Author's note: This is a companion piece to "How Not to Keep a Promise", but you certainly don't need to read that to understand this story. It's only a companion piece in so far that it's about Anderson (does he even have a first name?), while the other fic is about Sally.
And, yes – he is portrayed far less sympathetic than the sergeant (though I still try to give him reasons for his dislike). That's because I think that Sally, deep down, has some respect for Sherlock, while Anderson appears to be more spiteful to me. But that's just my interpretation, and my obsession with Sherlock.
I don't own anything, and please review.
Just when he had thought that, for once, life was fair, Sherlock Holmes had to jump off a building.
Of course he did. It's not like the great detective could actually live through a trial and own up the truth. No, he had to go and commit suicide and suddenly everyone – while still admitting he'd been a fraud, mind you, but who cared about that now – was oh so sorry.
It's not like he isn't sorry a little bit, about Lestrade, that is. But in the end, the DI had simply trusted the wrong person – a psychopath. He'd always known Holmes to be nothing else. And his big, epic friendship with Doctor Watson? Cover story, obviously. Just another nice, well meaning person who had been taken in. Like the DI. And that was in no way Anderson's fault. So he doesn't think too much about it. Now, that he thinks about it, maybe he isn't even that sorry after all.
He'd thought Sally would agree with him – he'd been sure of it. But Sally, who'd never called Holmes by another name than "freak", who by now is leading the taskforce that's reinvestigating the cases the amateur detective (he's never called him consulting detective, that's just another thing Holmes made up because he could), is suddenly pulling away from him. She isn't even asking him to help with the evidence anymore – and they haven't had sex ever since Holmes decided to take a dive of St. Bart's. Oh well. At least he's still got his wife (he was never going to leave her anyway).
Turns out she leaves him, instead. And, to add insult to injury, she makes it clear that his "gloating over a tragic death" was the "final straw". Good Lord, it's a good thing they didn't have children. Imagine that, a house full of people who don't allow you to express your opinion.
It's bad enough he can't even do that at work anymore, not after what happened with Lestrade.
The DI had been to one of his hearings, and Anderson had wanted to cheer him up in passing – it's not like he doesn't have any respect for his ex-boss (or soon to be ex-boss, there's barely a difference) anymore.
He'd come as far as "Well, at least you won't have to see the face of the amateur again, so you can blame most of it on him –". The next he remembers is lying on the floor with a bloody nose, his colleagues looking the other way and the DI walking away like nothing happened. And by the looks the others kept shooting him in the following days, he knew that it's in his best interest never to mention what happened again.
At least he's now sure of one thing: Both the DI and Doctor Watson must be insane. It's the only explanation to grieve over a psychopath who never cared for another human being in his life.
He can't believe it when he meets Sally in the corridor one day and she only stops to tell him that Holmes turns out to have been right more often than she thought. Then, on the other hand, he isn't surprised. Whoever can invent himself an archenemy can probably sneak into the lab at night and look at the results of the forensics.
No, what really gets to him is that he finds out – quite by accident – that Sally has been visiting his grave, almost as if looking for redemption. He doesn't need to be forgiven. There is nothing to forgive. Someone took his own life, and he isn't even sure if it's a pity or not. The world can do much better without Sherlock Holmes, in his opinion.
He's actually angry that nobody ever wanted to hear his opinion. He wasn't envious, he wasn't jealous of the amateur.
He just doesn't believe in bringing people who have no reason to be there to crime scenes. He doesn't believe in miracles, never has, so he always knew there had to be a trick behind Holmes' "deductions".
And he may not be the nicest person in the world – as his wife, Lestrade, Sally, Doctor Watson and even, one day, a guy he's never seen before, sort of fat, with glasses, passing him in the corridor of St. Bart's, let him know on a regular basis. But he draws a line.
He draws this line when relatives are grieving over a loss while standing shocked in front of a crime scene. He draws this line when children begin to scream. He draws this line when other people are put in danger (even if they happen to be an insane doctor who's clearly an adrenaline junkie). He draws the line when a whole case is put in jeopardy because someone – he's not saying who – broke the chain of evidence once again.
He draws the line when he sees a bloody foot print on a bullet wound that killed a serial killer. Yes, he was a serial killer, but there is only one person who was in the room with him. One person to make him feel unnecessary pain as he lay dying.
Why did nobody else realize? Why did nobody else notice? Maybe because they didn't want to. Lestrade needed a project (the DI has always been a bit of a saint, it's his biggest weakness – well, if he doesn't punch people in the fact, that is), and, in a way, Holmes had been his pet project – he still thinks it was the DI who got the amateur of the cocaine a few years ago. The doctor had needed a friend and excitement. Well, he has that now, alright. Anderson hopes he's happy.
Richard Brook, the actor Holmes hired, appears to have gone missing the day of the "Fall from Grace". He only hopes he got away in time, but he isn't very optimistic. It's Holmes we're talking about here, after all.
It's a good thing it all came out when it did, because looking at the increasingly erratic way he behaved – imagine, even when he knew that everyone was watching him during the case of the kidnapped children of the American Ambassador, smiling like a madman, satisfied in knowing it was all his fault – Holmes would have snapped soon and most likely killed people just for the fun of it.
Not, it's good it's all over. And one day, Anderson himself snaps and makes that clear at work. So that everyone can hear him.
He's actually rather satisfied with himself, that day, as he walks to his car.
Until he spots the black limousine with the tainted windows and the open door parked next to it, that is.
Author's note: Shorter than the one about Sally, but there isn't much one can do with Anderson, after all – we only know that he cheats on his wife and that Sherlock loves to insult him – I love it when he does that, btw.
And I put Mike Stamford in – I couldn't resist, wasn't it nice of him to introduce Sherlock and John? Imagine if he hadn't.
I hope you enjoyed this story.