I do not have a Beta Reader, so if you see any glaring mistakes, or have critism in general, or just have something you want to say, please, let me know! I love reviews!

"I'll pick some up on my way home." Greg Lestrade said goodbye to his wife and hit the end button on his phone. The sun was just breaking through the gray clouds that had just brought rain, and Greg slipped his phone in his pocket as he walked the short distance from his car to the market.

"You! Hey punk! Get back here!"

Greg heard the angry voice as it echoed down the alleyway he had just passed. He turned around and looked down the alley, and saw only a man with a black hooded sweatshirt under a suit-jacket and his hands stuffed into black jeans, walking fast. Lestrade watched the man for a moment, making sure that everything was okay. Satisfied that no one was chasing this man, Lestrade continued on to the market.

A different scene met Lestrade's eyes when he walked out of the market fifteen minutes later and looked down the alley. Three men were standing around the man he saw earlier, kicking and yelling at him. The officer was stunned at first, not believing what he was seeing; not believing that any one else wasn't there breaking it up. His cop instinct kicked in as he dropped the groceries and ran full sprint and yelling down the alley. Two of the men kicked one last time before running. One stayed behind, too high to notice that his friends had ran off. Greg grabbed the man and threw him off the figure laying on the concrete. As he bent over the figure, the other man grabbed Lestrade by the back of his collar and threw a sloppy punch that was easily blocked. Greg threw his own left-hook that set the other man on his back. Stunned and bleeding and too high to care how much he was bleeding, the man got up and ran toward the end of the alley, then turned to the right and ran. Greg held his wrist as his knuckles throbbed. He hadn't punched anyone for a couple years and he forgotten the amount of pain involved. Clenching his jaw, he managed to grab his phone out of his jacket pocket and called an ambulance. Then he called his division sergeant and gave him a brief description of the three thugs. He was kneeling beside the man when he ended the call. The others breathing was labored as he groaned.

"I'm getting you help buddy, just take it easy." Greg said as he took the man's pulse, which was faster than usual. "Who are you? What's your name?"

"Ho-me-..." Was all that the man managed to say before grimacing in pain. His dark curls were matted against his head and his left eye was starting to swell.

"No, you're going to a hospital..." The officer paused as he patted the man's jacket for any identification or a wallet and found something hard in one of the pockets. He grabbed his handkerchief out of the inside of his jacket and carefully pulled out a wooden box. It was long and ornate and dark green. Lestrade opened the box and found that it was lined on the inside with ivory velvet and lying in that velvet was a metal syringe and a small bottle full of a milky substance that Greg was pretty sure was cocaine.

"Shit." The officer rubbed his forehead.

"No...please..." The man tried to grab the paraphernalia from Greg's hand, without success. "I-I need...that...need..." His light blue eyes were fixed on Greg's brown ones and Lestrade took a deep breath. He knew that look. It was the look of an addict, the look of pleading, the look of needing that next fix.

"Alright, just calm down. I'm getting you some help. What is your name?"

"Need...to stop...the...pain..." The other curled in on himself and went into a coughing fit. He groaned loudly as Lestrade caught a glimpse of something white sticking out of the man's back pocket. With handkerchief in hand, he reached for the back pocket.

A lump formed in the back of his throat as Greg recognized the laminated card as the I.D. of a government official.

"Mycroft Holmes."

"No...I-"

The man was interrupted by shouts as the paramedics ran towards them. Greg slipped the box into his jacket pocket.

"What's his name?"

"What happened to him?"

"Do you know him?"

"He was in a fight and I broke it up." Lestrade answered them as he stood back.

"Broken ribs, arm is fractured, possibly broken..."

"What's his name?"

"I dunno, but this was in his pocket." Lestrade held the I.D for the paramedic to see. He raised his eyebrows after reading.

"You might want to call that number immediately. That's a very powerful man there."

Lestrade sighed as he watched the paramedics sedate the man and lift him onto a stretcher. He turned the I.D. In his hand and saw a number on the back. Lestrade squeezed his eyes shut. What the hell had he gotten himself into?

Twenty minutes later, Greg sat in his car, listening to the rain and talking to his wife. He held the card in one hand as he hung up. Greg wasn't sure how far into the government this man was involved and he didn't want to screw his chances of getting promoted.

