Chapter 7

Monday

Lestrade hesitated at the entrance to DI Jackson's office Monday Morning. In one hand, he was holding a cup of steaming coffee that grounded him to the present. The other hand was holding Sherlock's notes about the Volkov ring, his Anna Karenina book, and the Shezza picture that Greg had nicked last week during his initial meeting with the narcotics inspector. He had no idea how this was going to go. He hardly had gotten any sleep last night thinking of the various ways this could potentially down spiral. No time like the present, he thought before giving a couple of knocks at the entrance of the Inspector's office before he talked himself out of it.

Lestrade had stayed with Sherlock until the very end of visiting hours. Sherlock worked on his notes of the Volkov ring, while Greg would ask questions to get him to supplement some additional answers. All the while, Sherlock tried to pepper in his tries at getting Greg to crumble on his stance to let him be the inside man for the Volkov ring. Greg wasn't sure what had gotten into him, but he had been adamant that it would be a cold day in hell before he'd let Sherlock go back there, even with the Yard behind him. That had only led to another strop that Lestrade was sure continued until well after he left.

"Lestrade, the meeting isn't for another hour. You're not getting cold feet about joining narcotics, are you?" Jackson joked and motioned for Lestrade to sit at the chair opposite his.

"Well, I guess that depends on how this meeting goes, Inspector. I thought it would be best to come to you with this before the meeting this morning. I need to start by saying that I had no prior knowledge that he was connected to Volkov before meeting you last week," Lestrade started and continued when he got the questioning eyebrow raise from the DI. He passed the picture of Sherlock back to the Inspector and laid the book and Sherlock's notes out behind it. "Shezza is really a teenager named Sherlock. I don't have a last name. He's a minor that got tied up with Volkov's group when he came to London."

"You know one of the drug runners?" Jackson asked, with a surprised expression on his face and began thumbing through the hollowed-out book and glancing through Sherlock's notes.

"Um, yeah," Lestrade started. He lightly bounced his left leg rapidly, a nervous tick he had developed while in marriage counseling with Hannah. "He's not an active member currently."

Jackson paused his perusal of the information Lestrade had provided him from Sherlock, "What do you mean?"

"I… kind of had to check him into rehab. That was about a month ago," Lestrade supplied. He rubbed the back of his neck. He had worried if Jackson would find the information credible after discovering it came from not only a teenager, but an addict at that.

Jackson raised both of his eyes, clearly surprised, "I see."

"Listen, he's a good kid. I had no idea he was involved with any of this until I saw his picture last week. I just needed to talk to Sherlock before I came to you. Sherlock has provided us with an outline of how extensive the ring is, along with three of the major locations, and some names of the more prominent members that you didn't have pictures of."

"That is… helpful," Jackson said without looking up from Sherlock's handwritten papers. Greg became concerned when the look of surprise on the DI's face was slowly changing into one of eagerness, "This could be big, Lestrade. Maybe there was a reason you were right for the job after all."

Lestrade didn't have an answer to that question, either. He had been mulling over that possibility himself all weekend. Not that he had specifically kept Sherlock a secret, but it wasn't as if befriending a fifteen-year-old came up in typical work conversation. More or less one with a drug problem. Hannah knew about Sherlock, but other than probably complaining to her boyfriend about the situation, he didn't think that she knew of anyone of any real power. Littleton knew, but only because he had told her last week after the transfer to the narcotics team was a done deal. It was odd timing, indeed.

He even brought the coincidence up to Sherlock while they were visiting this last Sunday. Sherlock paused from his handwritten notes to look at Lestrade. He seemed to be in deep thought, as if trying to recollect something that was buried in that big brain of his. The reply ended up being simple;

"The universe is rarely so lazy."

That thought was maybe the most accurate statement Greg had ever heard. He hadn't been able to get the phrase out of his head for the rest of the evening.

"So this kid - " Jackson started, distracted. The Inspector was fixated on the new evidence that had been presented before him.

"Sherlock," Lestrade supplied.

"Sherlock. What do we know about him?"

"Well, not much. I think he ran away from his parents. No missing person reports have been filed. I've been sure to check at least weekly. He apparently caught Volkov's eye when he showed off his big brain in front of him unknowingly. Sherlock made it sound like his drug problem had started before arriving in London, so working for Volkov was convenient. We actually met at a crime scene almost six weeks ago now. He had called in a murder at the park."

