Lestrade turned to me as soon as Sherlock had swept out of the room. The man exuded the aura of having that dramatic, navy blue coat on even when he wasn't wearing it.
"You're mad," Lestrade said simply.
"Well of course I'm mad!"
"You've got every reason to be."
"I thought he trusted me! I mean, I thought we were…I don't know…" I looked at the floor, suddenly embarrassed. It seemed something of a ludicrous idea now. "Friends."
"I'm sure a lot of people told you he doesn't have any," said Lestrade. I shrugged.
"They were wrong." He moved around to his desk and sat down. "The thing about Sherlock…I've never seen him really respond to someone the way he has to you."
"So I'm slightly above average. He's met plenty of above average people. You."
"What, me? Really?"
"He compliments you, in a roundabout way, doesn't he?"
"I guess…but that's the thing, you see. That he knows plenty of above-average people. So why you?"
"He didn't want a friend, he wanted a flat-share."
"Initially, yeah. But…look, John, you didn't know him before."
"I doubt he was much different."
"He was worse."
I smiled. "You're having me on."
"Seriously. He did drugs."
I nodded uncomfortably. "He…told me."
"I don't know how much he told you, but it was bad. You're a doctor, you know what it does to people. If he had kept going at that rate he would have killed himself."
"The fact he detoxed around when he met me means nothing."
Lestrade sighed. "You're trying to rationalize being mad at him."
"And I can't, because it's irrational?"
"Parts of it."
That stung a little, but I stood my ground. "Explain."
"He cares about you. Later that night, when all this started, Donovan and I were going over the security camera footage. He was willing to risk his life for you."
"And fifteen other people."
"'There's no such thing as heroes, John, and if there were I wouldn't be one,'" he quoted, mouth quirking up at one end at my astonishment that he was quoting verbatim from my blog. "Yes, I remember that. Do you get it now? He didn't care as much about those fifteen people as much as he did you."
"Small comfort."
"No it isn't! Why are you so determined to stay mad at him?"
"He makes it very easy."
"Yeah, well…" Lestrade looked at me with a harrowed, tired expression. "You got me there. I'm just saying…you…he's good for you. And he's…happier…around you. So just-just give him a chance, okay? I did, and…it worked. Sort of. It's getting there."
"We'll see," I said curtly. I blinked several times. Did I want to? What if he stayed mad? Why did I even care?
"Lestrade?" I asked.
"Yeah?"
"I need to get drunk immediately."
He smiled, sympathetic without being overbearing. "Thought you didn't drink."
"Only on special occasions."
"Then that can be arranged."