A/N: I pictured this fic coming after my Sherlock 'Getting Out' fic. At least, being in the same universe, but really it can fit anywhere.
He answered on the second ring with no preface. "You do know I'm retired, Lestrade."
He sighed. "I know. And I should be. This is my last case and... I suppose I've no right to ask for a favour." There was silence on the line a moment too long. But just as he was about to ring off, Sherlock spoke.
"Let me talk to John."
"Thank you." He ended the call and leaned back into his chair, moulded by years of sitting the same way. Only now his back hurt more consistently and well. Everything hurt if he was honest. He was too old for this job. His mobile buzzed and he clicked open the text.
"We're coming."
He smiled. He hadn't seen John and Sherlock in some years, knowing they had peacefully (hopefully?) retired to the countryside. Personally, he thought the neighbours would kill Sherlock if they stayed in an urban area. The country was a good place for him. He, meanwhile, was going to stay right where he was with his wife and kids. No point in moving with the market as it was...
The coat, when Sherlock swept into the Met, was so familiar he laughed.
Surprisingly the other man's lips quirked upwards as well, like they shared an inside joke. But John smiled and rolled his eyes heavenwards as if saying 'his idea not mine.'
"God, you two haven't changed at all."
"Ridiculous statement, but I understand the sentiment," Sherlock said, accepting the offered hand.
They went straight to his office for tea and to discuss the details. Sherlock's eyes darted, cataloguing, no doubt. John watched him a moment and then settled an easy smile on Greg. They discussed the particulars, Sherlock his same old self on a case, excited, jittery, though the actions were toned down considerably when compared to Lestrade's earliest years of experience with the man.
"Come along, John. We're going to go see a man about a bomb shelter."
Lestrade looked alarmed, but John smiled easily and stood.
"We shall see you shortly," Sherlock said with a grin and then swept out of his office, probably terrifying the newer officers and bringing back memories of nightmares from the older ones. He smiled and waved back at John. If John was calm, then he could keep his calm. If John became worried and agitated, then he knew he was likely well and truly fucked.
The case wrapped up quickly with the consulting detective's help, Greg set about getting the last things from his office before the new DI moved in. He'd seen the John and Sherlock off this morning, the two of them leaving directly from the Met in a sleek black car, no doubt belonging to that older brother of his... Greg closed up the last box and then paused thinking better of it. He grinned, pulling out a post-it and a biro. He stuck it to the desk when finished:
-In case of emergency, call 'Sherlock Holmes'-
He smiled and mentally wished his successor luck before taping the box shut and carrying it out to the boot of his car. While he hoped mostly that the retired consulting detective would be left in peace, he also wished he could be around when the new DI was completely flummoxed and introduced to Sherlock Holmes.
Some months later when he was lazing in his favourite chair, on the verge of dozing off when his mobile buzzed with a text from an unfamiliar number.
"Please come to the Met. Plain clothes. We'd appreciate your presence. 2:00."
He frowned at it and then looked down at himself, gave a sniff, and headed off to the shower. He dressed and made it downtown twenty to two. Having moved from lounging in his chair at home to lounging in a chair in the lobby, he sighed. Checked the time on his mobile. Again. 1:48.
"Sir, can we help you?" A young officer asked, walking up to him and touching him gently on his shoulder.
He smiled at her sadly. "No, no. I'm fine. Waiting... Thank you." Another short while and everything was made clear as Sherlock and John swept through the door, Sherlock looking his usual self with just a bit of grey in his dark curls, John's dusky blonde greyer as well, though he looked healthier. Cheeks ruddy and stride easy, hands tucked into his pockets. He shook his head and stood, following them towards DI office, knowing Sherlock had somehow known he would have wanted to see this. They all ignored the flustered receptionist.
Sherlock burst in without knocking, Greg seeing just how much he enjoyed from his current position. "DI Stevens. You called."
The DI looked up, young face drawn in confusion and bewilderment. "Wha—"
"Come on man. You said you needed help and couldn't get by without my assistance."
The man spluttered some more, making a half effort at saying Sherlock's name before rapidly shifting through his paperwork. Greg was quite sure that those had not specifically been Steven's words.
"The case," Sherlock snapped, gesturing impatiently.
How like a farce it was from this perspective. He carefully schooled his features into an arrangement of sobriety and patience to keep from busting up. Flicking a glance at John, he could see the man held a similar view.
"Are you...Sherlock Holmes?"
"Finally he gets it... Of course I'm Sherlock Holmes. Let me see all information pertaining to the case."
"I can't just... let you... I'm sorry, who are these other people?"
Sherlock scoffed. "I was sure you were aware I never went anywhere without my partner and blogger, John Watson. And it's a sad state for the Met, if the current DI cannot recognise his own predecessor."
John covered his snicker with a cough. Lestrade tried to turn his into a sneeze, feeling not so successful at the roll of eyes Sherlock sent his way.
"DI Lestrade!" the man exclaimed. "I'm sorry, Sir! I didn't—"
"It's fine." He smiled generously. "I see you followed my advice."
"Yes, Sir!" Stevens said, looking extremely grateful for a sane focus point. "You vouch for Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Sir?"
