AN: So... It's been a year since I decided to take up Feathers' challenge and write and post regularly. If only Feathers would also do so *hint*hint* I've still got a couple pieces done and saved so the rest of this year will have something each month still. Next year? We'll have to wait and see how I do.

Explanations for delay at the bottom. I hope it was worth the wait, it is the longest piece yet...

The Law - Lestrade
He had always believed in doing what was right. It didn't matter if it was difficult, it was simply the right thing to do and therefore he would do it. He'd never thought that one day he'd resent the law that he had so long upheld.


He sat silently in his office, the blinds drawn and the door locked. He wanted no interruptions. There was paperwork on his desk that needed to be filled out and murderers didn't take time off when the police had other duties to fulfill. He disregarded both the waiting papers and folders. His badge gleamed dully as he turned it over in his hands, examining it carefully; Sherlock's brother had seen to it that he'd kept his job in the aftermath of recent events. So much power, and yet so little.

.,.,.,.

Sherlock was dead. A simple statement that carried with it a whole host of implications not the least of which was the very simple fact that the incredibly brilliant, and sometimes terribly ignorant, man was indeed gone. It hurt to think the younger man wouldn't be showing up in his office again, going through his desk and generally making a nuisance of himself. It hurt to think that despite the number of times he'd threatened to keep Sherlock from the Yard he was actually partly responsible for the fact the young man wouldn't enter its doors again.

He knew that despite Sherlock's somewhat cavalier attitude towards people's emotional wellbeing he didn't go out of his way to verbally fillet anyone unless they made the first strike. Even then he stuck to verbal filleting of them never resorting to fisticuffs unless the other did so first and even then he was content to knock down and disarm. The thought of him in the worst of his boredom perpetrating the crimes he was accused of was ridiculous in the extreme. He'd only ever harmed himself in his escapes from boredom. The crimes not involving violence were out as well simply for the fact that they wouldn't be worth the effort. The yard was after all incompetent, or so Sherlock had kept telling them, so fooling them would have been pointless.

Of all the other issues that short statement brought about though it was the man's absence that seemed to stick with him - because he couldn't reconcile the fact that he had played a part in the Sherlock's death and yet Mycroft his overly protective, extremely powerful, older brother had, instead of seeing him jobless and sleeping on the street, ensured he'd not only retained employment at the yard but kept his rank as well. He'd even gone so far as to keep a black mark from being put on his record! Whatever the Holmes brothers might think of him he wasn't stupid.

Initially there had been too much to take care of; too much to worry about before he'd been assured of everyone else's safety. Afterwards he'd had time to think. Holmes' didn't do sentiment. For all that Sherlock professed he didn't care for others, he did indeed care, for one other at least, but DI Lestrade wasn't that other the title had belonged to John Watson. Mycroft though to Greg's knowledge didn't have a 'Watson' of his own. He had only Sherlock, and Greg was at least partly to blame for his loss.

.,.,.,.

Sherlock wasn't dead. Another simple statement but one that held a whole host of contradictory implications. Somehow though, those fleeting 'what if?' statements fit in a way the solid assertions of the sequence of events didn't. So bits and pieces of theories floated through his head. Ideas were formed and discarded, but it fit that Sherlock had survived. So where did that leave him now? Whether he was alive or not wasn't the issue. He knew Sherlock had been innocent, and he knew that the Yard had been primarily responsible for driving him to his, at least seeming, suicide. That was the issue that had been plaguing his thoughts as of late. He knew realistically some people put away were innocent and a fair number of guilty people got off free and clear but it was one thing to think of statistics and another to know the innocent involved personally.

That problem was what had led him to sit in this position day after day, turning his badge over and examining it's details in minutia. It would be easy really, to simple leave it there one night and not come in the next day. A sort of silent protest against the job he'd been forced to carry out. Except, no one would even really protest it, but for the fact that they'd be short-handed for a few days before his place was filled. Besides that he'd figured Sherlock wanted him there for whatever reason he had in that mind of his, probably a snub at the higher ups that tried to ruin the career and reputation of a cop who was 'not quite as stupid as the rest of them' or something. After-all sentiment never really fit with Sherlock but it had to have been him who convinced Mycroft to let him keep his job.

Though it was all well and good to think of Sherlock possibly being alive and wanting him there, it was another thing entirely to actually have to deal with being there himself on a daily basis. So maybe he couldn't outright quit but even a transfer wasn't an option. Mycroft no doubt had a hand in keeping anything official off his record but with the publicity of recent events no other precinct would take him without the man's assistance and that in itself grated on his nerves without bringing in Sherlock's would be disdain for his brother's highhanded method's of interference.

.,.,.,.

Really, for all the time he spent staring at his badge debating his options or lack thereof, it was really just a series of excuses to avoid thinking on the fact that, despite his years of service on the force working with the men and women surrounding him, he resented them. For the majority he could say it wasn't even the actual person he resented but the very thing they, and he, represented simply being what they were. He resented the law he had so long upheld. The law he had been so willing to defend had ruined a great man, a good man, and there was nothing he could do against it.


Well... that took forever and still didn't end how I wanted it. I honestly think writing this was (at least) twice as hard as getting into Sherlock's and Mycroft's mindsets but it's done now so *shrugs* I'll leave it to you for whether it's a good piece or not. Reviews please?

Sorry it took so long. I had a bit of computer trouble - wherein my computer died and I panicked for a bit - and I ended up getting a new (to me - it's refurbished) computer because mine was an extremely old piece of junk anyway. It took me a bit to get it though and then set up and transfer my files. After which I finally got to typing this again. I do hope that it was indeed worth the wait. Oh, and Anderson should be next but in the mean time I am going to keep posting other pieces I've got done and saved like I've been doing. I said in an AN in another story I am working on Sally's but the piece I'm doing ended up being pre-series so whenever it's done it'll be posted separate from these.

As much as Sherlock has taken over my brain, Jay Feathers has taken to encouraging the Thor & Avengers (Loki, that is to say) plot bunnies to plan a breeding program and stage a revolt so I'm having a hard time concentrating on my many half done Sherlock pieces. I apologise in advance for the probably extended wait while the (un)civil war continues...

07/02/13, 0720, 0802, 0804, 0902,0905, 0916, 0930, 1010