Author's Note: I present to you the net portion of my Circle series, 2π. If you haven't noticed each f the titles are mathematical equivalents for a complete circle. I'm fond of educational humor. Yes this is humorous to me. Moving on. This is a Mystrade story set between The Fall and The Resurrection, so between Circle and 360. My first "official" Mystrade story, so here you have it. Enjoy.
Lestrade was sitting at his desk when he received the call.
Sherlock Holmes was dead.
A fall.
Suicide.
He dropped the phone, moisture gathering at the corners of his eyes that he quickly wiped away.
His next thought was of John.
John Watson, the man in love with Sherlock Holmes.
The man who had given so much and ran so far for the mad detective.
The detective Inspector went to pick up the phone once more, to inform his friends of Sherlock's passing, when DI Dimmock stepped into the room, a smug looking Anderson at his side.
He slammed the paper onto Lestrade's desk, is features solemn.
"There you are then. Suspended until further notice."
He simply nodded, moving to stand.
"Your belongings are being held as evidence as part if the inquiry against you."
Another nod.
Of course.
He'd be investigated as an accomplice of the criminal mastermind that they were making his friend out to be.
He made to move past his desk, but was stopped by Anderson.
"Are, ahh, are you going to arrest me, or am I allowed to go home for the time being."
His voice was hoarse with the overwhelming sense of loss that slammed into him.
Anderson sneered at him.
"Sound a little croaky there Lestrade. Guilt getting to you?"
The detective Inspector clenched his fists as he took a menacing step forward, rage mixing with his sorrow.
"I just learned that a damn good friends of mine is dead, another friend has just lost his lover. I've lost my job,certainly my home and everything in it, and you expect me to remain stoic?"
He shook his head, snatching the letter from his desk hottily before pushing his face mere inches from the forensic scientist's.
"I will be back. When the truth comes out and Sherlock's name is cleared I'll be right back in this office."
Anderson snorted.
"Your fake genius has left you Greg. You're done. Over with."
Lestrade stormed out of the office, his face red as he strode through the halls, out of the front door on New Scotland Yard.
He nearly wept in relief at the black towncar parked upfront, Mycroft's assistant meaning against the door.
"Mr. Holmes has requested your presence-"
He project of her speech with a hug, sudden warmth startling the unsuspecting woman.
"Thank god you're here."
She awkwardly patted his back, unsure of how to respond to the situation.
"Mr. Lestrade, would you please get into the car."
He nodded pulling away and wiping the tear from his eye.
She smiled at him sympathetically, a trace of red tinting her own cheeks.
"After you-"
He held open the door, and she obliged, slipping in quietly.
The car ride was silent save for the clicking of fingers against the screen of Anthea's phone.
No sooner had they pulled up to Mycroft's manner did Lestrade break down, stubborn tears leaking down his cheeks, his breath growing shallow as he taught the urge to sob.
Mycroft himself opened the door, gathering the man into his arms and pressing his face into the crook of his neck.
"He's gone Myc. I can't believe he's gone."
The politician clung to the man in his arms tightly, words failing him.
"Do you know wha-"
He stopped, swallowing the lump in throat.
"Why he he just-"
Mycroft nodded, his cheeks brushing against the other man's hair.
"Moriarty."
Lestrade let out a stuttering sigh, squeezing the politician before pulling back slightly.
"Is he-"
"Moriarty himself has been eliminated. Sherlock assured that. The details of the happenings have yet to be brought to light. My people recovered Sherlock's cell phone from the scene and are working on recovering the files from it. Doctor Watson's story however-"
Greg stepped away fully, his eyes wide with shock.
"What, do you mean John was there?"
Mycroft sighed, moving to place his hand on The small of Lestrade's back.
"Let's discuss this inside, shall we?"
He nodded, leaning into his partner as they walked up the stone steps, tread heavy against the marble floors as they made their way to a private sitting room.
The dim evening light filtered in through the stained glass windows, allowing a calming glow fall over the room.
Lestrade fell into an armchair, his head buried in his hands.
"Did John, did he-"
Mycroft sighed, moving to pour two tumblers of scotch.
"He saw the whole thing I'm afraid."
Lestrade nodded, downing his scotch and rubbing his eyes wearily.
"Is someone, is there someone with him? He shouldn't be alone."
Mycroft sighed.
"At this time he is finishing processing for his arrest."
Lestrade' eyes widened.
"What? Why on earth-"
He paused, shaking his head.
"He's being treated as an accomplice in the crime's thy're pinning on Sherlock."
The politician nodded.
"As well as for is own crimes. Let'snot forget he did physically assault the superintendent and evade police custody."
Greg slumped in his chair, the empty glass hanging loosely in his finger tips.
"Please tell me that you're going to get him out Myc. He doesn't need any of that. You know they've gotta be harassing him."
He sat forward, elbows on his knees.
"I can see it now. Gullible John Watson. The good doctor who fell in love with the biggest fraud in London. Christ, and the officer's will be the worst."
Mycroft simply nodded, sipping gingerly from his glass.
"I've already got my assistant in place to post his bail when they announce it though that will most likely be after the funeral."
Greg sat his glass down, running his fingers through his hair before glancing up, eyes guilt ridden.
"Fuck, I haven't even asked how you were doing. He was your brother for Christ's sake."
The politician, took another sip of his scotch, swirling the glass before bringing himself to meet Greg's eyes.
"I'm coping Gregory. I-this, it's all very unfortunate."
The detective's eyes narrowed, his chest tightening with anger.
"Unfortunate? A madman drove your fucking brother to commit suicide and all you can say is that it's unfortunate?"
He stood, his body shaking with anger.
"He was your brother Mycroft. Your fucking brother. I know you care damn it. I saw you cry when he nearly overdosed. I was there whe nyou walked him through rehab. As much as you don't want to admit it you loved your brother, yet his death is only unfortunate?"
He shook his head, ignoring the pained expression on Mycroft's features.
"I'm going for a walk Mycroft Holmes."
He stormed out of the room, angry and upset.