"Well, he finally cracked," Lestrade said, coming in from the interrogating room.
I squirmed in my chair and asked, "So, was I correct? He didn't kill him. His sister did. Right?"
Lestrade and the team faced a case and he asked me to come in and give my deductions since… it happened.
He sits down next to me and says, "No. He shot the man."
I sigh, slightly disappointed, "Oh. Sorry, Lestrade. I guess his skills didn't really rub off on me."
"It's alright, John," he says, "Don't be sorry. It's all on me, really. I shouldn't have asked you to come in and expect that you'd just be like him."
I cringe a little. He pats me on the back and says, "Maybe the next case."
As he stands up and walks to leave the room, I clear my throat and say, "No, Lestrade."
He turns back and says, "What?"
"I will never be like Sherlock," I say, my chest hurting a bit. My throat feels weird too, "I will never be like him."
Lestrade just looks at me and says nothing so I continue.
"I thought I could be like him, you know," I say, staring at the corner, laughing a bit, "But no. I'm not, I can't. I want to be though, so badly. I thought that maybe if I helped with the cases and gave great deductions, he'd be back, somehow. He'd still be here in some way. But no, Lestrade. He's gone."
"He isn't gone, John. He's still here in all of us. In you, especially. It's really hard for all of us now, but you shouldn't feel so bad," he says, smiling a bit, "No one can be an annoying, smart-ass show-off like him, you know."