Chapter Sixty Five:

The Great Man (Part Two)


Greg caught up with Sally Donovan and two SO19 officers less than five minutes later, down a side street. She waved a gun in a gloved hand. "Holmes ditched this right in plain sight, in the middle of the street. Presumably, he's smart enough to know that if he kept it we'd have no choice but to use weapons." She put the gun in an evidence bag and gave it to Lestrade. "Come on; he can't have gotten far."

"You go; I'm going to get onto HQ and get more help." She frowned at him, but bolted off with the two officers in tow.

On his way back to Baker Street, Lestrade contacted the Control Room and ordered more cars to patrol the nearby streets to see if they could catch sight of the fugitive pair. He made sure that other foot patrols from the nearby stations were on their way, and called in the police helicopter. In the inevitable investigation that would be made of the incident, it would be important to show that he'd done the right thing without delay. The calls were monitored and time stamped, so gave him some sense of protection. At the moment, all he could think of was staying on the investigation team, and trying to make sure that it was an unarmed policeman who cornered them rather than some trigger-happy SO19 officer who had watched too many American SWAT team videos. Thank God, he got rid of the gun!

As he got back to 221b, he saw all the lights in the flat were on and through the windows he could see blue-suited CSEs at work. While he was looking up, the Chief Superintendent came over and pulled him aside. The man's nose was a mess of dried blood and swelling up nicely. He was still red faced with anger, and his didn't hold back.

"You have one chance, and I mean one, to make this right, Lestrade. Find him now and get him in a cell before he makes monkeys of this force. The tabloids are just going to love this fiasco, and I will not have this Holmes guy destroy our reputation. A simple arrest, that's all I want, but I want it NOW. I am holding you personally responsible, Detective Inspector. If you want your job- hell, if you want to get a pension after I force you into early retirement, you're going to get that madman locked up tonight. You will telephone me with an update every hour, do you hear me?"

"I'd get that seen to at an A&E, Chief; it looks broken." Lestrade just tried to stay focused and not let the man rattle him anymore than he already had. In his worst nightmares, he had imagined having to arrest Sherlock for going over the boundaries of proper procedure, but never in his grim fantasies had he imagined a scenario as bad as this one.

Less than a half hour later, he was beginning to think that Sherlock just might have pulled the escape off. There were no reports or sightings. So, he decided there was little point in hanging around as the Crime Scene Examiners tore the flat to shreds looking for non-existant evidence. He was in the back of one of the cars heading back to New Scotland Yard when he overheard the Control Room despatcher on the car's Airwave police radio, "three shots fired in the vicinity of Baker Street and Portman Square; bus driver reported narrowly missing two men in the street. Foot patrol is on its way."

Lestrade shouted at the driver to turn the car around.

By the time he arrived, the road was already blocked, and the scene was being taped off. Donovan was there talking to two uniformed officers and, as he ducked under the tape, he saw the dark form of a body lying on the street. For a split second, Greg froze. Then his brain processed the visual image and he realised that whoever it was, he was too short to be Sherlock, and too tall to be John. When he knelt down to take a look, he was joined by a blue suited CS Examiner. With a start, Greg recognised Anderson.

Anderson did little to contain his sneer. "Well, who would believe it? First he resists arrest, then he takes a hostage and now we have a dead body. Doesn't exactly inspire confidence in his innocence, does it, Detective Inspector?"

"Just do your job, Anderson. Tell me how he died."

"Three bullet wounds, through and through. In the back. So Sherlock's a coward, too."

"Shut up, Anderson. You have no proof that this is even connected."

Anderson just rocked back on his heels and looked at Greg with an incredulous expression. "What are the odds of this being a co-incidence- not more than a quarter of a mile away from an earlier shooting incident?"

Greg just snarled "Who is he?" Anderson reached into the man's jacket pocket and pulled out an ID. "Jean Paul LeFabre, according to his EU driver's license. French. God, he's killed some innocent tourist."

Greg couldn't take it anymore. "Shut up, Anderson. That's enough out of you. However much you might want this to be the result of what happened tonight with Sherlock, until you get me incontrovertible proof, I will continue to follow my oath of duty and presume someone is innocent until proven guilty. If you can't find your professional ethics amidst your jealousy, then recuse yourself and I will find someone who can do so."

That made the two men stand up and face each other, each livid with anger. Anderson nearly shrieked, "ME? You're saying I should step away from the case? What about you, Lestrade? You're such a buddy of those two fugitives that you're probably helping them escape by being purposefully inept. I have every mind to complain to the Director of Forensics. In fact, I will. This has just gone on too long. I won't have you impugning my skills or my professionalism for a moment longer!"