"And you said you checked him into rehab?" Asked Jackson for clarification, taking a moment to pause from Sherlock's notes on the Volkov ring.

"Yes."

Jackson nodded, taking in all of the information in front of him.

"Are we able to reach him?"

"Uh, well, part of that depends on Sherlock. If he can make it through the day without being an arrogant arsehole, he gets phone privileges in the evenings, and he can have visitors on Sundays."

"Would it be at all possible to check him out for a short period of time?"

Lestrade felt his bottom jaw drop, "Check out? Of rehab? No offense, Inspector, but it's not a hotel. He's a teenager that got himself hooked on cocaine, and god knows what else. He needs to be there."

Jackson leaned back in his chair and raised his hands in surrender. The gesture did nothing to dampen the fire that had been ignited in the Inspector's eyes. It was almost as if the Jackson he had met before had been an act, someone just pretending to know what the life was like of the man he was portraying. The new information Greg had provided him had woken up this new Jackson, like fueling fire with gasoline.

"I understand that, Lestrade. But look at it from another perspective. We have someone that has a very unique and extensive knowledge of the largest cocaine ring London has ever seen. They've already taken one of our own. If we could use Sherlock to our advantage, this could be over before it even begins. And who knows, maybe it would be good for Sherlock to put the nail in the coffin of his former life."

Lestrade frowned. He hadn't thought of it like that before. Maybe that was why Sherlock had been so persistent about helping.

"He's just a kid," Lestrade felt a bit hopeless. How would he be able to protect Sherlock if he had to go back to Volkov? What if it undid any progress he had made in rehab?

"I understand. How about we get to that meeting? This will stay on my desk… for now. Sherlock's notes will no doubt be useful while we work on our overarching game plan. If there is another viable option out there, we will use it. But I want you to work on being open to the option of using Sherlock if it comes to that."

Lestrade nodded and left the office feeling like the walls were beginning to close around him.

Tuesday

Lestrade let himself into his apartment after work that evening with a box of takeout from the pub down the street. He went straight for his bottle of scotch that lived on top of the refrigerator and made himself comfortable on the couch.

Today had not gone as expected. He was less than impressed with the amount of information the previous undercover officer had been able to get. Other than pictures and a basic understanding of how one base worked, they had nothing. No data other than Volkov, and all of his drugs, were bad. Jackson had alluded to the rest of the team that there was the possibility of contact with an informant on the inside that had already provided them with some preliminary information (the look that he gave Greg lingered just longer than necessary).

In the meantime, random tasks were assigned while they got started. Interviews with known associates, looking up old case files, that sort of thing. The busywork that would give them the groundwork to build their case against Volkov. It had been an unsettling first couple of days, to say the least.

After getting his assignment, Greg booked it home, unable to escape the feeling that the walls were closing in around him again.

His phone rang, interrupting him from his thoughts on his first couple of days on the narcotics team.

"Lestrade."

"Did I get the job?"

"Sherlock?"

"Of course, it's Sherlock. Now. Did. I. Get. The. Job?"

"Sorry, just not used to you being allowed phone privileges," he snarked back. "So, what'd you do to not be able to call yesterday?"

Sherlock let out an exasperated sigh, "Julie and I had a… disagreement." The rustling of feet against the carpet could be heard. Heavy footsteps of frantic pacing. Lestrade could only picture the kid in his small room, pacing like a caged tiger at the zoo. "It doesn't matter. The job?"

Lestrade rolled his eyes, "I wish I were more surprised. What job?"

"Lestrade, you are not this daft. The Volkov job." The tiger growled back.

"No, Sherlock," Greg sighed. "You didn't get the job. You won't get the job." If I have anything to say about it, Greg thought bitterly.

"Absurd. The information I provided was more than-"

"Enough information to get us started. It's not going to happen, kid," there was a pause on the other end before the dial tong rang in his ear. "Sherlock?" the blasted kid hung up on him!

Greg drained his glass of scotch in one go.

Wednesday

The next day was much of the same. Jackson had pulled him aside to see if he had a chance to reconsider bringing Sherlock into the mission, which Greg politely refused.

