A/N - Just a short first chapter to get me started.

Pairings: Sherstrade/JohnLock

Disclaimer: All I own is the plot idea. Nothing else.

Set during S1/S2.

/I need you, Greg - SH./

Lestrade's phone vibrated in his pocket, nudging him out of his daze. A pile of paperwork lay in front of him, the words getting smaller and smaller as the night dragged by. At this rate, he would be at Scotland Yard until the morning.

With a yawn and a hair ruffle, the DI slipped out his phone and swiped open the message. His tired eyes stared at the screen until the words sunk in, and then, without another wasted second, he was out of his office and halfway down the corridor.

His phone buzzed for a second time as he hurried through the lobby, his friends and colleagues giving him a raised brow as he rushed past them.

/Greg, have you seen Sherlock? He's not picking up his phone - John./

He was out of the doors now, his silver BMW only a few feet away, lights flashing as he quickly unlocked it. Pressing his phone to his ear, he called John, the rings lasting only a second before the other man picked up.

"Greg?"

Even with one word, one tiny word, Lestrade could hear the panic in the doctor's voice, and it did nothing to calm his own nerves.

"What happened?!" The phone was now pressed against his shoulder, his shaking fingers fumbling to get the key into the ignition. Damn, he needed a smoke.

"He... he got a text. Said he would be back, but that was hours ago." John broke off and Greg could hear another voice in the background, one that sounded vaguely familiar. "Mycroft's here too." The doctor continued a moment later, a little calmer now. "He's tracing Sherlock's phone as we speak."

Finally starting the car, Lestrade pulled out of the parking lot and headed towards Baker Street. His phone vibrated for the third time against his ear.

"I'll call you back, John. Keep me updated." He said hastily before checking the new text. It was from Sherlock again, but the words made his heart sink.

/I've fallen, Greg. - SH/

The last time Sherlock had said those words, he had relapsed and given into his drug addiction. But he was different now, wasn't he? He had John, and though Greg was originally jealous at being replaced, he was happy that the army doctor managed to keep Sherlock out of danger. But this text, and the fact that he had gotten the DI's name right twice in a row, worried him.

No, scrap that, it terrified him.

Jerking the car down an empty road, Greg headed for the rougher side of London, the place where he had first met Sherlock. If he really did fall off the rails, he would be here.

The clock in his car rolled over to midnight just as he pulled into an empty parking lot, the skies opening up a second later and drenching everything in sight. Fat raindrops slid down his windscreen but the DI could still see - something - in the distance. Wrenching open the door, he stepped out into the downpour, his silvery grey hair soon getting plastered to his forehead.

"Sherlock?" He called, yanking his coat over his head and starting forwards. The figure paused and turned in his direction, but didn't respond.

With a frustrated sigh, though it was more panic than annoyance, Greg broke into a run, ignoring his phone as it buzzed for a fourth time.

The figure wasn't Sherlock, yet it -was- wearing his coat. The DI's eyes narrowed as the homeless man turned to run. Ignoring the danger of the guy maybe having a knife, and silently wishing he had brought his gun with him, Lestrade dived at the man, sending them both crashing to the soaked ground.

"Where did you get that coat?!" He grunted, using his strength to pin the other male beneath him.

"Get off me!" The man growled back, arms flailing around as he tried to free himself. "He was dead! It's mine now!"

Greg's heart sunk for a second time and he loosened his grip a little, numb to the pouring rain, which ran down the back of his neck like little ice cubes, and the half-assed punches the man was trying to land on his chest. Dead. How could Sherlock be dead?

He had only seen him yesterday, so what had gone so wrong? Anger soon replaced the numbness and he glared down at the other man, one hand moving to press against his throat.

"Where is he? Show me!"