Forget Your Yesterday

Prologue

"Pick me up at five o'clock at the Diogenes Club." Lestrade said as he grabbed his coat and keys on his way out to work. "And not a second later. You had better not leave me hanging, Mycroft, I can't stand those buggers! They try to get security to remove me from the premises every single time!"

"That is because you always disregard the rules of the Club." Mycroft returned good-naturedly, flipping through the morning newspaper to the business section.

Not like he was hoping for new information. He knew it all already. It was just fun to point and laugh at the funny little people scurrying about their business.

"It's not my fault that I talk. That's what happens when people come together in a communal area!" Lestrade complained. "I'd go so far as to say it's the polite thing to do!"

"Coffee's on the table." Mycroft reminded off-handedly and Lestrade took the stiff paper cup.

Lestrade lifted it, took a swig, and made an indecent little noise of pleasure. "Oh, that's good." he moaned happily. "Well, I'm off." He announced as he rounded the dining table, pecking Mycroft on the temple. "See you at five."

"I will be there." Mycroft smiled back, not looking up from the paper.

He heard the front door open and close.

"Good morning." Donovan greeted as her boss walked into his office.

"Morning." Lestrade grunted back around his cup of coffee. "Got anything?"

"Well we-..." All coherent thought leapt out of the window as Lestrade walked past and the sergeant caught a whiff of his glorious coffee. "Oh God, what is that? Is that from the boyfriend?" Donovan complained.

Lestrade had mercy and poured a little for her into an empty coffee cup. "It's good, isn't it?"

Donovan fairly snatched the small offering and downed it. "Mmm, you lucky bastard." she said. "I'd date him for the coffee alone. I'd even put up with the CCTV cameras. Where does he get this coffee? I want some!"

"You should be so lucky." Lestrade snorted back with a grin.

"How long's it been?" Donovan asked. "Three years?"

Lestrade hummed, nodding. He had met Sherlock five years ago, Mycroft only a few days after his brother. It had taken a grueling two years for them to work past their differences before they finally fought down their mutual pig-headedness and came to terms with their equally mutual attraction and began dating.

Tonight marked their second anniversary.

"Earth to boss." Donovan snapped her fingers in front of Lestrade's face, startling him. "It's nice to know you two are still going steady after three years, but we've got work to do and I can't stand your faraway, longing looks."

Lestrade snorted. "You're just jealous because you're fed up with Anderson."

"Actually, I broke up with him last week."

"Is this going to be a problem?"

"Probably not."

"Then good for you."

"We've got a murder to investigate, by the way." Donovan swiftly changed the subject. "You want to just continue talking about our love-lives and coffee, or do you want to catch a bastard with me?"

"Does anyone ever turn down a suggestion like that?" Lestrade smirked.

"Not that I know of, Sir." Donovan replied with a shrug.

"Aaron Garfield, this is the police!" Lestrade called as he pounded on the door of the small flat. "We have a warrant for your arrest. Open up!"

The door flew open, hitting Lestrade and knocking him a few steps backward, Garfield dashed out.

"Stop!" Donovan yelled, running after him. Lestrade steadied himself and also set chase.

Aaron Garfield was a young, athletic man who was fast on his feet. But, he was also a man who had been charged with murder and two of Scotland Yard's most tenacious just happened to be on the case.

It was bad luck for him.

Garfield ran out across the street, causing a passing car to swerve and skid in the Winter slush. Donovan, who had been following, launched herself over the hood and after their killer without missing a beat.

Lestrade ran by with shouts of apology to the driver and ran around the car.

Garfield had the misfortune to glance behind him at his pursuers just in time to trip over the legs of a homeless man sitting on the pavement and stumbled.

Donovan was onto him in a heartbeat. She grabbed his shoulder and snapped a cuff onto his left hand. "Aaron Garfield, you are under arrest-..."

Garfield thrashed as Donovan reached for his free hand and knocked the woman onto her arse. Donovan tried to keep her grip on him, but he slipped away.

"Oh, bastard!" the sergeant grunted as Garfield took off again.

Lestrade flew past her without even inquiring about any injuries. She was tough and angry. He knew she could handle herself.

He chased Garfield down into a back alley and cornered him into a dead-end. "It's over, Garfield." he panted, slightly out of breath. "Now come quietly and-..."

Bang!

Usually, in the movies, getting shot was a little like getting rammed by a train, all exploding gore and flailing limbs, body lifted off the ground and thrown backwards. In real life, however, Lestrade hardly noticed what had happened.

He heard the shot. He felt a punch in his torso. And he sat straight down on his heels, knees knocking hard into the ground.

"Oh God...!" Garfield gasped, dropping his gun and running.

Lestrade looked down and saw a bloody hole in his chest. The pain assaulted his senses a moment later.

"Ah, fuck!" he grunted, covering the wound with his hand. His vision swam and he collapsed onto his side, head slamming hard onto the icy pavement, vision greying.

Then, it occurred to him. Donovan had been left behind in the chase. What if she didn't find him? He could die at this rate. That was... decidedly not a good thing.

He needed his phone.

His arm wouldn't get it for him.

What if he died?

He didn't want to die in some isolated back alley.

Shit, what would Sherlock say?

He'd probably scoff at him for his incompetence.

And then John would be left to deal with the two Holmeses by himself.

That wasn't a very good idea either.

Because, despite both Holmes' skills and influence, John was the only of the three who personally owned a gun.

And if push came to shove, he wouldn't be afraid to use it.

And then he'd definitely go to jail and never see daylight again.

And what would Mycroft do?

Shit.

He was starting to hyperventilate.

He was scared.

There were so many things he wanted to do.

So many things he failed to say.

He wanted to see Mycroft.

... And that stray cat that hung around his flat.

Who would feed her?

Priorities. Once upon a time, Lestrade had them.

"Shit-..." Lestrade finally got his hand to move, fingers rasping over the hard ground and grabbed his phone, dialing Donovan.

The dial tone rang for a few moments before Donovan picked up. "Sir? Where are you? I lost you and Garfield."

Lestrade opened his mouth, but could only manage a weak wheeze.

"Sir? Sir!"

And then he passed out.

Mycroft walked out into the main sitting room of the Diogenes Club and looked around for Lestrade. But he was nowhere in sight. Mycroft sighed silently and glanced at his watch.

Five o'clock. Meeting time.

Mycroft frowned. Maybe Lestrade was caught up in an investigation and was running late? It was not the first time important engagements were forgotten in the face of a crucial break in a case.

He raised his hand to get the attention of one of the staff and wrote 'Gregory Lestrade' on a piece of paper before showing it to the man. The man glanced at it professionally and shook his head apologetically.

He had not seen Gregory Lestrade.

Mycroft waved him off dismissively and sat down in a plush armchair by the window.

He waited for a long time.

His phone buzzed efficiently with a text message and Mycroft pulled it out.

Gregory Lestrade. Shot chasing suspect. In ambulance now. -A

Mycroft stood swiftly and strode out of the Diogenes Club to find a car waiting for him. He stepped inside. "Hospital, please." he said.

His driver nodded grimly and pulled out onto the street.