Chapter 9

Greg sat in the corner booth of a small cafe holding his tea, which was growing colder by the minute. His restless leg was slightly bouncing, making the table rattle slightly. He kept an eye on the door for the social worker he was supposed to be meeting with soon. He only hoped that he had somehow managed to look presentable and like he had his life together, despite how he was feeling at the moment. A tie usually helped make him look a little more professional, now it just seemed too tight and constricting.

It had seemed that while Littleton was no-nonsense at work when it involved family, she made you reconsider your whole opinion about her. Once he had called her yesterday afternoon in his panic that Sherlock had agreed to Jackson's plan, she had immediately gone to work contacting some of her former friends and contacts in Child Services. By the time he had gotten home from his disastrous meeting with Sherlock, she had already pulled some strings and had a meeting lined up for him to meet someone to discuss an emergency guardianship until something more official could be determined. Only after his meeting with Sherlock, that had gone so horribly wrong, he couldn't find it in him to be as excited as he thought he would be.

Greg had stayed in his car in the parking lot of Springhill for at least an hour after leaving Sherlock's room. He had spent the time debating whether or not to go back to Sherlock's room and try to work through this with him. He kicked himself for being so hasty to jump to something like a guardianship. He should have consulted Sherlock. In hindsight, springing something this big on the kid was maybe not the right call. However, they had, albeit briefly, discussed Sherlock staying with him after rehab. He shouldn't have been that surprised when Greg had tried to put that plan into action. A phone call from only last week with Sherlock sprung to mind, and god had it only been last week?

"I'm either in or I'm out."

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

Eventually, he decided to head home and try to calm down with a glass or two of scotch. And after a few hours of poor sleep left him feeling restless, and anxious, he feared that everything he had been hoping for would come crashing down around him.

The bell over the cafe's door chimed, and Greg made his leg stop bouncing to glance up to see if she was the woman he was supposed to meet, but the person found another table with a couple of friends. He angrily sopped up some of his tea that had sloshed out from the cup that his abrupt fidgeting had caused.

He supposed that he should be thankful that Jackson had given him the day off. On top of being exhausted and mildly hungover, Greg was quite certain that he would have punched the arrogant DI in the face. Jackson had called him and instructed him to take the day, stating that Greg would need time to get things ready for Sherlock to stay with him for a few days. Jackson had said he would call when Sherlock was cleared to be picked up from rehab once all the paperwork was finalized. Thankfully his one-bedroom flat was easy to pick up. He had already gotten the kid some extra clothes and blankets for the couch that he would have to deal with for the time being. The morning off ended up doing nothing to help his anxiety over the situation, and his thoughts constantly played him and Sherlock's interactions on repeat. Feeling guilty, he ended up calling Julie before he left for his meeting to give her a heads up on the situation. She had been especially displeased but promised that she would go check on Sherlock if he didn't show for his usual session. He hadn't heard from her so he assumed everything was alright. He certainly hoped everything was alright.

Maybe Sherlock just needed the night to process the information. At the very least maybe he had cooled down and would entertain the idea of speaking with him about the subject.

"Gregory Lestrade?"

Greg jumped at the man's voice that had startled him from his thoughts. He leaped up from his booth and tried to smooth his clothes. In front of him was a younger man with dark brown hair and sharp eyes. He was dressed in a crisp three-piece suit complete with a pocket square. The new person was grasping a small folder in one hand, with an umbrella in the other.

"Yes, sorry," Greg stumbled out and reached his hand towards the man. "You must be with Child Services."

The man returned his handshake while giving him a quick once over. Suddenly Greg found himself glad he went for the tie.

"Sorry I wasn't paying much attention. I had actually been expecting a woman named Gretta," Greg tried to fill the silence nervously.

"Yes, well, I'm sure you'll still be meeting with Gretta later on. Consider this more of a pre-interview. Can't be too careful with those you offer to take on seemingly unwanted children," the social worker informed him. The smile that he gave Greg made him more anxious than at ease. He dropped the man's hand and took a step back, eager to reassure himself that the walls of the small cafe were staying firmly in place. Now was not the time for an anxiety attack.

"Nice to meet you," Greg greeted him hesitantly. "Can I get you a cup of tea?"

The man gave him a small flat smile, "Please."

"Right, back in a tick," Greg motioned him to have a seat in the spot across from his and went off to get a fresh cuppa for the social worker.