He went about his day interviewing a couple of people currently behind bars that had been rumored to work with the mysterious Volkov. While the information he got from them was helpful, it wasn't nearly as detailed as Sherlock's. He decided to stay late that evening to try and get a jump start piecing together a map that compiled a list of information he had received from Sherlock with the information he had learned on his own interviewing today. He was hopeful some other option would magically make itself known, but so far, his brain wasn't making any connections.

Once again, his phone rang at approximately the same time as last night, and he sighed when he saw the familiar number on the call screen.

"No," Greg answered.

"This is insane. I have been in the Volkov inner-circle. I have been a drug runner. You will not find a more qualified candidate," Sherlock huffed back.

"You're fifteen, kid. It's not going to happen," Lestrade punctuated the sentence with a slam of his hand against his desk. What was it going to take for Sherlock to get it through his thick skull?

"This is absurd," Sherlock all but growled back at him through the phone. Lestrade could picture the kid talking through clenched teeth, a little bit of the tiger from yesterday coming through.

"No, what would be absurd, would be to allow a fifteen-year-old minor back into a drug ring that would only re-expose him to something that got him sent to rehab in the first place. Not only that, but you will be back on Volkov's radar, and in the crosshairs as well."

"You're being ridiculous," Sherlock replied before ending the call abruptly again.

"Arse," Greg murmured and slammed his cell phone closed.

When he happened to glance back up from his desk, Jackson's eyes caught his from across the bullpen. Greg sighed. Hopefully, he would be able to keep the hungry DI away from Sherlock long enough to discover a new option.

Greg felt the walls continue to inch their way even closer together.

Thursday

"Lestrade," Greg greeted after taking a sip of his beer and placing it on the pub countertop. Mentally bracing himself for the following conversation.

"Where are you? It's loud," Sherlock answered back.

"At the pub with some of my friends from homicide. Thursday is our weekly pub night."

"Charming," Came the sarcastic reply.

"Don't get snarky with me. Not my fault, I have friends, and you have-" Greg cut himself off and cringed. He hadn't meant to be mean to the kid.

"A crabby police Sergeant?"

Greg let out a chuckle, "Well, I was going to say drug dealers, but yeah, you do have a crabby police Sergeant. Although, I wasn't half as crabby before I met you."

"Speaking of drug dealers-"

"The answer is still no."

"I - " Sherlock let out a short huff. "I think I am beginning to accept that," Sherlock admitted. Instead of defeated, as Greg expected him to sound, he seemed more… accepting.

Greg perked up at that, "Yeah?"

"After Monday, Julie and I have come to a sort of truce. I've been giving therapy a chance. She's not a complete idiot like I originally thought."

Greg let out a low whistle, "High praise."

"Don't get any ideas. I said, not a complete idiot. There is still a margin for error."

Greg let out a laugh at that, "Alright, kid. I'm just glad that you're working on it, really. I'm proud of you." Other than a low hum of acknowledgment, silence met him at the other end, "I'll let you go. Talk to you tomorrow? If you can manage another twenty-four hours without getting the phone taken away from you?"

"We'll see, Sergeant," Sherlock gave a small chuckle. "A lot can happen in a day."

Greg hung up the phone. The mates that he had come with were gathered at a table close behind the bar. He smiled into his beer, maybe it was turning into a pretty good week after all.

Friday

Lestrade was busy piecing together some witness statements along with his and Sherlock's notes. He had stayed late again to get the job done. They continued to have several small breaks in the case over the last several days. It was thankfully enough to keep Jackson off his back, and occupied with other things, for the last couple of days about bringing Sherlock in.

Speaking of, Greg thought as his cell phone rang through.

"Hey, kid," came his standard greeting. A witness statement grabbed his attention, and he shoved his pencil in his mouth and dug around for a couple of more things.

Well, this was interesting. One of the other blokes on the team had interviewed someone who was currently in prison, had confirmed that he ran with Volkov's crowd, but wouldn't provide any further information. The officer that took the interview apparently decided that he was a lost cause because he never followed up with anything. His name wasn't familiar to Greg and hadn't been listed on the information that Sherlock had given him, either.

