Author's Note: Another little scene based off the trailer. Enjoy! :)

Out of the Dark

Lestrade had received the text an hour ago. There had been little to it – just a time and a location. It was from an unknown number and rather than do what the sensible thing probably was and ignore it, Lestrade grabbed his coat and left his flat. He almost came straight here, only stopping in a newsagent on the way for a fresh packet of cigarettes.

Yeah, he'd started again. Not that he was proud of it. But after everything that had happened in these past years it was the very least of his problems.

"Hello?" he called into the building, his voice bouncing back at him off the walls. He was early when he arrived and so he wasn't surprised when there was no answer. He flicked on the lights but it did very little to pierce the dark. The shape of the walls left lots of shadows and places to hide. He walked until his was under the glare of a bulb before reaching into his coat pocket.

He fished around until his fingers closed around the tip of a cigarette. He frowned when he realised the box was already open, but maybe he'd just jiggled it around in his pocket. Lestrade shrugged and put the end of the cigarette in his mouth. He then began to search for his lighter. The pocket where he usually kept it was empty and he patted himself down. He couldn't find it.

A tiny light in one of the dark areas caught his eye and he turned around. It was a tiny little flame, dancing bright and orange in the dark, hovering in mid-air. "Who's there?" Lestrade asked the flame, and he hated the quiver in his voice.

The light from the flame faintly illuminated the pale skin of someone's face. Lestrade squinted into the shadows, but he couldn't make out who it was. "Show yourself," he said in his best police voice.

The flame moved and so did the man, as Sherlock Holmes stepped out of the shadows.

"That's my bloody lighter," Lestrade said to the ghost, snatching his lighter back. The ghost reached into its pocket and pulled out a cigarette, holding it out for Lestrade to light. "And you're supposed to be bloody dead," he added, lighting his own cigarette after the ghost's. The ghost chuckled.

There was silence for a few minutes as the man and the ghost smoked; the smoke gathering in the air and lingering above their heads. "Either I've gone doolally – which is entirely possible," Lestrade said at last, "or you're not dead."

The ghost looked him in the eye. "What do you think?"