A/N: This fic is one part something that I've been itching to type for AGES, one part a gift to a very dear friend of mine. (smiles) In the end this found its way to my laptop's screen quite quickly. We'll see just what kind of a story came out… But first.

WARNINGS: QUITE MILD SPOILERS FOR 'THE SIGN OF THREE'. Brief mentions of adult themes. Just a tiny bit of language. You know, for my story that's a stunningly short list!

DISCLAIMER: Oh, if only I did own even the tiniest bit of this series…! But sadly my line of work is somewhere else entirely. (pouts and sighs gloomily) But one can always dream, right?

Awkay, because this is always the unnerving bit… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

Only Human on the Inside

Well there's blood in these veins
And I cry when in pain
I'm only human on the inside
And if looks could deceive
Make it hard to believe
I'm only human on the inside

I crash and I burn, maybe some day you'll learn
I stumble and fall, baby, I do it all
I'm only human on the inside

(Prentenders: 'Human')

"Nobody's reading your website."

DI Gregory Lestrade wasn't a genius detective or a doctor working with one. But someone in his profession was expected to notice things. And when those words slipped through Dr. John Watson's lips he could immediately tell that things were headed downhill fast.

It wasn't until Sherlock Holmes had already stormed off John lifted his gaze from the woman's body he'd been examining. And winced, growing a shade or two paler than usual. "That… was a bit of not good."

Greg nodded slowly. "Yeah." When John made a move to go after Sherlock the DI shook his head. "No, let me take care of this. Okay?"

John frowned. The man shifted his weight with discomfort, clearly used to taking care of the messes he made himself. "But…"

"Just… Trust me." Greg took a breath, starting to leave the room. "And don't worry. He just needs a second to lick his wounds."

Seeing the sincerily apologetic look in John's eyes he offered a tiny smile and a wave. John was quite possibly the best thing that could've ever happened to Sherlock. But no man is perfect – everyone makes missteps sometimes. Now Greg could only hope that Sherlock might understand that.

Greg wasn't surprised to find Sherlock outside smoking. He wrinkled his nose. "Those things will kill you", he pointed out.

Sherlock gave him a far from impressed look, not making a move to toss away the poisonous item. The detective inhaled a long, greedy drag before speaking in a voice that held a audible touch of irritation. "Is there any particular reason why you decided to run after me?"

Greg scoffed. "I didn't run."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You're struggling not to pant. So either you're even more out of shape than I imagined or you were just running."

Greg gritted his teeth and counted to twenty, then to thirty, before he found it safe to speak. "He's wrong, you know", he tried, not having the slightest clue of what the proper thing to say might've been. "People do read your website."

Sherlock jaw tightened. For the briefest of moments something like an emotion flashed in those eyes. "Yes, I'm aware. John's an idiot. And?"

Hearing that faked resigned tone Greg felt a pang of ache. "He does care about you. And he enjoys working with you, far more than I'd consider healthy. But… Sometimes even friends may disappoint us."

Sherlock's eyes flashed. Something in them changed, for the better or worse was much too early to tell. The man's face changed, too. "Do not give me lectures on sentimentality, Greg. Mycroft gives me quite enough of those." The words that followed another long, savouring drag almost disappeared into the wind. "John… was supposed to be different."

Greg stared at the suddenly very human and vulnerable genius with dazed, quite nearly shocked eyes. Then smiled. "He is." He focused on observing the traffic passing by. "If it gives you any consolation he's feeling really, really horrible right now."

Sherlock huffed. The man's eyes were already a lot calmer, the storm inside settling slowly. "Foolish sentimentality." The detective tossed away his cigarette. "Now let's go inside. There's a body to process because John missed everything of any importance once again."

Greg grinned. "Nah, why don't we make him sweat for a few more moments." He nodded towards Sherlock's cigarettes. "Can I have one of those?"

Without saying a word Sherlock actually handed him one. In a deep, companionable silence the two men smoked, waiting for the storm to pass completely. And Greg wondered if he just met the real Sherlock Holmes for the very first time.

After everything's he'd seen with Sherlock Greg quite honestly expected that nothing could ever surprise him anymore. If he was perfectly honest with himself he quite liked the element of danger and surprise the detective always brough along. After Sherlock flew down from the rooftop of a bloody hospital the thing Greg regretted second most – right after doubting the amazing man in the first place – was never before realizing how much he liked the spice the mad genius brought to his work. And then Sherlock rose from the dead. Of course he did. Why had Greg even expected anything different?

And quite soon, right alongside the relief and sheer joy, Greg remembered why there were so many times when he wanted to go against everything he believed in and strangle Sherlock with his own bare hands.

It'd been a long and very tedious day, and all Greg wanted was to crawl into the comfort of his own bed. The universe decided to ignore his rather small wish. Because just as he was finishing up for the day there was a knock and a young female police officer with huge blue eyes and long, neatly tied red hair peered in. There was a tired and positively murderous look on her face.

Greg sighed heavily, his shoulders dropping. There was only one person on this planet who could trigger such an expression. "What did Sherlock do this time?"

The officer – Eddings, P – blinked twice with surprise. "How…?" She then sighed heavily, clearly remembering why she came once more. "We… just took him in, with Dr. John Watson. Apparently he made quite a spectacle in some woman's flat and sealed the deal with throwing up on her carpet."

