Ok, so I have been trying to think of a reason as to why Lestrade is so loyal and cares so much for Sherlock, not that I'm saying it's a bad thing, but as I'm writing these, I was trying to come up with my own reason, and this is the result. I had actually thought of using this idea for why Sally hates him so much, but I thought that Lestrade fit the bill better, and on that point, I think I've decided on my back story between Sherlock and Sally, yay! I was having as hard a time with her reason as I was for Lestrade, but now I've figured it out and will probably get the next one out tonight or tomorrow. I'm still trying to come up with a good meeting for the Sherlock and Molly but I'm still stumped, I've tried a few ideas but nothing fits, but hopefully I'll figure that out and get it up.

Anyway, now that I've ranted, be aware: there are references to an overdose, death by overdose (obviously not anyone we know) and I think one swearword. If any of that bothers you, turn back now, otherwise, enjoy and let me know what you think.


"Any change?" Greg Lestrade asked as he approached the nurses station and the older nurse with graying blond hair smiled up at him through her glasses.

"No change," she said and Greg glanced to their right into the Intensive Care room where one lone man lay. "When was the last time you got a good nights sleep detective inspector?"

"I sleep," he said, glancing back at Alice who gave him a look that clearly said he wasn't fooling anyone. "I sleep," he tried again and Alice reached up and gripped his wrist where it was lying on the counter.

"Greg, when you're not here, you're working; you're not going to do him any good if you end up in here yourself, or get someone killed out there."

"I know," he responded after a long minute, "I'll sleep tonight, I promise."

"Right," she replied before pulling her hand back, "go on," she went on, waiving a hand at the room.

"Thank you," he said with a tired smile and entered the room. Stopping at the doorway, he stared at the still figure on the bed. Three days he had been unconscious, three days since Greg had found him on the floor, a needle in his arm and barely breathing. The doctor's said it was a miracle he was alive, he shouldn't have survived with everything in his system, but Greg knew he was stubborn and wouldn't let something small like an overdose kill him.

Collapsing into a chair he ran a hand over his face and felt his eyes droop, he really was tired, he hadn't really slept in three days, all of this bringing up memories he wished he could forget. His wife had wondered why he was doing it, she had lived through it once before with him and had seen how it had nearly destroyed him. Sally ranted about how she wasn't surprised, they never could depend on him, that maybe it would be better if he just died and saved them the trouble. Anderson never said anything, but the self-satisfied smirk he wore made Greg want to remove it forcefully.

He couldn't explain it himself, other than the tie to his past, but it should have sent him running, he should never have offered him that deal. He had been in trouble more times than not for allowing the Sherlock onto crime scenes and access to case files he had no business with. He remembered how he had told Sherlock that it wasn't worth it to him to let anyone know that the other man was helping, that he wasn't worth it. Now, though, he had put his job on the line on more than one occasion and now his health was starting to suffer. Sherlock had had one of his rare moments of non-selfishness and realized what Greg was dealing with and had decided to back off. Greg hadn't seen him in almost a month and had gone to check on him only to found him overdosed on the floor.

"Back at your bedside vigil again Detective Inspector Lestrade?" a voice had Greg jerking awake some time later, and he sat up, alert, looking around him.

"Mr. Holmes," he said, finding the older of the two brothers standing on the other side of the bed, watching him, and he stood, feeling awkward. "What are you doing here?"

"My brother is in the hospital detective inspector, where else would I be?" Mycroft asked as if he had asked the most ridiculous question in the history of man kind.

"He's been here three days, you haven't been here once," Greg accused and Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

"I was out of the country," he explained and Greg snorted, "but," he went on, ignoring the other man, "I was keeping tabs on him."

"Long distance caring?" Greg shot back, he had only met the older Holmes' brother a handful of times, but he didn't like him. He was pompous and felt he was better than everyone and treated Sherlock like a burden.

"And yet, you've been here all three days, does your wife know about you two?"

"Fuck off," Greg snapped and the other man smirked at him, "he reminds me of someone."

"Ah, yes," Mycroft said with a smile, "your brother, Danny, was it?"

"How the hell-?" Greg started but the other man interrupted him.

"Sherlock is not your brother, detective inspector, you can stop your bedside vigils, I'll be checking him out when he is better and getting him into rehab."

"Right, because that worked last time," Greg snapped, his distaste for Mycroft growing.

"I am his brother," Mycroft said as he walked around the bed towards the door, "not you, I trust you will remember that in the future."

"When he is better he will be going home with me," Greg said, making a split second decision and Mycroft turned back, surprised.

"Really, tell me, when should I expect an announcement?" he asked and Greg glared.

"He doesn't need to be placed in a facility where he is nameless, I've had experience with these situations, I can help him."

"Yes, but it didn't work out the last time, did it?" the other man replied. Greg was moving before he realized and sent Mycroft reeling back with a well placed right hook.

"He'll be coming home with me," Greg said seriously and watched the other man stand straight, a handkerchief pressed to the corner of his mouth where he was bleeding. Holding up a hand to his security who had started to advance on Greg, he turned to the other man as he stretched his jaw, checking for damage.

"Fine," he said before tucking the handkerchief away, "but you are on your own with him. I do pity you that," he said and turned on his heel and left.

"Pfft," Greg heard from behind him and he turned to find Sherlock watching him with half-lidded eyes.

"What?" Greg asked moving back towards the bed to alert the nurses that Sherlock was awake.

"You should have hit him again," he said with a tired smile and Greg laughed as he shook his head.

"I'll let you do that," he responded and stepped back as Alice and Sherlock's doctor entered the room.


"So I guess our deal is off," Sherlock said some time later after he had slept some more and Greg looked up from his book.

"Are you kidding, I'm going to use it to keep you out of trouble," he said and went back to his book.

"I am sorry," was said quietly after a long pause.

"I know," Greg said, keeping his eyes on the book in front of him, "just don't do it again."

"One good thing came out of all of this," the other man went on and Greg closed his book, his full attention on Sherlock

"This should be good, please, go on."

"I know who your dealer is."


By the by, I don't think overdosing is a little thing, I just think that Sherlock would think it beneath him to die that way.