"What happened?"

John opened his mouth as if to speak, but a choked sob came out instead. He closed it and shook his head, face buried in his hands.

"I know this is hard for you." Lestrade reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. "But we need the statement. Tell me what happened." He pressed firmly, yet not unkindly.

"I'm sorry, I can't." John whispered quietly. "I don't...Lestrade, I don't remember what happened."

"It's okay, you're probably still in shock." Lestrade replied, sadness in his voice.

John shook his head again, more insistently this time. "No, it's not that, Detective Inspector. I mean, I literally don't remember what happened after Mycroft and I walked in the room."

"According to Mycroft, his sister told Sherlock to shoot either him or you. Is this correct?" Lestrade asked gently.

John looked up, a blank look in his eyes. "Who's Sherlock?"