A/N: Hi all! I tried to find this prompt again on the meme but I couldn't ( i think it's quite an old one) so OP I hope that you see this XD I made a few minor tweaks - the main one being Lestrade is a PC and not a Sergeant, but I hope everything is still okay :) Sorry for any issues in characterisation and I hope you like it!

I would love to hear from you xx

He really hated being on call straight after carrying out a ten hour shift, but if he wanted to prove himself and move up the ranks then young PC Lestrade would begrudgingly carry out everyone else's dirty work.

He had been rudely awakened about half an hour ago and informed that a child 10 years of age, Sherlock Holmes, had run away from home and his mother was absolutely frantic. When Lestrade questioned why the boy might have run he was told Sherlock had been diagnosed with Asperger's that very morning. Poor lad - Lestrade had thought; it must be so hard to come to terms with something like that at such a delicate age.

After sluggishly putting his uniform back on the PC had taken his car and started searching the streets of London for the lonely little boy. Lestrade was determined to find Sherlock no matter what; a child shouldn't be out at this time in the (now) early hours of the morning in the middle of a cold and dark city. It made his chest ache a little to think about – sometimes he hated his job, but then he would remember all the people he was helping in preforming it.

He had been searching for a couple of hours and it looked like the sun would in fact be rising anytime now. Lestrade was about to call for help when he spotted something tucked away near some bushes in the park. Of course – the PC thought – where else would a kid run to? Honestly, the sprout of black curls could have been mistaken for a birds nest at first glance, but the way the strands moved in the early morning breeze suggested otherwise.

Lestrade parked his car and casually made his way over to the boy; he didn't want to spook him or make him feel intimidated.

"It's a bit early to be out here by yourself, isn't it?" the officer asked and the boy looked up at him startled at first, but his gaze soon became somewhat calculating and curious.

"I could say the same to you." Sherlock responded. "There really was no need to get out of bed to look for me; I'm perfectly alright on my own."

Lestrade frowned. "How did you know I've just gotten out of bed? I could have been working the night shift…do I look that tired?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Not really, but I can just…see" he answered somewhat enigmatically.

Lestrade nodded and licked his lips thoughtfully. He wondered if the lad having Asperger's gave him some kind of heightened sense of ability – he didn't know much about the syndrome but he knew people with it often looked at the world differently from those without.

"Mind if I join you?" Lestrade inquired, but didn't wait for a reply as he sat beside Sherlock.

"You're not just going to take me home by force?" Sherlock pondered.

"Nah, just thought we could sit and chat for a while, if that's okay?" The PC suggested with a warm smile.

"I suppose." Sherlock said, though he looked a little dubious, perhaps even suspicious.

He was intrigued by this young man though; normally people had very little patience with him and would get away as soon as possible.

"So tell me, Sherlock, what do you want to do when you're older?" Lestrade asked.

It was perhaps a rather random subject to breach, but he just wanted to get the lads mind off of things – he didn't want to push him into anything, and would much rather Sherlock go home due to his own free will.

"Initially, I wanted to be a…pirate" Sherlock confessed, seeming somewhat embarrassed. "But my older brother, Mycroft – he's an idiot- said that was ridiculous, and other idiots in my class made fun of me too."

Lestrade gave a sympathetic smile – he remembered what it was like to be picked on as a child. Children could be so cruel to one another. Mind you, so could adults – as the youngest on his team he was always being treated like a child too.

"I wanted to be in a band up until the time I was about sixteen, actually" Lestrade told him. "But obviously my parents told me that wasn't a proper job. I can play a decent guitar solo, but my voice? No way."

"Oh…I play the violin." Sherlock inputted.

"Good, music is a good talent to have." Lestrade praised. "So, if you don't want to be a pirate anymore then what do you want to do?"

"I want to be a detective" the boy replied confidently.

"Hey, me too!" Lestrade beamed.

"Not that kind of detective," Sherlock said a little disgruntledly "and not a private one either. I'm going to be a consulting detective."

Lestrade's eyebrow rose curiously. "Huh, I don't think I've heard of that kind of detective."

"You won't have, I invented it" Sherlock replied smugly. "I'm very good at science and deduction. I can tell you facts about anything or anyone just by looking at them and observing. "

"Deduction, eh?" Lestrade repeated as he scratched the back of his head thoughtfully. "What can you deduce about me?"

