Author's note: I got more than one review for the last chapter! Thank you so much, you made my day! I'm so happy!

Get ready for some Lestrade introspection, which means – bromance!

I don't own anything, please review.

Greg didn't know how he had become the leader of the troop trying to find John and Sherlock – the Chief Superintendent couldn't have wanted it, judging by his face when he told the DI about the assignment – but he suspected that Mycroft had something to do with it. The older Holmes had probably watched their escape on surveillance footage and immediately set the wheels for Greg to be responsible for their capture in motion.

But, no matter how it had come to pass, he wasn't trying particularly hard to find them. Donavan and Anderson were currently standing in his office, attempting to make him see what they considered "sensible measures" to find the consulting detectives.

"Sir, shouldn't we get his phone records to see who he's had contact with since..."

Greg looked at Donavan and shook his head. She wasn't a bad police officer, but Sherlock was right; she could be rather annoying, and she never let go of an idea.
And she had been too gleeful about the possibility to arrest John. It wasn't surprising: from the beginning, she had been sceptical about someone "crazy enough to live with the freak", although she had believed John to be a nice, regular guy who somehow got caught up in Sherlock's life. However Greg doubted that this would be the best moment to address this. So instead he chose to interrupt her explanation why Sherlock's phone records were their best chance at finding him.

"This is Sherlock Holmes we are talking about, Sergeant. I think it's safe to say that he hasn't called anyone since they escaped. John too, for that matter. It's a safe bet that they are both turned off –maybe they even threw them away. And if you want to look at his phone records for the past few weeks, hoping to find a clue – you might as well spare yourself the trouble and go ahead and arrest me and Sherlock's brother".

Anderson sneered, and Greg had the feeling that the forensic tech would appreciate it if his lover (he had known about the from the start, he was still a good police man, no matter what a certain someone said, and simply been too polite to say anything, something Sherlock clearly wasn't) would follow this suggestion.

Normally he tried to ignore Anderson's and Donavan's behaviour and to concentrate on the task at hand; now, however, he couldn't bring himself to do it. They were after – it was time to admit it to himself. They were after his two best friends in the world.

So he sent them away – they would probably go and tell all their colleagues that he shouldn't be heading the search, but with Mycroft Holmes behind that, there wasn't much they could do – and rubbed his face with his hands, sighing. It wasn't that he didn't want to find Sherlock and John – quite the opposite, in fact – but he couldn't deny that he was, despite feeling guilty because of it, he didn't want to find them so he could arrest them.

He wanted to help them.

Somehow, he felt like an accomplice – he had known about John's past, after all, he was rather sure he was the only one who knew all about it, except John himself, Sherlock, Mycroft and Moran, and he had done nothing.

Because he hadn't wanted to put a good man, a friend, in jail, because said friend had made a few bad choices.

He felt like a hypocrite, feeling this way; after all, couldn't all criminals claim that they had simply "made bad choices" in their lives?

And yet –

Sherlock and John were his friends. At least John was his friend, and he was beginning to suspect that he meant more to Sherlock than he'd thought. The consulting detective certainly hadn't hit him particularly hard – in fact, he might even have exaggerated a little.

He sighed again. Somehow, almost unconsciously, he had wanted them to escape. He was the one who had turned his back on the consulting detective – knowing how Sherlock felt about John's arrest. And he had not really struggled with him – even though all Sherlock had done was grab his gun and give him a blow to the head.

Just when he was wondering what to do his phone rang. He wasn't surprised to see a blocked number; in fact, he had expected it.

"Hello" he said.

As expected, the caller turned out to be Mycroft. The older Holmes had several burn phones, in case he ever needed to call someone without the call being traceable, and with Donavan being already suspicious of him, it was certainly better not to let anyone know they were communicating.

"Inspector Lestrade".

"Thank you for the appointment" Greg said matter-of-factly – he had known Mycroft for almost as long as he'd known Sherlock, and there was no need to keep up the pretence that he didn't know just how much power Sherlock's brother possessed.

"No, thank you, Inspector" Mycroft answered. "I am sure your appointment is in Sherlock's best interest".

Greg decided not to answer this and instead asked "Any news?"

