Chapter 10
"Oi!" Greg yelled as he banged on the door to the bathroom. "We leave in ten!"
The squeaking of the knobs to the shower could be heard followed by the sound of the water turning off. Lestrade directed a frown towards the door and moved on to the kitchen. Grabbing two travel mugs from the cabinet, he filled them both up with coffee and set them on the kitchen table. He glared at the door to the bathroom, mentally willing Sherlock to hurry his morning routine. He was expected to be in a meeting with Jackson and a few other members of the narcotics team to discuss the Volkov case in oh, about fifteen minutes. Thankfully, since Greg was bringing the guest of honor, he suspected he'd be let off easy for being tardy.
After leaving Springhill Rehab, Greg and Sherlock had a fairly quiet evening. They had settled on tacos from a restaurant between the rehab facility and his flat. They ate dinner in silence at the kitchen table. Then Greg showed him the new clothes he had purchased for him, hung up neatly in Hannah's vacated closet. Sherlock spent the rest of the evening tucked away on the couch, which would serve as his bed for the week, reading Greg's old paperback Stephen King novel, The Shining, while Greg paid bills. All in all, it had been a peaceful evening. Greg assumed they were both too emotionally exhausted to deal with anything else that day, and that was fine. He was sure there would be multiple opportunities for emotions to be shared in the days leading up to Sherlock going back to Volkov.
Greg just hadn't anticipated how difficult waking Sherlock up in the morning would be.
"Sherlock!" he yelled from the kitchen table while he screwed the lids on to their to-go mugs.
The bathroom door finally opened, letting a cloud of steam from the shower enter into the living area. Sherlock exited the bathroom wearing the new pair of dark jeans, and a black button-down shirt Greg had got for him. He was delicately patting the wet curls on his head to dry them.
"Come on, your highness," Greg replied sarcastically to the kid in front of him. "We're late enough as it is," he told Sherlock, shoving a mug of coffee into his hand while simultaneously grabbing the towel from the kid and tossed it back into the bathroom.
Sherlock huffed but took a sip from the mug and went to put his shoes on.
Greg stood by the front door waiting on Sherlock to finish tying the laces of his new tennis shoes. The kid was still too skinny for his liking, but it seemed that the last couple of months in rehab had put some much needed weight on him. He no longer looked ill, just like a normal gangly teenager. A teenager he was getting ready to send back into a dangerous, drug-infested world that would more than likely end with Sherlock getting seriously injured or killed.
"What?" Sherlock snapped at him as he approached the front door.
"Not a morning person I see," Greg teased as he ushered them towards the elevator on his floor.
Sherlock grumbled something unintelligible while drinking from the coffee mug. Greg decided to let it slide for now.
The elevator chimed and the doors slid open, inviting them inside. Lestrade kept giving Sherlock little worrying glances the whole ride down the lift and the walk to his car.
"What?" Sherlock groaned as he slammed the passenger side of the door closed.
"Hm?" Lestrade hummed in question as he started up the car.
"You keep staring at me as if I'll disappear at any moment," Sherlock answered, keeping his eyes on the road in front of him. "It's annoying," he bit out.
"Really not a morning person. Noted," Greg remarked, making a check motion with his finger. Sherlock finally turned to glare at him. "It's nothing, just adapting is all," Greg grumbled. "You need a haircut," he deflected, pointing to the dark brown mop that was affixed to Sherlock's head.
Sherlock frowned and smoothed his hair down with his free hand. "It's fine," came the teen's sullen reply.
The remainder of the ride to the Yard the two kept their thoughts to themselves. Through the car stereo, a local rock station was playing on a low volume that helped fill in the silence. Sherlock kept his gaze out the window while sipping on his coffee. Greg, however, was running through a mental checklist of reasons why going along with Jackson's plan was a terrible idea. So far he'd come up with at least 26 reasons. Maybe he could convince Sherlock to go into witness protection to get out of this. Then again, it wasn't like the kid would agree to it, or that he wouldn't find his own trouble, anyways.
Greg parked his car and checked the time, noting they were only fifteen minutes late. He shut the engine off but kept his hand on the key before turning to look at Sherlock.