Suddenly he became very nervous, while he waited in the small queue. The walls were slowly closing in. This was it. This was the moment he had been waiting for, he could not afford to screw this up. If he did, Sherlock would end up god knows where, and that thought gnawed in the pit of Greg's stomach. He wasn't willing to give up on him just yet. Greg looked back towards the younger man, he had an intimidating air about him. His stomach clenched when he saw that the small stack of papers man was already going through, preparing for their meeting. The young girl working behind the counter passed him his tea and he went back to the table.

Greg held his head high and put a smile on his face. It was now or never.

Soft knocking roused Sherlock from his own thoughts. He had to glance around to get his bearings, and realized he had slid to the floor at some point after Lestrade left last night, and was leaning with his back against the door to his room. He glanced up and was surprised to see sunlight streaming through the curtains, bringing a certain cheery brightness that Sherlock found disconcerting. Evidently, he hadn't moved the rest of the evening.

"Sherlock?" Julie's questioning voice was muffled through the door.

Sherlock was mentally and physically exhausted. He had cried himself into a stupor, and the call to something to inject into him to take the pain away had become so great that he remained trapped in his thoughts.

Had he done the right thing? Should he have gone after Lestrade? Did he ruin everything?

Lestrade had looked so defeated when he left last night. Sherlock knew he had hurt the man's feelings. Still, Sherlock felt wronged too. Having such a large decision taken from him by Lestrade still angered him.

"Sherlock?" Julie's voice came through again, and Sherlock got up from his spot on the floor. Julie wouldn't leave until he opened the door. Even if he didn't open the door, she would find a way to get in anyway.

Sherlock knew he must look wrecked. He could feel his hair that was one the back of his head was standing up straight from being against the door all night. He was sure his eyes must look red and bloodshot from all of his crying last night by how dry and puffy they felt.

It was no use wallowing. What's done is done.

He slowly opened the door to Julie. As always, Julie was able to deal with this new emotional swing with her normal grace.

"You missed your session with me this morning. When Greg called me this morning to fill me in on what happened yesterday, I thought I would come to check in on you," Julie jumped straight to the point. It was a trait Sherlock approved of, for the most part.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Of course, he called you," he spat out. Surely, Lestrade was trying to force Julie on his side.

"He's just worried about you, Sherlock, and so am I."

"Thank you for your concern, but it's no longer needed. It seems you've already been informed of my release later today," Sherlock informed her, passively. He remained firmly in place, not willing to allow her inside of his room just yet. Maybe, if he was lucky, he could remain neutral about the situation.

"I was hoping to hear your version of events," she prodded him patiently.

She was wearing a dress like normal, this time a deep purple one with a black cardigan over it. Her shoulder-length dark brunette hair had been done with some curls added to it today. Her make up was done with more attention to detail than usual, with eyeliner, which was not usual for her.

"You have a date tonight," he deduced.

Julie gave him a roll of her eyes, "Sherlock, what have I said about misdirecting people when they are trying to connect with you?"

He gave out a frustrated huff and opened the door to fully invite her into his room.

"So, what has Lestrade told you already?" He asked, feeling his anger begin to simmer again. He leaned against the threshold that leads into his ensuite bathroom waiting for her answer.

"Not much, honestly," she added when Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I know that you've agreed to something that he doesn't agree with, and I can't say I blame him for that."

"I've agreed to go back to Volkov for the police," he informed her honestly. Quite frankly, he was surprised Lestrade hadn't called her and told her all the sordid details and had her bust his door down last night.

Julie crossed her arms in front of her and gave a disappointed look towards him, "Sherlock-"

"Don't," Sherlock stopped her. "Just don't. I had enough of that from Lestrade last night," he finished defeated.

"I'm sure he did," Julie insisted. "He cares about you," Julie defended on behalf of Lestrade. Typical.

Sherlock let out a snort, shoving off the door frame with an eye roll, and headed to his closet and grabbed the gym bag that Lestrade had let him borrow to transport his clothes (that Lestrade had bought for him) onto his bed.

"Oh, you suddenly think he doesn't?" Sherlock could hear the sarcasm behind her words.

"I don't want to get into this right now," he told her point-blank, while he tried to busy himself with packing.

"Well, I think you should," she argued.

