Chapter 11

Sherlock followed Lestrade down the familiar path towards the cafeteria. This morning's meetings weren't nearly as intense or Sherlock centered, which he was thankful for. The surveillance team had come in to go over different audio and visual recording options, along with ideal placement locations for bugging Volkov and his associates. Plans were rapidly coming together, and his week with Lestrade was quickly coming to an end. Every day that Sherlock stayed with Lestrade, he found that it was becoming that much harder to mentally prepare himself for leaving the safety and comfort that his new guardian provided him. Going from not having a support system, such as Lestrade, to having one had surprisingly been a welcoming experience.

He glanced over Lestrade while they were waiting for the lift to let them out on the bottom floor. Some of the tension his new guardian had could be attributed to Sherlock's imminent departure. Sherlock wondered though, how much of it was due to Lestrade's mysterious lunch date. While Lestrade had eased some of his concerns last night, he was still irritated that the older man had yet to give in and tell Sherlock where he was headed.

"Why won't you tell me where you're going?" Sherlock questioned him as they made their way through the halls of Scotland Yard, trying, yet again, to get an answer out of Lestrade.

Lestrade sighed, "You'll be fine." Greg grumbled, entering the canteen doors and passing off some cash to Sherlock, "Get some lunch for yourself and I'll be back in an hour."

"You're still being evasive," Sherlock pouted as he took the money.

"Sherlock, we talked about this, I'm not being evasive. I just don't have to tell you everything," Lestrade argued back. "With you moving in, I'd thought you'd like it if I left a little bit of mystery around my life," he finished with a wink.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the comment.

"Besides," Greg started back up again. "I'm leaving you alone in Scotland Yard, surely you can find something to do for the hour I'll be gone."

"You aren't worried I'll get into trouble without your supervision?" Sherlock asked the older man with a challenging raise of his eyebrow.

Lestrade looked at him as though he couldn't tell if Sherlock was being sincere or sarcastic, but then the man smiled and began stroking his chin, apparently trying to pretend to be seriously contemplating something.

"Hmmm," he kept stroking his chin for effect. "Alone, surrounded by Yarders. No," Lestrade teased. "I'm not worried that you'll get into trouble in the middle London's finest," he laughed, and then reached to ruffle Sherlock's hair, earning him a glare from the teenager. "You still need a haircut."

"It's fine," Sherlock mumbled as he tried to flatten his hair back down after Lestrade had disheveled it.

"Look, I have to go, kid. I'll be back in time to meet you upstairs for the first meeting after lunch. I'll find a way to make it up to you, yeah?" Lestrade told him as he glanced down at his watch to check the time.

"How?" Sherlock's ears had perked up, intrigued by the offer.

Lestrade shrugged, "I don't know, I'll let you pick dinner tonight?" he offered, but Sherlock wasn't impressed by his offering.

He crossed his arms across his chest, "I want another cold case," Sherlock countered.

Lestrade laughed, "Behave!" he pointed at Sherlock, leaving the teen in the cafeteria as he made his way towards the main entrance.

Sherlock frowned at the cash in his hand. He looked up to observe the other lunch-goers with a sneer. Surely there were other more interesting things to do than eat lunch. Sherlock smiled and pocketed the money, an idea coming to mind, and left the cafeteria to explore his other options for the afternoon.

Greg was led through the silent halls of the Diogenes Club by the same man that chauffeured him from the Yard. He felt vastly out of his depth as he walked towards his destination. This was not what he was expecting when he had been invited for lunch by the interested party. Maybe the corner booth of a seedy pub, or the alley of an abandoned train line. Looking around at the pristine building, he was suspicious that he was currently surrounded by more money and people of importance than he had ever dreamed about. Of course, based on the three-piece suit the man wore the last time they had met, he wasn't sure why he hadn't pictured something fancier.

"Lunch is waiting for you just beyond those doors," the chauffeur told him motioning to a plain white door that they had stopped in front of.

Greg went to open the door but paused just before reaching the handle.

Greg put on his most charming smile, "I don't suppose you'll tell me his name will you?" he asked hopefully.

"Have a good lunch, Mr. Lestrade. I'll be by the car when you're ready to go back to Scotland Yard," the chauffeur answered with his own smile and headed back down the hallway.

Greg took a deep breath and let his hand close the remaining distance and let himself into the room.

Umbrella Boy was seated at a small table that had been set up in the middle of a… what was this? An office? A parlor? The man stopped reading the paper in front of him and folded it neatly into fourths, before standing gracefully to greet him.

