"I know you don't want to be here," Lestrade mumbled, keeping his eyes from the man sitting on the other side of the desk. "I just..."
It was uncharacteristic for him to be at a loss for words, in John's opinion, but it was understandable. Neither of them wanted to be sitting in an office, and neither of them wanted to have any sort of discussion at all about the events that transpired.
"All I want to know," John said in a carefully restrained voice, "is if you believed it. Do you think Sh-" He just couldn't force it out, it was as if the name was stuck in his throat. "Could he have made it all up. Tell me that." It wasn't even a question. He didn't want an answer. He didn't want to think about any of it.
"No," said Lestrade gently. "Much of a prick that he is, he wouldn't do that."
John nodded and stood abruptly. "If you need any other input from me, you've got my number, yeah? Yeah." He gave a half-wave, still not looking at the detective in the face. He turned and strode from the office, pausing at a particular desk.
"You warned me," he muttered to Donovan, who jumped slightly and scattered a few papers on the desk. "You warned me that eventually we'd be standing around a body and he would have been the one to put it there. Well congratulations, you were right. Although I suppose none of us could have predicted that it would have been his own damn body." Scrubbing a hand across his face, he whirled and marched back towards the exit.
She set about rearranging the mess she had previously made, resolutely not looking at John's retreating form.
A/N: I'm really freaking sorry. I just noticed this when I rewatched everything with my parents... Thought that if I was in pain about it than the rest of the fandom should be as well. *hangs head in despair* Let's just hop in the TARDIS and go to November, there's so much waiting for us there.