"Oh, what now?" the kid asked him annoyed. "Weren't you the one moaning about us being late not twenty minutes ago?"
"Just listen to me for a second, Sherlock," Greg began, taking the key from the ignition and twisted in his seat to give Sherlock his full attention. "Just be careful, alright?" he pleaded with Sherlock. "I still don't like this, and I know that you are getting tired of hearing that, but it doesn't change how I feel. I won't like anything that we end up agreeing on if it still means sending you back to Volkov, you'll just have to deal with that. Just," he paused and rested his left hand on top of Sherlock's right shoulder. "Just remember that once you're back with Volkov that you don't belong there. That I won't care what you have to do to survive, just promise me you'll get out of there and get back here. I'll be here on the other side, and I won't care what you've done. I just want you safe," he finished quietly.
Sherlock gave him a small smile and nodded his head.
"I'm not a morning person, and you are far too sentimental in the morning," Sherlock informed him with a quirk of his lips and quickly slid out of the passenger seat, shutting the door on his way out.
"Arse," Greg grunted before he followed Sherlock, and had to jog a little to catch up with the kid before they reached the entrance of the building.
Sherlock stayed close to his side as they made their way through the building. Greg had stopped at the front desk to grab a visitor's pass for Sherlock before heading to the lift that would take them to the narcotics team and the meeting that he had been dreading since the moment he learned about it. He gave friendly hellos to some friendly faces that looked on at Sherlock with intrigue.
Finally, they entered the narcotics floor and Greg caught the secretary's relieved expression.
"You're late," the secretary harped at him. "Inspector Jackson was contemplating whether or not a search team would be necessary."
"Yeah, sorry," Greg wasn't, and his tone reflected how he truly felt. He jabbed a thumb in Sherlock's direction. "Wasn't prepared for having to share a bathroom with a teenager in the morning," that part was true at least. The statement earned him a smile from the receptionist and a frown following an eye-roll from Sherlock as they continued on towards the conference room.
Greg paused with his hand on the door to the conference room. Jackson's impatient gaze was glaring at him through the small rectangular window that was off to the side of the door. How was there anyway Greg would be able to prepare himself for what was to come? There was nothing he'd be able to do once Sherlock was back in Volkov's circle-
"I promise," Sherlock's voice startled him from his inner monologue.
"What are we promising?" Greg asked, trying to follow Sherlock's vague statement.
Sherlock rolled his eyes and then gave him a pointed look.
"From what? All of five minutes ago? In the garage?" Sherlock refreshed his memory with an irritated glare. "I promise to do what it takes to get back here," he finished looking at the ground instead of at Greg. He looked embarrassed by the declaration if the tinge of pink on his cheeks had anything to say.
Lestrade gave him a small, thankful smile before opening the door that led them into the unknown. He held his head high and ushered Sherlock in after him. Lestrade could be strong for the both of them, he thought as he watched Sherlock shake hands with the various other members of the narcotics team. Greg put his hands in his pockets and met Jackson's eyes from across the room. Yeah, I can be strong enough for the both of us, Lestrade thought to himself as he returned a sarcastic smirk to Jackson.
Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief as they were finally released from the conference room. Jackson had kept them locked in there until almost two pm. Jackson had made Sherlock do a majority of the talking. Sherlock went into specific details for the narcotics team about Volkov's hierarchy, the various locations of known bases across the city, distribution operations, the list seemed endless. Every time Sherlock would finish a subject, Jackson would continue to drill him, making sure that Sherlock left no stone unturned. He turned his head from side to side, stretching his until he heard a satisfying crack.
Lestrade exited the conference room, not even trying to stifle his yawn. The older man quickly found Sherlock and clapped him on the shoulder.
"How about some lunch?" Lestrade asked and steered him towards the lift. "Canteen is this way, come on," he instructed.
Sherlock followed him silently. His mind remained back in the conference room. Jackson had been thorough. He had forced Sherlock to delve into more specifics than he had been anticipating during the five-hour interrogation. They hadn't even started on the particulars of what Jackson had expected of Sherlock once he was in, or how Jackson expected him to even back in without being suspicious in Volkov's eyes.
