I have come to the realization that Greg Lestrade is my new favorite character (besides John and Sherlock, of course.)
This came out of nowhere when working on my other fics. I just had to write it down.

Disclaimer; everything Sherlock belongs to the BBC, not me.

Sally Donovan heard the gunshot and her heart sank in her chest. She immediately looked around and saw that, though there were a few that had firearms, not one had them out of their carriers. None of her coworkers were missing from the crime scene in front of them.

None except one.

Lestrade looked at her with scared eyes and whispered "Sherlock!" as soon as she whispered "The freak!"

They rushed in the direction of the sound and into a dark alley way just outside of the police tape.
What they found there was not what Sally had hoped. She had hoped that the freak had the intelligence he flaunted about to bring doctor Watson's Browning. What she had hoped is that he had shot at the killer, either warning or nonfatal.

She had not hoped to see the freak face down in a cold alley, drowning in a pool of blood. A pool of blood that was growing larger. And fast.

Lestrade cursed and rushed to the freak's side, rolling him on his back.

"Sherlock, can ya hear me? Sherlock, answer me!" he shook the man in his arms until the long dark eyelashes fluttered open.

"L'strade?"

Lestrade nodded encouragingly, one hand cupping the younger man's cheek.
"It's me. I'm here."

Sherlock swallowed.
"Well...I found your killer."

Lestrade licked his lips.
"Yeah, I can see that. Sally! Call an ambulance!"

Sally, who had been frozen in shock, cleared her head and pulled out her mobile, dialing 999 in an instant.

Lestrade eyed the pool of blood that continued to grow around him and the wounded man in front of him. He pulled off his jacket and placed it over Sherlock's shivering legs to prevent all the heat from escaping his thin body and put pressure on the open wound. Sherlock cried out and moved his legs about in protest and Lestrade shook his head.

"Sherlock, keep talking to me please."

Sherlock shook his head, tears forming in his eyes.
"Stop! It hurts-"

"I know it hurts, I'm sorry. You'll bleed out if I don't."

Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"It just-AH!...looks like a lot...not really as bad as it seems...hurts a lot, though..."

Lestrade rolled his eyes and pushed down harder on Sherlock's side, causing the younger man to grunt.
"I don' care. I'm not losing you."

Sherlock laughed weakly.
"Merely...a graze...superficial...not gonna die today-"

He choked on his laughter and winced. His eyes were slowly glazing over, becoming more vacant with each passing second.

Lestrade shook his head.
"Sherlock, you stay with me, ya hear?! You owe me a few pints, I'm not letting ya get away from that!"

Sherlock rolled his glassy eyes, closing them.
"...Idon'teven...drink..." he slurred the words.

"You don't, but I do. I could use on right now, so you better buy me one!"

Sherlock didn't respond.

"Sally!" Greg shouted, shaking the boy on his lap, disgusted by the amount of the kids blood on his fingers.

Sally licked her lips, trying to think clearly.
"The ambulance is four minutes away!"

Greg bit down hard on his lip and checked Sherlock's neck for a pulse. Sluggish, weak, but alive. Still breathing.

He went back to putting pressure to the wound and silently prayed for a miracle.
"C'mon Sherlock, don't do this to me!"

He thought back to the day that he met him and it was as if Sherlock's life was flashing before his eyes.
He was just a lost kid who had stumbled into the horrible bottomless pit that was the drug trade. A kid whose family life (or lack thereof) deserved it's own soap opera. A kid so lost he was doing anything he could do to be happy, even if that meant slowly killing his body and his massive intellect. A kid who cried on Greg's doorstep and begged for help because he hurt so much and even though Greg was just a stranger at that time he needed someone to simply love him. And Greg did. He saved him and practically adopted him. He could see how much happier he was now that he had his own flat and food and a job to keep him occupied. He saw how happy having John as a friend has made him, helping him to open up to the world, to not kick and scream at it when it didn't go his way. Well, he does that no matter what, but still.

Greg had promised himself that he would never see Sherlock this broken again. Yet here he was, holding him together with sweaty palms while blood seeped out of the young man's wounds.

