Warnings: Mention of abuse! Slash and Angst!
Pairing: Lestrade/Sherlock
Genre: Angst/Comfort
Summary: Sherlock breaks down in Gregs office after finishing a case.
"Donovan! Go make some tea!"
"Yes."
"Anderson. Leave already!"
"Hrmpf"
Lestrade stood in the entrance of his office.
They had just come back from arresting a middle aged man and the light was still switched off.
Greg stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
"Sherlock...?", he walked over to a thin figure that remained sitting on the floor, with his legs pulled up to his chest.
Lestrade sighed and sat down next to him, with his legs stretched out. He pulled Sherlock closer, so his head was now at the DIs chest.
The young Detective grabbed the white shirt immediately and buried his head in the soft fabric.
Gregs hand found the dark curls and gently caressed them.
"It's okay now...", he whispered when he realised that Sherlock was still shaking heavily, "...it's over..."
Lestrade placed a small kiss on the young mans head, "Everything is fine... John's takeing care of the victim..."
It was quiet.
Sherlocks whimpering was the only sound filling the still dark room.
"We're all alone, love... you can let go. It's okay... no one can see you."
Just seconds later, he heared the broken sobbing. Felt the tears on his shirt.
Sherlocks hands lost their grip and fell down. He was still trembling, but had hardly enough strength to hold his head.
Greg continued slowly massaging his curls.
They shared a few minutes of silence before the older man spoke again.
"What did he say to you...?"
Sherlock swallowed loudly.
Lestrade waited patiently for an answer, when it knocked on the door.
"I made the tea, Boss."
"Good. Just...", he looked at Sherlock, whom he really didn't want to let go off right now. But letting Sally in while Sherlock was literally breaking down in his arms wasn't an option, "Just... put it on the ground I'll get it in a few minutes. Thank you. You can leave now."
"Alright, Night."
Lestrade sighed for what felt like the hundreds time today. It was relief. Mostly. But also the attempt to stay calm which had worked so far. But the day wasn't over yet.
"...Sherlock...?", he spoke and moved a bit to get the consulting detective to look at him.
Still shaking.
"..should I get you the tea..? It might help you calm down a bit...", Lestrade couldn't hide the worry in his voice.
He knew Sherlock Holmes since 8 years, had spent one of these in a romantic relationship with the younger one and five working with him. Yet he hadn't ever seen him react to a case in this manner.
"...Sherlock...?"
The crying got louder again and Sherlocks sweaty forehead pressed against the inspectors strong chest.
Lestrade never felt as helpless as when he saw Sherlock shattering into millions of pieces. He tried hard to comfort him by holding and talking to the skinny detective. But he didn't feel like doing enough. He wanted to erase everything that ever hurt him. All the hunting nightmares and the worlds disapproval: when Sherlock didn't knew how to treat others nicer. When he just wasn't able to understand all these complicated feelings he and everyone around him had. He tried so hard after all.
"...shh...it's okay, dear...", he whispered into the curls as he kissed the hair again, "...I'm right here... I got you... I'll protect you...!"
If only he could protect him from getting hurt.
If only he wasn't already so dark on the inside.
Greg has started to rock slightly back and forwards after pulled Sherlock a bit closer.
"...talk to me, Sherlock..."
The white shirt was all wet with salty tears by now, but Greg didn't care, he just wanted to help. Help him feel better again. But it was so difficult to pick up the pieces and putting them back together, when it hurt your own heart so much to just see it. It nearly broke the Detective Inspectors organ to witness the horror his loved one felt.
The younger man opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a whimpering a sorrowful sound.
"I'll make sure he'll stay in prison...", Lestrade paused to breath and maintain his control instead of throwing a chair out of the window or kicking the desk.
Sherlock cramped. Greg could tell that he tried to stop crying, to get back to his normal self. But it didn't work. Not this time. This was far to much for him.
"...I love you...", Greg whispered mumbling into the dark hair. Still rocking him carefully.
He kept stroking his hair and holding him, trying to calm him. Sherlocks breath was so heavy, he'd start hyperventilating soon.
Minutes passed.
And the consulting detective tried to talk again.
"M-m- ...", his eyes were watering even more.
"Yes...?", he whispered, to show that he listened and cared and that it was okay to say it out loud.
"...mummy...", his voice was broken and hardly audible.
Lestrade closed his eyes for a second. Knowing what he meant. Mycroft had told him when they started looking for the criminal they just arrested.
It was a shock.
"...I know...", he assured him under his breath, "...it's over Sherlock... you're save... your mother is in a better world..."
He knew that the last sentence didn't make much sense and that Sherlock didn't really believe in this kind of thing. But he was just a kid when she died, so he hoped hearing this would help.
Sherlocks heart beat so fast, Greg was sure he could hear it. Not even his words made him come down.
"H-H-he- ..."
"Hmm?"
"...k-kn-knew-...", his fast breath and constant crying wasn't allowing him to form a full sentence, "... h-him..."
It took a minute until Lestrade really realised what Sherlock just told him.
His eyes widened.
The man they caught this evening knew Sherlock Holmes' father, who has been dead for almost sixteen years now.
"Oh god-", he closed his eyes and counted to ten. This was horrifying.
"...He told you that...!", Lestrade pressed Sherlock closer to his chest and let his head touch Sherlocks.
If only he could to something!
The young detective struggled.
"H-he.. told him-"
Lestrade wasn't sure how long he'd be able to stand this conversation. It made him so angry and broke his heart in more pieces than he could count.
"...'bout beating.. h-her...", Sherlock was lost in attempts to catch his breath in a sea of tears.
The felon had kept beaten his ten year old daughter, for staying out of school twice, since he kidnapped her two weeks ago.
Sherlock found them and convicted the man, while John was stuck at the yard.
The only thing Greg wanted to to now, was punch that person with a chair!
And make Sherlock stop crying...
"..it's over now...", he repeated.
Sherlock kept sobbing and couldn't bring out another word that night.
But Lestrade knew what he was thinking. For once in his life he had a clear impression of what was going on in the genius' mind.
Sherlocks mother had sent him to boarding school when he was eight, to prevent the father from beating him to death. A year later she died after he was drinking all night long. The old Holmes never got imprisoned for what he did. But died six years after that when he was drinking way too much.
Sherlock was a sobbing mess and Lestrade tried hard to calm and comfort him. But this would take a while. It wasn't just someone calling him names. They had arrested a man who knew his father. Someone he told about beating his wife and son.
But Lestrade held him the whole night. He didn't sop when Sherlock fell asleep, exhausted from crying so much, in his lap. He didn't sop when the sun rose. He didn't stop when the officers came to work. And he still held him when Sherlock woke up again, looking broken and about to continue crying.
Lestrade wouldn't stop being there for Sherlock. Wouldn't stop holding him. Ever. It was the only thing he could to to comfort him. To chase the nightmares away.
No matter if he was a cold and snobby genius or a shattered porcelain doll.
Lestrade had always been there since they knew each other.
And he always would.
- end -