"Well, other than your work schedule and sleeping patterns I can tell you're hardworking and determined. You became a police constable in hopes of impressing your father – he's not a very nice man – yet you want to be a detective for yourself, not for him, you want more of a challenge; you want to be more out in the field. You want to help people, and I don't think you care what your father thinks anymore."

Lestrade was speechless for a few moments; his mouth was moving but he found he couldn't quite form words. How the hell could a ten year old boy he'd never met before be able to read so much about his life just by looking at him? It was quite disturbing…but predominantly it was extraordinary, remarkable.

"…Bloody brilliant" the words escaped his before he'd even realised it, and the way Sherlock looked at him afterwards was someone startled. "Sorry, but, how..?"

"I told you, I merely observed. It is a surprisingly uncomplicated skill and yet so little people possess it."

"Huh, well I still think you're one smart little lad" Lestrade praised.

"I wish my parents agreed. They just think there's something wrong with me." Sherlock mumbled, and appeared deeply saddened all of a sudden.

Lestrade was empathetic; he understood the hardship of having disproving parents. "Sherlock, just because you have Asperger's…"

"I don't!" The boy explained. "They just can't handle the fact I'm intelligent beyond my years, that I don't like being sociable, so they have to find a reason that suits them even if it isn't true."

Lestrade became saddened himself at the sight of the emotional ten year old – clearly the diagnosis had been a lot for him to handle even for a child as smart as Sherlock. He was no doctor, but who knew if the diagnosis was in fact accurate; perhaps Sherlock was just being forced to wear a label he didn't want or deserve.

"Well, take some clichéd words of advice. You shouldn't care what other people think; it's only what you think about yourself that matters. That's what I learned over the years. I think you have an amazing talent that you can use to your advantage just…be careful with it, alright?" Sherlock nodded and almost seemed to smile up at the PC. "Now, how about we get you home, I'm sure you're parents are worried."

"Sherlock!"

Lestrade looked around to see a tall auburn-haired teenager walking towards them. He looked more than cross at first, but that soon faded as he knelt down in front of Sherlock and appeared to check him for injury.

"What have I told you about running away? Mummy is hysterical!" he scolded but it soon turned into a string of fretting. "I've been to all your usual hiding spots, I called Victor and he didn't know where you were. I've been searching for hours! You could have caught the cold or got yourself hurt…"

"I'm fine, Mycroft" Sherlock mumbled, batting away the older boy's hand embarrassedly as Mycroft tried to stroke back his curls. "Since we did you care enough for legwork?"

"Sherlock, you know you bring me nothing but worry. You can't just runaway like this; you need to try talking to me instead." Mycroft stated firmly. "My apologies, police constable" he said turning to Lestrade. "I do hope my little brother hasn't been a bother."

"Not at all, we've just been having a chat, haven't we?" Lestrade smiled at Sherlock and the boy nodded vigorously. "Oh, and my name is Lestrade, Greg Lestrade."

"Mycroft Holmes" The elder brother said, offering his hand and helping Lestrade to his feet. "Well, thank you for taking care of Sherlock."

"It's no trouble" Lestrade said dismissively. "Just doing my job. However, I have to ask. Your parents…they don't treat Sherlock badly, do they?"

"No, nothing like that." Mycroft assured him. "I too possess an extraordinarily high amount of intelligence and competence in the power of observation. However, I have learned to conceal my social inadequacy much better than Sherlock has, he just needs more practise."

"I am still here you know" Sherlock piped up as he took his brother's hand. "And Lestrade agrees we shouldn't have to hide who we are, don't you?"

"Yes, of course." Lestrade nodded. "I know you only want what's best for your brother, Mycroft, but trying to please everyone else isn't the way to go about it."

"Perhaps not" Mycroft sighed. "However, Sherlock is destined for great things. That I am sure of."

"Me too" Lestrade placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Maybe we'll even work together one day, hmm? You can consult for me."

"I shall consider it." Sherlock said. "You have proven yourself rather competent as far as policemen go."

"Er, thanks I guess." Lestrade chuckled. "Can I give you lads a life home?"

"That would be most kind of you." Mycroft accepted, and the three of them made their way over to Lestrade's car.

Lestrade was rather glad he'd met Sherlock Holmes – he was going to grow up to be a good man, he could tell.