"So, any luck with the investigation into Moriarty?" John asked near the end of the evening.

"Totally dead," Lestrade answered. "The victims really didn't have any useful information. We just don't have any avenues to pursue, at least not until new information shows up or Sherlock makes a dazzling deduction."

"So, Molly didn't have any useful information?" John asked.

Lestrade's sharp gaze met John's. "Molly Hooper? Why would she know anything?"

"Well, when we were at the morgue, he showed up, she introduced him just as Jim, said he worked in the IT department, and that they were an item. Did Sherlock not mention this to you?"

Lestrade was disappointed. Sherlock was withholding information again. "No, he didn't. In fact, he didn't even tell me that he had met Moriarty before the pool. Did he know that Jim was Moriarty at the time?"

"I don't think so, because after Jim left, Sherlock told Molly she should give up on Jim because he was obviously gay because of the way he dressed—which didn't go over well with Molly by the way. Oh, and he kind of obviously slipped Sherlock his number."

Lestrade raised his eyebrows. "So, basically, he put on an act, and Sherlock was completely taken in?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Well, I have a sneaking suspicion why I didn't hear this from Sherlock." A thoughtful pause before Lestrade said casually, "John, when's a good time to stop by the flat that you won't be at home?"

John replied hesitantly, "Um, tomorrow afternoon, I'll be at the clinic. Why?"

"When possible, it's best to read Sherlock the riot act in private."

Lestrade snapping at Sherlock after the pool incident had probably contributed to Sherlock not being willing to share anything related to his mistake with Moriarty. Still Lestrade couldn't let Sherlock get away with this. He was no longer purely a consultant in this case. Sherlock was actually a victim and witness, who had been directly asked if he knew of any other contacts that Moriarty had.

"It just can't happen again, Sherlock. If I can't trust you to give me the facts, then I can't have you on my cases. Now this hasn't been an issue for a really long time. I think this thing with Moriarty is making you lose your head. Can you play by the rules, Sherlock?" Lestrade gaze bored into Sherlock.

"Yes," he said as he continued to avoid looking at Lestrade directly.

"Well good then." Very casually, he continued, "I have an interesting case here if you have a few more minutes?"

Sherlock finally looked at Lestrade and after a moment tentatively said, "Are you sure it's actually worth my time, Inspector?"

Lestrade replied back with a half-smile, "Well, let's see, shall we?"

Moriarty seemed to fade into the background over the next few months. Things were quickly back to normal with Sherlock, but for Lestrade they were deteriorating on the home front. No one at the Yard knew about it though. Actually, Lestrade really hadn't talked about it with any of his non-Yard friends either. He wasn't the type to share his sob stories with other people. He knew both of the Holmes brothers must know something, but neither one had said anything, for which he was thankful.

One fall day, Lestrade was catching up on paperwork at his desk when he received a phone call from Mycroft Holmes requesting that he go to Belgravia where Sherlock had apparently been drugged by a dominatrix. That was definitely something that didn't happen every day. And so he soon found himself helping John to wrestle Sherlock out of the woman's home and into a taxi.

"Hey, where's his coat?" Lestrade asked as the taxi traveled toward Baker Street.

"He gave it to Miss Adler."

"Sherlock offered a woman his coat?" Lestrade asked disbelievingly.

"She was naked." Lestrade's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "I-it was just to intimidate us, and I asked her to put something on. She wasn't going to. So, Sherlock gave her his coat, and she was certainly happy to put that on."

"You don't sound very happy. Sherlock wasn't… interested in her, was he?"

Shaking his head, John replied, "I don't know if he was in that way, but he was certainly bewitched by her in some way. She was like a spider weaving her web, waiting to devour him."

Lestrade ruefully said, "Well, I have never managed to work a case where an attractive woman preferred to talk with me in the nude."

John chuckled appreciatively. "Yeah, but you haven't ever managed to get yourself drugged by a suspect either, have you?" he asked rhetorically.

"Actually I have, but only when working with Sherlock," Lestrade said wryly. John laughed at that.

Sherlock was mumbling in his sleep with his face half-buried in John's shoulder; any efforts to straighten him up had resulted in him flopping forward onto the floor. "I'm going to videotape this," Lestrade decided. "The next time Sherlock tries to pretend he's not human like the rest of us, I'll be able to prove that he drooled like a baby."

