Poor Greg, huh? Well, it gets a little better. Slowly. :D

Right. Apologies for one mistake. They're not going to Whitehall. They're going to Vauxhall. It took a fair bit of time for me to figure out where the hell MI6 was. And for the future, I would like to say sorry for getting placing wrong. I'll use Google Maps from now on! :D

Chapter 2

Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade wasn't quite used to waking up on the couch. He shifted and felt pain in between his shoulder blades. He wondered why Julianne had kicked him out of the bedroom – and then he opened his eyes and the ceiling of 221b Baker Street came into view. Last night came back to him in a rush.

Hearing a thump upstairs, calling out to his wife. Hearing the scream that cut through him. Grabbing his gun, sprinting up the stairs, coming face to face with a murderer. Shooting before he knew what he was doing…and then seeing the bed as the killer fell to the floor. Seeing the white sheets turn red. Hearing his name called out as his love struggled to stay alive.

Greg closed his eyes, chocking back the tears as her words came back. He was leaning over her, fruitlessly trying to compress the wound, "Greg…" she breathed. He could almost feel the breath on his cheek, now, "Greg…you have to promise me…" He tried to tell her not to talk. She laughed, "Promise me…" he said he'd do it. Anything, "you'll move on after me," he was shaking his head before she finished, "Make me happy," she added and he found himself nodding through the tears. One last kiss. That was all he managed as his wife died in his arms. And it's my fault, Greg swallowed, keeping his eyes closed, my fault that she's gone.

He jumped as he felt a steadying hand on his shoulder and opened his eyes to see John, kneeling down next to the couch, his eyes almost glowing in the semi-light of early morning,

"It's going to be okay," John whispered. The DI stared into those deep, brown eyes, finally finding it in him to nod. He sat up slowly, and John took the seat he had vacated, 'did I wake you?" Greg asked, his throat horrendously sore from the lack of moisture. John handed him a cup of coffee,

"No," John said and the DI raised an eyebrow, finding something immensely comforting about John's presence, "Really," John insisted as he sipped his own coffee, "I was half-awake,"

"That's not fully awake," Lestrade said and John chuckled.

Both Sally and Sherlock were still asleep as the light filtered through the snow covered window, and the fire, no doubt lit by John, crackled in the grate, warming the room as much as the thermostat did, "I'm not entirely sure whether you're up for what's coming today," Lestrade turned so that he was able to see John a bit better, and let his wandering gaze focus back on the doctor, who both looked and sounded like he was choosing his words carefully,

'What is it?" asked Lestrade,

'Mycroft dropped in last night,"

"Yeah?" Lestrade asked, glancing at the door before looking back at John, who was nodding,

"Yeah. He, erm, wants us to go down to Vauxhall,"

'Vauxhall?" Lestrade asked, still sleepy,

'Vauxhall Cross to be more specific," Lestrade took a moment to process this,

'Wait, you mean…SIS?" he asked and John nodded. Lestrade swallowed. He was still aching all over, physically, after last night's exhaustions and mentally, but he needed a distraction,

'What do you say?" John asked, quietly, gently, as if he didn't want to startle his best friend. And Greg was grateful for that. Very grateful, "Yeah, I'm ready for that," Greg plastered on a fake smile, but as he saw John's eyes light up, the smile turned genuine, seeming to break through the pain, even if it was just a tiny chip at it.

John half wished he had Sherlock's coat as he stood on Vauxhall Bridge Road, squinting into the wind that was cutting at them, and the snow that was drifting past them. Sherlock yanked his coat tighter around himself and Lestrade stared down at the water, moving fast underneath them, while Sally just stared up at the impressive building that housed the offices of the SIS.

'Well that's nice," She said, turning to her companions,

'Yeah," Sherlock said glancing up,

"I've passed it tonnes of times, but I've never really thought I'd be entering it,"

"It looks normal enough from the outside," John said, catching onto what Sally was trying to do. He gave Sherlock a look who understood immediately and turned to Lestrade,

'So, what do you think about this?" he asked and Greg glanced up as if he had forgotten that they were there,

"What? Oh yeah…" He looked up into the grey sky, the glass of the building catching what little light it could from the almost nonexistent sun, "I've been past it many times," He looked over to them to see all of them watching him as if waiting for some sort of reaction. He sighed, "They took a case away from us, once didn't they Sally?" he asked, effectively diverting the conversation away from him,

'Yeah," she said as Lestrade turned to look back out across the water, "They did," she finished rather lamely as they walked into the shadow that the building cast over the pavement.

Continuing their journey is silence, they walked up the front steps, Sherlock taking the lead,

'Very little security," Sally looked around as they entered the building,

"Oh I wouldn't be so sure," Sherlock chuckled, "There are sensors on the gates, they scanned us for a weapon in less than a second. Our picture has been taken and sent through their computers to be confirmed that we are who we say we are, and a scan of our retina occurred back at those doors, just to make completely sure," Sally furrowed her brow,

'How the hell do you know that?" she asked,

'It's Sherlock," John chuckled making sure that Lestrade was walking in between them at all times, and never pulling up last.

