AN: So here's chapter two :D It's quite short so hopefully I'll get another chapter up in the next few days. Thank you to everyone who's read and enjoyed the start of this story, especially to those who've reviewed :D It means a lot to know people are enjoying it :)
Chapter 2
John stepped out of the cab and looked up at the big, modern building of Scotland Yard. Nerves coiled in his gut. He still wasn't completely sure he wanted to know the answers to his questions. He didn't even know if Lestrade would know the answers.
He shook his doubts away and stepped forwards, pushing open the heavy doors and headed up the stairs to Lestrade's office. As he passed, vaguely familiar officers smiled at him. He was well known in Scotland Yard now, the only one who could actually control Sherlock Holmes. He got to the right floor and walked passed desks stacked with papers, case files and criminal record. Donovan looked up at him and gave him a look halfway between a scowl and a smirk. He ignored her and knocked on Lestrade's door.
"Enter,' came Lestrade's gruff voice.
John pushed open the door and wandered in. Lestrade looked at him, leaned back in his chair and mumbled around a mouthful of doughnut. "Hi, John. Sorry, we don't have a case for Sherlock. I'll call when we get one."
John grinned, knowing Lestrade felt sorry for him having to live with Sherlock while he was in his fits of boredom.
"That's okay," he reassured him. "I didn't come for a case."
Lestrade frowned at him and leaned forward again, leaning on his desk, almost knocking over a large pile of paper work, a cup of coffee and the remains of his doughnut. "Oh?"
John sighed, reaching into his pocket for his phone. He pulled it out and flicked through the images, until he found the one he was looking for. He held it out to Greg, looking for some sort of reaction.
Lestrade looked at him in confusion, then reached forward and took the phone. He glanced at the screen and then gasped, his eyes growing large and his face pale.
"What?" John asked, confused- that hadn't been the reaction he had expected.
"Where did you get that?" Lestrade asked, cautiously, handing the phone back to him.
"I found it," John admitted. "In Sherlock's room," he added quietly.
"Right, well if that's the case, I would delete the picture and forget about. It's none of your business."
John looked at him, his confusion rapidly growing. "No- I can't just forget about this. Look at him and her!" he exclaimed, holding out the phone again. "Who is she? When was this? Do you know anything about this?" All John wanted was answers.
Lestrade stood up. "Look, John," he started slowly. "The story behind that picture is in the past. It's not coming back and I'm not going to be the one who tells you about it. That is Sherlock's job. Ask him about it! He'll either tell you, or he won't."
"You know he won't talk to me about this!" John almost yelled, gesturing to the phone wildly. "He doesn't talk about feeling or people. Please," he begged. "I need to know."
Lestrade looked at him, pure, utter sadness and defeat in his eyes. "Alright," he agreed, giving in, "What do you want to know?"