"And then the King of England came for tea," Sherlock's voice brought him back to their conversation. He hadn't realized that he had zoned out.

Lestrade scrunched his nose, once that had a tick to process, and removed the pencil from his mouth.

"England doesn't have a king."

"It doesn't?"

Lestrade let out an exasperated sigh.

"You're distracted this evening."

"Yeah, just trying to figure something out. Hey, did you ever know a bloke by the name of Andrew Ryan?"

"Not personally. I'd only heard rumblings of his name. He was arrested for selling to an undercover officer before I joined."

"Just came across his witness statement is all. Something seems off."

"He was close to Volkov. I know that much. I find it highly unlikely for him to flip for you. Especially if he is due to get out any time soon."

"Right. So other than learning we don't have a king, how was the rest of your day?"

"Tedious." There was a brief pause followed by a squeak, and then by the sound of bed sheets rustling, indicated that Sherlock was trying to make himself comfortable in his small bed, "We talked about my parents today in therapy." The end almost tapered off into a mumble. He was so quiet Greg almost wasn't sure he heard what he thought he heard.

However, once the words finally registered, Greg's ears perked up, and he made himself comfortable at his desk. He wasn't used to Sherlock sounding so unsure of himself. It made the Ryan interview he had been working on no longer the most interesting topic.

"Oh yeah? You know I could probably contact them for you. If you wanted to give me the rest of your information," Greg offered. He sounded unsure even to his ears.

"What is the saying?" Sherlock started, already sounding output with the direction the conversation was heading, "I would rather have a hole in my head than deal with them again."

"The offer is still there. You have to want some kind of clos-"

"No, Lestrade," Sherlock growled back into the phone effectively cutting him off.

"Just saying," Lestrade wanted him to know that the offer was there if he ever chose it.

"They were not, nor have they ever been, pleasant people," The explanation sounded as if it had come from a small child who had learned this years ago. This was just how Sherlock interpreted his past experiences with his parents.

"But they're your parents! Surely, they'd want to know that you're okay. That you're working on yourself?"

"Lestrade, you figured it out on our first meeting. High-class boy, with the fancy name. I have no doubt that you've tried to look me up in missing persons and have tried to find my parents. I am also betting that you have had zero success in all these weeks that you've known me. Not including the two months, I was here prior to meeting you. They don't want me back."

Lestrade didn't have an answer for that.

"I'm sorry."

"Me too."

Saturday

The phone call came at roughly the same time it had the last few days. Greg muted the TV but still had the match going on in the background. He tried not to get his hopes up too much that Sherlock had turned a new leaf. That this was only the beginning of daily telephone calls and getting to know the kid.

"Hey, kid."

Silence came from the other end.

"Sherlock?"

"We talked about after today."

Greg frowned, "After what?"

"After I leave here, Julie wanted to know what kind of support system was in place, what I intended to do about school. That sort of thing."

"Sounds reasonable."

Sherlock sighed, "I may have made a mistake."

Greg sat his beer down on the coffee table to try and prepare himself for whatever Sherlock was about to tell him. He'd known the kid just shy of two months, and he couldn't ever recall a time Sherlock admitted to a mistake. Coming from the kid who was currently in rehab for drug addiction, Greg decided to be slightly concerned.

"I might have told her that I was coming to live-with-you."

The last few words were said so fast, Greg thought he had misheard the kid. Live with him. That just made all of this more real. Greg had been so focused on Sherlock's present. He hadn't spared much thought for the kid's future.

"Lestrade?"

Oh, shite, then he'd gone and made the kid nervous.

"Yeah, kid, I'm here. I'll be here. You want to come to stay with me after. I'll have a place for you," Greg told him, tapping his fingers on the coffee table. "Maybe it would give me an excuse to look for a new place. Be nice to have a spare bedroom for visitors. Especially if someone wanted to stay for a while."

"A... bedroom would be… nice." Sherlock stuttered.

Greg smiled at the sound of the kid's surprise. As if Greg was going to turn him away at this point, "Maybe check into a flat that's close to a good school."

"No need to get too involved," Sherlock grumbled. Lestrade could hear the telltale signs of embarrassment come through.

Greg chuckled, "Can't have it both ways, kid. I'm either in, or I'm out."

"Mmm," Sherlock agreed. "I suppose I'll allow you in."

