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Contrary to popular belief, Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade do notice things. He's able to piece things together and solve cases even before he met Sherlock Holmes, the world’s only consulting detective. The only difference was Sherlock could piece everything together in a matter of minutes while he could do the same in a couple of days.
Or weeks.
Or...months.
Nevertheless, he wouldn't be promoted if it wasn't for his skills as well. He doesn't just rely on Sherlock's beautiful mind. He only goes to the man when he's running out of options. Or sometimes, when he needed a different perspective which usually happens most of the time with his unusual of cases. It has been their relationship ever since they've met.
It takes a bit of time but he tends to catch on. Eventually.
Something was off the moment he pulled the man for an embrace. Admittedly, he did it out of impulse. Glad that the bloke was alive after all. Greg blamed himself in silence. After all, Sherlock thought he believed the lies Richard Brook... – no, Jim Moriarty – has planted in the minds of others, destroying the man's credibility altogether.
It was subtle but he felt it. The surprised draw of breath as his body tensed. Sherlock does not like to be involved in anything physical without permission. Surely, the Yard tends to poke fun about it in the past and while there had been several moments where victims from different cases expressed their gratitude in a warm embrace, Sherlock never tensed that way. Greg never experienced it on his end whenever emotions tend to get the best of him when the man solves a case. Or when the detective finally agrees to celebrate after solving a big one. Sure the gesture was never returned except for a pat on the back but it was better than... a flinch?
Sherlock Holmes never flinched in a hug, regardless of whoever gave them. He may be uncomfortable at times, but he never, ever, flinched.
He tried to dismiss it, as he rolled on the side of his bed with his eyes closed, unconsciously dreaming of the curly haired detective with that soft lips and mysterious galaxy eyes.
* * *
“Sherlock, are you alright?” Greg couldn't help but ask.
It was John and Mary's wedding. Sherlock was John's best man. Truly there was no surprise in there since the two have been solving crimes together. John has limited set of friends, mainly Mike, Molly and him (if John considers him as one that is). The night where Sherlock asked for help for writing a best man's speech was a night to remember.
Who would forget a consulting detective writing his best man's speech over and over attempting to perfect it. “No, it lacks something. It definitely lacks something. Don't you think I should put a joke in there to lighten up the mood? Should I write something to move them to tears? How do you write a best man's speech, Greg? Can I run this down with you? Do you think John and Mary would like it? Please help me, Greg.” There was even a pause from the man while having that pleading look on his face. “Please.”
And he did. Even when he almost fell asleep for staying at Sherlock's flat until he finished that damn speech. Even if it cost him that he had to work overtime for the reports he wasn't able to finish on time, causing him to pull an all-nighter to finish everything at the Yard.
It was a night to remember alright. Surely John and the others would find it entertaining if they'd seen him in this state.
But they weren't there to witness. Only Greg Lestrade.
Sherlock was able to finish the speech and solve a crime from weeks ago. Hence, everybody are now enjoying at the moment. John and Mary were finally happy dancing on the music as the gatecrasher was finally caught. The speech Sherlock mentioned earlier at the wedding made him remember the stag night once more where he wasn't invited and had to get the two out from jail. It was rather unpleasant to see the two, especially Sherlock looking all pale with hangover but more that, there's a small tug in his heart since he wasn't there to see it.
Greg has seen Sherlock in every emotion he's been. When he's throwing a tantrum and when he got upset for seeing his landlady with a bruised face. He’s seen him angry if someone crossed the line he established with himself and the others and more importantly, he'd seen him looking sad.
But not looking like this.
From where Greg was looking, Sherlock looked different. As if the detective wasn't entirely there at his best friend’s life-changing event.
“Huh?” He could see Sherlock almost flinched as his eyes turned in order to meet his. Seeing the curly-haired detective looking almost dazed as he stared at his left hand while clenching it every now and then with a glass of wine on the right. “Y-Yeah, I'm... I'm alright.” The detective brought the glass of wine to his lips, drinking it in one swig.
In a blink, he saw him changed. The cold demeanor was back but the tremor, Lestrade could definitely see it from Sherlock’s right hand. “Have you been sleeping?” The circles under his eyes were darker than usual too.
“Don't you have something important to do inspector rather than wondering about my sleeping habit?” It was an expected answer. Sherlock’s evasiveness when it comes about his life.
But it never stopped Greg to care.
Not before.
Not even now.
* * *
Sherlock, heard you left John and Mary’s wedding? GL
Everything alright mate? GL
Did you go home? GL
Is everything okay? GL
Greg was at a loss after bringing Jonathan Small, John and Mary’s wedding photographer which turned out to be the killer behind the attempted murder of John’s former superior in the army. He was at a loss after finding out from Molly after receiving a text from her that Sherlock left as the newlyweds continued to celebrate.
Probably in a normal setting, he’s supposed to get used to the fact that Sherlock disappears whenever he feels like it. He comes and goes whenever he pleases anyway. It shouldn’t have bothered him.
If only he didn’t see him looking almost out of it.
If anything, Sherlock looks like he’s onto it again. And the man’s unresponsiveness to his texts was making him worry more and more.
For god’s sake, he just came back years after they mourned his death.
After he mourned Sherlock’s death in silence.
Once more, he sent another text to Sherlock.
I’d appreciate it if you’ll reply to me right now. GL
Minutes felt like years when he heard his phone chime.
Yes. I’m in my flat. SH
Are you okay? Want me to come over? GL
No response again. Greg groaned in annoyance. “God, Sherlock.” How long does it take to punch in even just a short reply?