Sherlock turned to glare at her. He didn't have time for this. He hadn't realized that he had wasted most of the morning already before Julie came round to his room.

"I don't have time. I need to shower and pack. Les-" Sherlock cut himself off and winced. "Someone will be here to pick me up later," he finished quietly.

Would Lestrade still come for him? Or had he blown that now too?

"Well, I agree about the shower. The packing won't take you much time. If I remember from when we admitted you, you barely came with enough clothes to fill that bag," she reminded him, pointing to the gym bag that remained empty on the bed. "So let's just say we can meet in thirty minutes?" She gave him a small smile before quickly exiting the room, not giving him much of a chance to argue.

Once Sherlock was alone with his own thoughts again he flopped himself, rather ungracefully, onto the bed. He pushed his face into the pillow and growled. Why was everything out of his control? Suddenly, he found himself wishing that he had never stayed and waited for Lestrade at that damned park bench. If he hadn't, he'd still be on his own. He'd be in control.

Only, he couldn't quite make himself truly believe that.

"Here ya go," Greg placed the cup on the table before taking his own seat. "I didn't know how you take it so I got you a couple of packets of sugar and some milk you can add to it."

"Thank you, Mr. Lestrade," the social worker replied politely, before turning his attention completely to Greg. "If you don't mind, I'd like to get started. I am to understand you are intending to get approval for emergency guardianship over an individual who has somehow been able to evade the system?"

"Right," Greg nodded and pulled his notepad from his breast pocket, flipping the pages to the back. "So I guess you want to know all the usual stuff then?"

"Actually, I've already done a little research about you myself, Sergeant Lestrade," the man replied and Greg raised his eyebrows. "You joined Scotland Yard after you finished at university. You excelled as a police officer from the beginning and rose the ranks rather quickly. You now hold the rank of Sergeant, but the title of Detective Inspector is not far beyond your reach. You married your college sweetheart, but it looks like unfortunately, that has fizzled out," the stranger took a sip of his tea, and Greg could feel himself having to refrain from grinding his teeth.

"As far as financially situated, you seem to have a modest savings account," the man continued and flipped through a small stack of papers. Wait, were those his bank statements? "You are money conscious, but not frugal enough to cut coupons. Lastly, for some strange reason, you've taken an interest in an outcast fifteen-year-old with a drug problem. Now, why might that be?" The man finished, leaning back into the booth with a smug look on his face.

Greg was not as prepared for this inquisition as he originally thought, and scrambled so that the interviewer wouldn't think he was a complete idiot. He tugged at the neckline of his collar, wishing that he could just loosen his tie just a little.

"Man, you guys are thorough," Greg tried to joke, but it came out more nervous than he would have liked. He took a sip of tea to wet his throat before continuing, "No, my marriage didn't work out, but we tried to make it work," Greg tried to convince the man. "I wasn't ready to give up after ten years together. We went to counseling and I thought that we were going to make it out on the other side, but here we are," he shrugged. "I do enjoy my work at the Yard though. It won't make me rich, but I didn't have a lot growing up, so I just try to be careful." The guy seated across from him was hard to read, and reading people is something that Greg did for a living.

"As far as Sherlock goes," Greg took a moment to get his thoughts organized. "He's a great kid. Someday, he'll even be a good one. He just needs a little help," Greg said with a shrug. "He's not perfect, but then no one is. I put him into rehab to try and get him cleaned up, and I hope you can help make sure he stays there. This mission that Jackson wants him to do," Greg trailed off and shook his head. "And I'm going to make sure he finishes school. A genius like him, there is no excuse not to," Greg only hoped that he would have an easy time convincing Sherlock of that.

"I've only known the kid for a couple of months. I don't even know his last name," Greg chuckled. "But I do know that if given a chance he can be amazing. Sherlock deserves that chance," Greg finished passionately.

All the cards were on the table now. Greg tried to appear calm on the outside when it was the opposite of how he was actually feeling. The social worker was silent for several minutes as he took his time to scrutinize every millimeter of him. Greg found himself hopeful that Child Services tried to send intimidating people for their pre-interviews and everything else would go a little easier. At this rate, he was going to sweat through his shirt and need a change of clothes.

"What if he is prone to temper tantrums?" The man questioned.

Lestrade let out a laugh but righted himself quickly when he noticed the man give him a raise of his eyebrow.