Greg muttered a few well chosen words under his breath, rubbing his temple with both hands. That bloody idiot…! It took a mighty while before he trusted himself enough to inquire further without danger of ending up wanting to kill someone. "What's he on?" Not that he would've wanted to know too badly but it was something he kind of had to ask.

Officer Eddings' eyebrow arched but in the end she seemed to decide that she didn't want to know. "Just alcohol. Quite a generous amount of it. They both are." She rubbed her eyes. "The woman isn't pressing charges but we'll keep them here overnight, until they've sobered up a bit." She seemed rather eager to get rid of the detective. Greg wondered just what sort of drunken deductions Sherlock made while the man was taken into custody.

Greg sighed loudly, feeling quite strongly that he needed a drink, too. "Thank you, for letting me know. I'll go and check up on them in a bit."

Greg spent the following five minutes pulling himself together until he headed towards the cells. He wasn't entirely sure what he'd been expecting before facing the drunken duo. What he found most definitely wasn't it. He froze to the spot, unsure of what to do or think.

Sherlock and John were both more or less passed out, the doctor on the floor and Sherlock on the bed. What stunned Greg was how small and… fragile, almost, the detective looked as the man lay there, curled up with a deep frown on his face. Was Sherlock feeling queasy? Or having a headache?

None of those, apparently. Because in a couple of seconds the muttering finally reached Greg's ears. And he noticed how Sherlock's fingers and legs were twitching.

Sherlock Holmes was having a nightmare.

When Sherlock began to tremble miserably and the mumbling became significantly louder, yet no more comprehensible, Greg decided that he'd have to do something. Ignoring his reason and all instincts of self preservation he made his way to Sherlock and lay a tender, nearly cautious hand on the man's shoulder.

"Hey", he whispered. "It's me, Lestrade. Wake up." He continued when the only reaction he got was intensifying trembling, beginning to feel more than slightly alarmed. "Sherlock, wake up! It's just a dream. You're safe, alright? You're safe. Wake up."

Without any warning whatsoever Sherlock bolted to a sitting position, just about giving Greg a heart attack. The detective gulped convulsively and breathed erratically, and for a moment the DI was sure that the man would throw up on him. Sherlock, however, did nothing such. Instead the man stared at him with wide, wild, drunken and terrifyingly openly scared eyes. Then muttered in the most heartbreaking tone of a voice Greg had ever heard. "John…?"

Greg swallowed loudly, taking a second to compose himself before responding. He could quite honestly say that he'd never, ever seen Sherlock quite so scared and vulnerable. "John's safe." He nodded towards where the doctor was hunched, snoring softly. "See? He's right there."

Christ…! What happened during those two years?

Staring at John's sleeping figure Sherlock seemed to calm down, at least a little bit. Greg nearly missed the half-whisper that came out all of a sudden. "…'t just John."

Greg frowned and looked at the detective in hopes of understanding. "The nightmare?" The responding nod didn't make him any wiser. "What do you mean, 'not just John'?" And then, noticing the way Sherlock kept sneaking glances towards him as well, he understood. His heart filled with warmth and broke at the same time.

He gave Sherlock's arm a brief squeeze, not wanting to breach any unspoken limits, and smiled although there was a annoying stinging sensation in his eyes. "I'm fine and safe, too. I promise." With a gentle hand he guided the already half asleep genius back down. In an instant the detective curled up once more, facing the wall. The sight made Greg's heart ache. "Now go to sleep, you great idiot. Tomorrow isn't going to be a lot of fun for you."

Sherlock groaned. Or was that a yawn? "Shut up, Greg."

It took a couple of seconds before Greg even registered it. When he did his eyes first widened until he melted into a massive smile. "Goodnight, Sherlock."

The detective was already fast asleep.

With a deep breath Greg rose to a standing position and took a good look at both men. Satisfied that they both seemed to be doing as well as expected he began to leave the cell. Just before closing the door, though, he stole a one more look towards Sherlock's tightly curled form.

Whatever happened during those years left a permanent mark on Sherlock. Greg couldn't help feeling a stab of worry as he wondered just how much damage had been done. But the detective was alive and back where he belonged. He wasn't fighting a lonely war anymore. That was a good place for the healing to begin. That, and getting the man sober. Finally closing the door Greg decided to make sure to never let those two forget this.

This is what you get for going out without adult supervision, he mused.

On his way out he met officer Eddings once more. "Would you take blankets to those two idiots? And a bucket. They may need it."

She looked at him for a moment as though wondering if he was serious, then rolled her eyes. "Fine." He was already walking away when she spoke out again. "I don't understand what it is about that guy that you find so special."

Greg only smiled merrily. "Neither do I. But that's the beauty of it." He gave her a brief wave. "Goodnight."

She muttered a response. No longer looking back Greg walked out of the building and finally began the journey home. He did, however, decide that he'd be there in the morning when those two would wake up properly. It was just too good of an opportunity to miss, that's all.

End.

A/N: Heh, Greg's such a dear. It's a bit sad how often he's basically forgotten. (pouts)

Soooooo… Was that any good, at all? PLEASE, do leave a word or two on that box down below! It'd seriously make my day.

In any case, thank you so much for reading! Who knows, maybe I'll see you guys again. (glances hopefully)

Take care!