CHPATER 1
Sherlock had returned to help with the latest case – a series of corpses found, each victim with a number carved into their back. Worryingly, they had recently found number six, but as of yet, there had been no sign of 'four' or 'five.'
The mysterious Holmes had been helping regularly on cases, occasionally disappearing for a week, and returning with a renewed vigor. Only Lestrade had begun to worry when the young man had vanished for nearly a month without a trace. With his abrupt reappearance, however, he appeared to be giving the latest case his constant undivided attention. Lestrade found himself frequently receiving texts in the middle of the night on new ideas, leads, and queries about the case.
At least he knew Holmes was devoted to finding the killer. Currently he'd take all the assistance he could get. Bodies were piling up too quickly with little to no new ideas on how to apprehend the murderer.
"Found a footprint," Anderson announced, obviously pleased with himself for finding a clue Sherlock seemed to have overlooked.
"Same size and tread pattern as the gardener, who has already been ruled out," Sherlock murmured. "Unlikely to be a coincidence."
Greg noticed though that for once, instead of seeming to purposefully pick a fight with Anderson, he kept his observations mostly to himself and continued to scour the nearby area for more clues.
The DI made his way towards Anderson's 'discovery' anyway, knowing Sherlock would be sure to share if he gathered anything else from the scene.
Several minutes later, the forensics team came to the same conclusion, realizing the footprint wasn't of any actual importance. Probably as surprised as he was Sherlock hadn't interrupted with some snide comment, Donovan abruptly asked where the Freak was.
Lestrade grimaced slightly at the name. There was no denying Sherlock Holmes was anything but ordinary, but Freak seemed a little unnecessary. Still, it wasn't like Sherlock didn't give as good as he received. They'd no doubt be hearing how low Anderson's IQ was any moment now...
Where exactly had he gone? He looked back toward the the self-named consulting detective's last known location and was surprised to see him on the ground, not in the middle of one of his unusual investigations, but he appeared to have collapsed.
"Sherlock?" he picked up his pace as he hurried back to the other man.
Just as he reached the location, the younger man seemed to be regaining consciousness.
"Easy there," he cautioned as Sherlock abruptly forced himself into a sitting position.
"You alright?" He laid a restraining hand on the other man's shoulder, urging him to not get up yet.
"Just got up too fast, light headed," the man answered vaguely.
"Maybe you ought to take it easy a bit," Greg suggested, noting the even paler than usual skin tone.
"I'm fine."
"When's the last time you ate something?" the DI asked, suddenly remembering Sherlock had worked through lunch.
This actually seemed to stump the consulting-detective briefly.
"Yesterday? Day before?" He shrugged. "It blurs together, haven't slept in a couple days."
Lestrade fought the urge to roll his eyes. No wonder he was passing out, neglecting to eat or sleep for two days, especially the way Sherlock was continuously going.
"I'll call you a cab. Go home, eat something, and take a nap."
"But the work..." he protested.
"Will still be here," Greg promised. "You aren't doing anyone any good passed out in the hedges though. Now go home."