He groaned and dialed the number.

"Mycroft Holmes speaking." The voice on the other line was impatient.

"Um...Good evening Mr. Holmes. This is Officer Lestrade calling on behalf of the Metropolitan Police. Your government identification was retrieved today from a..."

"Is he okay?"

Lestrade blinked. "I...er...he's been taken to the hospital, sir."

The officer pressed his phone closer to his ear, then pulled it away and looked at it to make sure he hadn't been disconnected.

"Sir?"

The man on the other end cleared his throat. "Yes, thank you Mr...?"

"Lestrade. Greg Lestrade."

"Thank you, Mr. Lestrade."

The line went quiet and Greg leaned his forehead against the steering wheel.

The next couple days were filled with finding the thugs that Greg saw in the alley-way, amongst paper-work and soccer games. When Friday came, he was exhausted and all he wanted was to go home and curl up with his wife and fall asleep until Sunday. As he cleared the last bit of important paper-work out of his in-box, Greg spotted the dark green box that he pulled out of the man's jacket. He blew out a loud breath and wiped his face in frustration. He wondered how that escaped him and the hundreds of people that passed by his desk. It had to have been hanging out above paper-work at some point, he thought.

Another thought crossed his mind: Who was the man that he rescued in the alley? The I.D left in the man's back pocket definitely wasn't him. Greg had heard the name Mycroft Holmes whispered in meetings and once in a great while on the news, but he really had no clue who he was.

Greg finally resigned himself to go to the hospital. He had followed the ambulance that night and helped get the man checked in. He chatted with the nurses to get an idea of the extent of his injuries. They told him at first examination, they looked pretty bad. They hadn't taken x-rays at that point yet and Greg had been too exhausted to stay.

Now, as he asked for the attending nurse, she happened to walk around the corner. She had a round face and fiery red hair with lots of freckles and the sweetest disposition Greg had ever encountered.

"Oh, Officer Lestrade!" She seemed to light up at seeing him. "Back so soon?"

"I wanted to see the boy before my weekend holiday."

"Oh, he'll live." Nurse Lewis hugged the chart she was carrying to her chest. "He's very lucky you were around."

Greg ran his hand through his salt and pepper hair. "I wanted to let everyone know that we caught the punks last night and this morning. They were part of a small street gang that will be disbanded by the end of this weekend."

The woman's smile was large and contagious. "Oh, that is very good news! Listen, I was going to make my rounds on this floor, but I'm going to make an exception. Follow me and I'll take you to the boy's room."

Greg raised an eyebrow and hesitated for a beat before following the nurse.

"I don't understand. He's not on this floor?" He asked as he watched the nurse push the fourth floor button on the elevator.

"Oh, no," she started as she stepped into the elevator when the doors opened. Greg followed her. "Apparently he's not some ordinary street hooligan, or even part of any gang."

Greg bit his lip, deep in thought.

"We received a call later that night and the next thing you know, he's moved to a nice private room and receiving the best care we have." The elevator reached the designated floor and she paused when the doors opened. "But it's all hush-hush mind you." She held a finger to her lips.

"Ah, okay." He said as he followed her out of the elevator. "That's strange."

"But it's alright. Mycroft was asking about you and I told him that you were a very brave man."

"Oh, thanks," he said as he looked around. He had never seen this floor of the hospital, which was basically reserved for VIP's and some government officials. He raised his eyebrows as they approached a door that was guarded by a man with a black suit. Greg saw the earpiece and the bored but alert in the man's eyes. It was an all too familiar look in most bodyguards eyes.

"This is Greg Lestrade," she said to the guard.

"Sir, Mr. Lestrade is here, along with the nurse." The bodyguard said into a small mic attached to his jacket. There was a pause and the man nodded and opened the door.

It was an unusually sunny day and the sun was streaming through a break in the curtains. It was, however the only light in the room and Greg had to blink and rub his eyes a couple times to adjust.

"Mr. Holmes sir, I'm sorry to disturb you..."

"It's fine, Kate, come in." Mycroft said after clearing his throat. He turned and stood. "Mr Lestrade-"

"Greg, you can call me Greg."

"Greg," Mycroft said the name as if testing the word on his lips. "Thank you for helping my brother."