"Ah, Sergeant Lestrade, I'm glad you made it," he welcomed and indicated for the chair across from where he had been sitting.

Lestrade gave a grim smile with murmured thanks and took his seat. He was surprised by the spread that was in front of him. A full roast with an assortment of cooked vegetables, along with the customary tea.

"This is, ah," Greg paused, having a hard time coming up with words for everything he was currently processing.

"Going cold," the other man informed him before serving himself a plate.

"Right," Greg tried to snap out of his surprise and focus on the task at hand. "So we've now had what? Tea, a phone call, and now we're sharing lunch. I feel like that warrants knowing your name," he tried sarcastically, knowing that the other man would give him nothing.

The other man smiled while he poured a small amount of gravy over his roast.

"I'm sure everything will come out in due time," the man started with his dead smile. "Tell me, Sergeant, how is Sherlock adapting to life not on the streets?" the man asked with an eager expression on his face.

Greg frowned. This new man was something of a mystery to him. There was some missing piece to the puzzle that Lestrade just couldn't quite put his finger on, and he was sure that the man in front of him held that piece that would make everything click.

Greg stared at the man across from him curiously, "Who is he to you?" he asked back, but when he didn't get an answer he continued on. "You act as if you know him," he pointed to the other man, looking for answers.

"Would it make you feel better if I told you that I worried about him, almost constantly?" the man answered cryptically, yet there was a hint of sincerity to it. Something genuine flashed in the man's eyes, albeit briefly before his walls came back up.

No, it didn't make him feel better. In fact, knowing that this man had some type of knowledge, relationship, something, with Sherlock, left a bad taste in his mouth. This whole meeting was beginning to seem like a bad idea. There were too many what-ifs. What if this was some kind of setup up? What if this man didn't have Sherlock's best interests in mind? Greg shook his head and placed his napkin back on the table before standing up. He didn't need to deal with any more nonsense than he already was.

"I'm not doing this," Greg told the man angrily. "I've got too many other things to worry about, I don't have time for whatever this is," he finished with a wave of his hands and headed towards the door. "Let me know when you're ready to drop the cloak and dagger act."

"Didn't you find it interesting when your paths crossed again after your initial meeting?" the man's voice stopped him from making it to the door.

Greg spun to give him a questioning gaze.

"What are you on about?" he asked the man suspiciously.

The man tilted his head to the left, and shrugged his shoulders, "Here this drug-addicted teenager stumbles into your life not only on a personal level, but professionally as well," Umbrella Boy started off, and then zeroed in his gaze onto Greg. "Tell me, Mr. Lestrade, how common is it for an up and coming Sergeant to get transferred to a different department at the drop of a hat? Much or less one that is getting ready to investigate a notorious drug lord, that his new ward just happened to work for?" the man finished resting his elbows across the table and locked eyes with Greg.

Greg shook his head, "That was just some kind of strange coincidence," Greg's confidence slowly tapered off as he answered.

"Oh, Sergeant," the other man tisked and neatly folded his arms in his lap. "The universe is rarely so lazy."

Greg perked at that phrasing and was about to comment on that when something else clicked for him.

"The orders from on high," he murmured, staring questioning at the other man. "No one could give me a reason why I was transferred out of homicide."

The man smiled at his answer and leaned back in his chair.

"On high is a bit excessive," he told Greg with a smirk. "I merely occupy a minor position in the British government."

Greg went back to his seat and slowly sat down, still trying to process everything he was being told.

"So this is all you?" he asked, confused. "You're the one that organized me being on the narcotics team to... what? Keep an eye on Sherlock?" Greg was still trying to piece together everything, but was still slow on the uptake. "If you're so worried about Sherlock, why aren't you helping me get him off this ridiculous case?" he asked the other man, feeling his anger begin to rise to the surface.

"What if I told you, Sergeant Lestrade," Umbrella Boy started up again. "What if I told you that there is more to Volkov than is being presented to you."

"What do you mean?" Greg asked him, looking concerned.

"Sergeant, Alexander Volkov isn't even close to the top of the food chain. There is someone much higher, spinning webs that Scotland Yard could never hope to unravel," the man told him with a sad smile.

Greg stared down at the other man, trying to process what he was saying. If Volkov wasn't even the big bad, that meant that there was someone worse. More unknowns. More variables being added. Just how Sherlock fit into all this still wasn't making any sense to him, either.

"You need to let Sherlock go back in," the man said sadly, gripping tightly at the handle of his umbrella.

