221B always looked like it could use an airing-out, but Sherlock's weeks-long absence had left the flat under a thicker sheet of dust than usual. He tried to keep his breathing calm as he ran his eyes over his skull, his chair, his pile of books teetering in the corner.
John had been by earlier to clean up a bit since Mrs. Hudson was out of town, but other than needles and experiments being removed from the premises, Sherlock couldn't see much of a difference. He threw open a curtain, coughing from the dust and the effort, and threw himself into John's old chair.
"Alright," Lestrade said, his arms crossed. "Where is it?"
Sherlock paused but answered after John cleared his throat. "Under the mattress."
"Never under cliched, are you?" He left and came back a moment later with a shoe box, loosely tied shut with a frayed piece of string. Sherlock visibly tensed.
"Look." John sat in the black chair and waiting for eye contact, but it wasn't given. "We offered to throw it out. We offered to go through it with you. Pick one, because those are your only two options."
"I need to go through it myself," Sherlock repeated.
"And I told you that's not happening."
Lestrade shook the box. It wasn't too heavy but he could tell there were a few things rattling around in there. "There's something you don't want us to see but you also don't want to lose. Were these drugs really that expensive?"
"Those can be thrown out," Sherlock bit, jumping up when Lestrade moved to slip the string free. He turned to John. "Leave."
"Sherlock–"
"I'll do it with Lestrade. Not with you."
Something passed over John's face that Sherlock read as hurt, but he wasn't confident in his emotional readings even on his best days. But the look was fleeting, and John excused himself to wait at the bottom of the stairs.
Greg sighed. "One day you'll stop learning to push him away."
"Let's just get this over with." Sherlock placed the box on his desk, took a deep breath, and lifted the lid. Greg put a hand against Sherlock's chest involuntarily when he saw the stash, feeling like a father protecting his son from an inevitable car crash.
He grabbed a plastic bag and removed everything as carefully as he could. Once he lifted up the final bag he noticed the envelope flattened against the bottom of the box. He heard Sherlock's breath hitch.
"'s alright, lad." Lestrade picked it up and slid a cassette tape out out.
"What am I looking at?"
"It's from Mycroft."
Greg waited for more.
"It's a message he left for me. When he first left for uni. I…"
"Sherlock."
"It's important to me. I know it's infantile."
"There's absolutely nothing wrong with wanting to hold onto it. You hear me?" Greg smiled. Look at that: the Holmes brothers being sentimental. "Why on earth would you care if John heard this?"
"I'm not what he thinks I am." He shuffled his weight, palming the disc before handing it back to Lestrade. He moved towards the living room and pulled a cassette player out of the top drawer of his desk. Greg popped it in and stood behind Sherlock's chair, hands resting on his shoulders.
A crackling voice came through. "Hello, brother. I will do my best to always be a phone call away, but should I be indisposed, let's consider this a back up. You are to play this anytime your temptations rear their heads. I do not care if you are craving cocaine, heroin, or self-harm. I do not care if you are bent on starving yourself or getting caught up in dangerous situations. I will not judge you, Sherlock. Do you hear me? You come to me with your problems, even a whole list, and I will fix it. I will make it better.
"I've left my skull on your desk. You may not be able to make yourself a friend, but consider it a temporary replacement for me. I'll do my best to find a more suitable one. Your mind palace is a dangerous place, Sherlock. Get out of it once in awhile. Caring is not an advantage, but nevertheless let me be the one with this defect. You are cared for more than you know. I will do my best to make sure that this is always the case."
There were a few seconds of static before the cassette clicked off. Greg felt Sherlock's shoulders shake and realised the detective was trying to keep his sobs silent.
"Hey." He pulled him up and wrapped his arms around his neck.
Sherlock nestled his nose into his shoulder. "John was chosen by Mycroft to look after me. I know he was; he has connections to Mike Stamford, there's no way it was a coincidence that I met him."
"Whether that's true or not, it doesn't change a thing."
"Of course it does! He thinks it's a choice he's made for himself, when truly it was forced upon him. He's been forced to take care of someone who can't take care of himself."
"Sherlock, John has decided time and time again to be there for you. Whether Mycroft designed it or not." Lestrade pulled away and sighed. "Look, you need to hear something. Sit." He took a deep breath. "You know the day I met you? Under that tunnel?"
Sherlock's eyes widened.
"No, no, that wasn't coordinated. I found you on my own, and I took you back to my place to get cleaned up without any orders. Mycroft contacted me two or three days later. It was more of an interview, I think, to make sure I'd be good for you. Sort of like him dragging John to the warehouse. He's got a funny way of showing it, but I know your brother's always looked out for you. And listen–carefully, okay–because you need to hear this. There are times that he calls us for specific requests. To go through your sock index, or see if you've eaten in awhile, or to show up at six in the morning to make you a cup of tea. But even if he didn't, we'd both do those things anyway. He's got this sixth sense about when you need extra help, but John and I are willing to offer it. Always. Whether he orders us to or not."
Sherlock was silent for a moment. "It's not fair to you."
"It's our choice. And it's what family does. John feels the same way, I know he does, and you're a bloody idiot if you think otherwise. Actually, you're a bloody idiot if you don't let me fetch him right now so we can put this all behind us. Pushing him away is doing just as much harm to him as it is to you."
He shuffled. "If you think so."
"I know so. And so do you."