Constantly

Wary

It wasn't everyday that Sherlock Holmes acquaintenced himself with anybody. Sure, he'd meet people, upset people, insult people, dazzle them, and completely horrify them. But those were all just strangers, just random people he couldn't help but run across. His current landlord/landlady, his neighbors, a policeman, a random civilan on the street...

Sherlock talked to people and showed off a bit of his brilliant mind, and then he'd walk away. He'd bore of them.

Which was why it was so strange that one Detective Sergeant Gregory Lestrade was honoured with a second visit from the wayward younger brother. Of course, Sherlock had put the intrigue of the case first and Mycroft doubted he even realized he had come across the sergeant before.

But Lestrade remembered that particular homeless junkie that spectacularly tore apart his crime scene. He rolled his eyes and locked Sherlock up in the back of his police vehicle while he stood outside with a smoke.

"Hey! Let me out!" Mycroft watched his younger brother shout from the CCTV footage. "You're not listening to me! The murderer was the gardener!"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm sure you're right." Surprisingly enough, the sergeant's tone wasn't sarcastic, or even angry. He just seemed, annoyed? Curious? "You were right about the other time too." Mycroft blinked in surprise at the man's frank honesty. "The one where you set fire to a flat."

"Oh, you'll have to be a bit more specific than that." Sherlock groaned, collapsing onto his side on the car seat, having exhausted himself in trying to get out.

Lestrade raised an eyebrow. "The one where you smoked out the not-really-dead victim?" he reminded.

"Oh, that one... Oh!" Sherlock sat up suddenly. "You're the sergeant from that case! Ugh, what's the name?" He snapped his fingers a few times in frustration before giving up. "I'm sure I've got your police ID somewhere..."

Lestrade looked a fair bit peeved at that. "Uh, huh. DS Lestrade." he informed the disorientated junkie stiffly.

"Right. Well, I had good reason to light that fire." Sherlock shrugged innocently.

"Health and Safety would have a field day with you." Lestrade muttered back.

There was silence for a while. "But you are going to follow up on my leads?" Sherlock asked almost tentatively.

For a few minutes, Lestrade didn't answer. Finally, he flicked his cigarette and stubbed it with the toe of his shoe. "Why not?" he sighed in a resigned manner that spoke in inner turmoil and the concluding diagnosis that he was insane to believe the junkie and would regret it sometime or another in the near future. Sherlock stared. "What?" Lestrade asked gruffly when he became uncomfortable with the staring.

"Most would call you mad."

Lestrade shrugged. "They probably wouldn't really care as long as it helps catch these killers."

"How wonderfully naive." Sherlock scoffed.

"Whatever."

They stayed still like that for another minute. "So, what? You're just going to stand there all day and let me rot in here?" Sherlock demanded impatiently once the waiting had become too much for him. "Obviously, you're not needed here anymore."

Lestrade shrugged. "Sure, I'm going to bring you back down to the station in just a moment."

"Is there a particular reason why you're procrastinating?"

Lestrade nodded. "Yeah. I know that there's going to be a message from some real higher-up politician sod demanding your release, waiting for me on my desk, like last time. But, of course, there's no way I'm turning you out in the state you are now. You'd get yourself killed, or worse, you might get someone else killed. And, I've really got no obligation to let you go until I read that document and... obviously, I haven't." He shot Sherlock a grin. "Make yourself comfortable, Mister Sherlock Holmes, you might be here for a long time."

Sherlock blinked in confusion. "You know my name."

Lestrade shrugged. "Yeah, well, I was trying to track you down after that first case. Got your name and some real fucked-up, blacked-out criminal record in the system. What's up with that, then?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and leaned back into his seat. "Oh, that's probably Mycroft's doing." he groaned, rubbing his sallow eyes.

Lestrade shot him a concerned look. "There's a bottle of water and a few pain-killers in the back there." he told Sherlock.

Sherlock shot him a dirty look, but fumbled for the pain-killers anyway. "You know, Mycroft probably already knows what you're doing and is sending his PA to personally request that you release me." he prophesied.

Just five minutes too late, Mycroft thought with a frown. The intoxcants obviously didn't help his younger brother's brain any.

Lestrade was silent, contemplating Sherlock's words. "Right, maybe we should start driving down to the station then?" he murmured at length.

"Oh, throwing in the towel already?" Sherlock taunted. "I had hoped you'd show a little more resistance."

Lestrade just smirked as he slid into the driver's seat. "Don't gloat just yet Mister Holmes, I might get lost in the traffic on the way back, there's no telling where we might turn up."

Mycroft just raised his eyebrows at the live video footage and wondered if this DS Lestrade would be a good influence on Sherlock, or a bad one.

"Anthea," he spoke into his phone. "have surveilance set up on Detective Sergeant Gregory Lestrade." Just in case Sherlock and he met again.

Three hours of driving, an hour and a half in a cell down at the Yard, a good chewing out from a Superintendant, and a whole fifteen minutes of procrastination later and Sherlock was finally released from police custody.

And somehow - after all that - Sherlock decided that Gregory Lestrade was at least a little more tolerable than all the other officers.

Mycroft was cursing the man's bulldog tenacity.

Lestrade was just savoring the look of veiled approval his DI sent him. One thing they had in common was the satisfaction of getting up a deserving higher-up's nose.

And Lestrade believed that this particular one certainly did deserve it.

That night, in a humble but secure flat somewhere in London, Mycroft read through DS Gregory Lestrade's file. Of all the detectives of the Yard, why would Sherlock choose to acquaintence himself with this man?

For the life of him, Mycroft Holmes could not fathom.

Something about DS Gregory Lestrade's overall existance bothered him and unsettled him thoroughly. The British Government entwined his fingers and frowned.