Disclaimer: Yeah they're still not mine. If they were then Greg would have someone else's shoulder to cry on but I can't promise my intentions would be honorable. :)
A/N: Right so here's your chapter and thanks to everyone for hanging in there with me while I was so busy over the summer.
Tuesday
Greg opened his eyes blearily and smacked his lips. God, that was the most disgusting taste, he thought. Groaning at his sore head he heaved himself from his bed and stumbled to the bathroom. What the Hell had he been thinking trying to drink an ex-soldier under the table?
He flicked on the light in the bathroom and flinched at the brightness. "Dammit, My, this is all your fault," he muttered unhappily.
If Mycroft had been home then Greg wouldn't have gone out with Sherlock and John and he wouldn't have tried to drown his sorrows in pint after pint of beer. He knew he was being illogical but being angry at Mycroft felt much better than being depressed about him. He could live with the anger but the depression was nearly killing him.
He jammed his toothbrush in his mouth and started the shower. The ringing silence in the house was deafening but the splash of the water drowned it out.
Half an hour later Greg felt almost human as he strode out of the hallway and stopped in shock. Sherlock Holmes was sprawled across his sofa, snoring lightly. Quiet clattering from the kitchen gave away the whereabouts of Sherlock's better half.
"John?" Greg called softly, just to make sure.
"There's coffee and toast if you want some," John called back cheerily. "Now that you're up, I'd better wake Sherlock. Sgt. Donovan called about ten minutes ago but I told her you were in the shower. Said she'd talk to you at work in that case, something about a murder yesterday."
"Murder?" A bleary voice asked from the sofa. "A good one? Not one of your normal boring ones? Of course it's a good one, otherwise you'd be done already and Donovan wouldn't be calling you about it. Details, Lestrade!" Sherlock demanded as he gracefully rose from the sofa and stalked into the kitchen.
"Sher," Lestrade began as patiently as he could around his pounding head. "Let me have my coffee first. I hate you both, by the way."
John sent him a grin and handed him a steaming mug. "Oh, we know, but it's hardly our fault you can't hold your liquor." Sherlock only smirked at him and seated himself at Greg's small kitchen table.
Greg scowled at both of them and sat down with his coffee while John handed Sherlock his own mug and then poured one for himself. Sherlock watched him intently for a few moments as they all sipped in silence.
"Now," Sherlock started when Greg had finished about half of his cup of coffee. "Are you awake enough to give me the details?"
Greg groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. "I promised Anderson twenty-four hours to figure it out," he replied.
Sherlock gave him a shocked glare. "Why on Earth would you do that?" He shouted. "It's stupid! He's an idiot and he'll never figure it out!"
Greg felt his lips spread into a half smirk. "You don't even know what the murder is, Sher. How do you know he won't be able to figure it out?"
Sherlock eyed him with disfavor. "It's Anderson, Lestrade!"
"Yes, so you've said," Greg nodded unperturbed. "Doesn't change the fact that he is a forensics technician whose job is to figure out the how's, when's, and what's of murders. He's not a complete idiot, Sher, and you know it."
"He couldn't figure out his way around a crime scene without directions from Sgt. Donovan. I've no idea how he graduated." Sherlock grumbled.
"When's his twenty-four hours up, Greg?" John asked reasonably.
"Noon," Greg muttered back.
"Well then," John smiled pleasantly. "We'll go do the grocery shopping and take care of a few other errands and meet you at the Yard for lunch, all right?"
"Errands?" Sherlock piped up. "What kind of errands? I don't like shopping, John. You know this. All those people." He gave a delicate shudder.
"Works for me," Greg shrugged and gulped down the last of his coffee before standing and checking the time. "Lock up when you leave, aye? I need to get going."
John nodded. "See you for lunch, Greg."
"What errands, John?" Greg heard Sherlock's whining as he closed the front door of the house and headed for his cruiser with a chuckle. Sherlock was such a child at times.
MH/GL MH/GL MH/GL
"What's the psychopath doing here?" Anderson hissed at him four and a half hours later. "Did you call him, Lestrade? You said you'd give me time!"
Greg looked up from the report he was reading, glanced at the infuriated man standing in his office doorway then out the window to the bull pen to see John and Sherlock approaching and then back to his report. "And I did give you time, Anderson, but no I didn't call him." It was the truth.
"Then why is he here?" Anderson whined. "No one wants him here. He's a psychopath! He doesn't belong here unless he's under arrest!"
Greg stared up at the whining man again. "One: I'm sure we'll find out why he's here soon though I'm betting as it's lunch time he and John have come to take me to lunch. Two: I want him here. He's an asset. Three: He's a high-functioning sociopath, or so he says. Personally, I think he just doesn't have any people skills. And finally: He hasn't done anything to be arrested for."
Anderson scowled at him and quickly left the office doorway before John and Sherlock made their way to his office. Greg shook his head at the childishness of the forensics technician.
"Afternoon, Greg," John smiled as he sat in front of his desk. "Sorry we're late; we stopped off to get some Thai takeout for you. Sherlock insisted we all eat here so that he can go over the files."
"Works for me," Greg echoed his earlier words. "Did you get any coconut curry?" He asked and reached for the boxes that John had set on his desk.
"And your corn cakes," Sherlock shoved the bag over to him proudly. "John nearly forgot them." He held out a hand. "Files."
Greg grimaced and handed over the files. "Lauren McKnight, 25, unknown cause of death. Autopsy report says she's perfectly healthy and toxicology report says no drugs in her system."
"Interesting," Sherlock murmured and buried himself in the file.
MH/GL MH/GL MH/GL
Greg shook himself from his contemplation of the crime scene and stared over at the slender dark-haired man inspecting the alley wall. "Find anything?"
Sherlock ignored him and continued on with his inspection. "You are going to make Mycroft pay for his stupidity, aren't you?" John's voice came from his side.
Greg slanted him a glance and shrugged. "I'm not sure yet," he paused. "I mean, is it worth it? He's been distant for months. Maybe he's sick of me."
Sherlock's disgusted snort let them know a part of him was still paying attention to the conversation. "I'm sure that's not it," John said comfortingly.
Greg only shook his head and sighed. "I still don't know whether it's worth the hassle of trying. We had some good years together but I'm not going to force him to stay if it isn't what he wants."
"You're both idiots," Sherlock growled. "You and my brother."
Greg gave him a sad smile. "So you always say. And I know that before he met me My was of the same opinion and that he truly believed that sentiment and love were a disadvantage. Maybe he's remembered that."
"Then he's even stupider than I thought," Sherlock whirled away from the wall and stood in front of them. "And it's definitely murder. Potassium poisoning."
Greg arched an eyebrow, glad to get away from the subject of his relationship with Mycroft. "Potassium poisoning? Don't think I've ever had a case involving that."
"It would explain why the tox screens came back negative though," John murmured. "Potassium isn't a drug."
"Right," Greg nodded. "What else you got, Sherlock? Who did it?"
Sherlock looked back at the wall with a tight frown. "Normally, I'd say the boyfriend, but the interviews say she didn't have one. I'll need to interview her roommate again."
Greg sighed but led the way back to the cruiser. "Let's go then. She should be off work by now."
Before opening his own door he pulled his mobile from his pocket and glared at the screen. No new messages. Dammit.