Chapter Three

Greg woke up bright and early on a frosty London morning. It was pitch black outside and he waddled around his apartment fixing himself a morning cup of coffee. A stomach turning mix of excitement and anxiety like that of a child on his first day of school was not sitting well with his bowl of porridge. This morning, Greg broke his routine in more ways than one. He redid his tie three times before giving up and choosing a different tie altogether. His hair, usually not given one thought, was combed over and over until he had to physically restrain himself. Lestrade cursed himself for waking so early but it felt so good to be back on the job.

Stepping out into the cold, he walked towards the Underground station near his apartment. Along the way he was accompanied by the other morning commuters making their way into London. He hopped onto his train and was soon being shuttled towards New Scotland Yard. He enjoyed people watching on the train to pass his time. As much as he didn't like to admit it, he had tried to apply some of Sherlock's techniques on the strangers on the train. How successful he was, he didn't know. But it was damn more entertaining than reading about how badly Scotland Yard was doing its job in the tabloids.

By the time he arrived at the shiny office building, the day had lightened and Greg smiled as he caught glimpse of the familiar façade of the building on his way into the lobby. Christ I've missed this, he thought to himself.

"Greg! Good to see you mate!"

He turned and saw Bill from Human Resources striding towards him with a huge grin on his face.

"Bill! How are you, mate?"

"Good, good. It's great to have you back. Listen, me and the boys in your department are heading down to the pub after work. A little welcome back thing for you. Won't take no for an answer. See you after work!" And with that he walked off, giving Greg a wave.

Greg chuckled to himself. Bill had always been the jocular type. Loud, friendly and the life of the party – it was hard to fault the man. Greg took the lift up to his department. Thankfully, the lift was empty and he took the few seconds of respite to steel himself before he stepped into the office. The lift doors opened on a familiar hallway with its familiar carpet and slightly stale air-conditioned air. Greg made his way towards his old office that had been reassigned to him. People glanced up from their desks as he passed, some giving him a thumbs up and a cheery wave.

He opened the door only to see a familiar curly haired woman arranging some files on his desk.

"Donovan! How are you?"

She looked up and smiled, "I'm fine thanks, Sir. Good to have you back."

"Are those for me?" he said, gesturing at the pile of files on his desk. He could feel the familiar dread of paperwork take the edge off the excitement of being back on the job.

"Yep. DI Dimmock did as much as he could before he left but there's a few bits and pieces that you'll have to finish up."

"Great. First day back and I'm stuck behind my desk…"

Before Donovan could reply a shout ripped through the morning quiet of the office.

"Get out of my way! I need to see him! Anderson shut up, you lower the IQ of the entire room every time you open your mouth." The voice was a familiar baritone that Lestrade had become accustomed to. So a few years away and you and Anderson still don't get along, he thought to himself.

His office door flew open and a man with black curly hair sticking up rather erratically forming a frenzied halo around his head stood impressively, framed by the doorway. His long coat was still swishing around his legs from what had obviously been a brisk, determined walk through the office as he shouted insults at the now cowering officers outside.

Sherlock took a moment to take in the scene and straightened himself.

"Lestrade," he greeted, giving Greg a curt nod.

"Sherlock bloody Holmes. Still around are you?" Lestrade replied without enmity.

"Don't lie Lestrade. You're happy to be back, though your little interlude in Paris was a complete waste of time. I told you well in advance before you married her that she was a serial adulterer. You really should have heeded my advice and broken off the marriage. It would have saved me from suffering under Dimmock's incompetence." It was typical of Sherlock to blame everything on everyone but himself.

"It seems these few years didn't make you less of a complete arse." Greg said looking amused by Sherlock's antics. "Why are you here anyway? Just popped in to say hello?"

"Hardly. I need a case."

"Sherlock. I've literally been back here for five minutes. I haven't even had the chance to sit down at my desk yet. There aren't any for you yet."

"Lestrade. I have suffered for three years whilst you've traipsed around Continental Europe in search of "fulfilment". I've had to live with Dimmock who isn't qualified to commit a crime let alone solve them; Sergeant Donovan who disregards my methods; and Anderson who I doubt can spell his own name. I. Need. A. Case."

