After-story of "Turn Left", but it can be read alone. Thanks for reading. Comments are very welcome. This doesn't intend to insult any drama mentioned here.

Previously,

Sebastian Moran kidnapped Lestrade when he couldn't find John Watson. Moran detonated bomb in the pool. The DI was rescued 18 hours after he got trapped in the collapsing building. Afterwards, he divorced his wife. The couple had to sell their house to split the money and Lestrade needed a place to live temporarily. Mycroft, for his guilt that he had failed to protect Sherlock's friends from Moran, had offered his guest room for the time being. Two month passed since everybody had a birthday-and-welcome-back party for Sherlock and Greg.


Greg Lestrade didn't miss any of his rehabilitation programs: physiotherapy and counseling. He wanted to go back to his job as fast as possible. He wasn't a workaholic but he was too used to an unpredictable life at crime scenes. Also, he hoped to move out from Mycroft's: he didn't want to overstay welcome from the older Holmes.

It didn't mean that his life at the Holmes manor wasn't comfortable. There were staff who cleaned and cooked. Mycroft wasn't usually at home. Sometimes, the older Holmes would leave for Vientiene or Washington D.C. Internal affairs always overwhelmed Mycroft after his business trip. Greg tried little chitchat yet it wasn't possible to talk with him with the mobile vibrating and computer beeping for incoming texts or e-mails every two minutes.

"There's a huge backlog of work to take care of. Sorry,"

The older Holmes said apologetically after he noticed a look of disappointment. Excluding a couple of staff for cooking or cleaning, Lestrade was usually alone in the house. After two months, he missed the Yarders, the noisy pub, his aggressive ex-wife or even arrogant Sherlock. In addition, the DI could feel that Mycroft repelled everyone with an exception of his little brother and possibly his assistant, Anthea.


One day, on his way out after one-hour counseling, Lestrade found a familiar cheeky pale face in the hospital lobby.

Was there a murder or a suspicious death in the premise of the hospital?

He wondered, and noticed John's absence. The detective grinned and waved his hand. Lestrade smiled because he really missed a human interaction: an interaction with Sherlock could be unpleasant, but he didn't care.

"What's up, Sherlock? Where's John?"

Lestrade asked inquisitively.

"John's attending a medical seminar here. I've gotten one hour or so until he finishes."

The next words from the detective made the DI doubt his ears.

"It had been two months since I saw you last time. I thought I'd say hi to Greg, my old pal."

With a look of shock, Lestrade stuttered,

"It's... it's... Well, Sherlock, what's wrong with you? You remembered my name!"

At his words, the detective overreacted with a puppy face and a big hand gesture as though he was pleading,

"Your words hurt me! I "care" about you."

Care?

Lestrade wondered what Sherlock was up to. Sherlock waved a nicotine patch and gave it to him.

"You look exhausted. Here, a nicotine patch."

"You had stopped..."

"John doesn't know. The only comfort while I was away…"

It shut Lestrade's mouth up right away: he owed Sherlock a big one. Turning around, the detective suggested,

"Shall we go to café downstairs? How about coffee?"

Lestrade stared blankly at the billowing coat of the detective before he followed suit.

Today his therapist made him talk about his ex-wife and the failed marriage. The session didn't go well. Worn out, Greg dropped into a plastic chair and applied the patch on his left arm. Ignoring some stares from a few hospital staff, Greg leaned to the chair and groaned. Sherlock came back with a tray of two coffee cups.

"Well, here you are. A latte."

Lestrade wiped sweats off his face and asked,

"Thanks. Now tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"What are you doing here? I don't think you are genuinely interested in my condition."

Sherlock protested in a mock disappointment.

"I am a better person than that, Lestrade."

He drank a few sips while urging Lestrade to drink his. The latte was good and filling. With a mischievous grin, the detective asked,

"I'm here to ease your living-together with my brother. How's it? Hellish, I imagine?"

Lestrade considered it for a moment and then answered cautiously,

"No… It's…quiet and noneventful. Actually we barely see each other."

"Have you noticed something weird? Him? Anything in the house?"

"Oh, I noticed that the small refrigerator in his study is "locked". I tried to open it…and…"

Sherlock was grinning.

"I heard your voice from the refrigerator."Don't, Mycroft." What the hell does it mean?"

"Uh, you'll learn in due time. My brother seems to have concealed his true self from you."

Image of the "British Government" fleeted across the DI's mind. Feeling uncomfortable, he fidgeted and sipped his latte again. Sherlock observed Greg's face intently.

