Lestrade glanced up at the window of the building before him. 221b Baker Street. It had really been a while since he had come here with anything for Sherlock.
And Christ, did he have something for Sherlock. Every name in Sherlock's envelope had been found, all of the evidence the detective had gathered had led to their arrests. And most of all, Richard Brook, aka Moriarty, had been proved a fraud. Sherlock's name had been cleared.
Lestrade climbed the stairs to the door and knocked. A furious barking and growling began on the other side of the door.
Sherlock, however, had fallen asleep on the sofa and only stirred briefly at the racket.
…
John yawned and made his way down the stairs to see what Everton was barking at. Great he'd only gotten about three hour of sleep. He heard the knocking when he got downstairs and opened the door to see Lestrade… smiling.
"You look happy." John said as he led Greg into the living room. Sherlock was still sound asleep. He pointed to the kitchen, Greg followed him in and they sat at the kitchen table. Sherlock needed the rest, no need to wake him. Though Everton was trying to do just that it seemed. He stood by Sherlock's head, which was against the arm of the couch, growling. John tried shushing him. He tried different hand motions, but nothing would get the dog to stop growling. "Everton please be quiet?" John pleaded. He kept growling. Blocking out Everton John turned back to Lestrade; he knew it had something to do with Moriarty, hopefully it was good. Hopefully the news would allow Sherlock to get back to his normal life. The life before the fall, when there was no one by the name of Richard Brooke. John raised a questioning eyebrow.
…
Lestrade grinned.
"I don't know how, but he's done it again. Everything proved out, undeniable. Have a look." He passed John a file. Everton's growl intensified as the Inspector moved, but thankfully the dog didn't move from his place by Sherlock's side. Lestrade eyed him warily.
"The dog's not going to bite, is it?"
…
Lestrade grinned.
"I don't know how, but he's done it again. Everything proved out, undeniable. Have a look." He passed John a file. Everton's growl intensified as the Inspector moved, but thankfully the dog didn't move from his place by Sherlock's side. Lestrade eyed him warily.
"The dog's not going to bite, is it?"
…
"No I think you'll be fine. I wouldn't get any closer to Sherlock though." John warned. He opened the envelope flipping through the massive amount of paper work that was inside. Mug shots of all the people Sherlock had told Lestrade about. John counted them, all forty-two. "That's incredible. So this means he's all set? We don't have to worry about you showing up here with a set of handcuffs anytime soon?"
…
"Nope." Lestrade answered, eyeing Everton warily. "But that's not the best part. That's in here." He placed another file on the table. "Richard Brook is officially a lie. And Moran, well, we still don't know who killed him, and I can't say as I mind the fact that he's dead, but there was enough evidence to get him at least six life sentences anyway. Now, I'd better go. Wasn't supposed to bring these by here at all, just thought Sherlock would appreciate it." Lestrade stood to leave. Everton barked threateningly.
"Tranquille, Ev." Sherlock mumbled, sitting up groggily. The dog immediately sat, wagging his tail ever so slightly.
…
"I have got to write that down." John said, he walked over to Sherlock and started to help him up but thought better of it. Sherlock would be angry with him if he helped him in any way in front of Lestrade. "Sorry Everton woke you. I couldn't get him to stop barking, I tried everything." John leaned closer to Sherlock. "I don't think he likes Greg much." He whispered. He laughed and then coughed from laughing. "Here." John said handing him the glass of water that was on the coffee table. "Greg brought you something." He handed over the two envelopes. "You're officially free."
…
"Thank you, John, Lestrade." Sherlock stared at the folders in his hands, knowing without opening them what they were. What they meant. Suddenly he realized that he had been sitting silently and gazing at the files. Sherlock cleared his throat awkwardly. "Everton won't bite, Lestrade, honestly, you can stop cowering." He remarked, but there was none of his usual sting in the comment.
"He's trained to dislike everyone until proven otherwise."
…
John had noticed Sherlock gazing at the envelopes. It had been hard for John the past three years but he could hardly imagine how horrible it must have been for Sherlock. Running, always running, fighting and getting shot at. Doing it all on his own, without a home or friends to return to at night, at least John had had that. Even when he did return home he still worried about being taken away again. These envelopes were what Sherlock had needed to stay in 221b. To stay with John, and go back to being the world's only consulting detective. It was a major relief, and you could see it on Sherlock's face. Only slightly, so that Lestrade probably couldn't see it, but John could.
…
Lestrade jumped when Sherlock addressed him.
"No, well, I know…it's just… I like it over here." He stammered, Sherlock always managed to make him feel…dull, for lack of a better word. Also, he didn't like the look of that dog.
"And anyway, I'd better be going. Wasn't supposed to bring these by, anyway." Lestrade held out his hand for the files. Sherlock looked at it for a minute, strangely unwilling to put his freedom back in another's hands. He shook his head (a mistake, the room began spinning almost instantly and stubbornly refused to stop) and gave the folders back. Lestrade turned to leave.
"Thank you, Lestrade. Really." An awkward silence descended as Sherlock spoke the words.
…
"It's uh… no problem. Hopefully you'll be able to come back to work soon eh?" Sherlock nodded, Greg returned the nod and left.
John walked over and sat in is chair. He leaned back exhausted, looking at the inside of his eyelids until Sherlock cleared his throat, obviously trying to get his attention.
"Please don't make me move unless it's completely necessary."
…
"It isn't." Sherlock reassured him. He had been about to ask John to hand him his laptop, which had fallen off the couch when Sherlock had fallen asleep, and was currently out of reach. It probably would have been necessary for John to move, but Sherlock had more or less decided to do it himself. Quietly, so as not to alert John, who had clearly started to doze, Sherlock leaned forward, arm stretched out for the computer. He was really beginning to regret refusing the painkillers John had tried to force on him earlier. His shoulder was aching again.
Everton looked at him curiously as his fingers just brushed the corner of the computer. Damn.
On the third try he managed to drag it closer. John had begun to snore softly.
Finally closing his hand around the computer, he started to lift it when his shoulder twinged painfully and the laptop slipped to the floor with a crash. Damn again.
…
John woke with a start. "Bloody hell." He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the lit room. He saw Sherlock panting and sweaty. Then his laptop, which had fallen upside down onto the floor. John sighed and lifted himself out of the chair, retrieving Sherlock's laptop and placing it on the coffee table. "You didn't rip your stitches did you?" Sherlock shrugged still panting a little. John pulled the neck of Sherlock's t-shirts to the side and peeled back the bandage. The stitches were intact but it was bleeding a little. John tore off the rest of the bandage and replaced it.
He went to the kitchen and looked through the medicine cabinet for Sherlock's pain pills. Taking two of them and a glass of water to Sherlock. "Take these." John looked to the clock. "Might as well have your antibiotics now too." He said dropping them into Sherlock's cupped hand.
…
Cursing himself quietly, Sherlock did as he was told without complaint, though he grimaced a little at the taste.
"I didn't mean to wake you.," he admitted, watching John cross the room back to his chair. "I was bored."
…
"No, no I shouldn't have been like that. I'm ju," he yawned "tired. I think I'm going to head up to bed for the night. Do you need anything before I go? Want to move to your room?"
…
Sherlock tried his best not to roll his eyes. He was a little tired of having to be helped everywhere. "Yes, I'll manage myself." He answered. John gave him a look that Sherlock ignored. The pain in Sherlock's shoulder faded to a dull ache and then to a low throb as the medication kicked in. Everton laid his head on Sherlock's knee and whined once.