Chapter One

He could feel the surface he was on, moving. His eyes slid open sluggishly and he could see smudged and foggy lights passing swiftly over his head.

Or was it just him moving swiftly under them?

He turned his head a little and saw a man in scrubs and a mask over his face barking out orders urgently to other people as he and two others rolled the gurney Lestrade was lying on into the operating theater.

Oh, so it was him moving.

He tried to lift his hand to get the man's attention, but his arm only twitched and fell off the flat surface. Someone grabbed his arm and placed it back at his side.

The air was cold... so cold. Lestrade choked on an inhale and coughed. Someone else placed an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth.

Weak and dizzy, Lestrade's head rolled to the side and he caught a glimpse of his chest.

It was covered in red.

He heard something bang nearby his head and saw the swinging doors of the operating theater close behind them.

And then he passed out again.


"Shit, shit, shit!" Donovan cursed under her breath as she drove madly to the hospital. She banged her hand on the steering wheel as traffic refused to part for her.

It was times like this that she hated. They made her feel so useless.

Her phone rang and she declined the call.

She needed to get to the hospital to see her partner, no distractions.

"Fuck!"

She thought that she must be in shock.

She closed her eyes briefly and her mind flashed back to that back alley and finding Lestrade lying motionless on the ground after that strange call.

For a heart stopping moment, she had thought he was dead.

So yes... she was in shock.

She finally reached the hospital and jumped out.


"What?" Donovan's voice was strained and cold when she finally picked up on Sherlock's third ring.

Sherlock's eyebrows jumped a little. "Where is Lestrade? He's not answering my texts and he's not picking up his phone." he said.

"He can't take the call." Donovan said flatly. "He's at the hospital."

"Then, tell him to step out and take the call!" Sherlock snapped, assuming Lestrade was talking to a victim or witness of a case. "He's the one who's been waiting on it."

"I said, he can't take the bloody call!" Donovan yelled. "Now sod off!"

Sherlock paused at the hysteria in the woman's voice. "What happened?" he demanded. "What's going on?"

"Lestrade was shot, you bloody git." Donovan replied, sounding a little calmer now. "He's in surgery. You'll forgive him for ignoring your texts."

And she hung up.

"What was that all about?" John asked as he walked in.

Sherlock was silent for a long moment, staring at nothing in particular. "That was Donovan." he said slowly. "Lestrade's been shot."

John sucked in a breath. "Christ...!"


"Mister Holmes?" a nurse asked, walking up to the man who had just walked in the waiting room.

Donovan glanced up from where she was sitting, elbows on her knees, hands clasped together tightly.

"How is he?" Mycroft asked without even a greeting.

"He's still in surgery." the nurse replied. "Please call if you need anything. We'll inform you of his situation when we know it."

Mycroft nodded stiffly and sat down in a plastic orange chair.

He and Donovan did not speak for a long time.

Finally, Donovan broke the silence. "So, you're the Freak's brother?"

Mycroft glared mildly at her, but nodded. "Yes, I am Sherlock's brother."

Donovan looked slightly abashed. "He talks about you a lot, you know." she said slowly, nodding her head in the direction of the operating theater. "I don't think we've officially met. I'm Sally Donovan."

"Mycroft Holmes." Mycroft replied with a nod. "And he's told me much about you as well."

Donovan scoffed slightly. "More than what's in those files he says you have on everybody?" Her tone was pleasantly unaccusing. More joking and curious.

"Files can tell you only so much about a person on a professional level." Mycroft shrugged. "Gregory knows you much more on a personal level."

"Yeah, okay." Donovan conceded.

They fell into silence again.


Mrs. Hudson walked into the hospital waiting room just as Lestrade was coming out of surgery.

A doctor was just informing Mycroft and Donovan about Lestrade's situation.

"There was no problem getting the bullet out." he was saying. "There is also the matter of a mild concussion he has fallen victim to, but we doubt much damage has been done. He will make a full recovery. But it will take time."