"Listen Anderson, you may not have heard yet. Sally Donovan recovered the gun that Sherlock took. He dropped it five minutes after leaving the flat. So what's he used to do this murder? Before you start jumping to conclusions, give me an idea what kind of gun killed this man and find me a bullet. If your skills aren't up to that, then get the body moved to the morgue as quick as you can so the medical examiner can tell me the answers I need."

Lestrade spun on his heel and walked off. He stopped to speak briefly to Donovan through clenched teeth. "House-to-house, Sergeant. I want an eye-witness who can tell me what happened after the bus driver saw the two men jump in front of him."

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "And what are you going to be doing in the meantime, Detective Inspector?"

"I'm heading back to the Yard so I can get a look at the CCTV footage. It might tell us more than all these bloody foot patrols." He started to walk away back to his car.

She called after him. "Holmes knows where every camera is in Central London. If he doesn't want to be seen, you won't find him. But then, you don't actually want to find him, do you Lestrade?"

He didn't bother to turn around, just shouted back over his shoulder, "Do your job, Sergeant and I'll do mine."

oOo

Back at the office, he found that DI Dimmock was setting up a new evidence board. With Sherlock and John's photos prominently featuring, Sally's evidence was now displayed. The younger DI was briefing his team when Lestrade walked into the back of the open plan room.

"The Chief has asked us to review the case of the kidnapping and to re-evaluate the evidence in light of the new development. We have a new prime suspect, but so far the evidence is circumstantial. We need more if we are to bring this to a prosecution."

One of PCs on Dimmock's team spoke up. "That's assuming we can catch the bugger. I've heard he's pretty good at avoiding capture." There were a few nods around the rest of the team.

Dimmock caught Lestrade's eye. "Well, let's ask the expert in Holmes. Lestrade, any ideas where he might be?"

For a moment, Greg debated about saying what he really felt instead of what he knew he should say. Discretion triumphed.

"Haven't a clue, Dimmock, but then he used to call us both idiots, didn't he?" He walked out and down the corridor to the coffee machine. This just might be one of the longest nights of his career and he needed to stay awake for it.

Back at his desk, he pulled out a blank sheet of paper and started to make some notes. First of all, the kidnapping had obviously been rigged so as to frame Sherlock. So, why did the little girl Claudette Bruhl scream when she saw Sherlock? What had she been told? Had her abductors worn masks? Could one of them have looked like Sherlock, been dressed to look like him? Moriarty knew Sherlock's ways, his clothing, his behaviour. What if he'd used someone dressed as Sherlock to scare the child?

The girl had been so distressed that she made no sense at all the night when Sherlock tried to speak to her. The US Ambassador took her home- and sent her and her younger brother back to the USA the next morning, to stay with his divorced wife. So they couldn't find out more on that front, alas. How convenient. He speculated that someone might have suggested a rapid removal- that would be just like Moriarty. In hindsight, the whole exercise reeked of being stage managed by the man. Moriarty would have known that the US Ambassador would call on Holmes. Ever since the American banker had been saved from kidnappers by Sherlock, his reputation would make him the logical choice. And Sherlock had been brought into the case by SO6. It was only Mycroft's insistence that Lestrade manage Sherlock's relations with the Met which had brought his Murder Investigation Unit into the picture. Again, Moriarty would have figured that out.

He banged the pen down on the desk in frustration. He had no evidence- just speculation. And that wasn't going to help Sherlock.

He was still thinking about it when there was a knock on the side of his open door. Lestrade looked up to see a young PC standing there. "Sorry to interrupt, sir, but the Chief Superintendent wants to see you in his office now. I'm to take you there."

That last statement confused Greg's tired mind. "I know the way, officer."

The PC looked embarrassed. "I know, sir; it's just I have my orders to…escort you there."

Oh shit.

Lestrade didn't say another word until he got into the Chief's office and the young lad closed the door behind him. The Chief's nose now wore a white bandage that showed off the purple emerging under both of his eyes. He looked bad, and mad, too- a scowl that would have told him all he needed to know, if he hadn't already figured it out.

"So, you can't even complete a simple arrest of an unarmed, handcuffed man. I heard that the gun had been found. What use are you, Lestrade?" The tape across his nose made his northern accent even more nasal.

Before he could reply, the Chief answered for him. "I'll tell you what sort of copper you are, Lestrade- and that's worse than useless. Incompetence is something I've had to get used to- but this…this is worse." He gestured down at his desk. "Shall I read you a few choice extracts from this morning's Sun newspaper? Turns out your mate Sherlock Holmes is a fraud. Hired an out of work actor, Richard Brook, to pretend he was this master criminal called James Moriarty. You know, the bloke that broke into the Bank of England, stole the Crown Jewels and opened the door to Pentonville Prison? Yeah, that bloke- the one we prosecuted, the one who walked free. He's not real, just a scheme cooked up in the brain of that nutter you've been working with for the past decade."