"So you've got the typical salad bar over there," Lestrade started, making Sherlock glance around in surprise when he realized they had made it to the canteen without him even realizing it. "The fancier hot food line is over there," he pointed to the line in the middle. "It's usually pretty good," he commented with a shrug. "And lastly, there is the snack line," he finished pointing to the far side of the canteen. "It is mostly grab and go kind of stuff. You know, crisps and the like," Lestrade finished with a nervous bounce on the balls of his feet while he looked at Sherlock expectantly.
"Not hungry," came Sherlock's terse reply as he went to go find a table to sit at. He didn't need food right now, he needed to think, to prepare for this afternoon. He needed to have some plans prepared to present to Jackson.
"Kid, you need to eat something," Lestrade had evidently followed him to the table he had picked in the back of the canteen.
"Mmm, no," Sherlock argued, steepling his hands under his chin. "I need to think. Eating will get in the way," he informed Lestrade. "What?" Sherlock asked when he realized that Lestrade hadn't moved from standing at the end of the table.
Lestrade rolled his eyes and headed towards one of the food lines.
Sherlock focused back on the task at hand. He needed to find ways to be prepared for whatever the afternoon session would be. The need to appear strong in front of Jackson was mounting. He'd no doubt that the first sign of hesitancy he showed in front of Jackson, Lestrade would step in and he would never let him hear the end of it.
A bag of crisps was thrown at him, breaking him out of his mental planning session. Sherlock quirked an eyebrow at Lestrade as the older man sat across from him.
"Humor me," Lestrade nodded his head towards the bag that had been just thrown at him and then set a cup of tea in front of him. "You haven't eaten since dinner last night. You'll need to keep your strength up if you're going to go another five hours in the ring with Jackson."
Sherlock took a sip of his tea before opening the bag of crisps with a flourish and gave Lestrade a pointed look as he popped one into his mouth.
"You did good in there," Lestrade told him in between a bite of his salad. "A lot of really solid information that will give the team a chance to come up with several plans."
"Mmm," Sherlock gave an evasive mumble.
The problem was he wasn't as sure about the team's ability to plan. They needed to realize that Volkov was no idiot. The chances of Sherlock being found out were high. He would have to spin the right story to be believable. If he couldn't convince Volkov then the mission would be over with before it even started. He glanced up at Lestrade as the man took a bite of his salad. Sherlock had a promise to keep after all.
"What?" his new guardian questioned him with a mouth full of salad.
"Thinking," was all Sherlock replied. He quickly took a sip of tea to hide the smile that was trying to form.
"Hey, Sarge!" an excited feminine voice greeted.
Sherlock turned to see a uniformed officer heading towards their table. She had dark skin with tight, coiled hair that was kept in a low bun. She was young, Sherlock thought, and going by the lack of stripes on her uniform she was fairly new to the force as well.
"Officer Donovan!" Lestrade greeted the newcomer with a wave.
"Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt your lunch," she apologized. "I just haven't seen ya around much, and wanted to say hi."
"Yeah, the narcotics team has kept me tucked away, but hopefully I'll be back to homicide before too long. Oh, this is Sherlock," he introduced. "Sherlock is my," Greg trailed off and looked at Sherlock questioning, who only responded with his own questioning raise of his eyebrow. "Sherlock is well, Sherlock. He's helping the Yard out on a case," he explained, and then looked at Sherlock and gave him a shrug of his shoulders.
Sherlock rolled his eyes at the man's description of their relationship. It was accurate enough to pass for now. If Sherlock was able to stay with him after this assignment was over, they would probably discuss something a little more formal. He blinked quickly, forcing that line of thought to pause momentarily, not ready to start labeling particular emotions and attachments he may or may not have for the man that sat across from him.
"Anyway, Sherlock, this is Officer Donovan," Lestrade introduced her to him. "She only joined, oh, what? Has it been a year already?" he asked, giving her a questioning look.
"Yes, sir, next month," she nodded in agreement.
"She's got a real knack for homicide. I bet you two would get along," Lestrade suggested.