"Yeah, sorry, he is," Lestrade attempted to explain, "prone to temper tantrums that is," he filled in. "That's just kind of Sherlock though," he finished with a shrug of his shoulders.

"And what will you when you tire of his antics, of his cavalier attitude," the man across from him asked. 'What happens when he relapses?"

Lestrade frowned at the man across from him, he would have been lying if he had been so ignorant as to have ignored that question himself.

"I won't lie, I'm worried about that. I don't live in a fairy tale world, I know that him relapsing is a very real probability," Greg started, "but I've had some time to think about the future, and I don't know what I will do if that day comes. What I can tell you is that I will always provide a place for Sherlock. No matter where he ends up, he will have a home."

"Such words of permanence for someone that barely knows this boy."

"I know this seems sudden, and probably a little suspicious. But there is nothing untoward going on. Have you ever just connected with someone?" Greg asked the man. "I don't know Sherlock's past, and it honestly doesn't matter to me. What I care about is his future. He just needs a little guidance. I want to help him get there."

Finally, the man gave a small frown and grabbed his umbrella from its place propped next to the small booth they were at.

"I'll make sure that you needn't concern yourself with any further red tape," the social worker said as he rose from his seat and gathered his folder back together. "I do believe that you will be good for him," he finished, ending on a sad smile.

Greg looked up at him surprised.

"Wait…" Lestrade frowned, a look of confusion swept over his face. "That's it?" he tried to ask and got up from his side of the booth to go after him.

The other man let out a small sigh and switched his umbrella to his other arm, "Keep your meeting that you had planned today. I'll be sure that everything is approved immediately."

"You can do that?" Greg asked him, surprised.

The man gave him a smug smile before heading towards the exit.

"Wait!" Greg called out, and the man in the dress suit paused and turned back towards him. "I don't think I caught your name."

The mysterious new person gave him a small smile, "Just consider me an interested party, Sergeant Lestrade," he told him vaguely before leaving the small cafe entirely.

Sherlock remained face down in his bed for most of the time that Julie had allotted for him. There was only so much longer he'd be able to put off getting ready to deal with the rest of the day. Julie, Lestrade, Jackson… It was all beginning to feel like too much weight on his shoulders. With a glance to the nightstand, he rolled his eyes when he saw the time. He'd need to get out of bed and face the music at some point. He showered and changed clothes quickly before heading towards Julie's office.

Sherlock was unable to drag himself out of bed. The pressure of everything was mounting to an unbearable level. Julie, Lestrade, Jackson… It was all beginning to feel like too much weight on his shoulders. He didn't want to think about Lestrade right now. There would be plenty of time to deal with Lestrade and whatever repercussions there may be later.

He glanced at the clock on his nightstand and groaned when he saw the time. He'd spent more time lolling about than he realized. Julie would be expecting him soon. With one last groan into his pillow, he got up to shower and change clothes before heading towards Julie's office.

The trip towards his therapist's office seemed to take longer than usual. Interesting how one's perception of time had a direct correlation to how it seemed to affect a person. Maybe there would be a way to devise an experiment around the concept. For now though, he had other concerns to deal with. Sherlock paused at the doors to Julie's office and took a deep centering breath to prepare himself for what was to come.

"In or out," Sherlock stated as he walked through her office doors. He went towards his normal chair and managed to fold his long legs up to rest his chin on them.

"In or out?" Julie asked from her desk. She was finishing notes on one of her other patients, then she put the pad of paper away and gave him her full attention. "Who or what is in or out?"

"Lestrade mentioned that he was either in, or he was out," Sherlock filled her in.

Julie nodded her understanding and leaned back into her chair as she waited for him to continue.

"We were discussing future plans," Sherlock continued on. "I hadn't actually talked to him about staying with him when I told you that was the plan," he admitted with a frown.

"Ah," Julie nodded in understanding, "and how did Lestrade handle that information?" Julie asked as she fiddled with her pen.

Sherlock rested his cheek on the top of his knees, while he chewed on his bottom lip, "He wanted in," he mumbled.

"And how did that make you feel?"

Sherlock shot her a glare, "Could you be more predictable?" he asked, clearly disappointed with her line of questioning.

Julie shook her head and gave him a sad smile.

"What?" Sherlock asked bewildered at her response.

