Author's note: I'm back, my friends!

And, don't worry, I'll answer your reviews. It's just... I'd never have thought I'd get that many while being gone for a few days. Wow. Just wow.

I don't own anything, please review.

It all began with a crime scene. All in all, it was a fitting beginning, considering that they had even met at one.

It had been almost nine years ago. DI Greg Lestrade had been called out on a cold wet Saturday night because a young drunk woman had stumbled over a body in a dark alleyway. It was at times like these, he had mused while trying to disappear into his coat (he had forgotten his umbrella, he always did, other than his newly promoted Sergeant, Donavan, who didn't even think about offering him shelter) that he began to wonder why he had always wanted to join the police force in the first place.

The body had reminded him why. They usually did. Thankfully, the forensic team under Anderson (he might not like him, but Greg had to admit that the man was good at what he did) had already put up a tent over the victim.

It was a young man – he couldn't have been older than twenty-five, and he was well-dressed in a dark suit with matching tie. He didn't look like the type of person usually associated with violent deaths in dark alleyways, but if Greg had learned one thing in his job, it was never to let oneself be blinded by prejudices.

Even without the medical examiner, he could see that the young man had been stabbed, and as the first lightning of the night (there went any hope that the rain would stop soon) he knelt down to examine the wound.

Only to jump back up a moment later when all of a sudden someone behind him said, "The killer was a woman. His lover, I'd say".

Greg turned around only to find be blinded by lightning. Once his sight had returned, he saw an impossibly thin young man about thirty, wearing a jacket definitely too light for this weather, not caring that he was wet to the bone, and definitely high. Probably cocaine or heroin.

Greg really should have called Donavan and an officer in uniform and have him arrested there and then, but for some reason (he still couldn't explain it) he hadn't. Instead, he had stared at the strange apparition and asked, raising his voice so the question wouldn't be lost in the thunder, "What?"

The young man had rolled his eyes and explained, "His lover. She killed him. It's obvious."

By this time, Greg had realized that there was indeed a drug addict standing in his crime scene – and not only that, but standing in the tent where the body lay – and had acted accordingly. He had cleared his throat and asked, "Who are you?"

"Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes" the man had explained, before kneeling down like he owned the place and looking over the victim, mumbling to himself as he did so. Greg was taken aback, simply because the addict seemed to take it for granted; Sherlock Holmes apparently didn't believe that anyone was allowed to interrupt his thoughts, no matter that he had just entered a crime scene without being allowed to.

Greg, while being intrigued by this visitor, and determined to learn how he'd managed to sneak into a crime scene, had told him that he was arrested and called for backup, and Sherlock had simply seemed annoyed.

This, of course, had only caused Greg's fascination to grow; why would a drug addict break into a crime scene and tell everyone who would listen who had committed the murder?

Nonetheless, he had finally called for assistance and had arrested Sherlock Holmes despite his protests. And yet –

There had been something... different about this young addict from the start. Something that had prompted Greg to visit him, to ask him why he was so sure that the lover of the dead man had been the murderer all along.

Sherlock Holmes had told him why – while looking rather bored, Greg couldn't deny that – and it had turned out that he'd been right all along.

Not before Greg had been kidnapped by the British Government, however; and, looking back and knowing both the Holmes brothers, he didn't understand why Mycroft had waited several hours to begin with. He had been too exhausted to drive home, been prepared to catch a cab, when a black limousine had stopped next to him, and the young woman in it had made clear that he shouldn't resist.

He really should have known that the posh guy with the umbrella in his right hand was Sherlock's brother, or at least he thought so now. The British Government simply had Holmes written all over him.

Anyway, the strange man had demanded that he release Sherlock immediately, and threatened him with serious consequences – and, strangely, Greg hadn't doubted that this man was able to make or break his career.

He had still interviewed Sherlock the next day, of course he had; and during the interview, he hadn't been able to shake the feeling that this young man – despite being a cocaine addict (which had been confirmed by this point through the blood tests) – was someone special, someone who deserved to be looked after.

To this day, Greg didn't understand how someone like Mycroft Holmes could allow his younger brother to live on the streets and yet kidnap everyone he came into contact with.

