It was another quiet day down at the Yard, the cloads outside were dark grey as rain drizzeled out from above. Everything felt dull, boring. Life felt like the cloads above. Watery and grey and since the fall it felt that way to Greg Lestrade all the time. Life was dull and felt more empy without Sherlock whining every few minutes about wanting an intresting case already. He sighed, rubbing at his tired eyes. Nothing was ever intresting, nothing ever bright. All was grey, Until he got the call.

"Hello Dear Greggy. I have something for you down at 221B Baker Street..."

He knew that voice well. "Moriarty...let John go now..."

"Oh no darling. I'm not always such a bad sport. Infact. I brought you a surprise. The good kind."

"I don't trust you."

"I figured that." Mused the voice. "Why don't you just come and fine out."

"Fine...i'll make a deal...I'll give you one days head start before I come after your Westwood wearing ass...just don't hurt anyone."

"Never can trust me huh? Oh well, I get it. I AM a criminal mastermind." The deadpan voice gave a gigggle. "Fine fair enough..come on then."

Greg was a fairs way away from the flat, but didn't care and was in too much of a hurry to hail a cab. He ran for it, running as fast as his legs could let him to the famous flat number. He care not for the beating rain that began to pour around him either. He skidded to a stop a few minutes later, stopping right outside the flat. Trying to gather his breath and shaking the water from his silver streaked hair, he opened the door slightly, taking out his gun from his back pocket. "...Mrs. Hudson...John...? Anyone in...?"

"In here, Greggy." Moriarty lilted from where he sat on the couch. He smirked up to the window, winking at a barely visible black dot on the opposite roof, Seb was ready to go if anything went awry. He held Sherlock's phone in his hand, toying with the keys and sending John a sweet text message every few minutes. The owner of said phone laid on the couch, hands folded on his chest, stony faced and silent.

Lestrade's wide eyes stared at the familiar tall dark figure in on the couch, completley ignoring Jim. "What the he-" He backed away, hitting the wall behind him, his gun clattering to the floor. "Oh my God...i've been drugged..." He whispered unable to find his usural firm voice at the sight of the the face he thought he'd never see again.

The consulting criminal shrugged and grinned, looking up at Lestrade from his chair. He stood, straightening the lapels of his westwood and strolling to the door. "Remember, one day's head start." And then he was gone. Sherlock blinked, as if registering that Lestrade was there.

"Hello."

Greg barley had heard a word Jim had said. He didn't care one bit that the criminal simply walked out. He didn't even register James Moriarty was in the room at all till he heard the slight click of the door as the other man had left. His breath hitched at the sound of the deep baritone, laced with velvet voice he knew so well. "No...this..this is some cruel trick..." he shook his head in denial, pushing himself against the wall even more, closing his eyes, hoping whatever drug was used on him would fade. "You're not here...you can't...I..I-I saw you..." He squeaked the last few words. "You're dead."

Sherlock's icey blue eyes flicked up, their usual superior air present and accounted for, "As I am laying here in your presence, clearly alive and talking to you. I can verify that I am very much alive, Lestrade." Somewhere in the back of his mind, Sherlock was amused at his reactions, but he didn't show it. He sat up, swung his legs to the floor and stood in one fluid movement, noting Lestrade's uneasy breath and faltering voice. He suddenly realized the magnitude of what he had done. But because of it, John, Mrs. Hudson and this fantastic yardman were all alive. "It's good to see you, Greg."

He saw them finally. Those pale blue eyes flashed his way. He staggered, amazed he'd been able to stand in the first place though this whole ordeal. The familiar ghost stood, look as if nothing had changed. Same pericing eyes, same wild black locks and those same damn perfect cheekbones. No longer able to support himself he slid down the wall, slumping into a sitting position on the floor, looking up at the now living dead man amongst him. "Good God...Either i'm dead...or this is the best drug ever..." His voice wavered slightly, he could feel the faint feeling of wanting to pass out start running through his system but hid it well. He blinked the burriness out of his eyes. "You can't be real..."

He approached slowly, after all it would only take a few steps to bring him within a foot of the firm, silver haired officer that had been blown out of the water by Sherlock's mere presence. The corner of his lips quirked just slightly, the barest hint of a smile on his face. Shock aside, Lestrade was happy to see him. Lestrade believed him and that was more than he could have hoped for. "Can I get you a blanket? You seem to be in shock."

Greg couldn't help but chuckled, letting the memories wash back into his mind of the first encounter with the shock blanket. His eyes watered over slightly. Dream or not, this was by far the happiest he could have been since that nightmare of a day he thought he lost his friend in. Unable to take his eyes off of him, fearing that he would disapear like the rest, he whispered fearfully, dreading the assumed rebutle. "Sherlock...is it really you..."

