He walked slowly through the lonely streets of London. The sun was starting to rise and the birds were singing, welcoming what would be the best day of his life.
Gregory Lestrade was heading to his office as usual. Thinking all the paperwork that was waiting to be filled, rejoicing a little that thanks to a certain sociopath. Only a few hours before he had solved a case in which he was submerged for months. And all thanks to Sherlock.
"This case was really disappointing, I don't see why your apartment couldn't find this overrated criminal," Sherlock complained, as he walked from side to side. ¬
"Sherlock, it was enough," scolded Dr. Watson.
It was incredible the control that the former military exercised in genius. Knowing that the two of them perfectly complemented the heart of the ID beat warmly.
Since John moved to 221B Sherlock has been more accessible in working with the police. He had to thank how he could tame the most efficient detective in England a little.
Immersed in his thoughts the inspector passed by a cafeteria. The smell of freshly brewed coffee caused his appetite to open. Maybe he could afford a few minutes to buy something for breakfast.
Upon entering he could see that the Victorian design gave it a classic touch, it was not much to his liking, but he had to admit that it was a beautiful establishment.
"My day may not be so bad," he said to himself as he savored the entire cafeteria menu.
When he sees the price of food, he almost chokes on his own saliva. A simple muffin could cause the ID portfolio to suffer a lack of control.
Since the divorce, he had limited himself to spending the minimum, since his now ex-wife received a percentage of his salary. He didn't mind knowing that this money was so that his children could live comfortably. Although that would mean limiting himself.
Resigned was about to leave when he stopped hypnotized. In front of him he was absorbed in his thoughts Mycroft Holmes. His blue eyes stared out the cafeteria window while he drank a cup of what would surely be Tea.
The ID had only seen once the oldest of the Holmes, being completely beaten by the intelligence and security he reflected in his speech, his bearing and his beautiful blue eyes.
Like his brother, Mycroft possessed atrocious intelligence, and a mysterious air around him. The only conversation he had with him was about Sherlock.
Gregory kept thinking about whether to greet him would be a good idea, but all the ways he sought to approach ended with only one result, to be ignored by the eldest of the Holmes.
Taking a deep breath, he left the cafeteria.
«Maybe my day is so bad»
On the other side of the city in apartment 221B on Baker Street was an uproar.
"Where the hell are they?" - Shout Sherlock Holmes with despair.
Removing and throwing away everything that was around him, he was desperately looking for something that he had asked not to be given anymore.
"Sherlock, try to calm down." You're doing well — I try to reassure Dr. Watson.
"My reservation! Please," the puppy eyes that the detective put on caused Dr. Lat's heart to warmly. Sometimes the most desperate being in the world could be so vulnerable. Thank you that he did it only with John Watson.
Mrs. Hudson came over with a cup of tea specially prepared to calm Sherlock's abstinence. It had been difficult weeks since I agreed to leave all kinds of addictives completely, and that counted the same for cigarettes.
After a few cups of tea he finally calmed down, falling asleep completely on the couch. Watching his dreams John watched the curly hair of his partner.
The first time John Watson met Sherlock Holmes, he was delighted with his intelligence. It could be said that from the beginning he admired him. But now it was different, admiration became a necessity, being close and protecting it from it.
Sherlock could be the most intelligent person and able to solve any problem that arises, but he could also be very vulnerable. Watson had only once seen him break and that broke his heart.
¬ — Did you fall asleep? ¬ - Mrs. Hudson asked worried.
"Yes, thank you very much for Tea."
How could he explain the feelings he was experiencing towards his partner? That was not correct, from the beginning he had made it clear that he was not gay, being on good terms with Sherlock who seemed to agree to be just friends.
After a few hours the detective recovered completely. He seemed to be the same as before leaving Dr. Y Mrs. Hudson alone.
The next day Inspector Lestrade contacted them. A man had been killed and apparently that particular case would attract the attention of the consultant.
Upon arriving at the crime scene they found an exhausted Lestrade, their dark circles were obvious. Apparently he could not rest and it was probably because they found the body before dawn.
"Hi Graham," I awkwardly greet the detective.
"Greg," corrected his friend immediately.
After their usual greeting they approached to observe the body better.
"His name was Timothy Shepard." He was an American translator, his body presents wounds of torture in 70% of his body. In addition to missing his right hand. - the inspector informed the couple.
Sherlock approached to better observe the body, completely discarding the information the police possessed.
"He was not a simple translator, he may have been a trafficker, and why he was tortured was to take away something valuable," the detective began to detail.
-trafficker? Anything valuable? - interrupted a confused Gregory.
The genie shot a reproachful look at the inspector and continued.
