I'm so sorry for the long wait! Here's chapter 70 though - I'm a bit surprised I made it this far, I didn't even think Kiara would get more than twenty chapters.
I hope you like this chapter, and even though it might seem like the end is close, don't worry, there's still some stuff to come. So basically, enjoy while it's still nice ;)
The day is rainy and grey, the sun is as visible as their leads on the latest case, and all in all the weather mirrors Greg Lestrade's day quite well. Donovan is just as grim, standing beside him and looking through their files for what he thinks the tenth time, but there is something sympathetic about her as well. Maybe she thinks he doesn't notice, but he knows quite well where the coffee on his desk in the morning came from, just like he sees the glances.
It's one of those days. One of the days when Anderson and Donovan would tell him they'd be able to handle it without him, without the Freak. He had always ignored them, and he wishes he could simply do so right now as well.
It's not the first time he wishes Sherlock wasn't dead – not only as one who liked the help, but also as a friend. A rude remark now, an offhand insult thrown at him, at his intelligence, unnoticed by the brilliant man himself, oh how he would welcome that now.
And, as he is pretty sure, so would Anderson and Donovan. On the day Sherlock's innocence was proven, an age of anger, guilt and determination had started – anger for falling into the trap and betraying a colleague so quickly, guilt for believing Sherlock would do all that and determination to find out how Jim Moriarty had managed to pull off a stunt that size.
So on that day, when he was sure everything could only get worse, even more so because Mycroft Holmes was once again standing in his office, he'd never have expected to feel better, to genuinely smile.
Donovan takes over without any question, she is used to the quirks of her boss and knows he'll tell her everything she needs to know when the time is right.
In front of Mycroft's car is another surprise. John has aged a lot more than two years since Sherlock jumped, but he doesn't seem stressed now – rather at peace with the world, and if Lestrade hadn't known about Sherlock's fake jump he'd be worried for John. Right now, he is nervous.
"John." He greets, shaking the other man's hand, not sure how to behave in front of the doctor.
"Greg. It's been some time." John replies, but there is no negative emotion in his voice, only friendliness and a slight stiffness, probably stemming from the nearly two years silence between the friends.
"Indeed. Too long, now, in hindsight."
A slight breeze coming from nowhere interrupts their conversation, as John crouches down to pick up to bags of shopping which had fallen over at his feet.
"Did Mycroft offer you a ride as well?" Greg asks, looking around for the man, but he is nowhere in sight.
"Yes – though he insisted on stopping here first. Did you want to...?" John's voice trails off there, obviously unsure how much Mycroft revealed, so Greg quickly interrupts.
"See Sherlock? Yes, Mycroft told me he's alive, but not much detail."
John nods, relieved, and picks up his bags to walk around the car and get in.
They pass the time of the ride with small-talk, catching up with what happened in each other's lives in the past two years, and soon they are standing in front of 221B.
"I'm not sure Sherlock is here though, he did mention something about wanting to go to St Bart's. You go ahead, I just need to put the shopping away." John says as they reach the two doors leading to the kitchen and the living room of the flat, John walking through the one to the kitchen, Greg through the other one.
Most things still look like they did on the night he had to arrest Sherlock. There are some changes though. He knows, for example, that John had tidied most of the room when Sherlock was gone, and the genius must have messed it all up in the one week he had been back. A dark blue coat is hanging with the others, one he doesn't recognize, maybe one of Sherlock's from his time away. Two violins are resting in Sherlock's leather chair, both in their cases.
The iPhone on the coffee-table is something he hasn't seen here before, but somehow it looks familiar. What looks even more familiar though is the person connected to the phone via expensive looking headphones.
In the first moment Greg can only stand there in shock and look at the girl with wild red hair lying on the sofa, listening to music from her phone whilst reading a book which looks like it might have belonged to John during his university days – the pictures of the inner bone structure is something he's sure John would have learned.
In the second moment he's glad he brought a taser with him.
"What on earth are you doing here?" He bellows, pointing the weapon directly at Kiara.
"Hello to you too, Detective Inspector." She answers in a mock polite tone, then reaches to the coffee-table for a piece of paper to put between the pages.
"Dr Watson?" Calling out loudly, she sits up and takes the headphones off, reaching for her phone and turning it off as well.
John's curse and quick steps can be heard loudly, then he appears in the doorway to the living room, can with tomatoes still in his hand.
His eyes widen when he sees the situation in front of him, Kiara currently getting up to put the book away and Greg still pointing at her with the taser.
"I'm guessing My didn't tell him everything – I'll hit him for that when I go home, it wouldn't have taken that long. Well, can you explain everything?"
Greg can only stare at her in confusion. Why is John not in the least alarmed? What does she mean by 'my'? And why is she here?
Before he can ask any of these question, John nods and speaks.
"What are you going to do?"
"Text Sherlock." Kiara answers, already texting and not quite listening any more.
"Where is he? Bart's?"
"Yeah, he left shortly after you did, I doubt he has arrived there yet."
"He won't answer you, you know? He never does."
"He will. Special ringtone."
"A special ringtone? Why?" There is a look of incredulousness on his face, and even though Greg would never tell any one, maybe even a tint of jealousness in his voice.
Kiara hits send and then looks up, her face entirely serious.
"Because it kept us alive." Then her expression softens, obviously reading the same emotions in the doctor's face as Greg did. "I rarely text or call Sherlock, it wasn't necessary before, and now it's just a habit. Calling or texting him meant something was very, very wrong. Once or twice it meant we had found a lead, while he was somewhere else, which was almost never, but usually it was bad news. We know to answer when one of the others calls."
It was getting too much for Greg now, so he put the taser away, as John obviously wasn't worried, and sat down in John's chair.
"Can one of you two explain what exactly is happening here?" Rubbing his face tiredly, he waits for one of them to start.
"I'll make tea?" Kiara asks, and goes to the kitchen as John puts away the violins to sit down and explain.