"Why?" he asked, angrily. This wasn't making any sense.

The man let out a sad sigh, "Because, if anyone can start to unravel potentially dangerous webs, then it's Sherlock," he finished, resting his umbrella back against the table.

"You act like you know him or something," Greg stated flatly. "If you know him, then why aren't you fighting to keep him out of there?" he demanded.

The man shook his head, and then rose from his seat across from Greg's.

"Because, like Volkov, I am not remotely close to the top of the food chain," he answered solemnly.

Greg frowned at that reasoning. He had to shove his hand to stop his nervous leg from bouncing.

"It's time to choose a side, Sergeant Lestrade," the Umbrella Boy told him before leaving to exit the room.

"I have," Greg's voice seemed to make the man momentarily halt his exit. He turned in his chair to lock eyes with the other man, "I'm on Sherlock's side."

The man gave him a small nod before leaving the room completely.

Greg stared after him, feeling even more confused now than before lunch.

Sherlock roamed the halls of the Yard during his lunch break since Lestrade left for some clandestine meeting that he refused to let Sherlock in on. While he was perturbed that Lestrade refused to tell him where he was sneaking off to, he was relieved after their discussion the previous night that Lestrade wasn't getting rid of Sherlock just yet. Besides, he found that it was nice to have some time to himself, even if it was just strolling through the halls of Scotland Yard. Before he fled to London he was used to spending the majority of his time alone. Now, he lived with someone that expected regular communication and he was forced to meet with strangers and talk on a daily basis. It was draining. Still, Lestrade was possibly the least annoying of any of the other scenarios he could have ended up in.

He paused in front of a large set of gray double doors and broke out into a large grin, Forensics Department, the plating on the doors read. With a quick glance around to make sure no one was in the hall, he let himself in. There was a small hallway with offices to the left. On the right, however, was the crowned jewel. The lab. He opened up the doors and had to restrain himself from jumping up and down. Oh, this was what Christmas must be like for normal people, he thought to himself before setting off into the lab. There were instruments upon instruments, with a table just dedicated to microscopes. Oh, this was much better than the labs at any of his previous schools.

He picked a microscope at random, excited to find it still had a slide placed in it. With another quick glance to make sure he was still alone, he settled himself onto the stool and eagerly began scanning through the viewfinder to see what the previous occupant had been observing.

"Who let you in here?"

Sherlock looked up startled to find that someone had entered the lab with him. A man approximately Lestrade's age that was wearing a white lab coat that bore the stains of various spills throughout the years. The black-rimmed glasses were a prominent feature on an otherwise nondescript face. The man seemed to be more curious than upset at finding him in the lab.

"I-uh-well, you see," Sherlock fumbled around looking for the right answer.

"You part of some summer school group or something?" the man asked, walking closer to him.

"No," Sherlock shook his head. "I'm Lestrade's…" he tapered off ever so slightly, at a loss at what to call himself exactly, which gave the man just enough time to jump to conclusions.

"Greg Lestrade?" he asked happily, continuing on when Sherlock nodded. "Oh, Greg is a good guy. Always look forward to working with him on a case. Didn't know he had a son, though! Nice to meet you! I'm Mike," he greeted, reaching a hand out towards Sherlock. "Mike Stamford."

Sherlock hesitantly reached out to shake hands with the new person.

"Sherlock," he returned slowly, surprised by the man's outgoing personality.

"So, Sherlock, see anything interesting under there?" Mike asked, nodding to the microscope.

"Lead," Sherlock told him, floored that he hadn't been immediately tossed out of the lab. "Red lead paint to be exact."

Stamford gave him a dazzling smile, clearly excited by Sherlock's answer.

"Oh, you're smart. Don't know why your dad's kept you hidden all this time," Mike tisked. "Listen, we have a summer internship available," he mentioned with a shrug. "Why don't you apply for it the next go around. I bet you'll make it in," he finished with a wink. "Now, I really do have to get back to work, I'll walk you out," he offered, holding the lab doors open for him.

Sherlock slowly trudged out, not eager to return to an afternoon of listening to Jackson's idiots upstairs come up with 'brilliant' ideas. When they walked back out into the main hall, Sherlock almost walked directly into Lestrade.

"There you are!" Lestrade exclaimed, relief showing plainly across his face. "Been looking everywhere for you."