Sherlock gave a quick glance up and down the uniformed officer. Sleeping with her superior officer, eager to jump to conclusions without all the information, and clearly no guilt over her current affair even though it was an obvious attempt to rise the ranks at a quicker pace. Sherlock placed another crisp in his mouth so he wouldn't have to answer. There were no scenarios that he could think of that would not end with Lestrade calling him an arse if he spoke what he was thinking.
Officer Donovan gave Sherlock a curious look as if she was trying to place him from somewhere.
"Wait a minute," she stopped to point at Sherlock. "You're the kid from the park a few months back. The last case I worked with Sargeant Lestrade," she finished, finally making the connection.
"Yup," Sherlock replied, popped another crisp.
"It's a bit of a story," Lestrade filled in with a pointed look towards Sherlock. "He's usually much more talkative than this. Strong, beautiful women are apparently not his strong suit," he told Officer Donovan with an apologetic smile.
Sherlock lobbed the next crisp at Lestrade's head.
"It's alright," Donovan shrugged him off with a wave. "I actually was going to ask if you were going to go for the DI test next month?" she asked, focused back onto Lestrade now.
Sherlock's ears perked at that information and looked at Lestrade with eager anticipation. Having Lestrade as an Inspector would be excellent. There would be cases, upon cases that Sherlock would have the potential to get his hands on.
"Yeah, I haven't really focused on that too much recently," Lestrade replied, interrupting Sherlock's plans for the future. "I've had a bit on my plate recently," he explained. Sherlock didn't miss the side glance from Officer Donovan. "I will probably just wait until the next go around."
Sherlock frowned at Lestrade. Why was he being so dismissive about moving up? Sherlock was having a hard time piecing this new piece of information with what he had already learned about the man.
Officer Donovan gave a look of understanding. Sherlock could tell that she wasn't quite understanding either, but maybe hesitant to speak up with a superior officer.
"Well, I really just popped in for a snack before my shift starts," Officer Donovan pointed towards the snack line. "I'm on the late shift for the next month," she finished less than enthusiastic about her shift. "I'll see ya around, yeah?" she smiled at Lestrade, who nodded back at her. "Sherlock," she nodded her goodbyes to him before leaving the table.
Lestrade gathered their empty cups and trash on his tray, tidying up the table.
"We should probably head back upstairs ourselves," Lestrade mentioned as he finished piling everything on his tray. Sherlock remained seated on his side of the table, ready to interrogate the man across from him.
"Why are you putting off the Inspector's test?" Sherlock questioned him, bewildered by Lestrade's indifferent attitude.
"I'm not putting it off," Lestrade glared at him, half standing with the tray holding both of their trash. He appeared offended by Sherlock's silent implications.
"Then why won't you take it next month?" he asked Lestrade, feeling bewildered.
"Look, it's just not really something I can focus on right now," Lestrade replied, letting out a huff of air before falling back into the booth across from Sherlock, the tray clanging slightly in the almost empty canteen.
"So it's me then?" Sherlock asked him, frowning with Lestrade's line of reasoning. "If I wasn't here, you would be taking that test next month?" he questioned, his tone falling slightly. He hadn't stopped much to think about how Lestrade's life must be so different since he'd entered into it, how he had inadvertently displaced the man's future. Sherlock just hadn't expected to feel so guilty over it.
"It's not because of you, kid," Lestrade started, and sighed when Sherlock gave him a pointed look. "Fine, it's a little because of you," he admitted and began talking before Sherlock could interrupt him again. "But it isn't a bad problem to have. You've become a priority for me, Sherlock," Lestrade admitted, looking at Sherlock a little unsure of how he would take that. "We don't know how long you'll be undercover for. If I sign up to take that test, and you're still out there, I won't be thinking about that test," he looked at Sherlock, pleading with him to understand. "When we're situated and you aren't under any type of immediate danger, I promise I'll take it."
