Reflection
It was surprising to both Sherlock and John that Lestrade was the one who could not calm himself again when they went for drinks later. Sherlock had club soda_unable to drink alcohol anymore because of his medications. John had only one of whatever Lestrade was ordering one after the other of and he already felt a little bit drunk.
"Should you perhaps pace yourself, Detective Inspector?" Sherlock's noncommittal tone almost made John laugh. Almost. In other circumstances, the site of Sherlock squinting in massive boredom over his expensive smartphone would have been endearingly irritating.
"Now, now, now...I just got started. And you...Knackered you. Bless you, Sherlock, bless you. I've no idea how in bleeding hell you're not back on the drugs again." Greg was well and truly drunk now. John felt his heart sink to the soles of his shoes. This had been much harder on the policeman than either of his friends had realized. Sherlock laid his phone down.
"What are you on about?" Sherlock tilted his head to the side, completely confused.
"Oh, you know. All of that...Must be hard to cope with it. I know...It makes me physically hurt just looking...Damn it. I've been drinking/smoking...A lot since you've come back, you know. Afraid you're gonna die again. Don't think I could handle you dying...again. The first time I had to see...mm...I had to see a grief counselor, Sherlock. Young bloke like you...committing suicide. It was my fault too. My fault for listening to that damn Donovan, that damn Anderson." Lestrade burst into drunken tears and beat his fist on the table. Sherlock flinched then looked at John totally bewildered.
"Imitation is a cruel game. Their_Donovan and Anderson's that is_ sick pup way of forming flattery for each other. Lovers bonded over human suffering. Y-You were always broken and they knew it. Hell, it was gossiping about your infamous case that got them dating.
When I found you...What your father did to you as a boy...Locking you up in that-that place on those...those chemicals. That case, I'd never have solved it if not for you and you'd have never have gotten off the drugs had it not been for...For your solving and breaking up the criminal ring what even put Mycroft in the government…If it wasn't for Mycroft trying to earn your forgiveness, you might have even seen INTERPOL trial time over your citizen involvement in that big crime ring bust that brought us together, right? Damn Sherlock, you were, how even the hell old were you? You couldn't have been older than 24. You were practically a child. "Lestrade nearly fell off the table. John felt his hair stand on end. Sherlock looked over his shoulder, making certain no one other than John had heard that.
"Lestrade...That-that case is classified, remember? Enough that we had to make a cover-story first case that was actually our second together. Let's not talk about it here." Sherlock swallowed. To John's amazement, Sherlock reached tenderly for Greg's arm and took it in shaking fingers.
"When are we ever gonna talk about it? When are we ever gonna talk about any of it? You've always been closed fisted, closed-lipped about everything? Why can't you simply be honest with me, and keep out of trouble?! You know, I kept you around, not just because you were the best of the best but because you were my friend…Grew attached to you, you know? Grew "sentimental" over you. First day I met you, and what? I find you bleeding at the mouth, wrapped in barbwire, a complete smackhead then, beat to hell from some back alley hand-to-hand combat going after your father's people. If not for all your investigative notes, I'd have never known what you could do. Always on the verge of losing you. Then what do you do? Go off after Moriarty and get_and get_What the hell happened to you, anyway?!" Lestrade took Sherlock's wrists and slid his sleeves up a bit, fingering the scars with shaking hands. Sherlock swallowed.
"Please...I can't talk about that." Sherlock looked at John. John was amazed because Sherlock was actually so visibly distressed that he had tears forming in his eyes and a ring around his mouth that was green.
"Why the hell not?" Lestrade gave Sherlock's arms a shake.
"Because I physically cannot form the words to tell you, Greg…"Sherlock bit his lip.
"Did you just remember my/his name?" Greg and John gasped at the same time.
Sherlock frowned.
"I've always remembered your name. I just pretended I didn't know it so you would think I had no sentimental attachment to you. I thought...I thought it protected you from my...well being so myself." Sherlock shrugged. John gaped, feeling dizzy now.
"Damn it, that's no excuse...Why Sherlock? Why can't you be honest?" Lestrade was shivering now and made like he'd be sick.
"Alright, we...Sherlock, we need to leave this place? Take him home, then?" John stood up hands frantic. Sherlock, face crushed, swept Lestrade up under one of his arms. They eased him back to a cab. Then, they all went back to Greg's lonely flat in some obscure central-London neighborhood. He'd divorced his wife long ago and lived here alone ever since.
Lestrade stumbled in and snatched a cup of one of his counters and filled with sink water and drank it half, splashing the other half on his face. Sherlock and John stood awkwardly behind him waiting for him to speak.
"After all we've survived, and you-still with the mystery. "Sherlock Holmes" almost like...I don't know like a magazine character or somethin'. You know how many times I've watched you bleed, and fry your pretty brain. 5 whole years even before John came along...Never, ever could get you to so much as smile...He worked magic on you...You did really, really John you are an angel. Our lives were so miserable before." Lestrade staggered over to John pointing at him still.
"And as for you. Complete little bastard that you are! How are you alive? You were dead. Saw it on the bloody telly and everything. We buried you. Then, you come back, with all this scarring and all this...more mystery. Came back from the dead like something from cinema. And you still won't say a word about it. Where you were, what you did? Don't you think we deserve to know? There's a place in heaven for me and John for putting up with your constant waspish rudeness at any rate." Greg staggered, giving Sherlock a firm shake by his shoulders.
Sherlock bit his lip. Then, at last, he nodded.
"Alright...Alright. You both...I suppose you both do merit at least a fragmented explanation, but...Understand that...Some of it...If I told you would put your life at risk." Sherlock swallowed.
"Why's that?" Lestrade tilted his head.
"You won't like it…"Sherlock gritted his teeth.
"And since when have you ever cared what I like?!" Greg gasped, ripping Sherlock's sleeve up again and revealing the Lichtenburg Figures and the scars from his addiction. Sherlock winced.
"No, you...You see, I...It wasn't the most clever of my methods, but...This happened to save you. Save you both. Specifically, the both of you. Do you understand?" Sherlock looked like he was about to faint.
"Alright, hey...You two, let's sit...It's better if we sit." John led Sherlock and Greg to Greg's kitchen table.
They did. Greg immediately slapped his hands on the table.
"Alright, you'd better start talking."
Sherlock buried his face in his hands instead. Greg sputtered, surprised. John reached a hand to Sherlock's shoulders surprised when he flinched like he'd been stung.
"Right...Right, well…" Sherlock sat up.
"As terribly obvious as this will sound, I'm only alive because I didn't die. That is….the false suicide? It was actually a suicide. A sacrificial suicide that...That Mycroft intercepted at the eleventh hour…" Sherlock looked out the window as he spoke, fingering his scars.
"What do you mean it was sacrificial?" John piped up, throat feeling like a vacuum was collapsing it.
"I_I uh...That day on the phone. I wasn't going to...to do that in front of you. Make you watch but...But Moriarty had gunmen trained, one for you, one for our Inspector and one for Mrs. Hudson. The order was not to fire if I fell. The network had rules. And fall I did. I would have died. I would have. But Mycroft had been surveying the situation and broke my fall with the tools used in fire rescue, behind the ambulance station. He had it measured, from the place I was standing when I got ready to…"Sherlock looked down at his hands.
"Wait-so...so you died for us?" Greg's jaw dropped. The question hung in the room.
"Oh my God…"John's turn to get up and go to the sink.