Much to their utter surprise, they'd easily recognise the source of the heavy footsteps outside the blind greenhouse. It was DI Greg Lestrade. John's sigh of relief was quite audible.

It felt nearly unreal to see him again, after what were only a few days, but to the two agitated, short-tempered fugitives, it appeared longer.

'Greg, you found us!' Sherlock opened the door to the man. The DI had a cat-like smile, lighting his face under the spread early greying hair, he knew perfectly well that he had caught them by surprise for once. When he talked, it was with the old warm familiarity he always offered them:

'Well, it wasn't easy, I'll give you guys that. So, how are you? And don't just say "fine" for once.'

Both John and Sherlock smiled, but other than that remained silent.

'Make yourself at home', Sherlock invited. 'It's a bit damp, but it's warm.'

'Any news from Mary?' John asked, tense.

'She's doing fine, everybody is', Greg assured him.

John got up, agitated. 'Let me just check the grounds outside.' It was the soldier in him coming to surface, and he walked stealthily to the painted panned metal door.

Greg interrupted Sherlock's train of thoughts, in a confidential tone of voice: 'Sherlock, John's hand is twitching more, have you noticed?'

He frowned, of course he had noticed. 'So, you saw that too?' (More observant than usual, Greg.)

'I don't know what he told you about it. I know he got nerve damage he won't talk about and that it gets worse when he's down... Sherlock, whatever the fun you're having with John back at your side, you've got to end it soon. His hand is twitching a lot.'

'What do you mean "having fun"?!'

'It's the two of you in danger again, of course I can see the shine in your eyes. Hell, even John enjoys it too. But you need to end this soon for his sake. Don't let the fun blind you of the urgency, right?'

'I would never willingly take longer to solve...' he was flabbergasted, then angry. 'I saw his hand too, I've been watching him closely, and I'll keep doing so...'

They made themselves quiet as John returned, still very tense. 'Don't think anyone noticed Greg coming in.' And with that he looked straight at the newcomer, waiting for answers.

'I've been looking for you all this time, guys...' There was that smug satisfaction smile in DI Lestrade's face, as he studied the two men's response.

'Greg, how did you find us?' Sherlock was almost on the verge of impatient annoyance. John was behind him, stone faced.

'You made little effort to conceal yourselves when you crossed this park. Several good law abiding citizens phoned in your location.'

'As it turned that bad?' Sherlock caught on immediately.

For the first time, the Scotland Yarder hesitated, but then delivered: 'For now, yes, it really hit the news. You might as well have worn the hat, Sherlock', he tried to joke.

'People are identifying me now?'

'We were forced to extend the Look Out on you, yesterday. That's when it hit the headlines. You're far more famous than John.'

John took a seat, closing his eyes in exhaustion. Sherlock defended: 'That's ridiculous. John was there in every one of the cases that hit the news, that made me famous.'

Greg was caught off-guard with that reaction. 'Yeah, but he didn't solve them, did he?'

'Well, I wouldn't have solved them without him!'

Greg was confused. Was Sherlock actually attempting to be nice, including John in the credits, or was he just troubled that his reputation had taken a serious toll?

'Yeah, but he just stands there by your side on the interviews, like he's your bodyguard or something, Sherlock. And you never mention him or his participation, you always say something like "the case I solved" and such...'

'I do?'

Greg noticed he seemed genuinely shocked. 'Yeah, you do that all the time... Is that really a surprise to you?'

(Yes.) Sherlock didn't answer. Instead he turned to check on John's reaction to what had just been pointed out. He found him tiredly closing his eyes, but emotionless.

'John', he said his name, demanding calm attention. His friend opened his eyes. He had understood immediately the sound of the appeal.

'I'm fine. Just closing my eyes, people do that sometimes... Nice to see you here, Greg, but why have you come?'

The guest recalled: 'You weren't answering my calls, and Sherlock's phone isn't even on. I've been following leads on your sightings for hours, now, hoping to find you guys.'