Needless to say, Sherlock had been right all along, which was why Greg found himself looking for the young man at every street corner in London a week later.

Thankfully it hadn't rained when he finally found him and made him the offer of working with the police (naturally he had snorted at "working with") as long as he got clean. As he had learned several years later (and only because John Watson had thought the idea of Sherlock Holmes taking drugs utterly ridiculous), it was the only time telling Sherlock to quit the drugs had actually worked.

And yet, somehow their relationship had become even more complicated than helping a cocaine addict overcome his addiction, because, as soon as Sherlock had become clean (and called him in the middle of the night to tell him about it, expecting Greg to welcome him with open arms, which the DI, despite the fact that he really shouldn't have, had done in the end), either he or Mycroft had texted him to tell him when there was a "danger night", or when Sherlock had once again decided to run after a dangerous criminal, or when the consulting detective ( a title he had one day coined with the help of Greg) decided he was bored and needed company.

In the end, Greg didn't mind. He and Sherlock had somehow formed a connection, a connection no one (not even he) understood, but a connection he certainly didn't want to lose.

And he didn't. Not even when John Watson became Sherlock's flatmate and best friend. Because while John certainly understood Sherlock in a way Greg never had, the DI had known him longer and, despite what Sherlock said, he was still a police man, and a good one at that, so that they had something in common – there professional passion for investigating crimes – that John simply couldn't share.

The only time it had felt like he'd lost Sherlock was when the consulting detective seemed to have committed suicide and Greg had been forced to live with his ghost for three long years, trying to come to terms with the fact that he had helped Moriarty to accomplish his goal, in a way.

At least until he came home one evening only to find a very much alive Sherlock Holmes on his sofa. Apparently John hadn't taken the news too well and Sherlock needed a place to stay.

Of course Greg let him. He knew he should probably have reacted like John had, but he couldn't bring himself to. Not when he had only just got Sherlock back. So he simply sat down next to him, not saying anything, and it hadn't taken long before John had knocked on the door, thinking that Sherlock could only have gone to Greg, desperate to be let in.

The three of them had talked through the night, and ever since then (after Mycroft had taken care of the suspicions regarding the cases Sherlock had worked on) things had gone back to normal. Or rather, to whatever "normal" entailed when you were friends with Sherlock Holmes.

And then came the case that, once again, changed everything.

Greg was sitting in his office on a Thursday morning, a little tired because he had once again spent the evening at Baker Street and only come home at 2 o' clock. This had happened more and more often since Sherlock's return; usually he would come over several times a week, listening to Sherlock's playing the violin, talking to him and John about the cases, drinking tea with them. Most of the time, he used the key he had received the day Sherlock had moved in 221B from an anonymous source to let himself in, and none of them complained.

He always told himself to leave earlier the next time, but it never worked, and somehow, remembering the three years without his friends (John had been more dead than alive, and Sherlock... but he didn't like to think about it, even now) he could never bring himself to regret it. Even if he had a hard time getting up to get to work on time.

So he was just drinking his third coffee in less than an hour when someone knocked on the door. Donavan entered as soon as he called out.

"Sir, there has been a double murder".

He decided to look around the crime scene before calling Sherlock; the consulting detective (while trying to be a bit more understanding ever since his return) still didn't like being called out for "minor" cases that "everyone, including Anderson was able to solve". So he finished his coffee and let Donavan drive – even though he had been the one to blame, the one to go to the Chief Superintendent with her and Anderson, he still didn't like working with her, but there was nothing else to do – and soon enough, they arrived at the crime scene.

Greg had seen many things in his almost thirty years of police work.

But this –

The couple had been slaughtered. There was no other word for it. Several stab wounds, the murderer had even kept stabbing them after they had lost consciousness –

And it was then that DI Greg Lestrade sent Sherlock Holmes a text.

Because he had seen this before.

Author's note: I thought I would publish this later but then I read this wonderful news (we all know what I am talking about) and I decided another multiple chapter fic was due in order to celebrate.

Although this is more of a prologue, because I wanted to show Lestrade's and Sherlock's relationship through my eyes before going into details.

Updates may not be as frequent due to real life.

I hope you liked it, please review.