"Don't worry, Lestrade," the young forensics doctor waved him off. "Your son's been no problem," he informed him. Lestrade gave Sherlock a smirk, and Sherlock hung his head in an attempt to hide his embarrassment. "Now, don't forget, I expect you to apply for that internship next year," Mike directed with a point to Sherlock before giving them both his goodbyes and disappearing behind the doors of the lab.

"Thanks, Mike!" Lestrade waved the other man off. "Nice to see that you can make friends," he joked, turning back to Sherlock.

"You're not mad?" Sherlock asked, stunned that Lestrade wasn't scolding him for lying about who he was.

"Why would I be mad?" Lestrade replied back, confused.

"That I used being your son as an excuse to not get into trouble for sneaking into the lab?"

Lestrade chuckled and shook his head.

"Kid, if that is the worst thing you do, we'll be fine," Lestrade told him with a pat to his shoulder, and they began to walk back upstairs.

Sherlock frowned as he pondered this while they waited for the lift in the main lobby. He had not expected for Lestrade to be so easy going about Sherlock trying to pass for the man's family. Not that they hadn't grown close over the last few months, and they had discussed a continued living arrangement. Still, that did not make Sherlock family. He had been repeatedly reminded about what it was to be family. It was in the blood, or so he'd been told. Sherlock frowned and tried to glance at Lestrade without him noticing. What was it that Julie had said to him?

"I would pick the family that wanted me."

Sherlock looked down at his shoes. It couldn't just be that easy. Could it?

A familiar voice shouted over his thoughts, making him and Lestrade turn away from the lifts.

"Hey, Sarge!" Sherlock rolled his eyes, recognizing Officer Donovan's annoying voice.

"Be nice. Please?" Lestrade asked through his smiling teeth before Officer Donovan was within earshot.

"I'm just on my way to my shift, but I wanted to say how excited I am for you! I know you'll pass with flying colors!" she told Lestrade excitedly.

Lestrade looked completely bewildered, and Sherlock used this brief moment to distance himself from the older man ever so slightly, at least enough of a distance to put him out of immediate punching range.

"What are you talking about?" Lestrade questioned her, still blessedly confused.

"The DI test! I saw you signed up to take it next month. You'll do awesome! Just remember us little people when you're the big man on campus," she joked with a wink.

Lestrade hung his mouth dumbfounded.

"But- I-" he continued to struggle to come up with words and turned to look back at Sherlock.

Sherlock did his best to remain oblivious and returned Lestrade's look with a smile as wide as the Cheshire Cat's. It only took seconds for Lestrade's look to turn murderous. Not convincing enough then, he thought while still trying to keep his innocent smile from turning into a grimace.

"I've got to go. On my way out. Good luck if I don't see you before your test!" Donovan replied excitedly and made her way out of the main lobby.

Lestrade stayed in place for a moment, staring after Officer Donovan, and Sherlock got to witness first hand how the man attempted to physically cope with unpleasant news. It started with a roll of his shoulders, then he clenched and unclenched his fists repeatedly, followed by a deep, calming inhale as he let his head fall back.

Lestrade spun back towards Sherlock, zeroing in on Sherlock with clenched fists.

"How?" Lestrade demanded from him.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sherlock replied with an innocent shrug of his shoulders.

"You can't just waltz in and sign someone up for this test. You can't just forge a signature. You've got to have a badge number for starters," Lestrade started in on him, ready to tick off points with his fingers.

Sherlock reached into his back pocket of his jeans and pulled out the small shiny badge, bringing the Sergeant's argument to an abrupt end. He held it out for its rightful owner to take back.

Lestrade immediately patted down his jacket and then snatched the badge out of Sherlock's hand when he came up empty-handed.

"You were being annoying," Sherlock defended, shoving his now empty hands into the pockets of his jeans.

"Annoying?" came Lestrade's exasperated response.

"You continued to refuse to sign up for that test. Then you wouldn't take me to your secret lunch meeting."

"So you picked my pocket and signed me up for the Detective Inspectors' test?" Lestrade said, his voice rising a few octaves.

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders and turned away from the angry man to make his way towards the elevators. He couldn't stop the smile that broke across his face when he heard Lestrade fussing behind him.

"Oh, you bastard," he heard Lestrade grumble under his breath as he begrudgingly followed Sherlock to the elevators.

"Is that everything?" Jackson asked the room, checking on each individual with his eagle-eyed gaze.

No, Lestrade thought silently, nervously bouncing his leg under the table. He didn't think he'd ever be ready to send Sherlock back to Volkov. This week had gone by too quickly. Sherlock nudged his foot against Lestrade's under the conference room table, causing him to still his leg and Lestrade could feel himself relax ever so slightly.

