Chapter One—
The rain poured down onto the roof shillings as a certain Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade gazed out the lofty windows of his apartment building. The silence was deafening and he again questioned whether he should get a dog to alleviate the solitude of single life. And again he told himself that his hours were too long, his schedule too busy, his life too hectic….
But those were all excuses. The truth of the matter was that Detective Inspector Lestrade was scared. He was scared of commitment. But most of all, he was scared of loss. The last time he had committed was the last time he had lost. He was scared of loving anyone, albeit people, friends, animals….
He had been married for twenty five years. Twenty five years of joyful bliss… until the day he came home early and heard moans escaping from his bedroom. He was livid when he found his wife and her boss in there…. But more than that, he was hurt. Had that entire quarter of a century been a lie?
That was when Detective Inspector Lestrade built a wall around himself. He swore to himself from that moment forward that never again would he commit. Again and again and again in life he had been the only one to keep commitments. He was tired of promises breaking around him. He had trusted people too much. Again and again they had let him down.
Lestrade strolled towards his bookshelf, removing one of the many books. The cover was dusty, and the Inspector smiled sadly as he wiped the debris from the casing.
Oh, that man had been a god. He'd been the one to give Greg the book, actually, which was why the book had never been removed from the shelf until now. Too many painful memories, too many unfinished dreams…
Lestrade had met said man when he was just a boy in grammar school. No matter how hard he would try, Gregory struggled madly in school. He was unlike his four brothers… he wasn't good at sports, wasn't talented at writing, he couldn't even pass a B in school… he felt himself spiraling into depression… until he met him.
He was like a dream, and sometimes Greg wondered if it was his wild imagination that had conjured him up. What Gregory lacked in brains is where his imagination prospered. He was handsome, confident, musically talented, and extraordinarily smart. Greg reasoned that he must have known absolutely everything there ever was to know.
Greg spent two years admiring him. He thought that he must be the happiest man alive; he had everything. The only thing that Little Greg lacked to notice was that he didn't have any friends.
Until the day in 6th grade when the school prick known as Phillip Anderson made fun of him and Greg punched him right in the nose. That was when he made his first friend.
"I'm Greg," Lestrade had said, sticking his bloody fist out to him to shake. "And nevermind that sorry bloke. Don't let people push you around like that."
He had stared at him in awe for a long moment, like no human being had ever spoken to him before. And after thirty long seconds of staring, he finally placed a delicate hand in Greg's, shaking it lightly.
"I'm Mycroft," he had said. "Mycroft Holmes."
Greg placed the book back on the shelf, wiping his moist eyes. The dust makes my eyes water, he assured himself as he walked back over to the window.
But even a man with as much pride as Lestrade knew that those were tears that wettened his eyes.
Lestrade would probably never see Mycroft again, and that saddened him immensely.
Mycroft was the first person in Greg's life to break a promise. They had promised each other that day in 6th grade that they'd be best mates for life.
But somehow thirty five years later, Lestrade was best friendless.