A/N better than the last I suppose? also posting to AO3 if people are interested, over here: /works/678175/chapters/1242451
DI Lestrade sat in the empty hospital room at St. Thomas's hospital, staring at the disheveled empty bed before him that not an hour before had held the form of Scotland Yard's biggest headache and greatest help to date.
The day had started as most days with Sherlock do - Lestrade was investigating the brutal murder of one of the newer members of Scotland Yard, found on the south bank of the Thames just past the Globe Theatre. Not thirty minutes after, Sherlock had showed up in a flurry of black curls and apologetically amused army doctors, buzzing around the body and deducing things rapid-fire. After less than a few moments, he had somehow managed to solve the murder, complete with the location of the murder, a man called Brian Rogers, who was hiding out in one of the surrounding areas.
He had taken off with John to find him, and Lestrade managed to just keep up with him as he ran in the direction of Blackfriars bridge, diverting at the last second to one of the underpass tunnels beneath the bridge itself. John had run towards the top of the bridge, shouting something about looking near the recess by the train tracks for any sign of Rogers. Lestrade had decided to follow Sherlock, and moments later rounded the corner he had disappeared around.
What he saw made him freeze. Sherlock was on the ground, clearly unconscious, with Rogers standing over him, holding a gun pointed directly at Sherlock. Rogers must have heard him appraoch, however, for he turned around and pointed the gun directly at Lestrade, who countered with his own firearm.
"Put down the gun, Rogers. No one else has to get hurt."
Rogers looked from Sherlock to Lestrade and back, then started moving backwards towards the exit of the tunnel. "This isn't over," he stated before turning and running around the corner. Lestrade decided in that instant Sherlock's well-being was more important, holstering his gun as he shouted for John and running over to his crumpled figure.
Moments later John was examining Sherlock, determining that he had been knocked unconscious from a blow to the head from the butt of the gun Rogers had brandished, and an ambulance was called. Lestrade paced next to John and Sherlock until the ambulance arrived, upon which John barked orders at the paramedics as Sherlock was loaded into the vehicle.
Lestrade made it back to his team, detailing what had occurred and jumping in his car, heading to St. Thomas's to meet up with John and Sherlock. Unable to make contact with John upon arrival, he remained in the waiting room for over an hour until he finally pushed his way past the front desk with his badge and headed into the back.
What he found was not what he had expected. The room he had been told Sherlock was in was empty, but looked as if a hurricane had swept through, with sheets and bandages scattered around the bed. There was a nurse cleaning up in the room, and when Lestrade entered and inquired as to the whereabouts of his wayward detective she left in a hurry, murmuring something about getting the doctor to explain.
The following conversation was not something Lestrade was likely to forget as long as he lived. The doctor sat Lestrade down in one of the chairs in the room, explaining to him how Sherlock had complications from his concussion upon arrival, which had resulted in cardiac arrest. Lestrade didn't need him to explain the results of that, but the doctor continued, apologising quietly and informing him that John had been sent home by 'someone in the government' as Sherlock's body was taken care of, and that Lestrade was welcome to take as much time as he needed in the room and should call someone if he needed anyone.
Which is where Lestrade found himself now, his face in his hands as he tried to battle all the emotions threatening to overtake him. It was hard to not blame himself for all of this - it was his crime scene, he practically had to beg Sherlock to come down that morning, and now it was all over. And John. Lestrade felt a massive pang of guilt as he thought of how devastated John was going to be. He didn't get to dwell on it long, however, as a soft knock on the door brought him out of his stupor.
Sally Donovan was standing in the doorway, a look of concern on her face as she took in his surroundings. "I heard what happened," she said quietly, and Lestrade looked away from her, blinking back what he refused to acknowledge as tears. "Let's get you home."