Sherlock did smile then, Lestrade could be so clueless even when the evidence stared him plain in the face, although, he supposed if you were looking at it from any point of view but his own, it would be slightly baffling to have Sherlock Holmes present himself to you, living and breathing, "Yes, it is."

Lestrade put his hand out, his eyes firmed over. He waited, a deep glare of determination on his face as to really know if the man infront of him was truley real or not. "Your hand..." He asked. "I just...I need to make sure..."

His glare died as he stared into those steel colored eyes before he mumbled gently "...Please..."

Sherlock complied, holding his hand out, palm up, a friendly, peaceful gesture. He trusted Lestrade completely, "Of course."

Greg stared at Sherlocks hand for along moment, debating with himself. He was half scared that his hand would go right through, and half scared that it wouldn't. If this was really Sherlock...he had know idea how he'd respond. He shook his head, and took a deep breath he didn't let go, before he slowley reached out and to his complete and utter shock put his hand in the cool ones of Sherlock Holmes. He grasped his hand, squeezing it to make sure that it was indeed flesh and human. "Oh my God..." His voice broke off, as he stared in awe of the hand that gently grasped his own.

Sherlock let his eyes close, twining his fingers with Lestrade's and squeezing the other's hand lightly. He was just as relieved by the simple touch, finally sure that Lestrade was here and real in front of him, not calling him a liar and a fraud no matter what Moriarty told him. He was a good man, a better man now from the ordeal. "It's me."

"I promise, you, Greg."

The DI gave a shudder of realization. He let his other hand wrap around the one that was already in Sherlock's hand. Holding the younger mans hand pressed between them. He made a noise that was between a laugh and a sob. "Sherlock...kid you're...you're really here...you're alive...Oh my God...I can't...what have you...why...?" So many questions ran through his head, making it hurt. The dizzy spell becoming more strong then before. He fell forward with a painful groan. He couldnt keep up with what was happening. Too much too fast.

Sherlock's brow creased, eyes clouding slightly. It wasn't like Lestrade to lose his head in such a way. He caught the DI easily when he fell forward, hand still clasped between them. His other arm rested over his shoulders, as he crouched down infront of him. "Are you feeling alright?"

Greg bowed his head, feeling weaker then he had in a long time. He winced at the growing pounding in his head. His mind going into overdrive. "S'okay...m'fine...just?...just alittle shocked..." He slowley brought his eyes up to the young and tall consulting dectective's concerned gaze. He smiled weakly before letting himself fall even more forward so he could have his head land on Sherlock's shoulder. "You just have know idea how bloody happy I am to see you..."

Sherlock chuckled, the sound a low rumble resonating deep in his chest. His hand slid up to card through Lestrade's short but soft hair idly, "I have some idea. Breathing erratic, heartbeat not faltering but far to quick to call steady along with your compromised state of balance and fine and fast twitch muscle control, you're in shock. Understandable."

Greg gave a tired chuckle. He let go of Sherlocks hand, letting his hands grasp onto the soft fabric of Sherlock's jaket. He let his friend ramble on. "God, how I missed you and your deductions..." He pressed his ear to the thin framed mans chest. There is was. The stong beat of Sherlocks heart. It only made it all the more official for Greg that Sherlock was indeed alive. He sniffed, oblivious to the silent tears since then that were falling down his face. He hid his face deeper into the most likely expenice jaket, knowing he's have to apoligize later for getting it wet. When he talked, he tried to hid the trembles in his voice. "I've missed you Sherlock..." He smiled through his tears. He wasn't one to cry for anything. In a job like the one he had, emotions where something you left along time ago, but he couldn't help but let the salty tracks continue down his cheeks. He didn't care that it made him look weak. All that mattered was that his friend was safe and alive once again.

Sherlock sighed, not expecting the strong Inspector to start crying. He didn't know he could hurt his friend so much just by leaving. He understood now, just how much they cared. He gingily wrapped his arms around the shorter mans shaking frame, hugging him tight and close to him. "Forgive me Greg...but i'm here now. I will not hurt you all in this manner again. I give you my word..." He layed his head ontop of the silver headed DI, fitting Lestrade right under his chin. He smiled alittle thinking of his last question. "So i'm guessing no shock blanket then?" He asked, still patting the older mans back gently.

Through all the chaos of the day, Greg laughed. He smiled through his tear streaked face at the absurb question. "No my division Sherlock, thats yours." He muttered with a grin.

Sherlock gave a deep chuckle, his laugh making Greg giggle more. There they were, two friends united after all odds, embracing and laughing, once again feeling the dulls of life drain away with the dying storm outside. To Lestrade the greys of life were over. All there could be seen in his life now was the shine of the new day, the shine of silver from grey, and the hopes of kicking a certain mans little ass.

THE END.