When John had returned from Sarah's the following morning, he pretty much ran straight in, got ready for work and ran straight out again.
There was no sign of Sherlock in the flat, but John could see a small light on in his bedroom so he assumed the young detective was still asleep. He was completely unaware however that, alongside Sherlock's sleeping form in his bed, Greg Lestrade sat on an armchair, keeping watch.
As the door to 221B swung shut behind John, Sherlock stirred and Greg was ready with a glass of water. After Greg had led him to his bedroom and helped him undress, Sherlock had slept fairly soundly, and Greg knew from experience that he would wake feeling thirsty.
"Greg?" Sherlock muttered, half-asleep, trying to sit himself upright and reaching out an arm. His voice was gravelly and hoarse. He groaned and closed his eyes against the light on the dresser.
"I'm here, Sherlock." his friend replied, aiding Sherlock to lift his head and tipping the glass to his dry, chapped lips. Sherlock nodded gratefully. "How are you feeling this morning?" Greg asked, knowing that even though he'd slept well, Sherlock would feel the after effects of the previous evening.
Sherlock pushed himself into a sitting position, tipping his head back against the headboard. He stretched his arms experimentally and looked at Greg. The DI looked tired. Then again, he supposed he would do. He'd just spent all night keeping watching over Sherlock. Not answering the question, he nodded.
"Thank you." He couldn't think what else to say. "It was stupid but..." he paused, reaching a hand out and taking hold of one of Greg's, "Thank you."
Slowly, he slid back down onto the bed. He still felt so tired.
"John's been and gone." Greg felt the need to update Sherlock. At some point, he was bound to ask after the doctor. "He hasn't seen you though. Well, hasn't seen us." he corrected. Greg had deliberately kept out of John's way, not wanting to have to explain his presence in the flat.
"Mycroft texted earlier. I told him you were still sleeping but you were doing better." Greg stopped, glancing across at Sherlock who still had hold of his hand but was obviously falling asleep. "You had us worried, Sherlock." he said softly. The grip on his hand tightened slightly and then slackened off again. Gradually, Greg could hear Sherlock's breathing slow and steady as he drifted off.
Greg freed his hand carefully and lay back in the chair. He had a few hours before John would be back. Time for a kip himself.
That evening, John came home to an empty flat.
When Greg had woken up, Sherlock was in the bathroom and, having showered, announced that he wanted to see Mycroft. Greg, knowing that was a request that Sherlock would rarely, if ever, make, sent a message to Mycroft requesting that he send a car.
The car dropped Greg off at home and then continued on to Mycroft's flat.
So, when John returned from work, 221B was quiet. He grabbed his mobile from his coat pocket and called Greg.
"Hmmm?" a sleepy voice groaned. John laughed.
"Greg?"
"Oh yeh. Sorry, John. Didn't see it was your number, mate. What's up?" Greg frowned, hoping he wasn't about to be asked any tricky questions that would require him to avoid answering or to be dishonest.
"Sherlock's gone to see Mycroft." John started. Greg had insisted that Sherlock leave a note for John, explaining that he was going to his brother's and would be back later that evening. Sherlock had bitched and moaned about it, but he had done it anyway. "No doubt he has been summoned for something of national importance." John added, and Greg could almost hear the doctor rolling his eyes.
If only he knew, he thought.
John rummaged in the kitchen for a tea bag and flicked on the kettle.
"I was wondering if you fancied going out for a drink tonight?" he continued as he poured his brew.
Greg rubbed at his face. He hadn't had much sleep in the past 36 hours, but he certainly could use a drink and some stress-free company for a couple of hours.
"Sounds good, mate." he responded, sniffing his clothes, trying to gauge if he needed to change or shower or both. He decided definitely both. "Give me an hour or so. Say 8 o'clock? Meet at the usual?" He stood and headed to the bathroom.
"Great." John answered, "See you then." and he hung up, heading to get ready himself.
Greg arrived at the pub just after 8pm, and John had already got two pints on the table.
"Cheers mate." Greg acknowledged, too easily downing almost half his pint in one swallow.
He groaned and leant back on the chair.
"Tough day?" John enquired. He hadn't seen Greg since they'd been at New Scotland Yard the previous afternoon, but he was under the impression that the case they had been working on was all tied up and done with now. Still, the Detective Inspector looked overly tired and stressed. He watched as Greg absently drew lines along the condensation that formed on the outside of his glass.
"Something like that." Greg eventually responded with a chuckle. "Anyway, glad to be out. It's been a while since we unwound with a few beers."
"Yeah." John's eyes dropped to the table, and he began flipping a beermat over and over in his fingers. "It has. I've been working more hours. And, of course, there's Sarah."
Greg looked up at John who was still worrying the mat, folding over the worn edges and fraying layers in the cardboard.
Sarah. Right. Yes. Sarah. Of course.
"I'm worried about Sherlock." John looked up at Greg and added suddenly. "He's been very... distracted. Distant. Something. I dunno..." he trailed off. Not really sure how to describe the feeling he'd been getting from his flatmate over the past few days.
Greg saw the worried frown form on John's face as he spoke about Sherlock, and he tried to keep his own passive; unknowing.
John continued "He seemed a bit off at the basement crime scene, I noticed that. But when we came to the Yard yesterday... " John shook his head. "I don't know." he sighed, slumping back into his own chair and taking a long swig of his rapidly-warming beer.
"Have you talked to him?" Greg asked, knowing full well he hadn't, but it seemed like the obvious suggestion - for an outsider, at least.
John let out a soft chuckle. "Sherlock doesn't really do talking, does he? He is the master of not talking, in fact." He shrugged his shoulders. Getting Sherlock to talk about anything he didn't want to talk about was near on impossible. He chuckled to himself again. Funny then, he thought, how he also doesn't know how to shut up once he's started, even when he should!
"I know, mate." Greg nodded, knowing. "Maybe, this time... if it's something important... he will."
John drained his pint and turned to the bar for a new one.
"Yeah." he hummed, "maybe."