It took Lestradee a good ten minutes to pull John away from that bleeding and broken mess that was Sherlock. He was sobbing, shaking his head, touching the consulting detective's face again and again and again. This wasn't the war-hardened hero, this was the broken friend, the man who lost everything that made the blond so full of life that he had lost because of his occupation.
Sherlock's body was loaded onto the stretcher and into the body bag, but before it was zipped Molly took his coat and placed it on John's shoulders, bending her head. Something was weighing on her mind but John didn't take notice, too focused on his own grief. "I'm sorry, John. He was-" Lestrade put his hands on her shoulders, steering her away from the destroyed medic.
"Give him time. Out of all of us John is the one who would be affected the most," he murmured, leaving her with the body of their friend. She grabbed his sleeve, making the man pause and turn back towards her.
"Sherlock, he's not really-" Biting her 'too-thin' bottom lip, the redhead turned away. "Nevermind. It-it wasn't important."
Lestrade, seeming to know what she was going to say, smiled. "He was a genius, I know. It wasn't my choice to try and bring him in, for good reason. But he was vain, Molly. He wouldn't have been able to take the defeat. The loss." She nodded silently, but Lestrade was already back to John's side, bickering with an officer over the man.
"Let him have the coat, Officer Reed," Lestrade said, no room for argument in his voice. The young officer in front of him was hovering over his friend, who wasn't paying attention at all.
"But Detective Inspector Lestrade, it's eviden-" he started, running a hand along the shadow of a beard. The man was eager to please but more importantly, he had the law memorized forward, backward, and sideways, leaving no room for error.
"He's been through enough. Let it be." Obviously that wasn't what Officer Reed wanted to hear, and he stalked away to micromanage anything else he could. Lestrade ran a hand through his short-cropped silver hair and crouched next to John. "It'll be alright, John. Everything will be alright."
Lestrade wanted to turn away when John looked at him. The emptiness in the doctor's eyes was speaking louder than words. It showed that nothing would be alright again unless Sherlock turned out to be alive. And John voiced what everyone knew, what not even the keen senses of the world's only consulting detective could have skirted around. "He's dead."