Upon entering it was like they had just entered a normal office, with people walking backwards and forwards, and a reception desk that sat in the middle of the entire space, manned by a single man, who had a dark grey suit on, and looked like an other receptionist would. His hair was peppered with grey flecks and his eyes were as blue as the sky on a sunny day, "Can I help you?" he asked, and Sherlock smiled,

'We're looking for Mr. Francis Stone," he said. Earlier that morning, Mycroft had sent them a text that detailed when they were expected and who they were meeting,

"Mr. Sherlock Holmes? Dr. John Watson? DI Greg Lestrade and Sergeant Sally Donovan?" Sherlock nodded once, and the man smiled, hitting a button on the desk that appeared to do nothing, "Go on through," he nodded towards the elevator, "Fifth floor," This time Sally led as they walked,

"It 's always the fifth floor," John muttered, smiling,

"Know why?" Sherlock asked, turning his head, his eyes locking onto John's,

"There's a reason, now is there?" asked John, not breaking the contact and Sally rolled her eyes and she hit the button. Lestrade was looking everywhere but Sherlock and John. Noticing this, Sally kicked John's leg, making him exclaim, "Ow! What-" she cut him off with a look and he followed his gaze to Lestrade, staring up at the many floors that could be seen from their position,

'Greg?" John called softly, and the DI looked at him, "Are you sure you're alright?"

'Anyone asks me that one more time and I swear I'm going to knock him or her out," The lift pinged open and, comparatively fast to the speed he had been trudging along at, Lestrade stomped on in, smiling slightly, but nobody was fooled by the sudden show of normalcy. John exchanged a worried glance with Sherlock, who subtlety took his hand as the door closed, we'll work it out. John squeezed his hand back, I hope so.

Walking out of the lift they were greeted by a man who looked like he had seen life and lived to tell the tale. A scar ran down his face from left to right and his suit was of the finest cut, and pitch black. His shoes were shinier that John's dress uniform's footwear was and his moustache was trimmed to perfection, the white hair seeming to highlight his light green eyes, "Ah, I'm glad you made it," he said, his accent was relatively mixed. It sounded neither British nor Irish and yet seemed to slip into one then the other.

"So are we," John stepped forward and shook the man's hand. The grip was firm and it was repeated there more times as he welcomed the others, "Follow me," he said, and they did so, walking in a relatively tight group, slightly daunted by the scale on which this office was built. Everyone here seemed to have purpose, and the entire office seemed to either be made of oak that had a light of its own, in a strange way, or glass. It was open and made the place look huge.

Finally, they entered an office, feeling a little less conspicuous as the door closed and the glass frosted over. The man sat at his desk and Greg, John, Sherlock and Sally took the four seats that were waiting, "I, in case you didn't know, am Mr. Stone," he said, "And you are obviously are the team that took down the Silver Ring." They all nodded simultaneously, a little over-awed at this whole situation – even Sherlock.

'We didn't really – take them down," John started but was cut of by a deep throated chuckle,

'No, you only found their head quarters, when our counter part, the security service, MI5, have been trying for five years," Mr. Stone shook his head, "You four are wanted by every organization worldwide,"

'If we're so famous, sir," Sally started a little hesitantly. He turned his powerful gaze on her and she continued, "How can we possibly be espionage agents?"

"Oh your not famous worldwide. Just in all the Allied forces Police departments,"

"Oh," Sally glanced at Lestrade, who was staring at the desk,

"You four have been drafted into MI6," Stone leaned back in his chair, the view of London amazing, in the huge windows behind him, the Thames flashing as the sun broke out from behind the cloud bank,

"Don't we have a choice?" Lestrade asked quietly. John sighed internally – everything was suddenly quiet about him, he could remember a time Lestrade had managed to shout Sherlock down in the middle of the street. Nothing about how Lestrade was behaving felt right and he wanted to make Lestrade feel better…only he didn't know how. Sometimes, he thought, Sherlock had it easy, not really finding the need to care for everyone.

'No," Stone grinned at their expressions, "You're too good for a choice," He suddenly leaned forward, resting his hands on the table, "You, Sherlock, with your deductive powers so great," he turned to John, "You, Doctor, with a heart of gold and your medical expertise," he looked at Sally, "Sally, you're the epitome of reliability, steadfastness, and being street smart," Sally actually blushed and Sherlock laughed under his breath as Stone turned to Lestrade, "and you, DI," the man raised his eyes to look into Stone's, 'You have leadership in you. You have the respect of Sherlock," Lestrade glanced dubiously at the detective and Stone shook his head, "Don't doubt it, he respects you," he said and Lestrade turned back to Stone, his cheeks flushed at the sudden praise. In fact all of them were rather surprised by Stone. Until he said the next sentence,

"But don't get a big head," He pickled up a cherry from the bowl that sat on his desk and popped it into his mouth, "You're not half as good as needed to be our field agents. But you will be," he nodded as if in answer to a question, and Sherlock wondered what would happen if he told his new boss that his wife was cheating on him. Results probably would be not good. John would kill him. Sherlock sighed and glanced over to John. The man was changing him for the better. He missed the days when he could be completely tactless. But then again…he gently brushed his leg against John's his eyes fixed on Stone's and felt the doctor freeze beside him…yeah, he wouldn't want to go back to the days when John was just a friend.

"So," Stone looked at them as they digested everything he said – everything Sherlock had managed to miss, 'you'll go home, pack," Lestrade physically seemed to flinch at the word home. Stone either didn't notice or didn't care, 'and you'll report in front of this building at 0500 hours tomorrow." He got to his feet and the four newly formed agents scrambled to theirs as well, "I'll see you then. Because that's when your training will begin," He almost seemed to bounce with energy as he walked to the office door. He turned in the doorway, to face them as they tried to leave, a steely glint in his eye as he surveyed the bunch. "I hope you'll enjoy your time at boot camp," he added, before stepping out of the way to let them pass. John felt like a stone had dropped into his belly and as they left he took Sherlock's arm for support, almost starting to limp again. Good God. He was going back to the army.

Neheheh. Oh I can't wait to start the boot camp!

Aza

xoxo