"Oh absolutely," Greg drawled. "He was a great help with many of my cases." He was pleased to see Sherlock's cheeks pink slightly. "Now, you'd better get the man the information."
Stevens fled the office in his haste, leaving Sherlock to shake his head and sigh a martyred sigh.
"It's a wonder how he's in charge. The Met certainly has gone down in your absence."
He can't help the puff of pride that courses through him.
"You were better than most. It's a shame. He's no sense of leadership. A limp fish," the consulting detective continued sadly.
"Or he's just intimidated," John offered, leaning against one of the chairs, arms folded. Always at ease, John Watson.
Sherlock scoffed again. "Ridiculous. If he can't face a bit of intimidation from me, then how can he face it from the press, family members, outside sources, et cetera. He's weak."
"Nice to know I'm missed," Greg commented, smiling at them both.
"Missed?" Sherlock said archly. "No, I should say not. Under-appreciated, would be more apt."
Greg nodded and chuckled as Stevens ordered a junior officer curtly before stumbling back into his office.
"They'll bring the board. Just you wait."
"Of course, Stevens. Waiting seems to be what I have been forced to do. Do keep up. The three victims were all men between the ages of 24 and 32. They've all had short brown hair and plain faces. These were clearly premeditated cases. However, they dissolve into crimes of passion. My guess would be a jealous ex-lover. Not for these particular men, however. They have no relation to the killer, save for their appearance. That is what ties them together. Based on the angle of the stabbings, our woman is taller than the average."
"Have you um... seen the photos, Mister Holmes?" He paused in his frantic organising.
Greg burst out laughing. Mister Holmes, indeed.
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Only what's been on the news, online, and in the papers."
"Online?" Stevens repeated, but we haven't released any—"
"You might want to double check the security of your severs," the man interrupted casually, picking at his cuff. Pulling out all the stops, Greg realised gleefully. This was better than he could have hoped.
"Hold on now! You can't just hack into ou—"
"Detective, Stevens," Sherlock once again interrupted. "You should really see to your department's security that it doesn't happen again. The first time is, after all, the easiest."
"Really, Sherlock?" John said wryly. "What was all that curs—"
"John." He straightened. "Ah. Here's our information."
Lestrade settled back into one of the chairs and watched while Sherlock did his examination of the blow-ups of the photos and send some of the newer officers running to bring him things, check on things. It was all so relaxing when one did not hold the DI position. Greg smiled. He would pay money to watch this nightly on the telly.
"I would too, you know," John murmured as Sherlock bustled about.
Greg started, having not noticed the Doctor coming to stand next to him. "Sorry?"
"I could watch him do this forever."
Smiling wryly, Lestrade said, "Granted you have a more...vested interest..."
John nodded, the same easy smile on his face. "True. But now you're on the other side of things, it's really very amazing.
"He always was. He just liked to play games with me while solving the crimes my division couldn't. The ones no one could."
"Mm."
"Picked up some of his skills then?"
John blinked at him.
"You seemed to read my mind."
John's face softened into its smile again. "A bit."
Lestrade tsked quietly. "A wonder, you two are."
"Not really. But thanks. I'm amazed for how long you put up with him."
Greg opened his mouth, but Sherlock's voice cut through. "John. Now that you're finished discussing how impossible I am, we have to be off." He grinned. "Catch our killer. Lestrade, you're perfectly welcome to come along!"
Stevens sputtered some more behind Sherlock who tossed his head.
"It's amazing how they get anything done around here." Then sniffed and was out the door.
John rose. "You coming?"
Smiling, Greg shook his head. "No. No thanks. I'm retired."
"So are we."
"And I've got to get the shopping done. As fun as this has been, I know you'll get your mark. It was good to see you both. Don't hesitate to text without some sort of crime on hand, yeah?"
John smiled widely. "Right of course. See you. Later. Then." And then ran off after Sherlock.
Lestrade turned to Stevens. "He'll get your man. Or woman."
Looking completely harried and out-of-sorts, DI Owen Stevens sank into his chair in a daze. "You worked with them? Frequently?"
"Oh all the time," Greg said cheerily. He reached across the desk and patted the new DI's shoulder.
Stevens shuddered. " I don't know how you did it. I'm never calling him again. Christ..."
"He'll probably be back shortly," Greg said with a shrug. "Scratch that. He'll probably text you and tell you where he's left the criminal and then gallivant back home with John."
"What? I didn't give him my mobile number..." Stevens said desperately.
Lestrade laughed. "Quite right. Well. Good luck, mate. Give him a ring again if you're stuck."
Stevens paled and shrunk back in his chair, his mobile chiming. He groaned and dug the thing out of his pocket. "Ugh! He wants us to call in an emergency at a hotel!"
"And you'll do it," Greg said mildly. Stevens clutched at his mobile and then looked up at Lestrade helplessly. Greg curled a lip. "Come on, man. Pull yourself together. He's less terrifying if you think of it like he's an eccentric ally or magic answer machine or...something." He pulled his coat over his arms. "Best of luck, sir. You're going to need it at this rate..."
"B-but...!" the DI called after him as Lestrade smirked on his way out of the office.
Maybe he'd send John and Sherlock a fruit basket as thanks. Sherlock hated them. His grin broadened as he pushed open the door onto the busy London street and headed home.