"Ha, Mycroft has been ignoring you completely. Your life has never been so boring, right? How rude!"

Lestrade wondered if his face had been so obvious. Well, it's Sherlock. He could "observe" what no one didn't.

"Here is something that you may need. I should have given this to you two months ago."

Sherlock slid an envelope towards Lestrade and glanced at his watch. He stood up and said apologetically,

"Uggh, milk. John will not forgive me if I forget again. Lestrade. It was nice to see you well. Good luck."

The dark coat fleeted away. Lestrade stared at the envelope, trying to understand the meaning of "Good Luck." He pocketed the envelope and decided to visit the Yard. He was welcomed with applaud and whistling from the Yarders. Everybody wanted to know when the DI could get back to work. He hadn't realized how wonderful it was to talk and laugh with his colleagues. On the way back to the manor, he remembered the envelope and opened it. A sheet of paper. It said:


For your survival at Holmes manor:

(1) Mycroft has three portraits of the "Queens – two Elizabeth(I, II) and Victoria" in the sitting room. Don't touch them. You can activate a burglar alarm by mistake.

Uggh, you already did, didn't you?

(2) Mycroft's definition of entertainment is very limited. Three quarters of his day are devoted to work. However, even my brother needs a rest. My brother's obsessed with "assassination" of a political figure. You can boost him up with movies like JFK or Collateral.

(3) Mycroft is an excellent companion when you exercise. There is a small gym in the basement. The gym equipments are decade-old models yet still as good as new. Ask Mycroft to run on the treadmill together. He will be secretly pleased if you ask.

(4) Mycroft can always find ten minutes to sit together if he's served a smothered chocolate cake. Chocolate Chip Cookie Sunday ice cream does the magic, too. If there is any left-over, though I doubt it, keep it in the kitchen refrigerator that has no lock.

(5) He has an obsession on black brollys. He keeps five at home. Don't borrow it even when it rains cats and dogs. It's better to get soaked wet to the bone than to put Mycroft into a panic mode from a potential "unavailability" of the brolly.

(6) Like me, Mycroft is a smoker but he doesn't like nicotine patches. He smokes a couple Embassy cigarettes every day. For his health, I suggest you replace all the Embassy cigarettes with low-tar ones. He'll appreciate your gesture. There is one more thing to remember. Mycroft collects ashtrays. From time to time, just get a new one for him and put it in a place that he will notice. That will brighten him up.

(7) For your own sanity, I suggest you avoid topics like the proper role of U.K. government in European Union, the global financial crisis, and nuclear proliferation. You have been warned. If you let it slip, then change the topic instantly to some BBC dramas like Downton Abbey or Doctor Who. The former will put him to sleep right away and the latter will shut him up because he always has to rewatch the series when he hears the name, "Doctor Who."


Some of his questions had the answers written here. He looked at the slant handwriting of Sherlock. The burglar alarm… he was just trying to straighten up the picture of the Queen Victoria that was hung askew on the wall. Ms. Parson, the cook, ran into the room and disabled the alarm with a few buttons. Ever since he had stayed away from the sitting room. Lestrade couldn't help but to agree to the last one: he almost dozed off while listening to Mycroft's ranting about government's role for three hours: that was the only time that the DI and the older Holmes sat together over tea. If he had known these tips, his life would've been better. Mycroft was coming home today from his weeklong business trip to Beijing and Seoul. The DI asked the cab driver if he could drop by at the bakery and DVD rental shop.


Lestrade walked down to the basement that he hadn't known its existence. There were a few rooms for storage or laundry, and one of them was about three times the size of his guest bedroom. There were two treadmills, one rowing machine, one exercise bike machine, and a weight bench. There were dumbbells and jump ropes. He also found a small shower room in one corner. All the gym equipments looked unused but well maintained.

This is better equipped than the one in the Yard.

He made a mental note of asking Mycroft if he could use the room.

A few hours later, he heard Mycroft entering. He prepared tea and called out Mycroft's name.

"Mycroft. How's your trip? Would you like a cuppa?"

Mycroft stopped dead when he saw a gorgeous chocolate cake and the latest season DVD of Doctor Who on the table.


Three weeks later, John got a text from Lestrade.

MH may want to see you, GL.

The doctor was punching a reply when a black car stopped right next to him.

The older Holmes looked upset for some reason. He almost flinched when the doctor said, "You look well." After a deep breath, he showed John a CCTV image of Sherlock buying boxes of nicotine patches at Boots. The older Holmes simply said,

"Well, John. It's time for a hide-and-seek game again."