Greg raised his beer glass to no one in particular;

"I'm honored, your highness."

Sunday

Greg walked into Springhill Rehab at almost two the next day for his usual visitation with Sherlock. Jackson had called him in at the last minute this morning to tail a suspect. It didn't pan out to much of anything, but he had to wait until his back up arrived. He hadn't even had a moment to give Sherlock a heads up that he would be a little late today.

Jackson had pulled him aside again, said that he had a plan that involved Sherlock going back in. Greg had told him that it had only been a week, and there wasn't any need to jump to anything involving Sherlock just yet. The DI didn't look like he agreed with him, but let it pass for the time being. Greg wasn't sure how much longer he'd be able to hold off the overly eager DI from Sherlock.

Greg had to admit that he was pretty proud of Sherlock. It had only taken him five weeks, but he managed to make it a full week (more or less) without losing phone privileges. Greg also made it an entire week without a phone call from Julie. Generally speaking, that thought should make him feel good, however, knowing Sherlock, it also made him think that he better check on the therapist while he was visiting to make sure Sherlock hadn't tied her up or driven her mad.

"Afternoon," Greg greeted the receptionist at the front desk as he went to sign in.

"Good day to you too. Sherlock must have really behaved himself this week to earn two visitors today," Annie replied cheerfully.

"Yeah, I'm pro- Wait?" Greg stopped and stared at her, confused. "Did you say two visitors?"

"Yes, a gentleman checked in a little after noon for Sherlock," Annie grabbed the clipboard and searched for the name. "Here he is. Doesn't look like he's checked out yet," She informed him and passed the clipboard back to Greg.

Jonathan Jackson.

The last-minute tail that Jackson had ordered suddenly made sense. He was just wanting to make sure he would have Sherlock to himself. Greg couldn't decide if he should be angry or furious.

He quickly signed his name to the sheet and went in search of the two. What was Jackson thinking? Coming here to talk to Sherlock without consulting him? Jackson knew damn well that Sherlock was his kid, and he had labeled him as off-limits.

Greg stopped himself dead in his tracks before entering the common room.

Sherlock was his kid. It took less than two months, but at some point, he wasn't just Sherlock anymore. He was his kid.

Damn.

He glanced up into the common area and quickly spotted the two having an intense discussion at Sherlock and his regular table.

"Hi, lads. Have a nice chat?" Lestrade tried to greet the two of them with a friendly greeting. He could tell Sherlock instantly picked up on the sarcasm, but Jackson had not.

"Ah, Lestrade, good timing," Jackson greeted and got up from his chair. "I was just leaving. Sherlock, it was nice to meet you. It seems Lestrade wasn't exaggerating about your intelligence. I'll be in touch."

"I'll walk you out," Lestrade told him, leaving no room for argument.

Sherlock tried to get his attention, but Greg shot him a look that said, don't push it.

"That's an interesting creature you've picked up, Lestrade. He'll come in handy," Jackson commented once they were out of the common area.

"I don't know how you found him, but whatever games you're playing end here," Lestrade informed him. "He's already provided us with more than enough information. Sherlock is staying here."

Jackson paused as they reached the entrance and gave Greg a once over. Greg stayed relaxed yet firm. He wouldn't back down from this.

"See, Lestrade, there is one main flaw in your defense," Jackson started. "You aren't the boy's father."

Greg felt that declaration like he had been hit in the gut with a bat.

"He's not giving up his name. We haven't found him in the system. He has no known guardian. And in that sentence, I win. Because the Chief Inspector just signed off on my plan, if Sherlock agreed to help, which he did, in exchange for some set upon agreements."

"What agreements?"

"I'm sure he'll tell you about them. He has twenty-four hours to get back to me with the final list while I make some preparations. I'm sure I'll be able to arrange whatever he needs," Jackson said with a shrug.

Greg felt like the rug had been completely pulled out from under his feet.

"It's time to get on the team or get off Lestrade. I'll see you Monday," Jackson finished and let himself out the front door.

The walls were full-on collapsing on top of him now. There was nothing he could do to stop this.

Frantically, he fished his phone out of his pocket and dialed a familiar number.

"Hey, yeah, I'm really sorry to bother you, but I need your help."