"We'll go ahead and adjourn for now then," Jackson started back up again when no one had anything else left to offer. "A lot of good work this week, team. Sherlock," he paused, when his gaze landed on the kid, "I understand that this is too much responsibility and danger on one person's shoulders, much or less the shoulders of someone so young. Stick to the plan and we'll be fine."

Sherlock gave a single nod, while Lestrade frowned at the generic response.

The room emptied out rather quickly after Jackson dismissed everyone. Sherlock paused at the door to wait for Lestrade, who was lingering behind.

"Go on," Greg shooed with his hand. "I'll be out in a tick."

Sherlock glanced at Jackson and then back to Greg, giving the Sergeant a suspicious look before exiting the room. Greg turned to the narcotics Inspector and slowly stalked to the older man.

"Something I can do for you, Sergeant?" Jackson asked as he got up from his chair, shoving a stack of papers under his arm.

"If Sherlock gets hurt," Greg began, but was cut off quickly by Jackson.

"Is this the part where you threaten me? Surprised you've waited this long," Jackson replied back in an easy-going manner, making the hair on the back of Greg's neck stand on end. "If Sherlock gets hurt, you'll what? Beat me senseless? Make sure everyone knows that I'm the big bad wolf that lured a teenager back into a drug den?" came the mocking response. "I know Sherlock's type," Jackson started up again. "He's a user, a junkie. Trust me, he is just as eager to get back to Volkov to get his next hit," he finished with a sneer.

"You're wrong," Greg replied, incensed that Jackson would ever imply that.

Jackson chuckled, "We'll be lucky if he doesn't flip on us," he told Lestrade, keeping the sneer set on his face.

Greg paused to collect himself. Getting angry and punching the smug look off of Jackson's face now wouldn't do Sherlock any good. Instead, he composed himself to look nonplussed, and gave Jackson a little smile, obviously setting the man on edge.

"You know those 'Orders from on high' that had me ordered to the narcotics team?" Greg asked, waiting for Jackson to acknowledge him before continuing on. "Turns out that they came a little higher than any of us thought," he told the other man with a happy shrug of his shoulders.

"What are you talking about, Lestrade?"

"I'm talking about this ridiculous mission. I'm talking about what will happen to you" he emphasized with a point at the man, "If Sherlock comes back injured in the smallest amount," he threatened Jackson, who started to look the slightest bit nervous. "I swear, if one hair on that kid's head comes back harmed, those same orders from on high that brought me here will have you buried so far that no one will even remember you existed," Greg finished darkly. He let his menacing look stay on the man for several more seconds before he let himself relax.

When Jackson had nothing left to say, Greg threw him a brilliant smile.

"Ta!" he threw over his shoulder, leaving the stunned Inspector alone in the conference room.

Sherlock had been leaning on an empty desk across from the conference room, waiting on Lestrade to finish up. The kid gave him a knowing smirk and uncrossed his arms to join Greg as they headed for the lifts that would take them out of the narcotics department.

"Did that let you feel more manly?" Sherlock asked when Greg started humming.

"Yeah, it did," he told the kid with a devious smile, and the two shared a chuckle to themselves.

The two sat down for a bite to eat at the same fish and chips place they had shared their first dinner. His old backpack and copy of Anna Karenina had been returned to him in preparation for his integration back into Volkov's team. Once back at Lestrade's flat, Sherlock had selected a few of his old clothes and new ones that Lestrade had purchased for him that would last him the estimated month he'd be gone.

Sherlock took a bite of fish, using the excuse of food to hide his smile that cropped up when Sherlock thought back on his afternoon with Lestrade. After leaving the Yard, Lestrade took them to Piccadilly Circus where they found a place to stop for ice cream, making Sherlock feel like a five-year-old. After that, Lestrade surprised him with a 'Jack the Ripper' tour, which left Sherlock with a smile on his face all the way back to Lestrade's flat to get ready. After one last shower, he threw his pack over his shoulder, and followed a reluctant Lestrade out the flat door towards one last dinner.

"I just don't see why you have to leave tonight," Lestrade complained, popping another fry into his mouth.

Sherlock frowned, now that the time was here, he was finding it surprisingly difficult to prepare himself for going back to his former life. It is only temporary, he kept telling himself on repeat. Only he found it difficult listening to what he was forcing himself to believe, when his mind had this afternoon's pleasant activities on repeat. Sherlock sighed, it was now or never. He could do this.