Sherlock folded his arms on top of the table and stared at the man in front of him for several seconds while he formulated a response. Just like that, the man across from Sherlock had completely dispelled whatever guilt he had felt and replaced it with a warmer feeling that spread through his body from his core to his outward extremities. Sherlock took another sip of tea to hide the blush he was sure was creeping to his cheeks. He would have to find a way to get Lestrade to take that test. Think. Lestrade was a man of his honor. He had agreed to take care of Sherlock, to see him through the end of the Volkov assignment. One task at a time then.
"So," Sherlock started slowly, still piecing together his response. "If I get in and out fast enough, with the necessary information, you'll take the test?" he asked, excitedly tapping his fingers on the tabletop.
"Sherlock," Lestrade groaned. "It's not that simple-"
"Then make it simple," Sherlock interrupted, exasperated with the man's protests.
Lestrade leveled a glare at him.
"Look, we have more important things to worry about right now," Lestrade argued. "Let's just get through this and we'll see."
Sherlock didn't agree, but he was willing to table the discussion for the time being. Lestrade would be taking that test next month. I'll make sure of it, Sherlock thought to himself as he followed Lestrade out of the canteen and back upstairs to the narcotics department.
The following day was much of the same routine, only Greg discovered that he had a much easier time rousing Sherlock in the morning if he made coffee before waking up the kid. Sherlock was able to drink almost an entire cup while Greg went through his morning rituals, before switching off with Sherlock. They were out the door much quicker the next day and even ended up early to the next meeting. Greg made a mental note that Sherlock was much more amenable after two cups of coffee.
Today's rounds of meetings thankfully appeared to be less Sherlock centered, shifting the focus onto Volkov instead. Greg was thankful for the temporary reprieve. Yesterday afternoon's session went much like the morning's, only not quite as long. Greg was proud of Sherlock though, he held his head high and answered all questions with the grace and strength that even most senior officers still struggled with. The kid would never admit it, not even to him, but after a full day of grilling, he looked exhausted. They ended up heading straight back to Greg's flat for the rest of the evening. Greg made spaghetti while Sherlock picked back up The Shining until dinner was ready. They settled on a serialized detective show that Sherlock ruined for Greg within the first ten minutes. It had been a nice relaxing evening at the end of a long day.
Now, they sat back in the conference room listening to a couple of the senior Sergeants on the narcotics team lay out a laundry list of information they would need Sherlock to get while he was undercover. Everything from visual and audio recordings to hard evidence. Sherlock was leaning back in the chair he occupied, listening intently to what he was expected to collect. Greg had been listening too, but his attention was split between that and Sherlock. The kid's posture was stiff and tightly coiled and his hands were tense, gripping the rails of the chair hard enough his knuckles were beginning to turn white.
"So, obviously the visual evidence will be the most difficult to get," one of the Sergeants began to wrap up. "We'll probably need to focus on outside locations that would be easy to snap pictures or something. The audio recordings should be fairly easy, assuming you'll be able to plant the listening devices in the right areas. We'll probably want to figure out a way to fit you with a wire for when you're mobile-"
"No," Sherlock cut in sharply. "No wires on my person."
The Sergeant he had interrupted shared a glance with his partner before looking back at Jackson with a disbelieving expression.
"I don't think you're getting how this works," the man chuckled.
"And you must be an idiot, after listening to me give an eight-hour lecture explaining, in explicit detail how Volkov. Is. Not. An. Idiot!" Sherlock yelled back, punctuating his last few words with small pounds of his right fist against the chair rail it had been resting on.
Greg pursed his lips together and tried to get Sherlock's attention, but his fiery gaze was fixated on the Sergeant at the board.
"He has his goonies check for those sorts of things when he's not paranoid," Sherlock angrily started again. "After your last undercover attempt failed so spectacularly, Volkov went on a rampage. Your undercover officer wasn't the only one to lose their life. Then, for the next week, anyone who had an in-person meeting with him was forced to completely disrobe," he was nearly vibrating now. Greg reached over and rested a comforting hand on Sherlock's forearm, and felt him relax ever so subtly. "So, once again, no wires."
The room was quiet after Sherlock's speech. The Sergeant looked sufficiently scolded.
"No wires," Jackson's voice came from the back. "We'll have to come up with alternative ideas. We didn't bring Sherlock in to ignore everything he has to say," he finished from his place at the head of the conference table.