"Haven't. Got. One. Sherlock. Why don't you just be patient. I'm sure some serial killer will turn up soon." Lestrade said, already exhausted from dealing with the man.

"I've counted. It's been over six months since the last one. I need something."

"Why don't you head down to Archives and work on a few cold cases in the meantime?"

"Fine." And he left with his coat swirling behind him.

It was Donovan who broke the silence left in Sherlock's wake.

"If it's any consolation sir, DI Dimmock couldn't even get him to consider doing cold cases."

"Well, someone on this damned earth has to be able to get through to him. God I feel sorry for his mother." He had often contemplated what Sherlock's mother was like. Greg solemnly hoped to never meet the woman. She would have to be a force to be reckoned with to be able to deal with Sherlock for his entire childhood.

"Maybe he doesn't have parents. My theory is that he just popped up one day like that out of thin air. There's no way humans could have created a person like that. Anyway, I should go and you should get started on your work. Coffee?"

"Oh yeah, thanks." Lestrade said, already settling down behind his desk. Donovan gave him a small smile and left.

Greg pulled the first stack of paperwork towards him and started to read through the file. Just like old times, he thought to himself.

At his office, Mycroft was having a quieter morning than most. He was absorbed in the Bastion file until noon as he tried to come up with solutions to the never ending problems presented in the file. Really, he thought to himself, this file is literally a list of things that have gone wrong. Deliveries of parts had been delayed and the security team was short staffed. It made for quite an exhausting morning. But time and time again Mycroft had proved himself by being the solution to all things that went wrong inside the government. This time was no different. He would come up with something eventually.

Someone knocked at his office door.

"Come in." He said, closing his eyes for a moment.

"Sir, we've just had confirmation of Detective Inspector Dimmock's replacement. I have his file here." Anthea said placing it on his desk along with a cup of tea.

"Thank you Anthea. Really I wouldn't know what I'd do without you." Mycroft said. The woman was the most efficient assistant he had ever had – there were times when Mycroft thought she could read his mind.

"Not at all sir. I'll reschedule the meeting with the Home Secretary for this afternoon. It'll give you a bit of a break." Anthea said already walking towards the door.

"Thank you."

With a slight nod she left leaving Mycroft with yet another file in his hands. Ever since he had discovered his security lapse in Paris, Mycroft had forced himself to review all of the Scotland Yard employees that Sherlock was in contact with. He looked down at the file and flicked it open. A picture of the new Detective Inspector was inside. Mycroft did a double take. Like a well constructed building Mycroft's mind drew everything he knew and synthesised it into a clear thought. Well, Mr Gregory Lestrade, he thought glancing at the name, it looks like you did make the move back to Scotland Yard.

Mycroft felt a strange buzz of delight rush through him for a moment. As much as he liked to deny it, the taxi driver had been on his thoughts occasionally since Paris. It was usually in the quiet interlude between being awake and asleep that the man's face crept into Mycroft's thoughts. The admittedly handsome man who had the easy friendly manner that Mycroft secretly envied. Ever since he was a child Mycroft had been groomed as a Holmes – a cold, calculating machine. Undoubtedly that had its purposes and he had been satisfied by that approach to life for a long while. But in recent years, a persistent nagging had developed in the back of his head. Mycroft would find himself almost longing for that one person that so many others – the mundane, nameless people of the world – had found. Caring is not an advantage. That had been his father's words and as such, those words had become his when Mycroft came of age. He had caught himself doubting that phrase more and more recently.

Mycroft looked down at DI Lestrade's file. From the list of past cases that he had been assigned before he left, it looked like he spent a considerable time with Sherlock. He took note of that. If this policeman could withstand Sherlock for a prolonged amount of time, perhaps there was more to him than the easy-going fellow who had driven his taxi. At the very least, dealing with his insufferable younger brother took a great deal of patience and determination. Mycroft had learned that the hard way over his lifetime.

Perhaps this man could be useful in more ways than one. Mycroft made a memo to himself to arrange a little "chat" with DI Gregory Lestrade as soon as possible.