"Tell me about Lestrade." As Sherlock waited for the laptop to power up his mind had raced around the likely passwords, passwords that he dismissed as being too obvious without even trying them. "What is he like as a person?"
John sat back in his chair and closed his eyes, pulling up a mental picture of the grey haired Detective Inspector.
They had been friends for a few years, ever since John's discharge from the army, when he found himself working for Sarah's practice and taking his turn as duty doctor on call to the police.
Nights sharing a coffee in the canteen at Scotland Yard or patching up officers after a particularly difficult case, downtime shared over a pint in the Barley Mow, putting the world to rights and laughing at the vagaries of London Life.
The man he knew was a careful and caring man, still coming to terms with his wife's infidelity and desertion, the loss of contact with his children.
Lestrade had been detailed to return John home after his beating at the hands of Barrymore's thugs. The gang master wasn't aware that Greg had shared his infiltration secrets with the ex-army Captain, that they had started even before his capture to develop a working network.
Sherlock looked up at John, a password presenting itself plainly. Brotherhood.