Just a little oneshot spawned from a plot bunny.. I just really wanted to write Lestrade. I absolutely adore him, and I don't think he ever believed what Donovan and Anderson said about Sherlock..

Warnings: spoilers for The Reichenbach Fall and mentions of blood

Disclaimer: Clearly I don't own Sherlock..

Greg hadn't known what it had meant when he received a text saying, "Greg… look after John… please. –SH" that afternoon. He hadn't even seen John since… well, since he'd tried to arrest him after he punched his superior. (He was still waiting for the fallout from that, by the way.) He was puzzling over its meaning when Donovan came into his office. She looked scared, almost… sad.

"S-sir?" she said cautiously.

"What?" he snapped.

Donovan chewed her lip for a moment before blurting out, "Lestrade, I'm so sorry! If I had known it would go this far, I wouldn't have said anything!"

Great, he thought, now I've been sacked. Perfect.

"Look, Donovan, just calm yours-"

"Sherlock Holmes jumped off St. Bart's!"

Greg felt the colour drain from his face as he repeated, "What?"

"He… he jumped off the roof at Bart's," she stammered, "I'm sorry, I'm so-"

He shoved past her angrily and practically ran out of the building to his car. His thoughts raced as he sped to St. Bart's. This was a lie. This could not be happening. Sherlock liked himself far too much to kill himself. Even all this recent scandal wouldn't be enough to make him do that. He'd want to solve the mystery, figure out how it had been done. He wouldn't just give up… not like this… not when there was a mystery to solve.

The DI arrived at Bart's in record time. There was a crowd hovering around that he pushed his way through, and he almost retched when he did. There was a huge pool of blood on the concrete that had once flowed through his friend. Donovan showed up with the team not long after and started shooing everyone away and cordoning off the area. Greg asked around to figure out what happened. One of the witnesses showed him a video on her mobile of what happened; he almost retched again. He watched the grainy video of his friend taking a swan dive off the roof, heard the sickening crack as he hit the pavement behind a rubbish truck. He was thankful he didn't have to actually see Sherlock hit the ground; he knew he couldn't handle that. One of his team came over, looking scared like Donovan had earlier. All he said was, "Lestrade, sir… it's Dr. Watson…"

Greg's heart sank. He thought, Oh, God, please tell me he didn't see it, as he hurried in the direction he was shown. John was seated on the ground, surrounded by paramedics, draped with an orange blanket. Greg gently pressed in and shooed off the paramedics for a while. John's eyes were blank, staring at nothing in particular. The DI swore under his breath. He stepped closer, kneeling by him, and called John's name softly a few times until he finally looked at him. Greg bit back a gasp. John looked… hollow. Like someone had ripped his soul from his body and utterly destroyed it. His hand moved of its own accord, resting on John's shoulder. John just looked at him, shocked and scared. Greg sighed and simply said, "Let's get you home, John. Come on."

He carefully pulled the doctor to his feet, blanket still draped over his shoulders, and gently steered him to his police car. Silence reigned on the way to 221B. John seemed physically incapable of speech. Greg led him up the stairs into 221B's sitting room, trying to keep an eye on him. The doctor looked so completely lost and alone that it almost broke Greg right there. His chest felt tight as he quietly said, "Go sit down. I'll make tea," and went into the kitchen. He had everything out and ready to go when he heard it.

"Greg?"

Just his name in a broken, hoarse voice. He immediately went to look at John, who was shaking visibly. The blue eyes were shining with tears now. He moved closer.

"Greg… tell me this isn't real. Tell me it's a nightmare so I can wake up," he pleaded.

"John," he answered in a thick voice, "John, I'm sorry… so, so sorry…"

"He's gonna come back. He has to," John said, "I need him. He can't leave."

The DI sat beside him on the couch, still watching him carefully. Finally, he said softly, "I never believed them, y'know… Donovan and Anderson. Not for a minute. I don't believe any of this bollocks about Sherlock being a fake… and I know you don't, either."

"He tried to convince me he was," John choked out, "He tried to make me believe he was lying, said he'd researched me, that no one could be that clever. And then… then he made me watch him jump. Told me to watch him, and he jumped. I had to watch him- God!"

The doctor finally broke down, putting his face in his hands and sobbing wretchedly. Greg automatically put his arm around John, trying to comfort him. His whole body shook violently under Greg's hand. The sound of John's wailing caused tears to fall from his own eyes. He wondered vaguely if he should have brought him here. Instead, he rubbed John's back, ran his fingers through the blonde hair. When the doctor sobbed, "He c-can't b-be gone! I n-need him still! I-I n-need him," Greg wrapped his arms around him and rocked him gently, whispering, "I know, John. I know."

Greg acutely felt the tears sting his eyes and fall down his cheeks. Poor John… he didn't deserve this. No one did. He continued to hold John, even after he stopped crying, and neither man complained. At long last, the doctor whispered in a hoarse voice, "When is he coming back, Greg? I want him to come home."

The DI felt his chest constrict painfully again and murmured, "I don't know, John… I just don't know."

God, Sherlock… please don't be dead. For John's sake, don't be dead.

Reviews and concrit are love..