Chapter 10
Retribution
Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade never slept soundly. Not in all the years he had been on the police force had he gotten a decent night of sleep that wasn't the product of some over the counter pharmaceutical pill. Tonight he drifted in and out of his rest, the stress of work clinging to his body in the form of a headache. It had been exactly a week since Detective Inspector Marvin Ezell had called him, claiming that the man he so frequently consulted had turned out to be a mad killer who has slaughtered half a family and maimed the other half. Lestrade couldn't believe what he had been hearing. He went there, to South Brondette. It wasn't until Detective Inspector Ezell showed him the crime scene that Lestrade crumbled.
The evidence was overwhelming. One of Sherlock's coats, covered in Rachel Hawthorn's blood. A rope in the pocket with some of Elaine Hawthorn's hair wrapped around it. A heavy metal spanner with Sherlock's fingerprints on it that had been identified as the weapon that had killed Michael Hawthorn. Sara and Damon Hawthorn had been witnesses to Sherlock killing Daniel Hawthorn. Scott Hawthorn had been a witness to Sherlock attempting to strangle Elaine and Elaine had backed it up. Rachel had been in the ICU for two days but had come out and identified Sherlock as the man who had stabbed her.
Scott had then testified that Sherlock had chased him down the hill, across the bridge and that there, by the water's edge they had fought for control of the gun. Scott admitting to shooting Sherlock and watching him disappear over the falls, claiming self-defense.
"I was in fear for my life, and the lives of the people I loved. The man left me no choice." He had said when interviewed.
The shame was overwhelming. Lestrade could barely force himself to go back to working. The massacre had made almost worldwide news. People were offering obscene amounts of money to Lestrade to give interviews, all of which he declined.
Despite the fact that the evidence was damming, despite the deaths, fingerprints, testimony and blood there was still a sliver a doubt in Lestrade's mind. There was one person who he hadn't spoken to yet. One person.
He had visited John Watson every day, praying that he would wake and shed any kind of new light on what had happened that night. John had been badly injured. Scott had claimed that when John had tried to disarm Sherlock the mad man had hit him on the back of the head and left him for dead outside the Reichenbach Outpost in the gravel parking lot. He was half drowned when he'd been rescued. Scott had claimed that John had saved his life, going after the two of them as Sherlock chased him through the woods. Every time Lestrade came to the hospital, John had been asleep. Friends and family had surrounded him constantly for the first few days. Every time he woke he was screaming, delusional, thrashing in bed and the nurses had to sedate him repeatedly to keep him from harming himself and others while his injuries healed.
Lestrade jerked upright in bed when he heard a fierce, urgent pounding at his door. He looked at the clock. Two thirty in the morning and someone was knocking. He threw off the covers, grabbed his coat and ran through the dark house. He threw open the door.
"John! What the hell_" he started to say as John pushed past him, stepped inside and closed the door. There was a fierce, wild look in his eyes.
"Hang on. Someone's just tried to kill me." John breathed, putting a hand up. He walked through the house and straight into the kitchen. John opened the fridge, grabbed the orange juice and poured himself a glass. He downed it in a few seconds and set it on the counter.
Lestrade stood at the counter, waiting.
"Whatever you've heard, it's wrong." John said, sitting at the kitchen table. "I read the news. It's all wrong. The bloke who…" he took a deep breath. "The bloke who shot him. It wasn't self-defense. He chased Sherlock out of the house."
"So what happened?" Lestrade demanded, crossing his arms.
"Moriarty. He set the whole thing up. He lured us there and had someone who must have looked a lot like Sherlock running around the house, killing people. Our phones were blocked, we were trapped there and everything happened so fast even Sherlock was having a hard time understanding. He's still out there, the man who killed Daniel and Michael and Mr. and Mrs. Roselander."
Lestrade stared at John for a long moment. Finally, he nodded. "Okay. What do you need?"
John's eyes were cold. "I'm going after him. I need to speak to Scott Hawthorn and I need information. I need you to look into any case file involved the Hawthorn family that happened around eight years ago. See if you can find anything at all. Something happened that involved that whole family. It was some kind of revenge plot against them and Moriarty twisted it to destroy Sherlock and his reputation. He sent someone to the hospital to kill me just now and it's probably not going to be long before he finds out I'm not dead. I also need to borrow a gun."
Lestrade took a deep breath. "You're sure about this?"
"I wouldn't be here if I wasn't. I'm not Sherlock, I can't do what he does, but I have a shot at this. I think I can solve it."
"Kind of asking a lot."
"I'm going whether you help or not. You asked what I need and I'm telling you. This is what I need."
Lestrade pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. "Come on." He said, gesturing down the hallway.