It seemed Lestrade's phone rang constantly. He was always thumbing the ignore button. John Watson kept calling him. If he had a case for the consulting detective and his loyal sidekick, he'd have been in contact with them already.
Thankfully, the Yarders had been able to handle everything that had come across Lestrade's desk lately. It wasn't that he was ignoring Sherlock or his assistant/colleague, just that he was a busy man with an important job. He surreptitiously checked John's blog and saw that Sherlock managed to keep himself busy with private cases.
The weeks blurred past. Lestrade buried himself in the work, did everything he could to avoid thinking of a certain curly-haired consulting detective.
The Yard continued to close cases and he continued to avoid 221B Baker Street.
The invitation to to John Watson's wedding arrived and he tried to volunteer to work that weekend. Sadly, his bosses felt he'd been "working too hard lately" and were more than happy to give him the time off once Sally Donovan brought his potential plans to their attention. No good lousy turncoat employees having "his best interests at heart." He'd demote her if he could.
He packed his bags and headed to Bristol to attend the ceremony and reception. Stag. He'd tried dating but his heart just wasn't into it and his job required so much of his attention. Plus every time he went out with someone, his imagination betrayed him by picturing Sherlock across the table. It wasn't fair to the people he dated, so he simply stopped trying.
The ceremony joining John and Mary had been lovely if boring although the reception had turned out to be quite lively. Leave it to Sherlock to uncover a murder plot in the middle of his best man speech. The detective had again shown that Lestrade barely registered on his radar, mocking him during his speech on at least two occasions. 'Geoff, indeed. Pompous git… Gorgeous, brilliant, pompous git.'
After arresting the photographer, and turning him over to the local police force, Lestrade returned to the hall. He drank and managed not to cry when Sherlock performed a lovely piece he'd composed for the newlyweds. 'He'd never write a song for me. He doesn't even know my name. He doesn't want to know my name. The man doesn't care. Stop thinking about him, you sentimental idiot. Move on! Get over it!'
Lestrade noticed Sherlock slipped out before the reception ended and barely managed to keep from following him. He wasn't Sherlock's loyal labrador retriever. He had some pride. And besides, as had been proven again and again, Sherlock preferred solitude when denied the company of his best friend. If he had ever wanted to spend time with Lestrade, he would have. 'Actions speak louder than words.' Greg got plastered at the open bar, hit unsuccessfully on two of the bridesmaids and retired alone to his hotel room.
In his drunken, fitful dreams, he surreptitiously trailed after Sherlock when he ducked out of the reception and declared his love for the detective under the starry skies. Sherlock laughed and mocked him and Lestrade awoke with a pounding headache, an uncomfortably dry mouth and an all too familiar ache in his chest.
In the months that followed the wedding, Sherlock managed to get himself shot and nearly died for real. Lestrade tried to play off his concern for the detective when interacting with John at the hospital.
Sherlock disappeared from his room before Lestrade could see him, only to reappear 24 hours later accompanied by a somber John who offered no explanation for the missing day. Later, alone at the man's bedside, he quietly wept, clutching the unconscious man's hand in his own. He left after the nurse came in to check on Sherlock, assuring the DI that he would be fine and would wake up very soon. Lestrade didn't want to be there for that. Knowing Sherlock would be alright had to be good enough. He doubted the younger man wanted him there
Lestrade sublimated his feelings by working overtime in weeks that followed, replying sporadically to the texts from John with medical updates on his friend. John didn't seem to realize how low Greg rated to Sherlock but he was grateful to know the detective was recovering.
When the sleek black government car appeared outside his office one evening during the first week of the new year, he tried to ignore the thudding in his chest and the lump in his throat. Mycroft explained to him that Sherlock killed Charles Augustus Magnussen. The government man said no charges would be filed but that Sherlock would be essentially exiled on what sounded to Greg like a suicide mission in Eastern Europe. Lestrade managed to hold it together in the presence of the elder Holmes' brother but requested the car drop him off at the pub around the corner from his flat.
He stumbled home in a drunken haze and somehow managed to lose an entire weekend to the bottle.
When he saw daylight again, Moriarty seemed to be back and Sherlock was home. Had never really left, according to John Watson.
Lestrade barely saw Sherlock never mind actually communicating with the suddenly elusive consulting detective.
When six weeks later, the Faux Moriarty was captured and imprisoned, Sherlock deigned to come to Lestrade's office to offer a confusing statement explaining how he managed to capture the impostor.
Lestrade took his statement with a neutral face and thanked Sherlock for his hard work. The younger man looked at the Detective Inspector like he didn't recognize the man. A calculating expression crossed the consulting detective's face but he said nothing more and left after a brief handshake.
Lestrade immediately went to the men's washroom and vomited up his meager lunch.