"Feelings, Sherlock, just a reminder that you have them," she started, "you have a right to have positive or negative feelings one way or another."

"Good," replied Sherlock angrily. "Does that make you feel better? It made me feel good to realize that someone could be a permanent fixture in my life!" Sherlock finished angrily, hugging his knees tighter to his body to protect him.

"So not a week ago you were fine with Lestrade being permanently attached to you?"

Sherlock frowned. That was beside the point.

"How many attachments to other human beings have you been able to make in your life before you met Lestrade?" Julie asked him seriously. "Your mother? Father? Brother?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the line of irrelevant questioning, "Lestrade brings me cases. He just wants to keep my mind occupied. Keeps me off the drugs," he finished sarcastically.

Julie shook her head, "You're wrong."

Sherlock snorted at her answer, "I have it on very good authority that police officers don't take kindly to drug offenders."

"It's more than that and you know it," she argued, pointing her pen in his direction.

"He's only doing this because of some misguided notion-" Sherlock tried to start, but found himself interrupted by a very angry therapist.

"Bollocks!" Julie interrupted.

Sherlock looked startled at her frankness, "I'm sorry?" he asked for clarification.

"You heard me. That rot that you're spewing is bollocks and you know it," she finished with a look. Gone was the elegant, calm, sculpted accent. Julie was letting just a little bit of her previous cockney accent through. "You aren't my patient anymore, so I have the opportunity to be a little more honest with you than I normally would. That, and it sometimes takes a little more to get things through your thick skull," she stared at him pointedly.

Sherlock let his legs fall to the floor below with a thump, and slouched back in his chair like the petulant teenager he was.

"Lestrade has spent two months taking care of you. Supporting you! I've seen families that have been together for years give up on their loved ones after that long in rehab. In the big picture, I know that is just the blink of an eye. But in that small amount of time, I've seen the two of you really work on becoming a solid family unit."

Sherlock flinched at the word family.

"I know, Sherlock. I know that this is all hard and that you are dealing with so much. Given your options, however, I don't know about you, but personally, I would pick the family that wanted me. I would pick the family that has seen my flaws, seen me at my worst, and still want me. The other option is the family that cuts off communication and casts you out when you are down, somehow, doesn't seem quite as appealing."

Sherlock closed his eyes. This was why he didn't do feelings.

"Fine, tell me this then, Sherlock," Julie asked, grabbing his attention back to her. "Do you honestly believe that Lestrade meant anything malicious by pushing this guardianship through?" she asked, with a final click of her pen.

"It's not that I am worried about Lestrade as a potential guardian," Sherlock tried to start but was immediately cut off by Julie.

"Then what is the problem?!" she yelled. Sherlock made his teeth clatter due to making his mouth close shut so fast, completely startled by Julie's volume.

"The problem is that he took that choice away from me," Sherlock tried to argue with her.

"The choice that you two had already discussed?"

"That was merely about us living together. It had nothing to do with him owning me!"

"Listen to yourself, Sherlock," Julie started, exasperated by where this was going. "Owning you," she spat out, disgusted with his response. "Tell me this," she readied herself for another volley of questions. "Don't think too hard, just tell me who comes to mind first," Sherlock nodded and she continued. "Out of everyone in your life, who do you feel the most comfortable with?"

"Lestrade."

"Who do you feel you can go to with your problems and be listened to for who you are?"

"Lestrade."

Julie nodded and looked at him expectantly.

"Sherlock, it isn't that he's trying to take anything away from you. It's waking up in the morning and realizing that you've cast away the one person who ever gave a damn about you."

"Greg," Sherlock admitted softly, his voice filled with regret.

Julie continued to look at him, waiting for the reported lightbulb to turn on.

"And one last question," she paused to rest her chin in the palm of your hand. "What are you going to do if Lestrade doesn't get granted guardianship powers? What if child services decides to assign you someone else, or put you into an orphanage?"

"Julie," Sherlock began, picking at the hem that ran along his trousers. "I think I've made a mistake."

Greg frowned as he watched the stranger exit the front door with his umbrella tucked under his arm. That was a bit strange, he thought to himself. The new person, the social worker, or whoever he was, left Greg with an uneasy feeling in his stomach. Suddenly, Greg felt like he had more questions than answers about the whole Sherlock situation.

An interested party, Greg thought with a vexed expression. What was that even supposed to mean?