"No!" John exclaimed. "He isn't? Not on my jacket!"

Lestrade laughed, "I'm afraid he is, mate."

A few days later, Lestrade was happy to get the rest of the details from Mycroft at one of their semi-regular luncheons. "I sent some men to pick up my brother. He knew exactly where he was going, to deal with a matter involving Miss Adler and a highly ranked individual. When I entered, he and John were still waiting to be seen, and Sherlock was wrapped in a sheet. With nothing underneath it.

Startled, Lestrade spit his water back into his glass. "Excuse me. That's pretty bad behavior even for Sherlock. At home yes, but away from home…"

Mycroft sighed, "He will behave for you, but I apparently do not know the right tune to pipe."

"Well, unfortunately, I think Sherlock takes pleasure in getting your goat, you can't ignore him, and you need him on the cases you call him in on. Anyway, if you withheld them, he'd just say that he was glad to not have to see you."

"Quite." Mycroft continued with a tight smile, "Dr. Watson, unfortunately, found it all quite amusing, cracking jokes along with Sherlock. In some ways, he's a good influence on Sherlock, but in other ways, Sherlock is a bad influence on him. You underestimate yourself, Greg; Sherlock wouldn't behave nearly so well for you if he didn't respect you."

Lestrade said, "Well, ta for that. I guessed as much, but it's always nice to hear it said, and he certainly won't. But I want to know what happened next."

"Well, after a bit of discussion where Sherlock refused to put on his clothes, he stormed out, I stepped on his sheet, and he nearly lost what little dignity he had remaining to him." Lestrade failed to suppress a brief laugh. "He finally dressed, though he sulked straight through tea. He then proceeded to Miss Adler's residence to try to obtain the blackmail evidence, and I believe you know the rest?"

"John said that she was naked, that she was trying to intimidate them."

"Yes. I would also say that she was trying to hinder Sherlock's ability to deduce her, both by presenting fewer details to observe and by simply distracting him. It appeared to work, although he'll hardly admit it," Mycroft observed drily. "She still has the incriminating photos. I'm left trusting the word of a dominatrix and the star-struck brother who vouches for her." Then with an unpleasant smile, "Unsurprisingly, the other personages involved are not pleased with this resolution. Neither am I. I doubt we have seen the last of Miss Adler."

Later in the fall, Irene Adler still hadn't made a re-appearance. Greg had just finished discussing another case with Sherlock and was getting ready to leave when Sherlock cleared his throat and began to speak.

"Greg, I have a hypothetical question for you," Sherlock said hesitantly, "in the interest of increasing my understanding of interpersonal relationships."

Lestrade's interest was piqued. Sherlock didn't call him "Greg," and he didn't sound so tentative. Lestrade was certain this question was anything but hypothetical.

"You've told me before that I shouldn't reveal my deductions about people unless it's critical to an investigation. But what if I had deduced something… unpleasant that they are unaware of. Such as, hypothetically, that their spouse was cheating on them. Do you think I should say something then?"

Before Sherlock had even finished his question, Lestrade knew exactly who he was talking about, but appreciated the effort that Sherlock had made to handle it tactfully. He replied with a sad half-smile. "You're a good friend, Sherlock. Thank you. But, I already know."

Sherlock looked a bit embarrassed to be figured out, but also had a distinctly puzzled look on his face. "Are you sure you—but—you're still with her! Why?" He spit the last out.

Lestrade turned his back and looked out the window as he spoke. "I don't want to admit it's over. We've got a lot of history. And so I keep on hoping," he sighed, "or trying to hope; don't know that there's much hope left. Really, I just keep waiting for the moment that she's going to end it. But I can't do it. I just can't be the one to end it."

There was a long pause before Sherlock spoke. "What am I supposed to say?"

Lestrade chuckled wearily as he turned. "'I'm sorry' works. Not much else you can say. But your faintly desperate tone gave me a laugh, so ta for that."

"I'm glad that I can be a source of amusement to you," Sherlock sniffed, but didn't quite match his usual air.

"It'll work out in the end, sunshine. I just keep going on. It's all I can do."