Greg Lestrade gets nightmares. About people he cares about being shot, being hurt, being killed. Sometimes, if he's really worried, he calls Sherlock, or John, or Dimmock or Molly or Donovan or his ex-wife or whoever he's dreamed about, just to hear their voice and make sure they're still living.
-"What You Don't Know About Greg Lestrade"
"…Hello."
"Sherlock?"
"Yes, Lestrade."
It was half-past two in the morning. Sherlock was at 12 Southerby Avenue, on the sofa, with his laptop on his knee and his phone pinned between his shoulder and his ear. Lestrade was at 6162 Ludgate Parkway, in a tangle of sweat-drenched sheets, with his fingers wrapped in a white-knuckled grip around the handset of his landline.
And normally, Lestrade would hang up as soon as the call was answered, but this time… this time was a bad one. A nightmare so lucid he was thoroughly convinced it was happening. A nightmare so incredibly vivid that when he woke, he thought it had happened, and choked on his own tears for a full five minutes before he managed to separate dream from reality.
"I'm here." Sherlock's voice was full of quiet understanding and uncharacteristic comfort. His breath ghosted over the line – in, out; in, out.
"Did I wake you?" Lestrade knew the answer already, but he asked anyway. He needed to have something to say.
"No," Sherlock replied. His end of the line roared with silence, and Lestrade slowly realised it was because Sherlock had been tapping away at the keyboard, but now had stopped. He could just see those long, white fingers poised over the keys as the great mind deduced him to pieces.
"Okay." Lestrade closed his eyes tight and sucked down a steadying breath. "Okay."
Sherlock didn't embarrass him with reassurances or questions. They just sat there in silence for a few moments, their breathing sending static through the line in intermittent spurts. At last, when Sherlock heard Lestrade's respiration slow to its normal rate and the rustle of sheets that indicated he had lain back down, the detective said in a quiet voice,
"Get some sleep, Greg."
And Lestrade responded with, "Yeah. Yeah, thanks." He hung up before he realised that Sherlock had used his given name for the first time in the eighteen months they had known each other.