"I'm so sorry I'm late," a large, short woman who had to be in her fifties or sixties with a perfect updo came up in front of him, startling him from his thoughts, and reached out her hand towards Greg.

He grabbed it a little confused.

"I'm Gretta, Sandra Littleton's friend, with Child Services," she explained cheerfully. "I would have been here twenty minutes ago, but I couldn't get my car to start this morning and had to take the tube," she went on without waiting for Greg to catch up. "The blasted car had even just gone in for its regular servicing!"

"It's okay," Greg said, getting caught back up with the present. He needed to be ready for round two. "I actually just finished up with the pre-interview with one of your associates. You had to have passed him on the street. Nice suit, umbrella?"

Gretta looked at him confused and shook her head, "We don't do pre-interviews, dear."

Greg frowned at the admission. He knew something was off with the bloke from before, but he had known things, and the bank statements, he was just so thorough. He felt a light sweat break across his forehead.

"Are you sure?" he asked Gretta with a point towards the door. "That there wasn't any kind of other interviewer?"

Gretta nodded her assurances, "I'm positive. Why, the case was only assigned to me this morning, but I know Sandra pulled some strings yesterday to make this happen," she informed him with concerned eyes. "It seems this lad, Sherlock, was it? Had somehow managed to evade getting drug into the system before now. I was under the impression that only yourself and a handful of others were even aware of him."

Greg was beginning to doubt how anonymous Sherlock was after all.

Consider me an interested party, kept running through his mind on repeat.

It seemed that Greg wasn't the only party interested in Sherlock's future. The walls tilted closer, and Greg had to clench his fists closed to fight the dread from building.

"Why don't I go get us both a fresh cuppa," Gretta suggested, "you look a bit peckish," and gave him a friendly pat to the shoulder. "Give us a little pick up before we get into all this paperwork," she placed the briefcase that she was holding down in the booth seat that was just vacated by the mysterious umbrella man, and headed for the countertop.

Greg turned to look back towards the door. So who did he just meet then?

Sherlock anxiously waited at the front desk with Julie. Lestrade had called and left word with the front desk that he would be arriving to collect Sherlock soon. He was grateful that Lestrade hadn't asked to speak with him directly, Sherlock wasn't sure he was ready to speak with him earlier. Now, the gnawing in his stomach was so bad he was just ready to get the confrontation over with. Sherlock was so tired of feeling like he was drowning. He was ready to accept the life preserver that Lestrade had thrown him. At least he hoped he was. Sherlock and Julie finished up their session, Sherlock only feeling the pit in his stomach grow the longer they waited for Lestrade.

Lestrade walked in dressed in his normal work clothes, with an addition of a tie that seemed to have been loosened on the drive over. Sherlock thought he looked tired. Lestrade's face turned from one of nervousness to one that was flat, and didn't give away what he was thinking. Julie gave him a reassuring stroke on his upper arm, as if she were able to sense his discomfort.

Sherlock turned back to Julie for support when he felt her hand.

"Don't worry, I'll be in touch," she encouraged him forward with a gentle push towards Lestrade.

He met Lestrade half way with the small backpack of his meager belongings. The feelings he had yesterday of being small had returned. Sherlock felt every bit of the small child returning home from running away (even if it was just to the end of the driveway). Lestrade's expression still wasn't giving anything away, which only added to Sherlock's discomfort.

"Hey," Greg started, running a hand through his short cropped hair.

"Hello," Sherlock greeted, unable to look the older man in the eyes.

Both men greeted each other in unison. Greg chuckled and Sherlock gave a small smile at his shoes, and took a final deep breath before bringing himself to look Lestrade in the eyes.

Greg looked at him with a look that Sherlock couldn't quite place.

"Listen, kid," Greg started, before stopping abruptly to wring his hands together. "I know you're still angry with me," Lestrade began, "but I'm not angry with you, Sherlock. I get it. We should have talked about this together, and I left you out of the conversation-"

Sherlock effectively cut Lestrade off by lunging forward to grab the man in front of him in a large bear hug. He relaxed marginally when he felt Lestrade return the embrace with equal enthusiasm.

"I'm in," Sherlock whispered quietly, yet firmly, into the Sergeant's ear. Lestrade tightened his hold around Sherlock's shoulders for another second before releasing him, and Sherlock followed suit as well.

"Let's go home, kid."