I’m coming over. GL
Suit yourself. SH
* * *
The quietness of Sherlock’s flat was a familiar experience to Greg. When everybody thought Sherlock died and John eventually moved out of the flat, he often visited Mrs. Hudson and did a bit of cleaning here and there, helping the landlady out. On most days, the deafening silence gave him a cold welcome.
It was the same feeling when he entered.
“Sherlock?” He called as he went through the stairs. When silence was the only response he received, he knocked on its wall and called him out once more. “Sherlock, are you there? Are you okay?”
Though it’s only been a few weeks since Sherlock showed up in the parking lot unannounced, Greg could see it all.
Something was different with Sherlock Holmes upon his return.
“Sherlock?” As he reached the top of the stairs, he saw the man he’s looking for.
Still wearing his coat on, Sherlock was sitting on his personal chair, hugging his knees with his head, tucked between them, revealing only his ridiculous set of curls.
Greg had no idea how he rushed from the door to Sherlock’s direction. But he was there, kneeling almost at his side. He could almost see Sherlock’s knuckles almost white as he held onto his knees almost tightly. The man was somewhat shivering. Oh no. Oh god, please no.
“Sherlock? Are you alright?” When he saw Sherlock’s head moved to face him, there was a faint tug in his heart with what he saw. Sherlock’s eyes looked wide. Terrified. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and he prayed to every god out there for Sherlock Holmes not to be on high right now. Sherlock, christ.
A long forgotten endearment appeared from his lips. “Hey there, sunshine.” His hand reached out to touch the man’s cheek. Body temperature’s normal. He almost sighed in relief. “Come back to me?”
Sunshine. Good lord, how long has it been since he called Sherlock by that endearment? It was a slip of the tongue, really. As memories of the man’s withdrawal on his junkie days made him remember everything. The tears, the chills and a lot of things he knew Sherlock wouldn’t even want to remember at all. For now, Lestrade could only hope to illicit anything from the man. Anger, a snarky comment, anything that would pull this brilliant man out of whatever darkness lurking in his mind.
“Greg.” Sherlock held his arm, leaning to the warmth of his touch with that desperate tone of voice. Jesus Christ, his hand’s cold.
“Hey there.” His thumb grazing on his cheek, testing if the man would open up with him. Just a bit at least. “You seemed preoccupied, sunshine. Anything I can do help?”
“Drawer. Bedside table. My room. Please.” Lestrade was making mental notes from Sherlock’s words. Clearly he needed something in his room. Something he wasn’t or couldn’t get himself at this moment.
Now that he realized it, Sherlock still has his coat on. He still hasn’t changed clothes.
Something did happen then.
“Alright. I’ll be right back.” Sherlock nodded before letting go.
Lestrade had been in Sherlock’s room a lot of times. Mostly to deposit the consulting detective after solving a crime plus a week’s worth of sleepless nights. One time was when he’s been through a difficult withdrawal. An agreement he made with the younger bloke that he will only give him cases when he is clean. Something that Sherlock had difficulty in dealing with for years before he met Greg. It was difficult, surely. But they made it through. After all, he never gave up on Sherlock and his brilliance.
Not now. Not ever.
“Fuck.” A sharp intake of breath and a series of questions flooded Lestrade’s mind as he found a bottle of benzodiazepines inside. He knew what it is. A medication for anxiety but can also be addictive.
Was Sherlock been on this for some time now? No. There are still a lot of pills on the bottle. He hasn’t found any empty ones lying around or in his bin in the room. So he’s been taking it recently? Why? Does John know? Does Mrs. Hudson know?
He shook his head, shaking the questions away. For now, Sherlock needs it. Immediately.
Leaving the room, he went to get a glass of water before going back to the man’s side. “Here you go, sunshine.” He said as he handed him a glass after watching Sherlock pop two pills to his mouth. .
He watched him quietly as the other closed his eyes before sinking his back against his chair, letting out few deep breaths. His hand was on top of Sherlock’s. Thumb grazing softly as if trying to calm him down from something that he doesn’t know.
“You have questions.” Sherlock’s tone in his voice is back. Though it’s sounded exhausted more than anything.
“Yes.” But he wasn’t too keen on hearing answers from the man straight away. “But it can wait.”
“I’m not back on drugs if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I know.” He believed him. He knew something was wrong with Sherlock Holmes. But not because he’s back on it.
Silence loomed in the room and Lestrade. He was comfortable just watching Sherlock slowly get a grip with his mind, pulling himself back to reality.
“For the years I’ve been away, Greg. I…” He could see Sherlock’s difficulty in talking about it.
“Sherlock, you don’t have to talk about it if you—“
“No, it’s fine.” When Sherlock opened his eyes, he faced him. “I want to tell you, at least. I owe that to you.”
Lestrade couldn’t understand the reason why it should be him. The way it sounded, it was if he’s the only person Sherlock would be telling it to. Whatever it is.
“Because you notice it, Lestrade.” Sherlock answered, as if he knew what exactly he was thinking about. “What anyone doesn’t see, you see. Especially when it’s about me.”
Greg had no idea how to answer that. He didn’t know that Sherlock was somehow keeping tabs on him. That he actually notice it. Though whatever he wanted to tell him, he would be more than grateful to hear it. Especially if it would make the man feel better at least.
“Alright sunshine,” Lestrade pulled a chair to sit next to Sherlock. He had an idea it’s going to be a long night, but he was pretty damn sure he wasn’t going anywhere until Sherlock’s done. “Let’s hear it.”
He’ll be with him all throughout.
Just like before.