Please Be John

Chapter Nine

"Did you collect everything?" The Detective Inspector asked his crew.
They all responded with yeses and nods of their heads.
"Good. Get who you've detained to the precinct and we'll move from there."
"Gregory," He called as they all headed toward their cars.

Gregory Lestrade. He was new to this division. Hadn't been an officer long at all. In fact, this was only his second drug bust. He was ruggedly handsome- in that dad sort of way. He wasn't too old, in his early thirties at the oldest.

"Yes sir?" The officer chimed as he was called to.
"Will you do one last sweep of the place for me?"
"Yes I will." He grinned.
He was very desperate to get promoted. He was better in the office than in the field, he knew that well. And plus, the DI would be stepping down soon.
Greg made his way back to the building, holding onto the rail as he went up the creaky wooden steps. He held his gun by his side as he checked each room. There was nothing for quite a while, until he went to the upstairs office of the abandoned building.
A young man was curled up on a mattress, a piece of paper next to him, and a lit cigarette in hand. Greg slowly put his gun away, it was obvious that the kid was scared.
Slowly he walked over to him.
"Those things will kill you." Greg whispered.
Wide green and blue eyes looked up at the man.
"Please don't tell my brother." He whispered back.
"Tell him what?" He slowly sat down beside the mattress.
"That I'm here. W.. Who are you?"
"Officer Lestrade. And you?"
"Sherlock Holmes."

The boy sat in silence as Greg drove, he looked over to him every now and then.
"Do you want something to eat before I take you home?" Greg offered.
"No." Sherlock murmured, sinking down into the cat seat.
"Your high will wear off more if you do."
Curious eyes glanced up then. "We can eat, but you choose."
"Alright," The officer smiled, thumbs tapping on his steering wheel.
"You think loudly." Sherlock said, curling back up.
"I do?" Greg mused. "I'm sorry."
"I'm not a child." Sherlock said suddenly. "Since that's how you're treating me."
"How old are you?"
"Old enough." He grumbled.

Greg took Sherlock to Speedy's, where he purchased them both sandwiches.
The younger of the two had only eaten the contents of the sandwich, just the meat and the cheese. Not once eating the bread.
Greg watched for a moment. "Do you not like bread?"
"It's stale." Sherlock replied bluntly.
"How do you know if you haven't eaten it?"
"White bread is much softer than this when fresh."
"Oh. I'm sorry then."
"Why?"
"Because your food is bad."
"Don't apologize. It isn't your fault."

After the two finished their meals Sherlock gave Greg directions back to Mycroft's house, which was his permanent address from this point on.

Greg walked Sherlock up the path and knocked on the door. Mycroft opened the door and sighed.
  "Sherlock." He said softly, his voice dripping with disappointment. He looked up to Greg as Sherlock made his way into the house, Mycroft grabbed onto him and made him stand next to him while he spoke to the officer.
"I'm so sorry for the trouble he's caused Officer...?"
"Lestrade." Greg smiled weakly. This kid's brother was handsome. "He was no trouble really, I took him to lunch. He's a smart kid."
"Did you thank him for lunch Sherlock?" Mycroft asked softly.
"Thank you Lestrade." He murmured softly.
"It's no problem."
Sherlock rolled his eyes at the two men and pulled away to go to his room.
"How much do I owe you for his lunch?"
"Nothing at all." Greg grinned.
"Are you sure?"
"Really. I'm sure. I'm not sure he even liked it anyways." He chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Well thank you very much." Mycroft said with a nod. "Was he high when you found him?"
"Not really, it was dwindling down when I found him."
Mycroft once more sighed, leaning his weight against the doorframe. "Well, thank you very much for bringing him home safely."
"Just doing my job sir. Have a lovely evening."
Greg waved as he excused himself back to his car.

Mycroft slowly shut the front door before going up to Sherlock's bedroom.
Sherlock was lying on the floor, asleep, with his not so little puppy over his chest.
Ridely looked up to Mycroft, tail whacking against Sherlock and the hardwood floor.

This dog wasn't an ordinary dog. Ridely was trained to get someone if Sherlock overdosed. Sadly, they figured out he could do his job well.

  So, Mycroft was thankful to see that Ridely hadn't ran to get him. And that the pup was merely lying with him.
  The older of the two brothers moved to kneel beside him, gently shaking him.
   "Sherlock."
     Nothing.
    "Sherlock, wake up."
  With a whine the boy rolled onto his side. Sighing, Mycrot lifted him and lied him on his bed.
    "We'll talk in the morning." Mycroft said gently. "Goodnight Sherlock."
     "Goodnight Mycroft."