The Songs of Angry Men.

Lestrade backstory inspired by the Sofie series by Morgan_Stuart. I don't own Sherlock or Les Mis. This is in the same series as No One Mourns The Wicked, but can be read as a stand alone.


Lestrade was taking his Mother-in-Law out. It was the least he could do, she'd practically been raising his daughter since his wife died. Tonight, Sophie was at a sleepover for one of her friends birthdays and Lestrade had tickets for a show. Les Miserables.

"Wait," he leaned over to whisper in her ear, "19 years for a loaf of bread? That's not right."

"Five years for the bread, the rest because he kept trying to escape. Shush."

Look down, look down, don't look 'em in the eye...

Lestrade saw the way the people treated the man who had only tried to do the right thing. Yes, he'd stolen, but it was to try and save a child's life. He saw how everyone treated the man, who was only trying his best, like a criminal. And for what? He'd been clean for a while now. But they couldn't see past the crime, and they kept on reminding him of it, when he was just trying to survive.

And Javert. He was just trying to follow the law, and he was so sure he was doing the right thing. He wasn't evil, merely misguided.

If Jean Valjean had just done his time instead of fighting the system constantly...

When Jean Valjean betrayed the Bishop's trust, stealing the silver, Lestrade felt strangely justified.

He felt like nodding and saying 'see? He trusted him and he was a thief, just like Javert said'.

Then the Bishop gave Jean Valjean the benefit of the doubt, and some more silver, and Lestrade had to feel guilty. Especially as he watched Jean Valjean turn his life around as Javert chased after and persecuted him.

Fantine's descent into prostitution was sickening. It was something he'd seen too damn often. Intelligent, good people being forced down a dark road. Usually drugs were involved. He'd played Jean Val Jean's role more than once, trying to salvage something from the wreckage of their lives.

He watched the rebellion build, and sighed, knowing it would end badly.

When Javert showed up again, persecuting without thought, Lestrade was uncomfortably reminded of Donovan. And that led him to thoughts of Sherlock, which felt like pressing on a half healed cut. He thought about how Sherlock held himself and how he'd acted when around the team. His shoulders tight and taut, his casual hostility, the way he radiated tension. Then he thought about how Sherlock had been when it was just the three of them. Him, John and Sherlock. There was a moment of tension, but it soon faded, and while Sherlock still lacked tact, he wouldn't call it hostility.

Can this man be believed?
Shall his sins be forgiven?
Shall his crimes be reprieved?

Javert's realisation and suicide was painful.

Watching Jean Valjean and Marius in the sewers, Lestrade remembered a dead body and a lie.

Ignore me. I'm in shock. I've got a blanket and everything. And then, slightly too loud, a little too worried. Are you alright?

In the finale, he pressed his fingers against his eyes. He wasn't crying, exactly, but he could have been. He took his Mother-in-Law home and then he went home and had his first cigarette in a very long time.