"No, and I am not expecting any until nightfall".

Naturally; Sherlock wouldn't risk calling Mycroft with his phone, and he wouldn't run around in daylight, not when every police man in London was on the look-out for him.

"But you know where..." He didn't finish the sentence, and Mycroft didn't answer immediately.

After a few moments he said, "I am rather sure that Sherlock and John are safe at the moment."

Greg smiled, relieved. Mycroft must have found them on a security camera somewhere, and when he thought his brother was safe for the time being...

"That" Mycroft added "is not the reason for my call, however".

He should have known.

"Then what is?"

"As you are aware, forensics matched the bullet found near the skeleton of Timothy Wallace with a gun that was identified as belonging to Doctor Watson".

Mycroft made a dramatic pause – really, the whole family tended to be too dramatic for their own good – and then continued.

"It could be possible – not likely, but still, possible – that it was a false match".

Greg swallowed. Mycroft had hardly ever told him what to do in a straightforward manner, and this time was no exception. But, as usual, Greg understood what was expected of him.

No, not expected. The older Holmes was still waiting for a reply. He was giving Greg a choice.

A choice that wasn't really a choice at all.

If John were caught, Sherlock probably would be too. And in that case, after having helped a murderer to escape, Sherlock's career as a consulting detective would be finished. He would maybe even go to jail. Or turn back to drugs.

Or they managed to leave the country.

In either case, Greg wouldn't see them again. And, suddenly, that seemed far worse than risking his career.

So, really, there wasn't much of a choice.

"Yes" he said slowly. "It's possible".

He could have sworn that a relieved sigh escaped Mycroft's lips at his answer.

Meanwhile, John did his best trying to remember everything he could about Moran's crimes, but as it soon turned out, proving them would be difficult.

„Moran killed at least fourteen people during the time you worked for Moriarty" Sherlock said, once John had finished his tale. "Do you have any idea where he got rid of the bodies?"

John shook his head. "I did help him hide one of the bodies – the one I shot – but I don't think he'd make the mistake of hiding it where other bodies were, even though he told me the opposite. After all, he mistrusted me from the beginning – he was jealous of me".

Sherlock nodded and started to pace up and down the room. The doctor sat down and watched his best friend for a few minutes. Then, his attention slowly focusing on the house, John mused that it must once have been rather pretty; it was big, had several rooms – he could see why Sherlock's homeless network would use it as their place to hide...

"John" Sherlock called, and the doctor realized that his eyes had been about to close. Sherlock was looking at him.

"You haven't slept since this whole thing started".

"No" John answered, a yawn escaping him. "I haven't. But neither have you."

Sherlock waved a hand in the air. "I don't need it".

"Of course not" John replied, yawning again.

"You, however, do, so I suggest you try and get some sleep while I think matters over – we won't be able to move before nightfall anyway."

John, feeling the adrenaline from their escape slowly ebbing away, was too tired to argue and lay down on the floor.

Sherlock's pacing and his mumbling soon lulled him to sleep.

Sherlock glanced at his doctor, finally resting, and sighed. Things didn't look good, although he was sure Mycroft was already (despite his assurances that he couldn't do anything once they had found the weapon) working on a plan to exonerate the doctor. Sometimes being related with the British Government had his upsides, although Sherlock certainly would never tell Mycroft that.

He concentrated on the task at hand. They had to find a way to prove that Moran had committed several crimes – and for that, they needed to find...

Of course. The gun. Moran had probably already used it before. And there was a possibility that no one had noticed that his victims had been shot by a sniper, because the bullet, as John had pointed out, looked more like one you would use for a pistol.

He had to call Lestrade.

But, first he had to wait until nightfall when he could sneak into the Diogenes Club.

Sitting down, he closed his eyes and went to his mind palace. Soon enough, however, the last few days caught up with him too and he fell asleep.

Author's note: Alas, my friends, so little time to write – therefore shorter chapter.

This chapter was going to have a point – and then I got distracted by DI Lestrade. That's what happens when your inner fangirl takes over your mind.

Inner fangirl: Replacement. Not takeover.

Me: Same difference.

I hope you still like this story, please review.