Everyone excited for the new series?

Anyway, this is the first in a series of one-shots from each of the other character's points of view after Sherlock's "death". Thought it might be better to get it up now, since the series is back on January 1st *screams and hugs Sherlock poster.*

Anyway, here's the first, and it's from Greg Lestrade. Leave me a review if you like it.

He'd be the first to say that he wished Sherlock were still here.

Lestrade always liked Sherlock, contrary to what the consulting detective thought-he was exasperated by him, frustrated by him, occasionally wanted to grab hold of his throat and ruddy throttle him-but he always liked him. Was fond of him, so to speak.

From the moment he first met Sherlock-when he started showing up at crime scenes six years ago-he was annoyed, he was frustrated, he was downright furious on some occasions, but he was impressed. More than impressed, and not just at his deductions, brilliant though they were. He loved Sherlock's whole way of thinking, the way his mind worked, lightning fast, leaping from thought to thought, connecting facts and conclusions and realizations in less time than it took Lestrade to remember he should really put the kettle on.

And yeah, Sherlock could be-Greg pulled at his collar ruefully-there was no other way to put it, a bloody nuisance sometimes. He was. But it was a part of that that made Greg smile. Because there was something about that-that complete unabashedness that was a part of Sherlock, a part as intrinsic as his intellect, or the contempt that would flicker across his face when he thought someone was being particularly moronic. Something about someone who was so completely themselves. So extraordinary.

Greg sometimes wondered if Sherlock was so himself because he was so extraordinary or if he was so extraordinary because he was so himself.

But now-

Greg couldn't think about it for too long. If he did, he'd go to pieces. So he worked for longer and longer hours each night, struggled to solve as many cases as possible, to catch as many criminals as there were in the city, because that-he liked to think-is what Sherlock would have wanted.

No doubt, Sherlock could have solved half these cases over the phone, but this was the best he, Greg Lestrade, could do.

The best way he could make up for ever doubting Sherlock.

Because he didn't believe what everyone else said. Never really had. Sherlock was Sherlock, and Greg had seen what he did. No matter what the others said, it couldn't be a lie. It couldn't be.

He knew that people didn't share his opinion. He knew that people thought he was crazy, that he'd been fooled the same way as everyone else.

But he knew better.

So he kept his head down and got on with his work. And he tried to ignore the fact that nowadays, on difficult cases, there was no-one to text, no-one to call. No tall figure in a trench coat, bending over a body and reciting an entire life story gleaned from the victim's fingernails. No doctor standing calmly to the side, waiting to open his mouth when Sherlock's tirade began to carry him too far. No happy answer at the end of it all, delivered with a raised eyebrow and a sigh of condescension, which Greg would accept with pleasure, simply for the benefit of knowing the truth.

They don't speak Sherlock's name anymore. They find it easier not to.

And besides, to say his name would be to remember. Remember his own split-second of doubt.

Because there had been that moment-that breath-long moment, staring at Sherlock, holding that gun, when he'd wondered if it was possible that there was anything, even a tiny, tiny fragment of truth in the accusations.

It had left his mind almost immediately-the second Sherlock had grabbed hold of John, holding the gun beside his head, Lestrade had known. No matter what happened, Sherlock-he wouldn't hurt John. Greg was almost sure. He wouldn't hurt John.

But there had been that moment of doubt. That moment, of puzzlement. That moment, of wondering.

That moment, of questioning the man he'd known for six years. Questioning the man he'd thought he was. Questioning the answers he'd always given them. Questioning the truth that he, Greg Lestrade, had always believed in without question.

That one moment of questioning. One moment of doubt.

And he couldn't get rid of that. And he couldn't forget that.

And so Greg Lestrade works harder and longer, and keeps his head down, and tries to move on, tries to complete more cases, to solve more crimes. Solve all the crimes.

Without Sherlock.

I'll be updating this daily, so expect another one tomorrow. Please leave a review.