I hope you guys enjoy this. It should be part one of 4 and have a rough idea of where I'm going, but if you have any ideas, don't hesitate to let me know! It's possibly a bit OOC but I was using artistic licence.

Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine.

Lestrade

5:45 – Asleep. No, really, I'm asleep. Definitely. Not pretending I am so I don't have to get up or anything. And definitely not pretending I am so I don't have to go downstairs and face breakfast. Alone. By myself. Nope, I am most definitely asleep.

6:00 – Alarm. Now, I'm awake.

6:05 – Getting in the shower. I enjoy showers. Is that weird? I expect it is, especially for a man. Especially for a man who also happens to be a Detective Inspector. I know I'll be more awake after this shower. And I'll smell of lemons. All lemon-ey and fresh.

6:30 – I smell like lemons now. Breakfast. Toast and marmalade – orange marmalade. Strange, I have such a normal home life and yet I don't think I've had a normal day's work since… well, I don't know. Since I met Sherlock at least. And I've definitely not had a normal day's work since he…

6:35 – In the car. It's stupid getting the car to the train station, then getting the train to work. But still, I work in the middle of London on a tight time schedule; I can't be late because of traffic or finding a parking space or anything like that. Especially now - I'm still being investigated for that Sherlock thing. I mean, is it my fault that Sherlock decided to become a criminal? And how come I'm the only one taking the blame for it? Other detectives, other better detectives, were hoodwinked by him too, so how come it's only me that's still under supervision? Why am I the only Detective Inspector in London confined to paperwork? Then again, I'm not the only man being punished. John Watson. Last time I saw him he got sent down for assaulting a police officer. 5 years, he got. And he'd lost Sherlock too. And it's not just him, either - Mrs Hudson lost them both.

7:00 – In work. It seems there's never any queues on the tube anymore. Not since that last explosion. I know I can catch the disgusting criminal who did it At least, I could have. Or, to be honest, Sherlock could have. But I am detective inspector, and I didn't get this rank because of Sherlock Holmes. I can catch criminals when I need to. But it seems that no one really remembers that. Sometimes I really, really hate Sherlock. Then I remember what happened to him, to John, to Mrs Hudson, to Molly. I don't even see Molly anymore. God knows why. I spend my days stuck in an office with bloody Donovan and Anderson – no, I didn't mean that. They're the only things keeping me sane at the moment.

7:45 – Granted myself a coffee break. Opened my computer to find 54 emails waiting for me. Last time I give myself the weekend off, let me tell you. So far trawled through 4 of them. Nothing interesting: an audit on stationary (why are there so many of these?); a congratulatory e-mail for keeping overtime low, despite my "heavy workload"; a note to remind me that I'm due in a disciplinary hearing in two weeks (yeah, because I really needed reminding); and a message from Anderson to tell me that Sally and he are at a crime scene – he doesn't need to tell me that. I am still the boss here, even if I am under office arrest, and I still demand respect from my colleagues. God, I miss working out there, in the real world. That's proper police work, not this light-hearted rubbish I'm being forced to do. I even miss Sherlock and his patronizing insults. Wow, I need to get a life.

8:30 – Two more cases landed on my desk this morning. Currently, I'm the only person in the office. Received a text from Donavon a few minutes ago; apparently her and Anderson have stopped for coffee. I let her know about the cases. They're long ones but I can tell that just from skim-reading them she can carry them on once I've been sacked or demoted or whatever they're planning on doing to me. I know they've got Sally Donovan lined up as my replacement –maybe that's why I'm being so hard on her, to get her ready for the job once I'm gone. Or, more likely, out of jealousy. That she'll be able to go on doing what I love when I'm… when I'm what? I don't know what I'll do. Policing is my life. Without it, who is Greg Lestrade? I was never this sentimental. Maybe Sherlock was rubbing off on me.

10:15 – Email from my solicitor. My wife wants a divorce.

11:00 – Donovan and co. are back. That has got to have been the longest coffee break ever. They're all buzzing from the crime scene from this morning: forensics, the amount of blood, young Merridew falling over and contaminating the crime scene. They've re-enacted it about 6000 times since they've breezed in. Donovan thinks it's a burglary gone wrong, Anderson thinks it's a crime of passion. I don't really care. I don't even know what's happened, I mean, I'm not even sure it was a murder. It could have been assault or rape or… I've sent Merridew to sober up. I might not be your typical down with the kids' type but I can still tell if someone's not quite got home yet. Especially when they're wearing yesterday's clothes and slurring. Given up on tackling the emails for now. I might offer to write up the case for them, put it on the board. Just because I'm not doing front line policing doesn't mean I can't get involved, right? They've not taken my badge away from me just yet.

11:45 – Back in my office. That was humiliating. They looked to her, not me. I sound like a toddler throwing a tantrum and you know what? I am throwing a tantrum. I have been in the force for years. Most of this team was with me way before Sally Donovan was even thinking of joining the force. So how come she's the one with all the respect? I was just giving the facts but then she jumps up, and they all listen. All of them. I mean, I know I'm not the most attractive man, or even the most interesting, but they could - no, theyshould pay me the courtesy of paying attention. To me. Not to her. I've given up. If I get to stay in the force, I might request a transfer. I get no respect here, not that I got much before to be honest. They can solve this case. It's obvious it's a fall out over money that got too far anyway. I never thought I'd say this but I'm sticking with the paperwork for the time being.

