Spoilers for 3x02 The Lying Detective. Not mine, etc. etc.
*voice cracking* "I don't want to die"
This case was going to be one of those that haunted Lestrade. It had been a long and hectic couple of weeks. He'd hardly had a moment to stop and breathe. Interviewing Culverton Smith and documenting his confession, gathering evidence, dealing with the media, his higher ups and the politicians, sorting through dozens of files on the victims. So many victims...
"I like to make people into things."
He sighed and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his neck. The whole nation was reeling from the shock and would be for a long time, Lestrade contemplated. This wouldn't be over for a long time.
And then a small file had landed on his desk. Of course they'd dropped the attempted stabbing case against Sherlock. It was easily swept under given what had come to light, what Sherlock had brought to light (and in what a way, that recording was one of those things which would haunt him...). In all the insanity of the past week, it was nearly forgotten, even.
"I really hit him, Greg.. hit him hard"
It was spoken as an after-thought, almost, casual, if a bit remorseful, and it had been easy to dismiss at the time. Who didn't want to hit the bastard sometimes? John was grieving and had just stopped their (gone completely off his rocker on drugs) friend murdering an (God, how could no one see?) innocent man. It had been so easy to dismiss, bloody knuckles and all. Yeah, Sherlock had ended up in a hospital bed, but that was his own doing, wasn't it?
"I want you to kill me"
He stared down at the hospital report in front of him, detailing the injuries Sherlock had sustained (contusions to the face, orbital rim fracture, fractured ribs, blunt force trauma to the abdomen...) and it didn't feel so easy to dismiss anymore. He read the interviews (he'd done John's at the station, as his friend and primary witness, colleagues had done the rest of the witnesses at the scene. This was his first time reading it given what else had landed in his lap...) and they painted an entirely different picture to the one he'd imagined.
They'd had to drag John off him, still kicking. And Sherlock... Sherlock for his part had made no effort whatsoever to defend himself and had made some disturbing comments before losing consciousness.
"Let him do what he wants... He's entitled... I killed his wife."
"It's okay." It's okay...
God, he'd been there! He understood the desire to blame Sherlock, the arrogant clot, but it wasn't his fault, he wasn't the one that pulled the trigger, and Mary had made a choice. None of this was okay.
"Take a big breathe if you want."
Amazing he really hadn't thought things could get any worse. But here he was, contemplating what he must to do to one of his best friends, a single new father grieving his murdered wife, on behalf of one of their mutual friends (and he wasn't ashamed of it, because for everything else Sherlock had ever done, he's a good man. A good man. He felt giddy and nauseous simultaneously at the thought. He'd laid himself down for the slaughter, and not for the first time, to take down an evil man and to save a man who'd just nearly beaten him to death. And he knew he wouldn't hesitate to do it again. How many lives could one man really have? The game had consequences and it terrified the hardened police inspector.)
"You made... a vow"
"and off... you... pop" *alarms sounding*
This wasn't the first case of domestic violence he'd had in his career (Cripes, is that really what this was? They're best friends!). He knew the line had been crossed and that it would probably happen again. He'd told victims (geeze, Sherlock...) how many times that there was nothing they could have done to deserve it? But it'd been so easy to dismiss given the energetic and insufferable force that was Sherlock Holmes and he wondered, this time on his behalf, what warning signs he'd missed.
"Its amazing..." *recorded sounds of struggle* "what people are willing to ignore..."
Lestrade shuddered. He wanted nothing more than to tuck into a stiff drink right now. These things were always messy, but the law was clear, and he wasn't going to be doing any sweeping again, that would help no one. Lestrade picked up his phone, "Hi John, its Greg. Listen, can you come down to the station? Yeah, its necessary. Make sure someone can keep Rosey, this might take a while. Right, see you soon."
He exhaled into his lap and fervently wished for that drink.