I Believe in Sherlock Holmes.
Sally Donovan didn't know how much longer she could keep from breaking down.
It had started with a simple call to New Scotland Yard. A suicide at Bart's. Roof-jumper. She and Lestrade had gone over in a squad car. The first thing she saw was the crowd, standing around the scene. "Morbid curiosity" she thought bitterly. The second thing she saw was John Watson.
"Oh no."
Lestrade beat her to it. She stepped up just in time to catch him as he went down, stumbling backwards in disbelief, his face pale as a ghost. And then she looked. Bad mistake. She was on her knees, heaving into the grass, her stomach roiling with horror. "Sherlock" She was never sure if it was her lips or Lestrade's that uttered the word.
Lestrade pulled himself together quickly, a monumental effort, but then he'd had a lot of practice. He went straight to John, who stared up at him with blank eyes. It took a while for Sally to realize they were gone. She stumbled to her feet, heading toward the squad cars, Lestrade must have called someone in, she realized. They took her back to the Yard. She walked to her office in a daze, sitting down on the floor and burying her head in her hands.
She didn't know how long she had been there when the door creaked open. A hand reached in to flip the switch, then paused as Lestrade caught sight of her.
"Sally?"
She looked up. Lestrade was still pale, his bearing tightly controlled. She bit her lip hard. Lestrade had known Sherlock, had been his friend. And Sally had killed him. It was too much, the guilt, the shame, the sight of Sherlock's blood on the ground. A sob escaped her, and then another.
She sobbed for a long time, Lestade sitting next to her, his hand rubbing circles on her back as she cried.
Eventually, she formed the words. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't want him to die. It's my fault, I'm sorry" She wasn't even sure what she was saying, she just needed to talk, to let out her grief and guilt. Lestrade sat wordlessly, letting her talk until her words ran out and she sat quiet.
"I know."
She met his eyes in surprise. He gave a crooked, half-smile at her expression. "Go home, Sally."
She did.
It wasn't until a week later that she saw it.
The large yellow block letters nearly made her faint. She didn't know what to make of it. The tag was spray-painted on the grey wall of the alley in all caps:
I BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK HOLMES
That was just the first time. Soon, it was nearly everywhere. Sally began to enjoy seeing it, though she still felt a bit guilty. The other officers at the yard thought it was ridiculous, and frequently laughed at them, point to the signs and bad-mouthing their creators. But it wasn't until the day Anderson saw one, stopped speechless, and then turned and announced to everyone within hearing that 'That Freak has a fan club' laughing at his own joke, that Sally felt her determination harden. She owed this much to Sherlock, at least.
Which was how Sally found herself wearing dark clothes in an alleyway at 4 in the morning, a can of yellow spray paint in her hand. She had just finished the last 'e' in 'Believe' when she heard footsteps behind her. She spun around, holding the can of paint like a weapon, when she saw who it was. Her face flamed in embarrassment, and she lamely dropped her hands. She looked from the still wet wall to Lestrade's face sheepishly.
"Um…I was…"
Lestrade grinned, stopping her words. He held out his hand. "Yeah, me too."
A can of yellow spray paint lay in his palm.
They finished the tag together.
