The deafening silence of the ended call did not stop John from hearing those last words on repeat.

I love you. John, I love you.

"He loves me?"

Upon hearing John's quiet muttering, Lestrade returned to the room, only to see the doctor sitting rigidly, skin paled. "Hell John, what on earth did he say to get you to look like that?"

The doctor glanced up in his shock at his friend, his body following orders while his mind reeled. "24601."

The DI's eyes widened and he snatched his phone from John, dialing a number and then ripping off the back of his phone, tearing out the battery and stuffing the pieces haphazardly into his pockets. "Alright. Your room's upstairs, right?"

John nodded, coming back to himself. "Yes. Umm, what on earth is going on?"

Lestrade bolted up the stairs, ignoring the doctor's confusion in favour of gathering up anything and everything that he could.

When he returned, John had the med bag and a few books in his hands, his laptop bag resting on the ground beside him.

Lestrade helped him into a pair of sweat pants and his coat just in time for two black-clad women to burst into the room.

"Who the fuck are—Mycroft."

The women snatched up the gear and rushed it downstairs while Lestrade nodded, gingerly pushing the doctor out of the door.

"I'll explain in the car. Just move."

Ever the good soldier, he obeyed, allowing himself to be moved into an inconspicuous black car, focusing on Sherlock's words and not the crippling pain flooding his body.

"We're heading for a safe house, where I get to watch you pace around until that git shows up. Though I may have to stay anyway."

John nodded. "Mrs Hudson?"

"Has been informed to stay at her sister's. And before you say anything, Harry is on watch, though god knows how anyone would find her."

Another nod.

Things passed in silence for a moment.

"You still haven't told me what's going on. Sherlock said something about Victor?"

Lestrade sighed, looking nervously out the window. "I was afraid of that." He ruffled his hair slightly, looking away from the doctor.

"Victor was released into American custody this morning. I knew that that whole process had been far too fast."

John stared at him, flabbergasted. "If you knew, then why didn't you stop it?"

Lestrade threw his hands up. "Not my division. That's why I came over in the first place."

John nodded. "But you saw that Sherlock and I were alright, so you didn't think anything of it."

The DI shrugged. "You could phrase it like that, I suppose."

Another pause in conversation.

John peered out the window, his mind alight with worry.

Lestrade glanced surreptitiously at the doctor, uncomfortable with the tension in the car.

"He'll be fine, you know."

The doctor scoffed, returning his attention from the blurred scenery outside back to the DI. "How could you know that? The man can't resist danger, and I'm not with him to save his sorry ass. It's just like the fall all over again." At that, he buried his face in his hands, unable to hold it up any longer. "I should be with him, Greg. I should be by his side, protecting him from the Victors and the Moriartys and whatever the fuck fate sees fit to throw at him. But I'm not. I'm being carted away to some safe house, probably deep in the countryside somewhere, to be kept safe while he risks his neck. And I know that I'm injured, and that I'd be useless to him in my current state, but damn it, Greg, do you know how hard it is to watch the person you love put you aside while they risk life and limb? Do you know what it's like to be one step behind everyone else?"

John turned back to the window, pressing his head against the cool glass.

"He told me he loved me," he added.

Lestrade sighed, shaking his head. "John—"

"I know he was lying. I'm not that much of a fool. But he did mean to give me some sort of closure with it. He does care. And for him, that's a hell of a lot."

The DI placed a hand on the doctor's shoulder. "He does love you. When you were taken by Victor, he practically shouted that at all of Scotland Yard. And this plan, 24601, this is his plan for letting Mycroft handle things."

"Sherlock Holmes does not let others have the adventure, especially when he has a personal vendetta. It doesn't get any more personal than Victor fucking Trevor."

Lestrade shrugged.

"During the three years of the fall, Sherlock and Myc came up with a series of codes for different scenarios, should anything occur. 24601 was for if he should be compromised. The plan states that he join us at a safe house until the threat is either eliminated, or it is possible for Sherlock to handle it quickly. Though, the original involved a lot of running and changing houses and names and you having the code name Cosette for some unknown reason."

John chuckled. "I take it Mycroft is a big Les Mis fan."

Lestrade simply squinted at him, confused. "Les Mis?"

"The musical, based on the novel?"

The DI simply shook his head.

"Alright then. So this whole thing is basically everyone going into hiding? That just doesn't seem like a Sherlock thing to do."

A shrug. "I know. But Myc is one-hundred percent sure that Sherlock will follow this plan to the letter."

The doctor scoffed. "Yeah, but he's been wrong before."

The car suddenly came to a screeching halt, each of the doors latching simultaneously.

The already dark tinting on the windows blackened fully, leaving John edgy, his skin itching.

Lestrade placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"We're getting close now. This is a feature to obscure—"

The doctor shrugged him off. "I can figure out what it's for, Greg. I'm not a moron. Mangled and paranoid, maybe, but not stupid."

Lestrade chanced a chuckle, and was met with an eye roll and a reluctant smile.

"You know, all things considered though, it could have been worse."

SHSHSHSHSSHSHSH

Sherlock was running.

He was running, and they were gaining and his blogger was miles away.

It really couldn't get any worse...