'So it was "Greg", four letter word, Sherlock... Sorry, Greg, both our phones drowned. Mine is hardly functioning and Sherlock's is gone.'

'Well, you guys should have learnt how to use a payphone then, right? Do you guys even know I worry? Mary, Mrs Hudson, Molly, everyone worries. I expected this from Sherlock, not from you, John.'

John was definitely caught off-guard, but he immediately related. 'You're right, I'm truly sorry, Greg.'

Greg wasn't above showing genuine care, usually in looks and polite words, kind social visits and well-meant brotherly advices, though he usually kept them to a minimum to the most closed-off detectives team he had ever met. Neither Sherlock, self-proclaimed sociopath, nor John, war zone veteran, were comfortable at the more explicit displays of proximity. Greg Lestrade knew in the back of his mind that he was crossing a line, but he just couldn't care. He was adamantly scolding John for not having the common sense of letting his friends know that the two wounded fugitives were alive and well.

'I've been worried you guys would turn up dead. And so has everyone else. They kept calling me to make sure I hadn't found you two shot to death. Do you have any idea what it was like to answer the phone, to open an email, knowing it could be one telling me that a bullet had crossed your heads and you were dead? How it was to ponder what I should say when telling everyone in your lives how that had happened?'

'I seriously didn't imagine that, and I'm sorry.' John was troubled to see the emotion displayed so bare in Greg, in a raw display, so uncharacteristic. John tried to reach out with his words, but he still kept his back straight and his face stern like a proud soldier. Only his eyes gave voice to his soul, and his eyes were breaking in painful surprise. 'I just didn't think, I didn't know, I would have never thought, not now, that I'd have so many people on my side, and I...' his voice trailed off.

Greg gave him a heavy stare (how could you not have known?) and slided that same gaze on Sherlock (can you hear this guy?).

Sherlock demanded at once: 'Were there new leads, Greg? The missing body turned up?'

Business. Sherlock was bringing up business. The DI took a seat by their side before he answered, more restrained: 'Yeah, it turned up a quart of a mile away. He was identified as a wanted criminal, sniper for hire. You did the public a favour, John.'

'Wait a minute', Sherlock demanded. 'I never said John did it.'

'I guess not, but it's obvious, innit?'

'I could have done it. Mary could have done it.'

'Sherlock!' John snapped, angrily.

Greg fought back. 'Mary doesn't even know how to handle a firearm and you just don't have the skills to do that kill shot over that distance, Sherlock.' In front of him, Sherlock lowered his gaze in an instinctive admission. Sherlock knew he couldn't have made that shot count, nor could he successfully convince anyone of it.

'It was a defence, Greg. John was defending Mary.'

'That plan got really messed up, Sherlock, no wonder it all went astray... No need to dwell on the past now. Have you come up with a new plan, Sherlock?'

He shook his head briefly (and annoyed).

'Then what the hell were you doing all this time?' he reverted to worried loudmouth Greg. 'This is not going away, Sherlock.'

John snapped angrily: 'We were keeping a move on the guys that were trying to off us. That kept us a bit busy.'

Sherlock added: 'While wounded.'

'Shut up, Sherlock.'

'Yes, John.'

Greg took a deep breath. 'Okay, okay, I get that... Back at the Yard, John is officially our number one suspect, we have to go by the book on this. But we are pushing every lead.'

'Does that line ever pacify anyone?' Sherlock asked, acidly. Greg frowned. He was doing his job, in fact, putting himself on the line when he should have excused himself. There was no need for snarky responses.

The two men in front of him were changed by the events. John was usually a solid presence, but the cracks in his demeanour were all too evident now. He was short-tempered (and the man had managed to live with Sherlock Holmes, that should account for his unusual amount of patience and strength), and borderline paranoid (which in a former soldier was equivalent to several perimeter checks in fast calculating glances out of the cracked open metal door). Sherlock was also less of his calm ethereal demeanour and heavily focused on John, which might have been a good thing at first, but he needed to snap out of it now if he really wanted to solve it all. They couldn't be on the run forever. The both of them were on their limit as it were. Sherlock was subdued and exhausted, John was remarkably thin and pale when compared to his healthy self a week ago.

