Every year on the 15th of March Greg Lestrade gets a parcel. Without a stamp, without a note, even without his name on it. It still sits in front of his door once a year.
The first time it happened, he was scared. Then confused. And then he remembered the 15th of March a year ago.
It had been a normal day, normal weather, a routine drugs bust. That stopped being routine the moment he saw Sherlock Holmes, completely out of it, just lying on the floor.
They had worked a few cases together and though he did not particularly like him, Lestrade followed the lifeless body into the ambulance that night and when the paramedic said that they were loosing him, Lestrade – without thinking - took his hand and pled him to just hold on.
Be it the comfort of another human being’s touch or just his stubborness, but Sherlock held on.
The ambulance was greeted by a tall man with an umbrella, who thanked him before telling him that his brother would be treated in a private facility.
When Sherlock flounced into his office a few months later he was clean. And he stayed clean.
Neither of them mentioned the 15th ever again. But the parcel arrived nonetheless. Lestrade never figured out if they came from Sherlock – or his brother.