Author's note: So now they have to find a way into the Yard... do you know this feeling when you decide to look back for a moment and suddenly realize what you've written? This has grown and grown, and continues to grow, and I can't seem to stop, and it's so wonderful to play with the characters, it truly is, and I'm gushing, I know, but I can't help it...

And I get so many responses to this fic, it's unbelievable! If anything, the response seems to increase, which is wonderful.

And, on a sight note, I'm so glad I'm not the only one who enjoys Lestrade as a drunken commentator... I love him (in the show too). And I love epic playful bromance banter, so... that's what you get.

I still don't own anything, and please review.

Getting into Greg's office in a way that won't arouse suspicion is more problematic than they thought. Drunkard or not, Greg is still a DI and his office is not only on the third floor, but also at the very end of said floor at the Yard. Which means they can only get to Greg's computer, and therefore access any case files Sherlock wants to see, after they have traversed a whole room full of DCs, DSs and other DIs who just dropped in for a coffee or a chat.

"And how are we supposed to do that?" John asks on their way to the Yard, after they have explained the particulars to him. Sherlock is walking in quick, long strides, like usually, Greg follows, John is limping behind them but not complaining – another sign that his psychosomatic limp is, once again, getting better."I don't think they would appreciate the truth."

"Too bad for them" Greg answers, "It's a pretty cool truth, don't you think?"

"Or one that would get everyone of us into a mental hospital".

"Don't worry" Sherlock decides to cut the discussion short "I am certain Mycroft will ensure that we get the best treatment available".

"That's something, at least..." John's phone starts ringing. He looks at the caller ID. So he must have taken it with him when he stumbled out of his flat last night. Still the responsible brother, then; Harry might annoy him more than ever, enough for him to leave his phone behind on a trip to the store, but he can't bring himself to leave it behind for a longer period of time. Sherlock allows himself a small smile; his John is slowly, very slowly, emerging from this version. "Mike".

"He will know where we are, I suppose" Sherlock says. "Answer it. Might as well have someone who keeps an eye on the evidence in the lab. Tell him he can take his paperwork there."

"How do you know that he doesn't have lessons to hold today?" John wants to know.

"Easy. If he had had any in the morning, he would have got a cup of coffee in the cafeteria, not gone to Starbucks. There wouldn't have been time. And his calling now means he is looking for us, which again implies that he isn't sitting in an auditorium somewhere. Apart from the fact that he isn't wearing a tie today, and he only wears ties when he..."

"I believe you, Sherlock, alright? You can cut the explanation" John replies and picks up, and Sherlock can't help but wince at that. His John may have got used to his deductions, but even then – there was always a certain admiration in his voice and eyes, something that told Sherlock that John cared, that he genuinely liked him, not the prospect of another, better life. At least he has the consolation that Greg likes him just the way it is – though Greg in this world might like anyone who happens to come to him and tell him a good story.

"Mike? No, everything's alright... Yes, we're okay, and yes, I did look for Sherlock last night... yes, we're together. And we have DI Lestrade with us, so you don't have to..." John is silent. "Good, so you have heard about him, but still, you don't need to worry about us. We're on our way to the Yard, actually. Listen: Could you keep an eye on Sherlock's experiment at the lab? Please? I know you have paperwork, but..." He listens. "Oh, well then... That's great, congratulations! Oh, really? Well, Good luck with that... Thank you, Mike. We'll be back as soon as we can".

"What did he say?" Greg asks, while searching for his flask.

"Left hand pocket, right above the heart, Greg, have you already forgotten?"

"Oh, I thought I had finished that one – thank God I have my new little consulting detective with me."

John decides not to give their little dialogue any attention. "He doesn't have anything against it, because his wife is visiting her mother anyway because she's expecting their second child – didn't know that – and because he wants to find out how Molly's lunch date with this DS went, because he saw them in the cafeteria, and he thinks she was polite, but not really interested."

"I like your friend" Greg beams.

"Could you please not indulge in your little crush? There are more important things to focus on" Sherlock complains.

"I don't have a crush. Teenage girls have crushes. I have an infatuation. That's totally different. Not that you'd understand it, 'Lock." He them empties the second flask. "Oh, and would you kindly remember, right hand pocket over the hip?"

"Sure".

"By the way, are you alright? You look a bit pale."

The coke bugs have made an appearance in the last few minutes, and Sherlock can feel himself growing cold. "I might have to shoot up in the restroom or your office."

"No problem, I'll just draw the blinds".

"Not that I want to keep you from your important discussion about your various addictions, but we're almost there, and we don't have a plan yet" John points out.

They stop walking a block or so from the Yard and try to come up with a plan. It's not easy, and the withdrawal symptoms are back; Sherlock is frustrated and cold and –

Italian man, the blonde one. "But you know him, John, he got me of a murder charge, he can get out of this, too. And when he does, I'll bring you both everything on the menu right into your flat."

The other man smiles sadly. "Thanks, Angelo".

"No, I mean it, there isn't a thing in the world that's impossible for Sherlock Holmes, if he wants to".

"Sherlock?" John looks at him funny, and Sherlock snaps back to... this reality.

It's frustrating, this seeing what is really going on and not being able to stay there. But at least John has other people to keep him company. It's touching Angelo decided to visit.

But, instead of obsessing over things he can't change, he asks, "Any ideas, Greg? I might be at the Yard quite often, but you definitely know the place longer than I do."

