Chapter Text
Greg managed to get two meals and a nap in after Hopkins’ arrest and before his phone rang again. No less than the Chief of New Scotland Yard was on the other end of the line.
“Lestrade. There’s been another suicide. We needed this solved yesterday. You’re in charge. Do whatever you need to, but get it done.”
“Yes, sir. I’m on it.” Greg said, grabbing his keys and heading for the door.
Greg texted Sherlock for his location. Baker Street. Odd. He started to knock on the door to number 221 twenty minutes later, but the door pushed open as soon as his knuckles made contact. Looking around cautiously, Greg proceeded up the stairs to apartment B. The door to the flat was wide open as well, but Greg barely made it through the door before Sherlock turned.
“Where?” He asked.
“Brixton, Lauriston Gardens.” Greg answered, trying not to be phased that Sherlock already knew why he was there.
“What’s new about this one? You wouldn’t have come to get me if there wasn’t something different.”
Greg tried not to roll his eyes. Sherlock was already interested in this case, but Greg was going to have to persuade him to come anyway it seemed. “You know how they never leave notes?”
“Yeah.” Sherlock said.
“This one did. Will you come?” Greg hoped the desperation wasn’t evident in his voice.
“Who’s on forensics?”
“It’s Anderson.” Greg admitted.
“Anderson won’t work with me.”
“Well, he won’t be your assistant.”
“I need an assistant.” Sherlock whined.
“Will you come?” Greg knew it sounded like he was pleading the second time, but there was nothing else for it. He needed Sherlock. As usual.
“Not in a police car. I’ll be right behind.”
“Thank you.” Greg looked around the room and was momentarily confused. Some of Sherlock’s more unique belongings seemed to have been moved in. This must be the apartment Sherlock mentioned then, and the older lady must be Mrs. Hudson.
The other gentleman in the room – shorter, grey hair – was a mystery to Greg however. Who was he? Sherlock’s new roommate? Where did Sherlock find him? And why in God’s name had he agreed to live with Sherlock? Surely, he didn’t know about Sherlock’s… idiosyncrasies yet.
Greg suddenly realized that he was staring awkwardly and quickly turned to head to the crime scene.
Greg pulled his phone from his pocket before he even reached his car. He quickly dialed Mike.
"Greg, so good to hear from you. I imagine you're calling about Sherlock's new roommate." Mike said.
Greg laughed. "Yeah, how did you know?"
"Lucky guess." Mike chuckled. "I'm afraid I can't chat now, but don't worry. John Watson's a great man. I went to med school with him. He's a bit mad, likes a bit of chaos in his life, but somehow I imagine that will suit Sherlock just fine."
Greg wondered exactly what that meant, but decided to let it go for now. "Ok, thanks, Mike. I'll let you get back to work."
Greg hung up and thumbed through his contacts to Mycroft's name, but then hesitated over it. He hadn't spoken to Mycroft since the kiss the other day, and he wasn't sure where they stood. How awkward was it going to be to talk to the man? Worse still, would Mycroft be able to tell just how much time Greg had spent thinking about him in the interim? Greg flushed red at the thought and started to pocket his phone.
Best not to bother the man. After all, the kiss had been born out of exhaustion. Greg knew all too well that sleeplessness was a lot like drunkenness. Chalk it up to lowered inhibitions and a momentary lapse of judgement, and it was clear that Mycroft never would have ordinarily acted on such a whim.
But then again, could it really be called a whim if the thought had occurred to Greg more than once and had stayed with him since then? He and Mycroft did have a surprising amount in common. And regardless, Greg had promised to keep him updated on Sherlock's roommate situation.
Grinning in spite of himself, Greg retrieved his phone from his pocket and dialed Mycroft.
"Sergeant? Or should I say Detective Inspector?" Mycroft answered.
"Word travels fast, I see." Greg's grin broadened. "Speaking of which, did you know Sherlock moved?"
"I had heard a rumour to that effect, but I have not quite ascertained how he came by enough money."
"He's found a roommate." Greg announced.
"Really?" Mycroft sounded surprised.