The two Sergeants looked at each other, each exchanging looks of disbelief, but eventually nodded in agreement.
"Yes, sir," the one that had been arguing with Sherlock agreed reluctantly. "What might you suggest then, boy?" the reply wasn't necessarily sarcastic, but it made Lestrade clench his teeth hearing Sherlock being referred to as that.
"I believe listening devices could be planted where Volkov primarily stays. It will just take time to integrate myself back into the fold. Being gone for two months will also not do much for my reputation," Sherlock replied. "I believe giving Volkov a small amount of information would go a long way to mending any bridges with him," he finished carefully.
Jackson nodded thoughtfully at the suggestion.
"I'm sure we could think of something that you could feed him, that wouldn't do too much damage," he agreed.
The buzz of the intercom went off, startling several people around the table.
"Sorry to interrupt," the secretary's voice came over the speaker. "Sergeant Lestrade, you have a phone call on line 3."
"Can you take a message?" he asked, not wanting to leave Sherlock alone just yet.
"Sorry, sir, I already tried. The man insists that it is an emergency," she finished apologetically.
"Right, be out in a mo-" he told her and then turned to Sherlock. "Try to behave, yeah?"
Sherlock quirked his lips and gave Greg a reassuring nod.
Greg exited the room and found an empty desk close to the conference room to take the phone call.
"Lestrade," greeted when he answered the waiting line.
"Ah, Sergeant Lestrade," the voice on the other side returned his greeting. "So good to hear from you again. I'd like to arrange a meeting to discuss our mutual friend," the mysterious voice informed him.
Greg frowned. Mutual friend? He racked his brain to try and pinpoint where he had heard that voice before. Then it clicked, like a match striking fire.
"You!" Greg shouted excited through the phone. "You're the bloke, the interested party, from the cafe!"
"I'm so pleased that you remember our interaction from only a few days ago," the man replied snidely.
"Now, listen here, umbrella boy," Greg started perturbed with the man's flippant attitude.
"There is no need to become upset, Sergeant Lestrade," the man cut Greg off before he could say anything else. "An interesting report came across my desk this morning about your Volkov investigation."
"That's classified!" he stumbled out. "How did you get that?" he asked the unknown man, feeling exceptionally alarmed.
"You'll find that I have access to a vast array of information, but that is neither here nor there," Umbrella Boy waved off nonchalantly. "What is most concerning is that Scotland Yard seems to be going forward with placing our mutual friend in an undercover assignment with a prominent drug lord."
Greg huffed and placed his forehead in the palm of his hand that wasn't holding the phone receiver.
"Yeah, don't get me started," Greg agreed.
"I'm going to send a car for you during your lunch break tomorrow. I have information that may be relevant to your case."
"What kind of information?" Greg asked eagerly.
"Tomorrow, Sergeant Lestrade," the man teased, dangling the possibility of getting Sherlock out of this in front of him.
"Fine, I'll have the kid with me though," Lestrade agreed.
There was the briefest pause from the other end of the line that made Greg frown. The Umbrella Boy had been fairly quick on his feet before now.
"I don't believe that would be a wise decision, Sergeant," he finally replied to Greg hesitantly.
"Why not?" Greg asked, confused. "If you have something that could help us out, I think Sherlock deserves to hear it. Believe it or not, the kid has a good head on his shoulders."
"Yes, I'm sure the mind of a teenager who became addicted to abusive substances in his more formative years, is of sound reasoning," the voice bit out.
"Hey, you don't know the kid like I do," Greg argued.
"Ah, Sergeant Lestrade, that is where you are wrong. I believe he would consider me an enemy."
"An enemy?" Greg questioned, confused. He turned to look back at the conference room where Sherlock was still contained along with the other major players of the narcotics department.
"He would probably even say his arch-enemy," the man on the other line said with just a flair of the dramatic.
"Fifteen-year-olds don't have arch-enemies," Lestrade replied, put off by the elusiveness of the man on the other end of the phone.
"Yes, well, that is subjective. I'll send a car for you tomorrow," the Umbrella Boy answered solemnly.