"Of course." Mycroft nodded.

"Mrs. Hudson." Donovan greeted.

"I heard about what had happened from John." Mrs. Hudson said sadly. "The Inspector is always so polite and friendly when he visits. Always so nice to my boys. I needed to come see that he's going to be alright."

Donovan scowled a little. "Not surprised he didn't come himself." she murmured to herself under her breath, obviously speaking of Sherlock.

"No, he and John are out apprehending the man who shot the Inspector." Mrs. Hudson said sternly. "They've even commandeered that nice Inspector Dimmock to help them."

Donovan looked away, suitably scolded.

"My brother has never been one to wait around feeling helpless in a situation that he cannot fix." Mycroft remarked with a sigh.

"Sorry." Donovan said quietly.

"May we see him?" Mycroft asked the doctor.

"Of course, but keep in mind that he needs peace and rest." the doctor told them.

They nodded.


He could hear soft voices murmuring by his bedside, a machine beeping at his other side, and a hand smoothing out the covers on his right leg.

Lestrade tried to open his eyes, but felt like they were glued shut.

"I think I saw his eyes move." Someone said in a hushed whisper. A woman.

"Shall I get the doctor?" Another voice questioned. Another woman, older than the first.

Who the Hell...?

Lestrade tried to open his eyes again. The gummy substance that held his eyes shut gave away and his eyes fluttered open.

He found himself staring up at an off-white ceiling, a moment later, a man slid into his line of sight, figure slightly silhouetted against the ceiling light. "Gregory, can you hear me?" the man asked.

He looked like an angel.

"Um-... yeah." Lestrade tried to reply, but it only came out as a sluggish 'Umhmmm'.

The man with auburn hair grimaced a little. "Gregory, if you can hear me, move your hand." he instructed.

"No... too tired." Lestrade complained, still in that weak and incoherent mumbling.

The man stared at him and Lestrade realized that he hadn't understood his grumblings and was still waiting for a response.

He sighed shallowly and wiggled his fingers.

The man let out a great sigh of relief. "Oh, thank God." he said.

A moment later, the man with auburn hair moved aside and an elderly man with greying hair and white coat approached and began shining an obnoxiously bright light into his eyes.

"Hurrgg." Lestrade grunted out irately, trying to turn his head away but the doctor held him steady.

"Patience, Gregory." Said the man with auburn hair although Lestrade could not see him. "Humor us a little."

Finally, the light was gone. Lestrade inwardly heaved a sigh of relief.


"His responses are fair, not a hundred percent, but not bad." said the doctor, pocketing his penlight. "That's not unusual. There seem to be no problems, but I would advise that he stay a while longer for more extensive tests, you can never be too sure."

Mycroft nodded to him and Donovan poured Lestrade a glass of water. She stuck a straw into the glass and held it to Lestrade's lips. "Here, drink." she said.

Lestrade did, sucking the cool liquid greedily until the glass was half emptied.

Donovan put the glass down on the nightstand and assured Lestrade that she and Mrs. Hudson wouldn't be far. Then, she took the elderly woman down to the cafeteria for a cup of coffee.

She saw that Mycroft would want a moment alone with Lestrade.

Mycroft sat down in the visitor's chair by Lestrade's bedside. "I missed you at the Diogenes Club." he remarked casually.

Lestrade looked at him, a little quizzical.

"Do you remember what happened to you?" Mycroft asked him.

Lestrade began shaking his head, winced, thought better of it, and croaked, "No."

Mycroft noticed that Lestrade did not immediately demand to be told what had happened. He was still in shock. He sighed and patted his hand softly. "Don't worry about it." he said. "Rest."

And he stood up to leave.

Lestrade continued staring at him as if he had never seen him before in his life. "Sorry-..." His voice stopped Mycroft by the door.

Mycroft paused and turned, coat slung over his arm. "Yes, Gregory?"

Lestrade stared searchingly into his face for a long moment.

"Do-..." he paused hesitantly. "Do I know you people?"