As John and Sarah walked into the bar after dinner, the last person they expected to find, propped up at one end, was Greg Lestrade.
"Greg!" John shouted, heading over to where the DI was nursing an almost empty pint while Sarah ordered a round of drinks.
"John." Greg nodded an acknowledgement to his friend and his thanks to the barmaid as she replaced old pint with new. "Thanks, love."
"No Sherlock?" he asked the doctor, screwing his nose up as he realised he had rather stated the obvious.
"He doesn't come on all our dates." John replied, rolling his eyes and smirking. "Plus, I think he will probably have a date himself tonight."
Greg raised an eyebrow, more than just a little confused by that statement. "Sherlock? A date? Who with?"
John shrugged. "Dunno, mate." He took a long drink of his pint and placed it down next to Greg's, just as Sarah joined them. "We talked and he just mentioned there was someone."
Greg frowned. Who on earth could Sherlock be seeing? Last Greg knew, Sherlock was crushing on John. It made no sense whatsoever.
"He actually told you he was seeing someone?" Greg questioned, trying to work out what exactly had been said but not really sure how much Sarah knew or should know about the whole thing.
John looked up at Greg's question. "Well, sort of." he replied. "I kind of deduced it, and he didn't deny it." He shrugged again, not sure what difference it really made. He was happy for Sherlock. It had obviously been difficult for him to keep everything quiet and undercover but he hoped that, now it was all out in the open, Sherlock would be back to his usual crazy and obnoxious self again.
Greg didn't look pleased though. His frown deepened as he drew swirls in the condensation on the side of his glass. This couldn't be right.
He pushed aside the remaining drink and started to stand.
"I'm intruding on your date" he said suddenly, "and I have an early start tomorrow. Nice to see you again, Sarah" he nodded to John's date, "and, John, see you soon, mate."
With that, Greg hurried out of the bar, pulling his phone from his pocket as he raised his arm for a taxi.
Fortunately, it was still quite early in the evening and a taxi appeared quite quickly, slowing to a stop at Greg's hail.
"Baker Street, please, mate." Greg asked with urgency, climbing into the rear seat and pulling the door closed.
The cabbie nodded and set off. Greg flipped his phone over and over in his hand for a while, thinking before finally unlocking it and scrolling down his contacts, stopping when he reached Sherlock's number.
Everything OK? - GL
As he pressed send, he realised he actually wasn't sure what kind of response he would get. The question was somewhat ambiguous and there was nothing to stop Sherlock outright lying in response anyway.
He tapped his fingers on his lap in thought and scrolled up through his contacts again - Mycroft.
Have you heard from Sherlock? - GL
He had barely put the phone down on his knee when it vibrated with an incoming message.
What has my brother done now, Detective Inspector? MH
Greg grinned at the formality. It would have been so much quicker to type "Greg" yet the government official would do nothing less than keep it professional, of course.
I am worried about him - Greg
He used his first name in the hope of Mycroft picking up on the subtle hint. He really was worried about Sherlock though. He and John had obviously spoken but something seemed very wrong with how the discussion had gone. John had made an assumption that Sherlock had met someone, and Sherlock had just let him think that.
That coupled with the fact that John was out on a date with Sarah - something Sherlock would certainly have deduced himself, even if he hadn't been told - made Greg very much concerned about him.
The phone buzzed in his lap: incoming call - Mycroft Holmes.
He took a deep breath before answering, trying to ignore the flutter in his stomach that seeing the elder Holmes' name on his caller display had produced.
"Gregory." Mycroft began, before Greg had a chance to greet him. "What seems to be the problem with my brother?"
Gregory was momentarily flummoxed and had no idea what to say. "Right, yes, Mycroft, hello", he started, groaning at his own idiocy and how pathetic he sounded. "I don't really know if we ought to be discussing this on the phone though." He frowned again. No wonder his on-off wife/ex was always commenting on his frown lines, he thought, Sherlock is frown-enducing.
Greg heard Mycroft talking to someone in the background briefly and waited until he had finished before continuing. "You haven't seen or heard from Sherlock then?"
Mycroft chuckled. "Contrary to popular opinion, I do not keep tabs on my brother twenty-four-seven, Gregory."
Greg was about to make some quip about it being unlikely the Mycroft Holmes missed much that his little brother got up to when the cabbie got his attention.
"What address, mate?"
"221B, please. Next to Speedy's." Greg replied, noticing that they were almost there anyway.
"Mycroft, I am calling in to check on your brother now. I'll keep you updated."
"Please do, Detective Inspector." Mycroft responded formally before a quiet click indicated he had rung off just as the taxi stopped outside Speedy's.
"Thanks, mate." Greg nodded to the cabbie, paying his fare before heading to the door of 221.
He took a moment to check his phone again, before knocking, to make sure he hadn't missed any incoming messages from Sherlock while he had been talking.
Nothing. No message.
He raised a hand to knock just as Mrs Hudson opened the door to exit.
"Inspector!" she exclaimed with a half-squeal, dramatically placing her hand over her chest. "You nearly frightened me to death! Did you want Sherlock or John? I think John is out but Sherlock is upstairs, my dear. Do come in."
Greg nodded his thanks and was heading up the stairs when Mrs Hudson shouted up after him. "He's been awfully melancholy lately, Inspector. Tell him I'll bake him some nice fruit scones when I get back from my salsa class." and with that, she headed out the door.
Gregory fought off a haunting sense of deja vu as he climbed the stairs to 221B. The vision of Sherlock, lifeless on the sofa, would be ingrained in his memory for the rest of his days. He had no idea what he would find when he entered the flat. Resisting the urge to fly up them 3 at a time, he second-guessed whether he ought to knock before entering. He decided to knock anyway.
"Sherlock?" he shouted, knocking softly on the door in case he was resting or sleeping or whatever it is Holmeses do.
"Go away, Inspector."
Greg breathed out a sigh of relief just at the sound of Sherlock's voice and was about to speak again when Sherlock startled him by opening the door.
"I do not require a babysitter, Detective Inspector." he said firmly, planting himself in the doorway to ensure that Greg couldn't enter.
"Sherlock..." Greg aimed for his voice to sound calm and placating but he wasn't entirely convinced he was pulling it off. He was anxious and worried and Sherlock, despite his claims not to need a babysitter, looked every bit like a lost child.
"Please..." the DI continued, placing a hand on Sherlock's arm.
The consulting detective's breath hitched and he moved aside, allowing Greg to pass. Both men moved to the sofa and Greg sat alongside where Sherlock flung himself.
He heard the young man take a shuddering long breath before he started to speak.
"I couldn't do it, Greg."
How it must have hurt for Sherlock Holmes to admit to anyone, friend or not, that there were some things he just couldn't do.
He was completely out of his depth trying to deal with emotions and sentiment.
Greg had no idea what to say.
"Yeah, mate. I've seen John..." he hesitated before finishing "... and Sarah."
Sherlock said nothing but nodded solemnly.
After a long period of silence, Sherlock spoke again.
"I couldn't do it, Greg." he repeated. He sounded so small, so vulnerable. Greg sighed and placed his hand back on Sherlock's arm.
As Sherlock rested his head against Greg's shoulder, he closed his eyes and it wasn't long before Greg realised that the young Holmes had fallen asleep.
Greg gently slid out from underneath Sherlock and carefully laid him down on the worn sofa, covering him with his robe.
"I know." he said, quietly. "I know."