Chapter Text
It was Lestrade who started panicking first. Sherlock and John had been working on the latest case that had completely stumped his team at the Yard. The consulting detective had caught on to a lead and he'd decided to go and investigate an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of London to pick up clues, dragging John along with him. Of course, now Greg wishes he'd listened to the madman when he'd been explaining where the warehouse was, and why, exactly, he'd been going to investigate.
When he hadn't received a text from Sherlock explaining his findings from their search of the warehouse he'd decided to go round to Baker Street himself to hear it. He knew all to well just how lazy the detective could be. Only it was Mrs Hudson who answered the door, and it was Mrs Hudson who explained that she hadn't seen the boys for two days now.
It was Mrs Hudson who was the next person to start panicking.
Lestrade then decided to talk to the eldest Holmes sibling to see if he had any information on their whereabouts; but after a very long, very confusing phone conversation with Mycroft, it appeared that even the British Government had no idea where Sherlock and John had disappeared to.
Little did Lestrade know that Mycroft Holmes was the third person to panic.
A day later and there's a whole team at Scotland Yard trying to track down the pair. If only Lestrade knew where the bloody warehouse was then he could go there and see if he could pick up some bloody clues and then pick up that bloody detective and his bloody boyfriend. But, alas, he was stuck, and everyone else was stuck, and after talking to Mycroft again he'd discovered that even he and his team was stuck.
Where are they?
Lestrade was dozing at his desk - his first sleep in two days - when his phone buzzes next to his head. He groans, and sits up, cracking his back, and fumbles blindly for his mobile. Who the crap is that? He peels his eyes open and squints at the screen. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the bright light, but when they do his heart nearly jumps out his mouth.
Message from Sherlock Holmes.
As quickly as he can with his hands shaking as they are, he unlocks his phone and opens the text.
Woodland Industrial State
Behind grey warehouse
John is hungry
Not a lot of information, but enough. Enough to find his boys.
Lestrade is the first to arrive at the scene, though an ambulance, two police cars, and a Mycroft are right behind him. Lestrade had been speeding all the way from Scotland Yard, terrified of what was going to be here when he arrived. He parks up, and jumps out the car, searching around until his eyes land on the grey warehouse Sherlock had mentioned in the text. He takes off in that direction, heart pounding.
John and Sherlock are, of course, tucked behind the back, and Lestrade comes to a skidding halt before them as he takes in the sight.
They're both seated on an old metal crate, Sherlock with his back leaning against the wall, an open cut on his forehead that trickles down his left cheek. Lestrade can't see any other wounds at the moment, but the detective looks exhausted, dark circles under his eyes and his face gaunter than usual. It certainly doesn't look like he's been treated well here.
John is slumped against Sherlock's shoulder, dead asleep. He looks pale and haggard, and there's a massive bruise on his right cheekbone. He's apparently used Sherlock's scarf as a make-shift sling for his right arm, which rests against his chest. His jumper is gone and his shirt looks torn in several places, but Lestrade can't see any more blood, so he tries not to panic too much.
Sherlock's right arm has John tucked protectively to his side, and cocooning them both from the elements is his great coat.
Lestrade is never going to look at that coat the same way again.
As he approaches nearer, Sherlock's eyes startle open and he tenses, arm tightening around John, the opposite hand reaching down to pick up the gun Lestrade only now notices.
“Hey, hey, Sherlock, it's okay, it's Lestrade.”
Sherlock doesn't lower the gun, but he does just stare for a minute at Lestrade, apparently getting his bearings. His eyes open wider, and he coughs a little. He blinks a lot, and it takes long moment, but soon he's fully awake, eyes bright and alert, though still tired in comparison to usual. He immediately glances down to John, scanning his small form until he's content with what he sees, before he looks back to Lestrade.
“You took your time.”
It comes out as barely more than a whisper, but Lestrade grins and rolls his eyes all the same. Just then the rest of the rescue party arrives, and Sherlock is reluctantly running his hands through John's hair and murmuring in his ear to wake him up. Slowly John does so, but he's very bleary, and squints up at Sherlock in confusion.
The ambulance team appear, though, and Lestrade backs up to give them space. He ends up standing next to Mycroft, and the pair of them watch fondly as John pouts at the paramedic who's sternly telling him to 'keep his oxygen mask on, please, Doctor Watson', and Sherlock rubs his shoulder in consolation.
“They're good together, aren't they?” Lestrade smiles to himself, finally calming down after the stress of the past few days. The couple in question are being lead over to the back of the ambulance, both leaning on each other to get there, giggling and bumping arms. The paramedics roll their eyes fondly at their behaviour, and tell them off for giggling at a crime scene.
“They're both idiots, Detective Inspector.”
Lestrade turns to raise an eyebrow at Mycroft, but it drops when he sees the supposed 'Iceman' smiling gently as he watches the couple holding hands in the back of the ambulance, wrapped up in a big orange blanket, while the paramedics do more checks. Sherlock gives a massive yawn, and John stares sleepily up at him, then yawns as well. He uses Sherlock's hand to scratch his nose, which Sherlock then drops a kiss onto.
“But I do see what you mean, yes.”