12:00 – I'm just going to have lunch in here. In safety. I've got sandwiches. Cheese ones. And tea, from my personal kettle. They don't have a personal kettle, they have to share one. Yes. I'm being childish. I'm allowed, I've been through trauma, there's probably some sort of mental illness I've got. I just don't want to be here anymore. Just in work, I mean, not that I want to die or anything. I think. No. I don't want to die. I couldn't. I've got too much to live for. Like…

12:15 – Do I want to die? I can't see why I would, but then I can't see why I wouldn't either. I don't even know what I'm supposed to do now. Talk to someone, maybe. Talk to who? Not Sally. Or Anderson, or Molly, or Merridew, or… There's no one else. Not really. Not even my wife. John's out of the question, I've heard he's attempted suicide three times in the last five months. I might just get back to work.

13:00 - … Bored.

13:30 – That email. It's from Mycroft Holmes. Sherlock's brother. Why does he want to talk to me? And why am I so scared to open it? It must be that I expect bad news. That much is obvious - nothing is going right today.

14:00 – I've just spent the last half an hour rereading the same ½ page of A4. He wants to meet me. Why? To talk about Sherlock, I guess. But why me? I've never even spoken to the man. Not directly, at least. I've spoken to his ... what would you call her? Personal assistant? He ordered me to go follow Sherlock to Baskerville. And I did. Why? Why would I follow the orders of a man I don't even know to go and spy on a… friend? And why on the orders of a man that very good friend was known to call his arch-nemesis? I suppose that was Sherlock, though, a drama queen. And I kind of wanted to follow him, I guess, I wanted to know what he was up to. Even I knew it wasn't a romantic weekend away, despite what the rumours were saying; romance isn't the first word I would use to describe Sherlock Holmes. Or John, for that matter. And talking about John, wouldn't Mycroft talk to him, if he wanted to talk about Sherlock. His brother and his… well, it would make more sense than talking to me. I barely knew the man. Well, I did go and see him at Christmas, but only because he asked me to, and only because I knew Molly wanted to go and I knew she wouldn't go alone. Anyway, I didn't stay long, I was working. And where was Mycroft? If he and his brother were so close, where was he at Christmas?

14:15 – Why am I so worked up over this email? Why didn't I just reply "yes" and find out what he wanted that way? I would have been a lot easier than trying to second guess the brother of the cleverest man alive. I guess that makes Mycroft the cleverest man alive now. Maybe that's why I didn't want to meet him - maybe I felt intimidated. That still makes no sense. I was intimidated by Sherlock. Then again, I only saw Sherlock for work. Except for that Christmas. But that was for Molly. I'm just going around in circles here…

14:30 - What do I even know about Mycroft? He's Sherlock's brother, of course, but apart from that? I could always run his name through the computer…

14:35 – His file's classified at the highest level. Way higher than me. Higher than the entirety of the police, if that's even possible. I don't even know why I did that… I wouldn't run anyone else's name through the database; I'd just reply and move on. That's what I'll do. Right now. Just reply. Say yes. It's easy.

15:00 – I said yes. So, why can I not stop thinking about it? I arranged to meet Thursday at 19:30 in La 's 2 days away. 52 and ½ hours. 3180 minutes. 190800 seconds. 190799. 190798. Why am I doing this?

15:30 – I've not felt this nervous for years. Not at Sherlock's post mortem. Not at my most recent disciplinary hearing. Not even thinking about this up and coming one. Not since my wedding day, to be honest. Oh God, I'm not nervous because… no. I can't be. I mean, I'm not… No. I've just got divorced. NO. I'm still married. I'm not…

17:00 – I'm just going to go home. This is doing my head in. I think, without a doubt, this has been the worst day of my life. I can't even think about Thursday. Or maybe I could, if I just relaxed and stopped worrying. Stop worrying, yeah, that'd be a luxury. I don't think I could stop worrying if you paid me. But when I do think about Thursday, without worrying I mean, I'm excited. It'll be the first time I've met someone who hasn't wanted to kill me since the whole Sherlock thing. Unless he wants to kill me, and that's why he's invited me out… Let's not even go there.

18:00 – Eating. There's nothing worse than eating alone. Not after you've eaten with others. On Thursday, I won't have to eat alone. (Shutting up now.)

18:30 – Showering. Again. I feel sick. And no, it's not nerves for Thursday. Well, it is, but its nerves for my hearing too. And my divorce. That's such an ugly word. Divorce. And more than that… my life. I've got no control over it, none at all. And I'm terrified. This time in two weeks I could have… nothing. No job. No family. No home, looking at my bank balance. Nothing.

19:00 – I need sleep. I can't cope with this. Not now. I feel like a kid again, going to bed early. I want someone to come and soothe me, like my mum did when I was little, to tell me it will all be all right and that nothing will go wrong. To tell me that when I wake up, my life will be back as it was. But then again, maybe it will be. God, I can't wait until Thursday. It will give me something to cling on to. Hopefully.

20:00 – Can't sleep.

21:00 – Still can't sleep.

22:00 – Still can't sleep. I might go get a drink.

00:10 – Asleep.

Thanks for reading, and please, please review! For me! Even if it's just to say it was awful! :D