Keeping the Strength to Fight

Chapter 20- Sherlock

As soon as they burst from the doors, the first thing Sherlock saw was an astonished Lestrade. He gazed at them with a look of complete awe and relief, a look he hadn't seen on the DI's face often before.

Sherlock felt surprisingly pleased to see Lestrade, mainly because he would be helpful to them; but also because Greg was one of the few people he considered a friend. He had left to save his life too.

He felt bad for him though. The whole mess with Moriarty had lost him his position for a while, and it was plain to see how much he had aged in two years. He obviously had a heavy conscience from the events of that day.

He decided to save his deductions for a later date, as Lestrade slowly lowered his arm which was holding up the walkie-talkie, and began to step forward towards them with the same pale expression.

Tilting his head, Sherlock noticed that John appeared both happy and annoyed to see Lestrade, and he wondered what had been going on while he was away.

When Lestrade was closer, he began looking between Sherlock and John, as if unsure to whom he should speak first, or just couldn't believe either was really there. Alive.

John opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by Lestrade suddenly throwing his arms around both of their necks.

"You bastard," He muttered, "You complete bastards."

Sherlock smiled onto his shoulder; that's how someone should be welcomed back.

Lestrade eventually pulled back, and Sherlock smiled warmly at him, a gesture he usually only saved for himself and John.

At this, John turned from indecisive to pissed, huffing and turning his back on Sherlock as best he could while he was holding him up.

"Greg, I'd be very grateful if you stopped gawking now. If you hadn't noticed, I've had a pretty rough weekend."

Lestrade blinked and looked at John.

Actually looked.

"Oh god..." He said, horrified, as he remembered;

"You jumped out of a window."

Sherlock suddenly barked a laugh. "He did what?!"

He found it slightly more funny than he should have, and reacted slightly more exaggerated than that.

John deadpanned the two of them, Sherlock's over gleefully amused face and Lestrades worried one.

"Oh, screw you both." He growled.

Lestrade looked conflicted and hurt. He started to apologise, but was cut off my John.

"No," His voice almost broke, "No. Just... don't." He shook his head, overwhelmed, and squared his shoulders;

"Get me out of here." He said in his most authoritative tone.

It worked. Lestrade brought an officer over to help John into an ambulance. They had arrived on scene not long after the squad had, along with several other police cars.

Sherlock watched him go, secretly dismayed. He realised that, in retrospect, he really had no idea what he was doing in relation to mending their broken relationship.

He needed to tell him why he left. Then it would be fixed, surely.

He knew it would be hard on John, but he really thought that being an obnoxious asshole would help.

A lightbulb flickered on in his mind.

"Oh..."

"Hm?" Lestrade was still stood there.

"What? Oh, nothing." He dismissed absently.

"Right. So... you're... y'know." Lestrade gestured oddly towards Sherlock.

"Not dead?"

He hummed in responce.

"Yes." He confirmed, "Obviously -next question?"

"Oh, well..." Lestrade paused, "What's up with the hair?"

Sherlock cocked his head, and decided to ignore the question entirely.

"I'm going to need a lift back to Baker street, a laptop, a microscope, my violin, a change of clothes and some peace and quiet."

He paused to admire Gregs dumbfounded face, then added, patronizingly;

"Chop chop!"