"Of course, we say "longer" instead of "better", knew from the start you were modest..." Suddenly, there is a glimmer in Greg's eyes.

"Sherlock..."

"No".

"Come on, it will be fun".

"For you"

"That's what I meant."

"I know, but..."

"Girls, behave! Whatever are you talking about?" John demands to know, looking rather flustered.

"Greg wants to put handcuffs on me and drag me openly through the Yard, claiming most likely that I broke into his flat or something..."

"Which would explain the clothes you are wearing." Greg adds.

"So, what, I break into your flat – the flat of a DI, mind you, by accident, just to put on a change of clothes?"

"Don't ask me, 'Lock, you are the druggie. I have no idea how your mind works."

"Because having no idea what you're doing, lulling, stumbling about and problems remembering what you did yesterday are not symptoms of alcoholism".

"And who should I be in this great plan of yours?" John interrupts. "Good God, you two banter more than a couple in a romantic comedy."

"He is asexual, try to remember that, John. And – well, you could be his social worker!" Greg looks like he is convinced he's just found a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. John's jaw dropped.

"I can be what?"

"Well, Sherlock's homeless in this world, right? And aren't there people who spend their time looking after them? Help them? Give them clean needles and so on, as well as their phone numbers so they can call when anything happens? Sherlock could've given me your number, I would have called you..."

"Alright, but who would believe..."

He notices the disbelieving looks Sherlock and Greg send his way.

"What?"

"Well, mate" Greg says, looking for the third flask (It's in..." "I know") "don't get me wrong, but something about simply says doctor, even after all this time. And you look a bit down on your luck yourself, and that's how they usually look. Plus, you have been the voice of reason ever since you came into the lab, so... Fits all the criteria, in my opinion. All you have to do is look concerned, and maybe a little pissed."

"I don't think that's going to be very difficult..."

"There you go! I'll drink to that" And he does just that, before they turn to Sherlock. The consulting detective shoots them a death glare.

"You can't be serious. You don't even have handcuffs with you..."

Greg searches in his pockets and then finally fishes out a pair of handcuffs. "Oh, so that's where they were... Interesting". He looks like a child on Christmas as he takes a step towards Sherlock, who takes a step back, huffing indignantly.

"I really don't think". No, he doesn't think he feels, never a safe occupation, He doesn't want to be taken into the Yard, the scene of so many of his triumphs, in handcuffs.

"Sherlock Holmes, let me put the cuffs on you or there's no shooting up in my office or my flat later!" Greg threatens.

Sherlock sighs. There is no other way..

"Fine".

So he suffers that the handcuffs are put on him and he is led to Lestrade's office. Greg and John act well, the DI looks angry and aloof, John concerned and a little pissed at Sherlock, and Sherlock just... looks like he is suffering withdrawal symptoms, and since the headache has made a reappearance at this point, that's not to difficult.

Though, to be honest, most people seem to surprised to actually see Greg at the Yard to think about why he is there.

Anderson and Donovan, thank God, are nowhere in sight.

They make it to the office without anybody blocking their way or demanding an explanation, and Greg lets down the blinds.

Sherlock does what he has to do, though John winces and demonstratively turns his back, while Greg tries to look at everything but the needle. He takes a gulp of the third flask instead.

"Just how many more of those do you have?" John inquires.

"Only this one, and another one. Might have to buy some backup later"

"Of course".

"All done, the needle is back in my pocket and I'm high, can we now please look after my old cases?"

"As you wish, sir" Greg salutes him and accesses the yard's intern database.

And Sherlock, because he remembers what he saw earlier, says the name of someone he considers a friend.

He tries not to show too much emotion when he reads that Angelo's been imprisoned for eight years now, for a murder he didn't commit. Tries to, but his vision goes a little blurry. Just a little.

"Sherlock? Are you okay?" John looks worried. Good. Worried John he is familiar with. Worried John he can handle.

"It's just " – he clears his throat – "He is a friend. An innocent".

"But he could never prove an alibi!" Greg looks at him.

"Because he was breaking into a house at the time, Lestrade".

"Greg, 'Lock".

"Whatever. Please look up the following cases..."

And so it goes on, for an hour.

Jeff Hope – never caught.

The Black Lotus – nobody even knows they are in the city, and, as a Google search proves, the Empress' pin is still missing. And the two cases – Van Coon, Lukas, their murders went unsolved. And Dimmock got demoted.

Irene Adler – Sherlock already knows how that ended. Mycroft left without anything to do.

Henry Knight – committed suicide after being locked in a mental institute.

True, all the "games" Moriarty played with him didn't happen, but instead...

So many unsolved murders – and they find at least thirty undetected one too in this hour. So much pain. So much that never should have happened, couldn't happen anymore in the real world because Sherlock fought and fought and fought so that Moriarty and his web would be destroyed for good.

He is dizzy for a moment, then he explains everything to John and Greg, and ends it with "we need to draw him out".

"But how?" John wants to know.

Sherlock grins. "We have DI Lestrade scare Lady Brackenstall".

Greg's eyes are alight, and John seems to believe him.

The game is on.

And this time definitely for the very last time.

Author's note: I wrote as fast as I could so I could give you another chapter today – I hope you liked it, though it has a rather dramatic ending. I might be a little too dramatic, but hey, when the British Government can do it, so can I.

Please review.