(A/N: Can't remember if I said this before, but to clarify these ficlets are not connected to each other, just a series of observations.)
B: Barricade /Blossom
Lestrade's a patient man. He's willing to put time and energy into something (or someone) if he thinks that they might blossom someday. His wife, on days that she's talking to him, tells him he should quit police work and become a gardener. His marriage takes a lot of work, but he doesn't give up. And he doesn't give up on Sherlock Holmes, either. Lestrade can see that the man's a genius, and it's worth the inconvenience to get the kind of results Sherlock can get. But there's more to it than that. Lestrade thinks Sherlock can get better, someday.
So he spends five years acting as a barricade between Sherlock and the rest of Scotland Yard: soaking up the animosity that spews in both directions, searching for the right amount of space to give Sherlock, knowing that too much will be as damaging as too little. Trying to hold on to his diminishing faith that things will fall into place.
One night, Lestrade realizes he's never had what Sherlock needed. He realizes this the night the serial suicide killer is gunned down by a mystery shooter. Sherlock is in the middle of describing the shooter to Lestrade when he apruptly stops, tells Lestrade to ignore him (a sentence he has never uttered in his life) and then strides off, every iota of his attention fixed on that fellow who just moved in with him, John Watson. Who fits the profile Sherlock just told Lestrade to forget. Who got here remarkably fast. Who certainly wouldn't be charged for this (the shooter was clearly acting in defense of Sherlock's life), and Sherlock must know it. But Sherlock has stopped showing off, lied in a way that makes himself look bad, and told other people to ignore him, all to keep John from having to make a statement.
Lestrade does what he can for Sherlock: he keeps what he knows to himself, and quietly makes sure John has access to every place Sherlock does. And a series of extraordinary things begin to happen.
Sherlock starts laughing. Oh, he laughed before, but invariably at other people's mistakes; now he and John are prone to bursting into inappropriate, conspiratorial sniggering at the worst possible moments. He loses the subtle tension of a man constantly under attack, and even appears relaxed on occasion. Lestrade has personally observed Sherlock apologize three times, admit to being wrong twice, and twice acquiesce to mundane and domestic demands such as replacing household goods that were sacrificed to an impromptu experiment. He also smiles a lot. He still smiles all the times he would've before, like when he's figured out a clue or when he's trying to get his way, but he smiles other times. When it's time to go home. When he's lost in his work, humming to himself. At people's jokes. At John.
After five long, patient years, Sherlock is blossoming.