out the other Yarders milling about confusedly. Dimmock was mumbling into a tape recorder along the perimeter. Forester was interviewing the next door neighbor, quite uselessly if he was to be honest to himself. Don, the forensic scientist, was unintentionally destroying evidence along a window pane on the second floor of the building while gathering prints. I sighed. "Can't believe I went to university for this." Resigning myself to another long day of little pay off, I turned back around to peruse the perimeter once more. Skimming the slowly growing crowd, I paused and had to double-take when I saw a small child standing directly outside the caution tape, gazing at the crime scene steadily.

"What in the world…" I mumbled under my breath to myself. Definitely not a place for a child. Making a decision, I walked over to the young man. I bent down to speak to him on his level but before I did he beat me to speaking.

"Don't bother. I know your knee is hurting you. Luckily it's only a slight sprain. You'll be right as, well, rain," at this, he paused and glanced around at the steady mist, "in a few days. Four at most."

Frozen somewhere between a stand and a crouch, I stared. "Excuse me?"

"Well, your recovery depends on the weather. It's going to rain for a few days but –"

"No. How did you know I was injured?"

He blinked at me. "When you stand, you put all your weight on your left leg until it begins to hurt and even then you only pop your hip. You also stutter-stepped when you began heading over here, like you had forgotten and quickly were reminded of the need to compensate for the pain. But your ankle is rolling through your steps fine. Thereby, knee. You had forgotten the injury meaning it is likely temporary."

I stared, flabbergasted, at this precocious child before me. Vaguely, I head someone behind me calling my name. He blinked again and looked past me. I spun around and saw DI Wallace summoning me over. I looked down at the small child in bewilderment. He nodded and raised his eyebrows at me.

"Just don't go anywhere, kid." I hurried over to Wallace. "Yes sir?"

"You're supposed to be on perimeter control. The press just showed. Who's the kid?" We both looked back at the boy who was still gazing fondly at our crime scene.

"No idea. Seems to be here by himself."

"Return him back to his family and get back to the tape."

"Yes sir," I confirmed as I turned to locate the child's family. I walked up to him and once again he interrupted before I could get a word in edgewise.

"They aren't here."

I waited for him to explain.

"My family. I saw you looking. Your boss put you in charge of getting me out of here. Shame. This is fascinating."

A crime scene should be confusing to a kid. Not enamoring. This time, it was I who raised one eyebrow. Strange kid.

"So if they aren't here…" I trailed off to allow him to fill in the blank.

"I guess I should head back now. Mummy might be getting worried."

"May I join you?"

He looked at me and wrinkled his nose. "If you must."

I ducked under the tape and we headed away from the scene.

"My name's Sherlock, by the way. You probably ought to know that if you're going to…return…me."

"Nice to meet you, Sherlock. I'm Detective Constable Greg Lestrade."

He froze, turned to look at me, and stuck out his hand. We shook in greeting and continued walking west. "So where are you leading me and my bad knee, Sherlock?"

"Only over this hill to the cemetery."

I blinked.

"My father's funeral just ended and I heard the commotion caused by your police force."

Oh goodness. My eyes immediately flew to his face, as I anticipated tears. What I did not expect, however, was to see none. Sherlock continued, "Mummy might worry. Mycroft would be happy if I went missing. He's my older brother. He's irritating."

I grinned. Even intellectually advanced children had sibling rivalries. "I'm sure your brother would be worried about you."

The kid scoffed. "He's only seven years older than me. What's so great about being 12 anyway?"

Calculating quickly in my head, my brain screeched to a halt. Pardon me. Five? I stopped walking. "You're only five years old?"

Sherlock, who had kept walking, stopped, turned, and rolled his eyes. "I just said that. Keep up." He continued walking.

I trotted to keep up. A snarky five year old. How refreshing. Simply remarkable. "Well, Mycroft might be a pain right now but in a few years he'll graduate university and move on with his life."

Sherlock hmm'd a negative tone underneath his breath.

They crested the top of the hill together.

"How old are you?" Sherlock choked out.

"Don't ask questions often?" I smirked. I received a dry look in return. "I'm 21."

He nodded sharply and a comfortable silence settled between the two. They walked a few steps more before the silence was interrupted yet again. "So what happened back there?"

I was coming to find that Sherlock's mind was constantly trying to figure things out; that he saw things differently. "I can't tell you. Crime scenes are private and I could lose my job if I told you about it."

"That's a shame."

A group of people hugging and shaking hands came into view. As they came within hearing distance, Sherlock mentioned, "Told you I wouldn't be missed," but his words were contradicted when he heard a calm "Sherlock Holmes. Where have you been?" Sherlock briefly looked sheepish.

"Sorry, mummy. I found a crime scene and met a police officer." She nodded sharply and Sherlock wandered off to look at the varying headstones.

"Thanks for bringing him back. He does have a tendency to wander off at the least convenient times."

"No problem Mrs. Holmes. I'm just glad I was the one who found him instead of some less savory person. In this day and age one can never be too careful. But I better be getting back. I'm sorry for your loss." I topped my hat and she nodded politely.

As I began walking away, I heard hurried footsteps and a rushed "one second, mummy," coming from behind me. "Constable Lestrade?"

I turned around.

"You should question the dead guy's family members. And the guy who was collecting fingerprints? He was smudging evidence deliberately. Just thought you should know."

He spun around and ran back to his mum's side as she was opening her car door. Right before getting into the stretch limo, Sherlock turned and did the first age-appropriate activity I had seen him do all morning; he waved. Definitely a strange kid. I shook my head as they drove off and turned to limp back to the crime scene, attempting to wrap my mind around Sherlock's parting message.