Greg's tired mind tried to process the significance of what the Chief had just said. Stunned, he grabbed the newspaper and scanned down the article. Oh my God. He had underestimated what Moriarty was capable of doing. He had been trying to figure out how to rescue Sherlock from the kidnapping case, never dreaming that it was about to get a whole lot worse.

"Yeah, well, that's just the first edition, Lestrade. Wait for the second edition when they can add in the details about Holmes avoiding arrest and running circles around the Met all night. This reporter Kitty Riley- she's already been on the phone to me asking for all sorts of facts and figures. While you've been wasting time chasing shadows, I've been doing some digging." The big man was now pacing in anger.

"Fifty two cases, Lestrade. Fifty two bloody cases! It will take us months of re-investigation. Convictions challenged, overturned too on all sorts of technicalities, not least of which is the impropriety of using a civilian to do police work. What were you thinking, Lestrade? What possible reason could be behind such stupidity?"

Greg finally found his voice. "It's not what you think, Chief. This…" he gestured at the paper "..is just another part of Moriarty's game. Sherlock's work with us has been the reason why my team has the best clear-up rate in the force."

The Chief just laughed. "You still don't get it? That's because he was the one doing the crimes, you idiot!"

Lestrade just crossed his arms in front of his chest. "You can investigate each and every one of those cases, sir, and you will find that they stand up in court. Sherlock Holmes is being victimised, framed for all this; it's part of Moriarty's plan to destroy him."

"Why are you so keen to defend him? Is there something going on between you two? Your Sergeant has suggested as much to me. Is he blackmailing you?"

"Don't be ridiculous. And don't believe everything you hear from Sally Donovan. She's been consumed by jealousy ever since Holmes first showed up at a crime scene and made her look like a fool."

"It's not her I'm worried about, Lestrade. It's you. If he isn't blackmailing you into this…then...I'll just ask you this once because that newspaper article says Holmes is a queer. You and he…aren't…an item, are you? Because I have to know the worst of this…the papers are going to go ballistic."

Greg was stunned by the accusation. He said very quietly, very firmly, "I am not a homosexual, and I have never had an improper relationship with Sherlock Holmes. I was a happily married man for nearly twenty years."

"Divorced recently, I hear."

Greg just closed his eyes and tried to get control of his temper. He was so close to adding more bruises to the man's face.

"Yeah, well, couldn't stop the wife being an idiot and falling in love with a gym instructor, could I? Not exactly anything to do with Holmes, sir. With respect, I don't think this is a fruitful topic of discussion. When these cases are investigated again, you'll see that the Met has nothing to worry about. The convictions will stand. The truth is that Holmes is innocent."

"That's not for you to decide, Lestrade. In fact, nothing of what is going to happen is any of your business anymore. You're suspended with immediate effect. My aide will escort you back to your desk and you can clear it now. Turn in your warrant card. You're done. I don't know how many months it will take to re-investigate fifty two cases, but you are on garden leave until it's over. Now get out of my sight, you sicken me."

oOo

He had never been one for a lot of personal items at work. So clearing his desk didn't take long. Under the watchful eye of the Chief's PC, he filled an empty cardboard box he nicked from the photocopying room with the few items he would miss. He knew better than to take any files or police information. When he woke up his PC screen to log off and close it down, he saw that it had already been done. The PC said quietly, "Protocol, sir. Password and log in have already been changed."

He felt like he was sleepwalking. The corridors of New Scotland Yard were familiar but somehow out of kilter as he went down in the lift and went to the front desk. The PC reminded him to leave his warrant card with the desk Sergeant.

"I'm sorry sir, but you no longer qualify for a driver, so I've called you a taxi. It's waiting outside the barrier by the pavement."

He was grateful for the gesture. At this hour of the morning trying to hail one on the street would take time, and they were as keen to see the back of him as he was to get out of the place. As he got in the back and put his box on the seat beside him, he could see the faint streaks of dawn lighting up the windows of New Scotland Yard.

He gave the driver his flat address and the cab started to move off. He felt defeated. He felt exhausted. They're going to destroy him, piece by piece. They don't even realise that they are Moriarty's pawns. Now that he was stuck in limbo, there was no one willing to see it from Sherlock's point of view. He wouldn't be surprised if the Chief decided to release the story about the dead man at Portland Square being attributed to Sherlock. Make him into a deranged murderer; easier to hate then.

The thought of that made him very, very angry. Suddenly, anger kicked in with an adrenaline rush. He couldn't just go home and sit on the side lines watching the destruction of a great man unfold before his eyes- it was just too much to ask. He tapped on the window to get the cabbie's attention.