Lestrade unlocked the door to his flat, trudging across his doorstep wanting nothing more than to sleep for the rest of eternity. Donovan had led him out of the hospital to his car, driving him home and offering to stay with him for the evening. He waved her off, lying about how fine he was, and promised to talk to her in the morning. He shoved the door closed with his foot, locking it behind him as he shrugged out of his coat and let it fall on the floor, determined to find something to distract himself from the massive guilt he wasn't prepared to live with for the rest of his life. He walked into the dark living room and made it two steps before he heard a soft click of a safety being disengaged from behind him.
"No further, Detective."
Lestrade turned around slowly, coming face-to-face with Brian Rogers, the man from the chase before. It was hard to tell in the dark, but Rogers had the air of an accomplished man about him, and Lestrade straightened himself up, trying to draw upon what little energy he had remaining and wishing he had the foresight to have accepted Donovan's offer to escort him inside.
"You already have two murders on your hands now, Rogers. I don't think a third is going to do you any good," Lestrade tried to reason, and Rogers laughed, sending a chill up his spine.
"The first one was fun, though. I never realised how exhilarating murder could be. And as for the second, everyone wanted Holmes dead, I was just doing the world a favour."
Lestrade clenched his fists at his sides, scanning the room with his peripheral vision for some way out of this mess. "Sherlock Holmes was a great man."
Rogers scoffed. "Says you and no one else. Fortunately, his death leaves you vulnerable, and since you weren't able to catch me with his help, I seriously doubt your so-called team will do much better catching me for your death."
Rogers took a step forward, forcing Lestrade to take an instinctive step back and bump into the coffee table in the middle of the room. "I wish I could say I'm sorry you got involved, but I'd be lying if I denied this was going to be fun." Rogers lowered the gun and aimed it directly at Lestrade's heart. Lestrade looked him in the eyes, bracing himself for the inevitable, when suddenly a flash of movement occurred behind Rogers. There was a sickening smack of metal-on-flesh and Rogers was slumping on the floor, unconscious, with a man standing behind him, tucking a gun into the pocket of his billowing coat. Lestrade stared as the lights flicked on, illuminating the face of Sherlock Holmes, very much alive and standing in his hallway, the only sign of the events from earlier being a bandage taped on the side of his forehead.
"Idiot."
Lestrade sputtered, looking rapidly from Sherlock to the unconscious Rogers on the floor. "How...what...explain. Now."
Sherlock rolled his eyes, stepping over the unconscious Rogers as he pulled out his phone, starting to speak as he fired off a quick text. "Honestly, Lestrade, it's simple. After Rogers incapacitated me, I came to in the hospital and realised that besides me, the only other person who knew the details of who Rogers was and what he was guilty for would be you. If he believed me to be dead, he would come after you, so with the help of John and Molly, the first of which is currently just around the corner and contacting your team, I faked cardiac arrest and came to wait here, knowing it was only a matter of time before Rogers showed up and you came home. I was in the process of sneaking up on him as you came through the door, but your arrival was actually quite fortuitous."
Lestrade stared at Sherlock throughout his whole explanation, and then sunk slowly to sit on the edge of his coffee table, all semblance of energy completely leaving his body. He shook his head slowly, staring at Rogers as Sherlock stared down at him.
"Well, you solved it, I'll give you that, you crazy bastard," Lestrade ran his hands through his hair, looking up at the smug figure standing above him. "Next time, some warning about the whole not-dead thing would be nice."
"Wouldn't have worked without it," Sherlock muttered, stepping over Rogers as he headed into the hallway. "The Yard is nearly here, I'm to make sure they don't screw this one up."
Lestrade shook his head, slowly standing back up as Sherlock rounded the corner. "Sherlock?" The detective looked back around the corner, his piercing blue eyes meeting the soft brown ones of the DI. "I'm glad you're not...I mean...don't do it again."
Sherlock stared at him intently for a moment, then spun around and headed down the hallway, calling back. "Noted."
Lestrade had a sinking feeling this wouldn't be the last time.