A/N: A wee, sad oneshot that fits with my other Lestradefic, but can be read separately. Enjoy!
Little Emily
The judge in charge of the Lestrade custody case sat in her study, going over her notes. The case was a straight-forward, if interesting, one. Little Emily was a quiet eight-year-old girl with thick, blond hair and brown eyes. Her psychologist claimed she loved both her parents deeply, and had no preference between them.
Although the court usually tried to keep children with their biological mothers in most cases, the father, one Gregory Lestrade, had several things going for him. He made significantly more than his wife (Scotland Yard did not skimp on their salaries), and, unlike her, had not been unfaithful to his marriage vows. Yes, the father was going to get his little girl this time. The judge smiled to herself and began to write up her verdict.
Before she had written two sentences, however, an intern, pink-faced and breathless, burst into her office. "Thought you'd want this," he painted, thrusting a newspaper into her hands, "It's about the Lestrade case."
"Thanks..." she said, more than a bit confused.
"No problem" he gasped, and turned to leave.
The newspaper was turned to the front page. The headline read "Sherlock Holmes: Famous Fraud?" In the lower left corner of the page, an article entitled "Scotland Yard DI Facing Inquiry" was circled in red pen. Within the article, the words "DI Gregory Lestrade", "fraud", "inquiry", "pay cut", "probation", and "discredited" were highlighted in electric blue.
The judge read the article, and whistled quietly. Not only did DI Lestrade now make less than his soon-to-be ex-wife, he could loose his job at any moment. Mrs Lestrade may be sleeping around, but she could at least guarantee feeding little Emily. The judge felt she could not, as a moral person, condemn such a pretty little girl to instability and who knows what! DI Lestrade was disgraced – if he lost this job it was unlikely he'd find a new one. Satisfied with her decision, the judge wrote up the verdict and sent it to the concerned parties.
On the other side of London, a silver-haired man whispered the words "I'll be right there" into his mobile, shut it, and slumped back in his chair. His mind could not process the news he'd just gotten: Sherlock Holmes was dead.
An icon popped onto the screen of his desktop computer with an incongruously cheerful jingle. He had mail. He checked to see who sent it, and when he saw it was from the custody office, he opened it immediately. As he read it, the tears welled up in his eyes and dripped down onto the keyboard. He had nothing left. He'd lost his little girl.
A/N: Ooooooh I'm mean. Please review!