"Wait-" Greg started, but the dial tone rang out from the other end of the phone line.
He slowly hung up the phone and remained at the empty desk, needing a minute to compose himself. Everything was only continuing to ramp up. Now he had Umbrella Boy to worry about in addition to everything. He'd take the meeting with him tomorrow, only on the outside chance that this guy would be able to actually help Sherlock. For now, he needed to get back to the kid.
Lestrade had taken them by the store to supplies for dinner before heading back to their flat. The older man had been fairly subdued the afternoon, especially once he had returned from the mysterious telephone call he had stepped out to take. Sherlock had caught him gazing off several times, and he had passed off his aloof behaviour with being tired. It was odd behavior from the Sergeant who had up until this point been fairly upfront with his feelings and had no problem discussing them with Sherlock. While normally, Sherlock would welcome such silence, now it seemed that he was being frozen out by Lestrade, and he found that feeling unsettling.
"You never did get around to telling me who called you earlier," Sherlock tried to break the ice while Lestrade went around the kitchen grabbing the other various items that were needed to cook dinner tonight.
Lestrade set a large pan on the electric stove top and turned it on before looking back at Sherlock.
"What phone," he started before shaking his head. "Right, that phone call. It was no one," Lestrade brushed off.
"You're distracted tonight," Sherlock frowned.
Lestrade waved him off, "It's nothing. Just a lot on my mind is all," he told him.
"Ah, all that thinking must hurt," Sherlock teased, and skillfully avoided a kitchen tea towel that was thrown at his head.
"Come on then," Lestrade waved him over. "Since you're so full of helpful comments, why don't you help with dinner."
Sherlock frowned, but got up from his seat at the kitchen table to move to assist the other man.
"I, uh, don't know how to cook," he told Lestrade hesitantly.
"No time like the present," Lestrade replied, evidently unbothered by Sherlock's lack of experience in the kitchen. "We're making chicken parm, my family's secret recipe that my dad taught me, so I expect it to stay between the two of us," Lestrade gave Sherlock a wink and pointed a wooden spoon in his direction.
Sherlock grabbed the wooden kitchen utensil and stared at it confused before Lestrade directed him to the kitchen table with a cutting board, taking the wooden spoon out of his hand and replacing it with a cutting knife.
"Here, we'll have you start by chopping the garlic," Lestrade told him, and showed him how to dice the small white cloves of garlic.
Lestrade went back to the kitchen counter and began prepping the chicken.
"So the phone call that was no one," Sherlock continued as he moved to the second clove of garlic. "Was able to get through to you at work to just have a chat?" he prodded.
"Something like that," Greg mumbled, turning back to grab the chopped garlic that Sherlock had been working on and tossing it in the pan he had put on the stove earlier. "Grab your spoon," he instructed, adding a small amount of oil with it. "Stir," he told Sherlock and then went back to the kitchen.
Sherlock began pushing the small chunks of garlic around in the oil, watching as they sizzled in the large saucepan. He kept giving Lestrade quick glances, trying to gauge exactly what the other man was hiding. It was troublesome that Lestrade was not being open with him. Perhaps the reason behind the other man's secrecy was because it involved Sherlock. Maybe Lestrade had changed his mind about Sherlock. Perhaps he had spoken with someone at Child Services about him.
"So your phone call," Sherlock started in again, determined to get to the bottom of it.
Lestrade sighed and dumped several cans of tomatoes into Sherlock's pan.
"It was nothing. Just was being reminded about an appointment I have tomorrow is all," Lestrade told him, taking the wooden spoon from him for a moment to show him how to stir the new additions, before handing it back to Sherlock.
"An appointment?" Sherlock asked skeptically, while Lestrade continued to add several different seasonings to the pan.
"Yeah, an appointment," Lestrade confirmed, sounding more confident in his answer.
Sherlock looked on at the older man, doubtful that he was being completely honest with him. He kept giving him subtle glances while he continued to stir the sauce while Greg began dipping the chicken in various substances until they were coated with an even layer of breading.
"What?" Greg asked him, folding his arms across his chest while the chicken was cooking in the pan next to Sherlock's.