Reveling for a moment in knowing something that Mycroft Holmes did not, Greg continued. "Yeah, an older bloke, probably closer to my age than Sherlock's. Name of John Watson. Studied medicine at Bart's."
"Interesting." Mycroft passed muffled instructions to someone on the other end of the phone before continuing. "I can't tell you how greatly I appreciate this information." Mycroft paused again. "I... perhaps we can... if you'd like, sometime I should buy you a drink? To thank you for your help with Sherlock and celebrate your promotion. Would you be amenable to that?"
Greg froze in his effort to dig his keys out of his pocket. That sounded a lot like a date. Oh God, what would a date with Mycroft be like?
Before Greg could think too deeply about it, he answered. "Yeah, err, that sounds great. I've got to run now though. Crime scene and all that."
"Of course. I'll be in touch."
Greg hung up and hurried to the latest crime scene. He had just pulled on his blue sterile suit when Sherlock arrived. To Greg's very great surprise, however, Sherlock wasn't alone. John Watson was there too, limping along behind Sherlock with a cane.
Sherlock insisted that Watson be allowed onto the scene and even asked for his medical opinion on the victim. John, for his part was the perfect spectator to Sherlock's show. He didn't get offended by Sherlock's rudeness and he praised his genius openly. Strangely, Sherlock seemed determined to be on his best behavior in front of John. He even noticed when he had said something not good. In true Sherlock fashion though, Watson was quickly forgotten when Sherlock had an epiphany about the case.
Yelling about a suitcase, Sherlock vanished into the night, and Greg was left chasing after both Sherlock and the apparently missing evidence.
When Sherlock didn't materialize outside, Lestrade in frustration marched back into the building. Sherlock would find the suitcase within the hour, of that much Lestrade was sure. He just needed to convince Sherlock to give it to him without an argument. It would have been easy to find if Sherlock still lived with him, but now he needed a way into Baker Street. Looking around the room at the put-out faces of the rest of the team, an idea occurred to Lestrade.
"Anyone want to annoy Sherlock Holmes?"
Lestrade found himself back in 221B within an hour, this time waiting for Sherlock and pretending to search for drugs (and secretly praying there were none to find). Sherlock and John arrived looking flushed with excitement. John was strangely non longer limping, but simply carrying his cane.
At Sherlock's instruction they moved from looking for the suitcase to using GPS to track the victim's phone, and with it their killer. Sherlock was at his best, making frantic deductions and moving from one conclusion to the next with all the agility of a gymnast, when suddenly, they hit a dead end. The phone's signal was resonating from within 221B itself.
Greg shouted for the team to start looking for it and turned to help for himself. When he looked up, Sherlock was gone.
Greg looked at John. "Why did he do that? Why did he have to leave?”
"You know him better than I do." John responded.
"I've known him for over a year and no, I don't." Greg grumbled, thoroughly annoyed that he was going to have to chase Sherlock down again.
“So why do you put up with him?” John asked.
“Because I’m desperate, that’s why.” Greg started to walk away, but stopped and turned back. “And because Sherlock Holmes is a great man. And I think one day, if we’re very, very lucky, he might even be a good one.”
Greg left Baker Street and headed to his car. He'd have to patrol the streets. He'd call Mycroft only if he couldn't find Sherlock himself.
After a while, voices on the police radio suddenly announced gun shots heard in one of the Roland-Kerr College buildings. Greg immediately turned to head in that direction, terrified that he was going to once again find Sherlock dead.
When he arrived, other officers were already cordoning off the scene.
"What happened?" Greg asked one of the junior officers, jumping out of his car.
"Someone shot the suicide killer, sir." The young man reported.
"Sherlock shot him?" Greg asked.
"No, sir. We don't know yet who did it. Sherlock was there, but he wasn't armed. Someone shot him from the other building. Great shot, really. It'll be a shame to have to arrest him."
Greg caught sight of Sherlock at that moment. He was being ushered out of the crime scene by a paramedic, but he looked unhurt. The paramedic draped a bright orange blanket over his shoulders.