"I've already told you, it will be easier to leave in the night," Sherlock's voice didn't sound as eager or sharp to even his own ears. He needed to get in the right mindset, or he would doom himself before the mission even started.

"I'm not arguing with that bit, I just don't get why it has to be tonight," Lestrade argued. "Besides, we haven't even had a chance to-"

"You're stalling," Sherlock interrupted, tossing a fry at the Sergeant sitting across from him..

Greg snorted, "Can you blame me?" he asked the kid sadly. "This is dangerous."

"Not any less dangerous than the months I was with Volkov before meeting you," Sherlock argued.

"Sherlock, if he finds out you're with the police-" Lestrade sounded like he was working himself up.

"He won't," Sherlock cut off the other man, happy that he sounded more confident than he felt.

"If he does, he will kill you," Lestrade restarted his argument, bordering on frantic. "That's only the worst case scenario."

"Did you miss all of the meetings we've been a part of over the last week?" Sherlock asked him and Lestrade glared at the sarcasm coming through his tone. "We've worked out every possible scenario," he finished softer.

Lestrade shook his head and shoved his basket of food away.

"There are too many variables, Sherlock. This is a terrible idea," the man's dark brown eyes pleaded with Sherlock to change his mind.

"Lestrade," Sherlock closed his eyes off from the man and shook his head.

"No, don't Lestrade me," Greg cut in angrily. "That lunch I went to yesterday, I met this guy that I've dealt with a couple of times," he continued to tell him anxiously. "Anyway, I think he knows something, this guy with the umbrella-"

"Umbrella?" Sherlock's head straitened sharply, but Lestrade was too far into his own head to notice Sherlock's recognition. "You never mentioned the umbrella before. What did he look like?" he questioned curiously.

"He was trying to explain that there was more to this than I was seeing," Lestrade carried on, obviously not hearing Sherlock.

"Did he look like a ponce? I bet he looked like a poncey git," Sherlock snarled. Leave it to his brother to stick his large nose into business that wasn't his.

"I had been hoping he had some miracle that didn't involve sending you back in, but of course not," he exclaimed, raising his hands in the air.

"Lestrade," Sherlock sighed, inching his face closer to Lestrade, trying to get the man to focus.

"Listen," Greg wasn't even listening to Sherlock at this point. "You have to promise me you'll be careful, alright? No swanning off and going off the script. Get in, and get the hell back out of there. No dawdling, just get this over with as quickly as possible," he emphasized with a swipe of his hands.

"Greg,"

Lestrade stopped his rambling and looked up at Sherlock with surprise.

"You remembered my name," the police Sergeant whispered softly.

"Of course I remembered your name," Sherlock sighed. He looked down at his hands to compose himself for a moment before continuing. "You have saved my life in more ways than you'll know," Lestrade visibly softened at that admission. "I promise I will stick to the plan. I promise I won't put myself in any more danger than necessary," he finished and ate a couple of more fries.

Lestrade let out a large sigh and covered his face with his hands.

"I need you to trust me, Lestrade," Sherlock started up again, and hesitated when Lestrade dropped his hands to look at him again. "Besides, we have plans to look at schools and flats. Can't leave you with all the decisions. You'd probably stick me in a monastery," he tried to lighten the mood, but the quip fell just short of flat.

Lestrade chuckled and pushed the food around in his basket.

"I'd be well within my rights too," Lestrade replied with a joking wink, trying to match the kid's optimism.

"Besides, by my calculations, I have, oh, thirty-four days to make sure you take that Inspectors' test," Sherlock told him with a wink of his own.

Lestrade rolled his eyes.

"I'll hold you to that," he told Sherlock with a finger pointed in his direction. "I swear I won't take that test unless I know you're safe, and done with all of this nonsense."

Sherlock nodded his understanding.

Greg and Sherlock locked eyes. This was it. If he didn't leave now, Sherlock felt like he'd let Lestrade talk him out of this nonsense with Volkov. This was the point of no return.

"I should go," Sherlock started hesitantly, pushing his empty basket away from him.

Lestrade rose in a synchronized motion with Sherlock and Sherlock tried to ignore the water gathering in the brown eyes of his guardian.

"Just remember," Lestrade started quietly. " I won't care what you have to do to survive, just promise me -"

Sherlock cut the other man off by coming around the table to give Lestrade a tentative hug. He relaxed immediately when it was returned quickly.

"I promise," he whispered, then promptly turned from the other man, and grabbed his backpack before rapidly exiting the restaurant.