"C'mon, Sherlock...don't leave me. Not again."

Loud sirens blared somewhere close and Greg looked up to see Sally and a few others (paramedics. It was about bloody time!) rushing toward. Greg tried moving Sherlock but the man was practically glued to the ground in sticky red liquid until the paramedics scooted his body on a stretcher and unfolded it, wheels lifting him off the ground and locking in place as they ran him to the open ambulance, Greg right beside them.

They lifted him up and placed him in the back of the ambulance and Greg tried to climb in before one medic stopped him.

"Sorry sir, only family-"

"I'm family, he's my kid!" Greg protested immediately, surprised with how natural it felt to say those words.

The medic shook his head.
"I'm sorry sir, I cannot let you in-"

Lestrade pulled out his badge.
"This is MY crime scene and he is MY responsibility! He is the most vital piece to my case so unless you want an overnight stay for withholding evidence, I suggest you let me in! NOW if you don't mind!"

The medic's eyes widened at the outburst and allowed him in without another word.

The rest of the medical team hooked Sherlock up to various machinery and started spitting out medical sentences that Greg didn't care to understand. He simply held on tight to Sherlock's hand and continued to hope for that miracle, praying that the ambulance had been on time, that there would be a tomorrow with Sherlock in it because Greg couldn't bear to think of one without him.

(OoOoO)

Greg found himself by Sherlock's bedside not too long after that. The surgery had gone well. As Sherlock had predicted, the bullet didn't pass through anything fatal. He did, however, lose almost five pints of blood and fainted from shock due to the loss. They had to use the defibrillator him once, Greg was told. He had lost so much blood that his heart didn't know to keep pumping it. But once everything was under control they promised full recovery.

That didn't stop Greg from shedding a few tears.

He held on to Sherlock's hand, eying one of the many tubes that was connected to the machinery monitoring his health.

The hand suddenly tightened around his.

Greg looked up.
"Hey, kid."

Sherlock's eyes fluttered.
"...Hey..."

Greg smiled weakly.
"How you feeling?"

"...You've been crying..." Sherlock gestured with the hand Lestrade held.

Lestrade scoffed.
"Yeah, well...You scared me."

"I told you...superficial...it was nothing.."

"Hardly 'nothing'. You were in surgery for hours. I thought I lost you for a while."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, watching two fresh tears fall down Lestrade's face. Greg never cried. Not without reason, anyway. Seeing the man tear up now was slightly shocking. And much to Sherlock's surprise, he felt...sort of thankful.

He swallowed, looking down at their intertwined hands.
"...'Strade..."

Greg smiled and wiped his eyes.
"Hey, don't worry about me. Do you need anything?"

Sherlock shifted slightly, wincing as the pain took his breath away.
"Perhaps...if you could call the nurse I would be greater in debt."

Greg nodded and pressed the little button by Sherlock's bed, looking up when a nurse walked in.

"Just finished the rest of my rounds. Seems like I got here on time. How are you feeling, Mr. Holmes?"

"I think he needs more pain meds, if you please." Greg licked his lips, nodding in direction of the man in front of him.

"Well, we can fix that. There. Is that better, sir?"

Sherlock sighed in relief.
"Tremendously."

"Good." the nurse nodded, making sure all was well with the fluids and blood transfusion, "Anything else I can get for you?"

"Was my mobile recovered from the scene?"

"Yes, sir. Would you like me to get it for you?"

"Yes." Sherlock held out his hand while the nurse rummaged through the chair that held his belongings.

The nurse placed his phone in his open palm and walked to the doorway.
"Anything you need, just let us know."

Lestrade nodded, looking back at the now drowsy detective. Sherlock was texting someone, fingers moving sluggishly in his medicated state.

Suddenly he looked up at Greg with worried eyes.
"John?"

Lestrade licked his lips.
"I called him for an update an hour ago, don't worry. He was on a plane last I heard from him. He should be here in about an hour."

Sherlock swallowed.
"Good."

Greg smiled.
"Actually, he told me to tell you he's gonna to punch you in the face the next time he sees you. I told him I'd let him get a good right hook in before I beat you myself."

Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"I caught the killer, didn't I?"