"I think you're hiding something," Sherlock mumbled his answer to the other man.
"I'm not hiding anything. I just don't have to tell you everything," Lestrade countered.
Sherlock frowned and turned back to his own pan. So Lestrade was hiding something from him. What could be big enough that the other man would keep something from him?
Lestrade turned down the temperature of Sherlock's pan and took the spoon from him.
"Good job stirring," he told Sherlock. "Now you just let it simmer until the chicken is done," Lestrade said, chucking the wooden utensil into the sink. "Why don't you grab some plates and silverware.
Sherlock went about the small kitchen that he had learned over the last week of staying with Lestrade (sober and not through withdrawals anyways.) He yanked open the drawer where Lestrade kept his silverware, and then reached up to grab a couple of plates, before turning back to the table slamming them a little harder than necessary.
"Sherlock, just drop it," Lestrade groaned at Sherlock's irritable mood swing. "It's really not that big of a deal. I just have to go meet someone tomorrow. I'm sure you'll be fine for an hour by yourself."
Sherlock flopped into his normal seat at the kitchen table to glare at the back of Lestrade's head.
"If it's not a big deal, then why won't you tell me where you're going," Sherlock countered, crossing his arms in a sulk.
Lestrade let out an audible groan and turned the stove off. He plated their dishes quickly, and topped them both off with a healthy amount of parmesan.
"Look, it's just lunch," Lestrade told him while he was grabbing a bottle of beer from the fridge. "I just have some things I need to discuss with this guy. You'd be bored," he told Sherlock, seating himself in his own seat at the kitchen table.
"Why are you being so evasive? Why won't you tell me where you're going?" Sherlock questioned him, as Lestrade took a bite of his dinner.
Greg swallowed and sighed into his beer.
"Why does it bother you so much?" Lestrade began to get short with him.
Sherlock pushed his food around on his plate, contemplating the appropriate response.
"I would just like enough forewarning to prepare myself if I'm not to continue to live with you any longer," Sherlock ground out, irritated that he was the one that was giving away more information than he was getting.
"What?" Lestrade asked him, stunned with a bite of chicken still in his mouth.
Sherlock glared at him from across the table.
"I'm not an idiot, Lestrade."
"No one said you were!" Lestrade agreed, wiping his mouth with his napkin.
"Then why else would you have all this secrecy around your lunch date tomorrow?" Sherlock asked him, putting his silverware down, unable to eat. "If you no longer wish to continue with our agreement, all you had to do was say so," he finished quietly.
"Is that what you think?" Lestrade asked him open-mouthed at Sherlock's line of reasoning.
Sherlock looked down, and fiddled with his hands under the table.
"Kid, sometimes, a lunch is just a lunch," Lestrade said, and Sherlock glanced up and saw the sincerity in the other man's eyes. "You're not getting rid of me that easily," he finished with a smile.
Sherlock looked back down, and was now properly embarrassed.
"Unless, you don't want to stay with me?" Lestrade asked hesitantly.
Sherlock shook his head, "You're not getting rid of me that easily," he mirrored what the other man had just said.
Lestrade smiled and went back to eating his dinner.
Finally relieved that Lestrade wasn't getting rid of him all, he tucked into his own dinner. He closed his eyes after the first bite of chicken, oh, that was delicious.
"Told you it was good," Lestrade smirked.
They finished dinner and cleaned up in companionable silence. Lestrade seemed to let Sherlock's outburst of drama drop for the time being, and he was thankful for that.
Now, the two men sat on the couch each engrossed in their own distractions. Lestrade sat on one corner of the couch watching the evening news, while Sherlock had created himself a nest of blankets and pillows, and was reading through some of Lestrade's old notebooks with his previous case notes. He was thoroughly comfortable wearing some old sleep pajama bottoms, and one of Lestrade's old college football shirts that was several sizes too large for him. Lestrade grumbled about some story that was playing on the news, causing Sherlock to glance up from his reading. He smiled at the older man and went back down to his new reading materials. For the first time since Sherlock could remember he felt comfortable with himself and safe to be who he was. He finally felt like he was home.