"Sorry, changed my mind. Can you head to St Bartholomew's hospital, please?"

The very least he could do was to see what the ME had discovered about the dead body. There had to be some proof that Sherlock wasn't involved. And he'd find a way to get that to the newspapers. Over the years, he'd built up some contacts of his own whose discretion could be counted on. He would need to be careful. Suspended cops who broke the rules were dealt with harshly. But, he didn't care anymore. His professional reputation lay in tatters until Sherlock's could be repaired. He was going to do what he could for both of their sakes.

oOo

"I'm grateful, Miss Hooper, that you were here at this early hour and willing to let me see the body."

She looked tired and distracted; her eyes were a little red. Well, he figured he must look like hell, too. He'd never been through such a bad night before in his life, so he wasn't going to pass judgement on someone else.

Molly gave Greg one of her shy tentative smiles. She seemed a bit nervous. Had someone told her that Lestrade was suspended? He hoped not, he didn't want to get her into trouble. But his instinct to protect her was weaker than his need to know and to prove that Sherlock wasn't involved in the fatal shooting.

She wheeled out the trolley and pulled the sheet back. "I haven't started the autopsy yet; been…um..busy…tonight. Sorry."

"It's alright. I just need to understand how he died. Can you tell from the wounds?"

She stepped up to the corpse and examined the wounds. "Well, obviously they're bullet wounds. Probably a rifle- you can tell by the exit sites. If it was a handgun, they'd be bigger." She struggled to turn the body on its side, so Greg helped, his hands recoiling a bit from how cold the flesh felt. "Sorry, he's still in full rigor. That's why we won't do the actual autopsy for a couple more hours." She bent over to look at the entry wounds more closely. "Yes, definitely a rifle. No stippling, no powder burns." She looked thoughtful. "Looking at where the bullets went in and where they excited, definitely high velocity- very little track deviation inside the body. Basically, a rifle bullet is going so fast that it just smashes everything out of the way and exits in a straight line. A hand gun bullet can't get that much speed, so it tends to …skitter around inside, inflicting a lot of tissue damage along the way. I once saw a bullet entry wound in the shoulder exit out by the thigh. Strange…."

Lestrade decided to lay his cards on the table. He needed someone else to be on Sherlock's side when they tried to pin this death on him. "Miss Hooper. At some point in the next few hours, someone from the police might try to claim that this man died because Sherlock Holmes used a hand gun to kill him."

Molly raised wide eyes to Lestrade's. "But..but…that's ridiculous!"

"Yes, well you and I know that, but there are a lot of people who want to cause him problems- including someone called James Moriarty." He heard her gasp. Did she know him? How? Greg was puzzled.

"So, whatever story the police try to spin, I want you to get the truth out there. Will you do that for me? For him?"

She blushed. "Of course.. You can count on me."

He smiled. And then decided that her trust needed to be reciprocated. "Those same police will tell you that I was suspended tonight, because of Sherlock's involvement in so many of my cases over the years. So, strictly speaking, I am not allowed to be here, nor are you allowed to be showing me this body. But, I had to know. And to know that they won't be able to twist this so that Sherlock somehow becomes responsible for this death. Will you keep my visit secret?"

She was looking at him with a steady, calm gaze. "You can trust me, Detective Inspector. I will tell the truth about this, even if they don't want to hear it. And when they come to ask me about his role in those cases, they will get the truth from me, nothing else. I promise."

"They will try to make him into a monster, Miss Hooper. I hope you won't be distressed by it. Sherlock Holmes is a great man. I'm not going to be able to say that in public- by putting me on suspension, they've muzzled me. But they can't touch you, so just tell them the truth."

"I know, detective inspector. And I will, I promise."

At that Greg turned toward the door, only to be stopped by her reaching out and putting a hand on his arm as he passed. "Um… you need to do something before you leave, Detective Inspector. There's…something in the lab…upstairs. You know, the one that Sherlock uses…." She let go.

He thought through what she said, and then a gentle smile emerged on both of their faces. "Thank you, Miss Hooper."

oOo

As he came down the hall, he realised that the lights in the lab were on. A good sign! As he came up to the doors, Greg heard an odd noise. Thump…THUMP…thump…THUMP. Over and over. He pushed open the door and looked down the long row of lab tables to see what was causing the noise. There, sitting on the floor with his back against one side of cupboards, Sherlock was throwing a small rubber ball hard against the floor so that it bounced up against the cupboard opposite him. He caught it on the rebound and sent it back again. Over and over, his eyes were not directly watching the ball. He did not seem to be aware of Greg's presence in the room. Thump…THUMP …thump…THUMP.

Greg drew in a deep breath. Now that I've found him, just what the hell am I going to say to him?