Much to Sherlock's annoyance, Lestrade was not in the hall as he'd promised. He'd left a hasty note on the front door.

Anderson called, forensics had something

urgent. Had to leave in a hurry didn't want

to disturb you. At The Yard although you

won't need me I'm sure.

~Greg Lestrade

So it was for the third time that day Sherlock found himself in a cab and desperately hoping that this would be the final piece of evidence. He knew that until the case was solved he wouldn't be able to sleep. He'd lie in bed, thinking about it, turning the evidence over and over in his head until he drove himself insane. It wasn't productive and that time could be better spent on actual work. He paid the cabby as they ground to a halt, just outside of the station. John had been so quiet on the way over, he'd forgotten about him and actually paid himself. John found this worrying, Sherlock never paid the cab drivers. That was his job.

Lestrade was standing next to the water cooler, chatting with Detective Inspector Dimmock when Sherlock found him. Sherlock watched, somewhat amused as Dimmock muttered an excuse and slipped away as soon as he saw the young man's approach. He noticed that Lestrade's face had darkened and he'd folded his arms. He didn't look hopeful, sure that Sherlock hadn't found anything he'd missed from the crime scene photos. Sherlock shuffled towards him, trying to blink the heaviness from his eyes. "I have the...proof," he muttered, Lestrade cocked his head.

"Are you alright,"

"Yes, it was... it was..." Sherlock shook his head again.

"Sherlock maybe you should sit down," Greg suggested, tossing his paper cup.

"I'm-" And before he could even finish the sentence Sherlock had passed out, crumpled to the floor, exhaustion overtaking him at last. Greg rubbed the bridge of his nose, it looked like he'd have to wait for Sherlock to regain consciousness before he knew for sure whether he could close the case.

John, who had just cleared the stairs after having an almost pleasant conversation with Sally, trotted over, guessing what had happened.

"Did he just-?" Lestrade smirked,

"Yeah, right in the middle of telling me he was fine," John snorted.

"Is there somewhere we can put him? We probably shouldn't leave him here." Greg nodded.

"I have a sofa in my office. Take his legs." The two men picked up Sherlock, who only stirred slightly and after much grunting and cursing by both, they managed to dump him on the small sofa, his lanky legs, sticking over the arm rest. Lestrade pulled a thick blanket from the back of the couch and draped it over the lean detective. Sherlock murmured quietly, rolling onto his side and pulling the blanket closer. John receded to the doorway, feeling slightly like he was intruding. After the DI had tucked Sherlock in, he crept to the window and pulled the blinds, blocking the light, making the room dim and solemn. John slipped out of the office, retreated to the lounge and threw himself into one of the comfortable chairs. He looked at his watch. Sherlock had solved the case and collapsed almost two and a half hours later, that had to be a record for him. It wasn't the first time Sherlock had refused to quit and suffered for it and John was sure it wouldn't be the last. He looked up as Lestrade lowered himself into the chair opposite, disturbing his thoughts.

"What did forensics have to say?" He wondered, remembering the reason the DI had left the scene in the first place.

"Apparently they thought it would take me longer to get back from the crime scene than it actually did. Results should be here soon, but they did mention DNA found at the scene." Lestrade looked frustrated and John could hardly blame him. Anderson had fudged this one, but Sherlock hadn't really done any better. After all, he'd fainted before he could even deliver the results of his findings and it was unclear how long he'd be out. He'd basically been in a coma the last time he'd worked this hard, not waking for more than a day after collapsing in the bedroom of a kidnapped child. At least Lestrade had driven them home so John didn't have to try to explain his unconscious friend to a cab driver, which never ended well. John propped his head on his fist and continued to let his mind wander as they waited. He was just beginning to think that he'd really had enough waiting for one day when Lestrade's mobile rang.

"Detective Inspector Lestrade," All business. John watched grateful that something was finally happening, listening to the noises of agreement Lestrade was making, saw his face light up just before he clicked off the phone.

"Good news then?" John asked, curiously.

"That was Anderson, forensics confirmed the blood was our suspect's. Absolutely airtight," Lestrade smiled, looking about ten years younger, all the weariness erased from his face.

"That is excellent news, should I go get Sherlock?" Now that Lestrade had enough proof to make a conclusive report, Sherlock's findings could wait until later.

"Let him sleep. You know he's impossible to wake up," John nodded, it was true. After the Sherlock had been out more than five minutes, the most he could usually get was annoyed grumbling.

"Send him back to the flat when he gets up?" John asked, standing and brushing himself off. Lestrade nodded, also rising. He watched as John walked out, then returned to his office, switching on his desk lamp and deciding to do some very quiet paperwork until Sherlock woke up. He didn't want somebody to come in and draw on Sherlock's face with a marker or something while he slept. Lestrade glanced at Sherlock, a small smile tugging at his lips as he saw the tangled mess of limbs and wild hair that was his friend. And because he really couldn't resist, he pulled his mobile from his pocket and snapped a picture. Not to use as blackmail, but to remind him that even the great Sherlock Holmes was a human and when he slept he wasn't a genius any more, or a self proclaimed sociopath, or even a drug addict. He was still the kid stumbling onto crime scenes, stealing his badge, his face exactly as it had been the times when he'd fallen asleep in Lestrade's cruiser. An infinite reminder of the past and the promise of the bright and shining future.