Chapter Two: An Offer

It had started small and crept up on Lestrade; a small drink with colleagues after a long week, a solitary drink after a particularly horrible case... a solitary drink that had turned into a beer a night, and next thing you know Lestrade's an alcoholic.

The hangovers had stopped but the sickness was still there; the guilt of having gotten completely off his head the night before. Lestrade would still get headaches and they followed him around all day as he puffed on a cigarette and tried to ignore the stares of his colleagues. They could sense it, smell it on him... and their pitying glances drove Lestrade up the wall.

Which was why he was so ticked off when a certain junkie stormed into Scotland Yard, mouthing off about a DI with a drinking problem who smoked way too much. Said junkie was thrown outside and waited ten minutes until Lestrade joined him.

'What the bloody hell is wrong with you?' Lestrade demanded as he lit a cigarette and blew smoke above his head.

'A lot of things,' Sherlock Holmes said and nicked Lestrade's packet.

'Oi!'

The packet was thrown back at him and Sherlock lit up, taking long drags with a shaky hand.

'You alright?' Lestrade asked, concern quickly out-weighing his anger.

'Fine,' Sherlock said, his voice clipped. 'Just wondering if you solved that murder.'

Lestrade nodded and said, 'Yeah, we pulled in the boyfriend. He cracked in a few minutes and confessed to the whole thing.' He paused. 'How'd you know?'

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'I told you; she was wearing his shirt, his cologne... I could tell she had a boyfriend from her unshaved legs. I could tell she had a lot of money from her phone and jewellery. And then there were the messages about the boyfriend to her family... long story short, I deduced it.'

'Deduced it, right,' Lestrade said. 'You're insane.'

'What's your point?' Sherlock demanded.

Lestrade just shook his head. There were a few minutes of silence, where Sherlock nicked another cigarette, before Lestrade said, 'What are you doing here?'

'I just love police stations,' Sherlock said, forcing the DI to look at him. 'Don't be thick; I want to help solve another case.'

'What? Why?'

'I haven't shot up since that night,' Sherlock admitted. 'I didn't need to... the case, it helped. Telling you all that stuff... it gave me the thrill I need.'

Lestrade said, 'Be that as it may, I can't let a junkie help on police cases.'

Sherlock pouted. 'Why not?'

'Because... because I can't,' Lestrade said. 'Could you imagine the headlines?'

'No,' Sherlock said.

'You're a bloody junkie, a homeless one at that,' Lestrade said and continued when Sherlock didn't correct him. 'I can't let you help.'

Sherlock frowned and flicked his cigarette butt away. 'Fine,' he snapped and stormed away.

Lestrade watched him go, knowing it wouldn't be the last time he saw the man.

-oOo-

Five, maybe six minutes had passed since Sherlock Holmes had stalked away. Lestrade was on his second cigarette when the sleek black car pulled up. The DI groaned as the back door opened and Mycroft Holmes stepped out.

'Good afternoon, Detective Inspector,' the elder Holmes smiled. He was dressed impeccably in a navy blue three-piece suit and Lestrade couldn't help but notice the way it hugged his slim figure.

Stop it, he berated himself. You have a girlfriend, he's a weirdo... just stop now.

'Mr Holmes,' Lestrade forced a smile and held out his hand. Mycroft shook it politely. 'How can I help you?'

'I believe you have seen my brother,' Mycroft said.

Lestrade raised his eyebrows. How could this man possibly know that Sherlock had been here?

Oh, right, British Government and all that crap.

'Yeah... he was just here,' Lestrade said.

Mycroft nodded. 'Yes, I know. I was curious, however, as to what he wanted.'

Lestrade looked Mycroft up and down, wondering what the man was doing. Was he honestly worried about Sherlock? Or did he just want to annoy his brother?

Finally Lestrade said, 'He wanted a job.'

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. 'A job? I was under the impression junkie's couldn't be police officers.'

'No, well, he didn't exactly want to be a cop,' Lestrade said. 'He wanted... I dunno, to help. He said he hasn't shot up since that case three days ago.'

Mycroft nodded at that. 'It is true, Detective Inspector. My... research, has shown that Sherlock, at the moment, is clean. But after your refusal, I fear he'll fall again.'

'How do you know I refused?' Lestrade asked, aware that his cigarette was burning out. He flicked it away and pulled another from his packet.

'May I?' Mycroft asked, gesturing with a nod at the packet. Lestrade nodded and handed one to Mycroft, who quickly lit it with a lighter of his own. He blew smoke above his head and said, 'I indulge myself every now and then. Now seemed like a good time.'

Lestrade looked at his own. He really had to quit. He smoked a packet and a half every day.

'How do you know I refused?' Lestrade asked again and Mycroft smiled. Clearly the detective wanted answers. And being a police officer... well, he wouldn't be happy with anything other than a straight answer.

'You are a good, honest police officer,' Mycroft said. 'Despite my brother's help you weren't about to soil the good name of Scotland Yard by hiring a junkie. I knew Sherlock would ask if he could help as he is currently clean. My brother needs... a puzzle, Detective. He needs something to keep that brilliant mind of his active. Unfortunately the drugs do just that. But now he's found something else...'

He trailed off and took a long drag, Lestrade doing the same.

'I think we can help each other, Lestrade,' Mycroft said.

'You do?'

Mycroft nodded. 'If my brother agrees to stay clean, and you'll have to do random searches of his apartment to make sure, then I think there's no harm in him helping you.'

'You want me to hire him?' Lestrade asked.

'On a freelance basis, yes,' the elder Holmes said and flicked ash onto the ground. 'He'll be paid, you'll catch killers, and dear Sherlock will stop his brain from melting. I think it's a win-win situation, Detective Inspector.'

Lestrade paused, thinking about that. It was true, Sherlock had helped. He was obviously brilliant from the information Lestrade had pulled up; fancy schools (thrown out of all of them), fancy university (didn't graduate due to blowing up the chemistry lab), fancy job (until drugs took him away). Despite all his problems, it was clear Sherlock Holmes was a man of great brilliance. And if he could solve cases like he had the other night... if he could see things nobody else could...

Lestrade glanced up at Mycroft. 'I'd have to make sure he can actually help.'

Mycroft smiled. 'Give him some solved cases and see if he can solve them, simple as. Make sure he does it here, though. We don't want case files turning up in a crack house somewhere.'

Mycroft flicked his cigarette away and smiled at Lestrade. 'Until we meet again, Detective Inspector.'

Lestrade nodded and watched Mycroft climb into his car and drive away.