Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock
Burn
Lestrade was in the stairway when he heard the struggle. He cursed Sherlock for going off on his own. Couldn't the man wait five minutes to let people adjust to the fact that he was back from the dead? By the time Greg's head had stopped spinning, the consulting detective was gone, leaving Anderson to deliver his hastily scribbled note. Lestrade scrambled to gather officers and converge on the empty building as quietly as possible, but it still hadn't been quick enough. He dashed up the last few steps, throwing stealth aside when he heard a whizzing pop sound from the room above him.
Air gun. John's voice from that morning rang in his ears. The D.I. ran through the door, fearing what he'd find.
He froze momentarily at the sight before him.
The air gun lay broken on the floor. Moran was sprawled, bleeding from his wounded head, and Sherlock Holmes was throttling the life out of him. The look of rage on the consultant's face caused Lestrade to falter.
"Sherlock!" he cried, rushing forward with several officers to pull the consultant off of the criminal. Holmes seemed blinded with fury. "Get ahold of yourself!"
The detective's eyes shot to Lestrade's face, and he stilled for a moment before pulling from the DI's grasp and running out of the room.