Sally approached Greg and sighed. "We should at least get to take pictures of him with the shock blanket for all the trouble this has been."
"Trouble?" Greg questioned, appalled. "Donovan, he solved the case!"
"True, but he did it in the most annoying way possible." Sally looked at Greg's annoyed face and sighed again. "I'm not sure why you're so fond of him, sir, but he did solve it, and we're all safer for that. Still, he's an arse, and I'm not going to go thank him, so you'd best go do it yourself."
Greg shook his head, but smiled. Even that was high praise from Sally. He headed over to Sherlock who was pouting badly.
Sherlock gestured to the blanket. "Why have I got this blanket? They keep putting this blanket on me."
"Yeah, it’s for shock." Greg said.
"I’m not in shock."
Greg struggled to hold back a laugh. "Yeah, but some of the guys want to take photographs."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "So, the shooter. No sign?"
"Cleared off before we got here. But a guy like that would have had enemies, I suppose. One of them could have been following him but..." Greg shrugged. "... got nothing to go on."
Sherlock looked at him with a mixture of impatience and amusement. "Oh, I wouldn’t say that."
Greg rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Okay, give it to me."
Sherlock stood. "The bullet they just dug out of the wall’s from a hand gun. Kill shot over that distance from that kind of a weapon – that’s a crack shot you’re looking for, but not just a marksman; a fighter. His hands couldn’t have shaken at all, so clearly he’s acclimatised to violence. He didn’t fire until I was in immediate danger, though, so strong moral principle. You’re looking for a man probably with a history of military service..." Sherlock's voice faded a bit and his eyes turned glassy as he looked across the lot. "...and nerves of steel..."
Greg turned to follow Sherlock's gaze, but didn't see anyone there other than John. Sherlock abruptly turned back to him and continued talking. "Actually, do you know what? Ignore me."
Of all the things that Greg never expected to hear out of Sherlock's mouth, that was the first. "Sorry?"
"Ignore all of that. It’s just the, err, the shock talking." Sherlock started walking away quickly.
Greg followed a few paces. "Where’re you going?"
"I just need to talk about the... the rent."
"But I’ve still got questions for you." Greg said, slightly desperate.
Sherlock turned back to him, obviously annoyed. "Oh, what now? I’m in shock! Look, I’ve got a blanket!" He waved the edges of the blanket around petulantly.
"Sherlock!" Greg complained, well and truly annoyed now.
"And I just caught you a serial killer ... more or less." Sherlock said, bargaining for his freedom from questions.
Still suspicious, Greg looked at him. Sherlock was right, he had done a lot today and he deserved a break. Knowing that there would be time to sort it all out in the coming days, Greg yielded. "Okay. We’ll bring you in tomorrow. Off you go."
Greg watched Sherlock throw the blanket through the open window of a police car and couldn't help but roll his eyes again. Sherlock approached John and they shared a few words before Mycroft materialized to speak with them. Greg was suddenly nervous. He contemplated trying to disappear, but Mycroft stayed with them only a moment before turning and striding toward Greg.
"Forgive me for intruding into your business, Detective Inspector."
Suddenly finding the whole situation absurdly funny, Greg smiled. "Not at all, Mister Holmes."
Mycroft blushed at the odd formality and seemed at a loss for words.
Greg decided to help him. "Perhaps we could get that drink now, Myc."
It was Greg's turn to blush at the pleased and surprised look on Mycroft's face.
"It would an honor, Gregory. I know just the place." Mycroft said.
They walked about three blocks while Greg wondered where they were going and whether this was a date. He spotted a pub down the street and assumed that it would be their destination, but before they quite reached it, Mycroft grabbed his arm and pulled him into a small alley. Greg looked up at him in confusion.
"You're quite correct that the pub is our destination, but... well, you'll have to forgive me. I've been thinking about this for a while, and I just couldn't wait any longer."
And with that, Mycroft kissed him soundly. Relief and giddiness flooded Greg. Mycroft backed him gently into the wall, and Greg wondered if they would ever actually make it into the pub.