'Sherlock, you need to focus on getting this solved, so you and John can go back home.'

Sherlock took a deep breath, imagining him and John at Baker Street, complaining of the boredom and lack of exciting cases. And the boredom felt great for once.

'Any leads on the second person at the apartment, the one that took the body?' he asked, flying back to his characteristic crime scene wide gestured rambles . (And why had he taken the body to later abandon it at a distance? It was John's bullet in the body, the police might have not tied the two crime scenes together. He wanted time, he'd done it for time. The only question now was how fatal the pistol's bullet had been. It'd determine everything.)

Sherlock had got up and paced around, gesticulating silently, speaking only in his head. Now he turned to Greg that finally answered him: 'No leads on the real suspect.'

Sherlock waited. 'I've asked you more stuff, if you'd answer...'

'No, you didn't. Ask again.'

Sherlock frowned, impatient. 'Did John's shot kill him?'

Greg saw John take his right hand over his left, trying to conceal the fact that it was shaking badly. 'Yes, after a while, Sherlock. John, are you okay?'

John nodded, angry that he couldn't stop his hand shaking and that he was having a hard time disguising it. Greg must have seen it, John realized, for he kept shooting glances at his shoulder, probably thinking it was his shoulder acting up.

'And the autopsy?'

'They are still doing it. Not Molly. I couldn't let her. It's bad enough I'm involved already...'

'Have them check for poison from nitrates', Sherlock demanded with a confident smile.

'What? He was shot by John!'

'Trust me for once, Greg.'

'What are you on about? I always trust you, Sherlock. Probably too much.'

Sherlock smiled slightly. He was still looking at Greg when he said: 'John, your hand will stop shaking as soon as we get the results from the autopsy, I promise you. So stop worrying, will you?'

John just stared up to his friend, stunned but hopeful. That old look of innocence returning to his features for a brief second. He wanted to ask about it, and complement it, but he knew straight away that the detective would hold back on the explanation till he was proven right. Sherlock did love to be dramatic.

Greg took out his phone and placed a call back to the office, informing them to search for nitrates on "a hunch".

'I hope you're right, Sherlock, but this is still going to take a while', he confided as soon as he ended the call.

'Of course I'm right', the detective protested, dismissively. 'Why do you always doubt me? You should just follow my lead and protest less.'

'That is never going to happen', Greg smirked openly. Sherlock almost pouted at that. (Greg was definitely not John.) 'You guys need anything from out there?'

John shook his head sternly, and Sherlock briefly dispensed the idea of claiming a few luxury items to help spend the time.

'John', Greg insisted personally. 'Answer your damned phone next time. I'll call you when I have news... Hell, if all turns out okay, I'll even come and get you guys myself.'

With one last nod, Greg walked out of the greenhouse. He was thankful for the cool airy breeze outside. The DI wasn't too fond of leaving his two wackiest friends behind, still in a dire situation. They were fugitives of the law now, and with the pressure of public opinion mounting they were in for a hard time if it carried on for a longer time.

He pondered them separately, as he was crossing the park. Sherlock had a secret liking to be the outcast, and a more relaxed notion of the law. Hadn't it been, in many ways, for the influence of John, he'd might have become a fine criminal. And now, on the eyes of the law, it was actually John who was the criminal. Self-defence could only get him so far, in the deep trouble he was in. Strange twist of events, Sherlock had actually become a criminal (by aiding a fugitive) and it'd been for the right reasons. It hadn't been "boredom" in the end, but selfless friendship, the same that John had shown him over the years. And Greg could only hope this situation could get fixed, because the two men apart were so much weaker than together. To Greg, Sherlock was always a step away from realising a great potential in a criminal career, and whatever dark stuff John was carrying inside he'd direct it on himself in a waste of a good man, if they were to be forcefully parted.

With a sight of resignation, Greg pulled his phone and dialled the numbers of the people who were waiting for news, trying to sound optimistic and confident.