"Oh, he's your brother?" Greg could see the dark circles under Mycrofts eyes and he appeared a bit disheveled. "I'm glad I could help."

"Do you know who I am, Mr. Lestrade?" Mycroft crossed his arms.

"I'm sorry to say that I don't." Greg rubbed the back of his neck in a nervous gesture. He watched the nurse, Kate, check all of the boys vitals and fluids.

"I am an integral part of the British Government-"

"He is the British Government..." The voice came from the bed as Mycroft turned and addressed his brother.

"Well, glad to see you back with the living, Sherlock."

"Barely..."

"Shh...you need to rest some more." Kate rested her hand on Sherlocks arm. "You have some very bad injuries-"

"Thank you I..." Sherlock paused and squeezed his eyes shut as he fought back the pain. "I think I can asses my own injuries." He moved his left hand, since his right was in a splint, to look for something.

"Brother, dear, you know I can't allow you to have morphine, or any other addictive painkillers. So you can stop looking."

Greg watched as Sherlock clenched his jaw.

"Sir, there is something I need to talk to you about, in private."

"I can leave," Kate started, but Greg interrupted her.

"I-...it's not you I'm worried about-"

"I'm not a little kid-...ggnnnn..." Sherlock's sentence ended in a painful groan.

"Is there anything I can give him?" Kate's eyes were full of worry.

"Yes, the least addictive painkiller you have." Then Mycroft turned to Greg. "Let's talk in the restroom." He gestured as Greg went into the tiny room. Mycroft closed the door behind him.

"I wanted to show you this." Greg reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out the green box.

Greg saw a fleeting look of sadness come across Mycrofts face before it returned to the stoic mask he had been wearing since Greg walked in. He raised his chin and exhaled loudly through his nose.

"I was wondering where that ended up. I was afraid one of the paramedics had confiscated it and used it for their own purposes."

"I take it your brother has a problem?"

"He has – he is a genius that needs constant attention. He told me once that his mind is like a rocket that is trying to take off, but explodes at the launching pad when he doesn't have any stimulation. He told me the cocaine keeps him from...killing himself from boredom."

Greg blinked. "Has he seen a therapist, or anything of the like?"

Mycroft waved him off. "Therapists are over paid babblers."

"Well, maybe this is what he needed to stop-"

Mycroft sighed. "I doubt it. He is stubborn." He paused. "He has a working knowledge of Chemistry and biology and criminal law. He could assist Scotland Yard in their investigations of the serial murders that have been happening lately. You can keep an eye on him, and it would keep him out of my hair."

"Well, that's something you'll have to arrange wi-..."

"I was hoping you could arrange it with Scotland Yard."

Lestrade furrowed his brow at Mycroft. "I-I don't understand. I don't work for Scotland Yard."

Mycroft looked at the box in his hand. "I can pull some strings and get you in there."

Lestrade looked at the other with disbelief.

"But, if you are not interested, I understand." Mycrofts eyes moved to look at Greg.

"Um, no, I am interested. I'm just blown away right now."

"Good. Submit your paper-work to NSY as soon as you can and I will get everything arranged. I will make sure my brother makes a full recovery and he will be working with you as soon as possible."

"Are you sure he's NSY material? No offense, but they generally like their candidates drug free."

Mycroft gave a fleeting smile. "None taken. He's not going to work for NSY. He's going to work privately, and you can consult him."

Lestrade narrowed his eyes at the other man.

"I will submit my paper-work this evening."

"Good. I look forward to having an intelligent link over there finally."

Greg Lestrade raised his eyebrow at Mycroft. "Thank you, Mr. Holmes. I look forward to this opportunity."

He started out of the small bathroom, when Mycroft suddenly grabbed his arm. "Don't blow this, Greg. I need my lit-..." he paused as if to gather himself. "I need Sherlock to be at his best behavior from here on out. I need you to watch him."

Lestrade looked down at the hand gripping his upper arm. It was tight, but it didn't hurt and he wasn't letting go. "I-...you can count on me, sir." He looked straight into Mycrofts dark eyes as he said the words. Mycroft held the serious gaze, then let go of Lestrade's arm.

"Good."

Lestrade nodded as he left the room.