—That suit is too expensive to be a simple translator, his body is worked hard enough to be military, but that would be ruled out by the simple fact that he has a tattoo behind his ear, that means he belonged to a specific group , To which? That is the question to answer. In addition to the fact that on the wrist of where his right hand should be there are small notable marks of what a strap could be, in this case I deduce that they were wives and were subject to an important object for the victim. If we make the correct deduction we can conclude that this is the mark of having loaded a heavy object. What could it be? Simple a briefcase. Now, what was in that briefcase, that it was enough for me to lose my life protecting it? -
Both Dr. Watson and DI Lestrade were stunned by the detective's magnificent and surreal assumptions.
"Surely they were drugs," the ID replied vaguely.
-What? No, of course they were not drugs. It must have been something more important. -
The three remained silent for a few minutes until Sherlock was the first to break it.
"What the hell is he doing here?" - He said annoying.
When they turned around they saw who was the reason for their trouble. Mycroft Holmes was getting out of his car. That was a sign that an argument was coming.
- Did you find the briefcase? -
— No, I am afraid it is not yet— - The DI replied sadly.
he oldest of the Holmes said nothing, he kept thinking in silence. For a moment Lestrade could see concern in his eyes.
Sherlock was going to ask if it had anything to do with the government when shots were heard. A frank shooter attacked Mycroft's car.
Watson ran to protect Sherlock by throwing himself on the ground and covering himself with the car. Lestrade did the same with Mycroft. After he pulled out his gun and began firing towards the direction of the bullets.
After a fierce shooting everything calmed down, it was time to help the wounded.
"Is everyone all right?" - Lestrade asked without air.
Everyone nodded except the oldest of the Holmes who collapsed after a few seconds. Watson and Lestrade ran to help him while Sherlock was paralyzed watching the scene.
"A bullet hit him, we need an ambulance!" - Shouted Dr. —Lestrade support me by exerting pressure on my chest, so we will avoid bleeding.
Lestrade did what he asked. Mycroft writhed in pain, but tried to remain calm.
After eight long minutes the ambulance arrived carrying it on a stretcher. Before they closed some hands they avoided it.
"I am his brother," Sherlock said.
"I'm his doctor," Watson followed.
The paramedics allowed them to get on and left in a hurry. Lestrade stood watching his blood-stained hands, his heart pounding. His duty was to stay and report what happened to his superiors, but his heart shouted at him to go to the hospital.
"Donono, take care of the rest," the DI shouted. Before you get in your car and go to the hospital.
He drove in a hurry. He was worried about his friends and Sherlock's older brother. In a way he felt a little responsible, despite belonging to the police he could not protect Mycroft.
At the Sherlock hospital he was circling the waiting room, and Watson was talking to a nurse in charge of the reports. Gregory came running to meet them.
-How is it going? Some news? -
Both men shook their heads. After what were a few minutes, the doctor read.
"She's stable, fortunately she didn't lose much blood," said the doctor.
—You can see him as soon as he consents. -
Meanwhile absorbed in what was going on around him Mycroft was in his mental palace, remembering. Suffering.
«Mycroft, you must protect your brother. You are the oldest. Oh my God! What's wrong with you?" His mother's voice echoed around, opening wounds from the past.
"I don't need you to meddle in my life." He spit out his brother's voice.
«Son, you are very intelligent and we know it. But you must have a little humanity. » his father.
His ghosts of the past were attacking him, tearing apart every part of his consciousness. Again and again a woman's voice was heard.
«Ice Man»
«Ice Man»
«Ice Man»
«Ice Man»
«Ice Man»
He could feel a warm hand touching his forehead, they felt cozy. His delusions calmed down and after that he returned to a deep sleep.
The three men were in the room, watching as the oldest of the Holmes raved. Sherlock stopped touring the room.
—Lestrade, can you take care of him? - His voice seemed to break.
The DI nodded. Sherlock hurried out was about to explode, he had to leave the place as soon as possible. Watson ran after his partner.
Lestrade remained alone in the room, smiling sadly. They both have a unique connection. They need each other.
Running down the street he reached an alley, began to hit the wall and scream. He needed to vent all the feelings that were overwhelming him. He lost his balance as soon as the tears began to come out.
When he was about to block some arms around him. That person's heart was beating warmly. That aroma, the heat, the feeling. He knew perfectly who was hugging him.
"Everything is fine, everything will be fine," Watson said hugging him tightly.
The two remained subject until the child calmed down, now the one who didn't let go of the hug was Sherlock. He was scared, since childhood he was always the one who ended up in trouble, saved by his brother.
"Sherlock, see me, everything will be fine."
Thoughts of loss suddenly filled the detective's head, he was entering a crisis that the former soldier had never seen. Sherlock was getting into Shock, and if he didn't get him out of there quickly things could get worse.
The only way he found could say that it was the orthodox menu, and he could regret doing it. But a part of him knew that it was something the two had long wanted.
Watson took Sherlock's face and kissed him, trying to put everything he felt inside. The boy opened his eyes in surprise. But he didn't push it away; on the contrary, he deepened the kiss.
After almost losing his breath Watson smiling tells Sherlock.
"We're going to find the person who did this to your brother."
The two holding hands smiled at each other, ignoring totally that this was only the beginning of the story of his life.