Chapter 3
"Okay," John hesitated, "Who is she?"
"That's Eleanor, Eleanor Young. Very nice girl." Lestrade answered, sounding reluctant to give much away.
"Right." John nodded. "Do you know when this was?"
"Umm," Lestrade frowned at the picture. "I'd say around the time I met them, 5 years ago."
"What were they to each other?" The questions were starting to come thick and fast now, each trying to be the first to be asked.
"Well, I don't know." Lestrade answered, truthfully, "They loved each other, I think. But, it was also more than that -They were made for each other. If it doesn't sound too cheesy, I'd say they were soul mates, two sides of the same coin, and all that lot."
"What did they do together?"
"Solve crimes. I don't know when they met or how they got working with the force, but when I joined they were very well respected. Sherlock was a lot more..." he paused, searching for the right word, "understanding, back then, a lot of people liked him."
John raised his eyebrows at that statement, not being able to imagine Sherlock being liked by a lot of people. "What do you mean, made for each other?"
"They were the same." Lestrade told him, simply, "Both of them geniuses. When I first met them, it was at a crime scene no one could make heads or tails of. Sherlock and Eleanor walked in, spent a minute looking round, glanced at each other and then went into a very long string of deductions. But, the most amazing thing was, they finished each other's sentences! That's how... connected, they were. They could finish each other's sentences." Lestrade repeated, shaking his head in amazement.
"What happened to her?" John finally asked - a question he had been trying to avoid. He was sure something bad must have happened.
"She went missing. One minute there- next minute, poof! Gone. Sherlock looked for her, of course, for a long time - used drugs to search for as long as possible." Lestrade's face fell, "Some people say it's the only case he never managed to solve, the one that was most important to him."
John felt something stir in his chest. Sadness, complete and utter grief for what had been and what was now impossible. He wished he'd met this girl. She seemed kind, clever but more human than Sherlock had ever seemed. He also wished that she was still here to help Sherlock. From what he had heard, he wasn't a match to her. Not a genius, not even clever enough to understand Sherlock's deductions without Sherlock explaining them. In the photo, Sherlock seemed so much happier, healthier, and from what Lestrade said people had respected him and actually cared for him. He wished he could have seen Sherlock like that, not the bored, cold person he knew. But then, he supposed, he saw a lot more of the "kind" side of Sherlock than most people. John knew he tried to understand people, when he could spare the time.
"What did he do then?" he questioned, timidly, quietly.
"He gave up." Lestrade shrugged.
John looked at him and Lestrade met his eyes, despair evident on his features. John thought about it - it couldn't have been easy for Lestrade. He expected that he had viewed Eleanor as a great friend and losing her must have been hard. And then watching Sherlock turn to drugs as he tried searching for her, but never finding her. That must have hurt like hell - Watching the friend he had left deteriorate so much he turned to illegal substances. From what he had seen, with the drugs bust, he expected Lestrade had been the one to put his foot down of the drugs.
John opened his mouth, another question ready on his tongue, but Lestrade interrupted him.
"Look, that's all I'm prepared to tell you. If you want more information- go to Sherlock, it's his life."
John closed his mouth, and nodded. He knew Lestrade had probably already told him more than her was comfortable with. He was right – this was about Sherlock and no one else.
Sighing, he turned towards the door. "Thank you." He said, gratefully, to Lestrade. Lestrade nodded in understanding as John left the room.
He was going to have to talk to Sherlock.