"Yeah, well..."

Sherlock chuckled and Lestrade rolled his eyes when suddenly there was a knock at the door frame.

"Sherlock Holmes?" an unfamiliar voice asked.

Sherlock looked up and a man walked over, placing a brown paper bag on the bed beside him.

"This is for you."

Lestrade raised an eyebrow, eying the paper bag while the man walked out.

He licked his lips.
"What is that?!"

Sherlock smiled, pulling out his phone again, sending a text.
"Funny thing about my brother is that no matter how often I annoy him, he will always shower me with favours."

He opened the paper bag and pulled out two brown bottles.

"I think I remember you telling me that I owe you a drink."

Greg laughed once.
"Do you really need one in the state you're in?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"The other is for John, of course. I told you I don't drink, not that I expect you to remember. "

Lestrade tried his best to stare Sherlock down and Sherlock attempted to keep a straight face.
They both lost it and started smiling.

Greg opened his bottle.

"Y'know, technically you owe me a pint. This is a bottle. So you aren't off the hook yet."

Sherlock sighed, still attempting to fight off drowsiness.
"A simple 'Thank you' would suffice."

His phone vibrated in his hand and he opened the text.

[RE; Thank you -SH

9:35PM;
You're welcome, brother dear. Get well soon.

-Mycroft Holmes]

Greg pretended he didn't peek at the glowing screen and read the message.

He cleared his throat.
"So... I hope ya realize I am not very happy with you. Ya ran off again after a suspect when I told you not to and I don't appreciate it."

"We found the murder weapon. I did not think it was necessary to calculate the possibility that he had an extra firearm on his person-"

"Sherlock, what if it had been a knife?! There'd be no gunshot and I wouldn't have been able to find you! You would have bled to death in that alley!"

Sherlock had a guilty look in his eyes.
"I...I didn't..."

Greg licked his lips.
"Just...just listen to me next time, OK?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, a slight smirk twitching on his lips.
"So there will be a 'next time'?"

Lestrade scoffed.
"Obviously. As you've pointed out time and time again, I can hardly solve anything without you."

Sherlock smiled softly, eyes starting to droop again with each blink.

Ten minutes later they closed and didn't reopen. Greg pushed the kid's hair out of his lightly closed lids and readied himself for a long night in an uncomfortable hospital chair. He pulled out his phone and went over his texts.

[NEW MESSAGE: From; John W

10:12PM;
I'll be there in five. In cab now.]

[NEW MESSAGE: From; John W

10:13;
How is he?]

Greg licked his lips and typed out a reply.

{NEW MESSAGE:
To: John W

He's asleep. Poor sod.}

{NEW MESSAGE:
To: John W

I'm ready to punch him when you are.}

He smiled and hit send.

[NEW MESSAGE: From; John W

10:15PM;
Maybe later. Though he's in for a scolding when I get there!]

Greg laughed out loud and looked up when Sherlock stirred. He sighed. Tonight was going to be a very long night.

Sally Donovan watched the scene from the hallway, being careful not to be seen. The freak-...Sherlock, she corrected herself, was going to live. She refused to go in and visit for he still got on her very last nerve. She did not have any attachment to him, but she couldn't get the image of him being broken and bleeding and crying in that alley way out of her mind. She had to come, just to see he was not dying. But when she saw him smiling, truly smiling ear to ear, and not because he was leaning over a dead body was strange. And he didn't seem human enough for sleep. He looked like a sick kid staying home in bed. And seeing Greg laugh with him...She had known that he and Lestrade had always had a connection but she never suspected that Lestrade saw him as a son. Seeing him happy, especially after all this trouble with his wife, was sort of a relief. She looked at her watch and backed away, walking back down the hallway and towards the exit.

A very cross John Watson walked straight past her in the hallway and that was enough to reassure her that no, Sherlock was not going to die because of a smuggling murderer in an alley. But now she had to continue her search for the rest of the smuggling gang. Because she was a police officer. It was her job to bring justice. Also, she owed Sherlock that much. At the very least.

Heart content that she had saved another civilian, she walked out of the door, now fully prepared to finish her job.