Disclaimer: No infringment intended, but if he was mine, he would be so much happier.. just saying !

Warning: Some sweary words

A Good Man

Chapter 1

Greg Lestrade read through the letter from the Metropolitan Police's human resources department a second time. It had dropped through his letter box this morning, on his first day off since before well before Sherlock's fall. They had timed it well. How embarrassing for all concerned if he had gone to work and been forced to leave immediately, escorted from the building by one of his subordinates.

He had known it was coming but a part of him hadn't believed it. He was a good copper damn it, this was his life and they couldn't just take it away from him because of uncorroborated unsubstantiated allegations against a dead man, who now could not defend himself.

"Blah blah. Indefinite suspension on full pay, whilst internal investigations undertaken to determine whether disciplinary proceedings would be initiated. Blah blah. Bringing the metropolitan police force into disrepute, blah blah, allowing unauthorised access to crime scenes and case files, the scale of the review needed into past convictions"… blah blah blah blah.

He was banned from his office, he was banned from talking to his colleagues, he was banned from talking to the media but of course he had the opportunity to speak to the police federation representative or had the right to his own legal representation should he feel the need and therefore might want to hire the services of his own lawyer.

Well the police fed rep was out, he would be double damned and dipped in acid before he started talking to fucking Anderson who was his local rep, ever again, he would rather chop off his left leg and beat Peter Anderson to death with it than talk to the little shit, so looked like he was going to have to get his own brief.

He'd known this was coming. He was surprised that Chief Inspector Braithwaite (that git from Yorkshire) had waited for a whole month after Sherlock's death, especially since he blamed Lestrade personally for John breaking his nose. He bitterly regretted the fact that he was on the street with Sherlock when John head-butted the sod and he didn't get to see it. He had wanted to do that since the man took up his position four months before.

He'd known it was coming, every time he was mobbed by the press going into work or coming out of work, like when that red headed bitch Kitty Reilly had been waiting for him at his home, trying to get his kids to talk to her about that "nasty man Sherlock and their darling daddy". His kids for Christ sake. His kids.

He had very nearly lost it that night and put the fear of God and the Devil into her, but he had used his head instead and called in a favour from the desk sergeant at the local station, and all of a sudden catty Kitty's car was being towed none too gently by the biggest tow truck he had ever seen, with the ugliest brute of a driver and she was running after it like a screeching harpy. It did his heart good to see that opportunistic lying hack actually sweat over something.

After that little episode his wife had left and taken the kids to stay with her parents in Sussex. He knew what that meant, it was her excuse for finally starting the divorce proceedings, but he promised himself that she would have a bloody fight on her hands for custody of his kids

He'd known it was coming every time he got to a crime scene and heard the muttered comments of some of his "colleagues" and the icy silence from on high when he asked for extra resource on a case or permission to review past cases.

"You can't kill an idea" Sherlock had mocked as he had tapped Greg on the forehead, when they had stood in the living room at Baker Street and Greg had practically begged him to come to the station with him. He hadn't believed that monstrous idea, he had known Sherlock too long and seen his gift too often but he had to follow procedure, he had to eliminate him from the enquiries.
Dear God why hadn't the lad trusted him to look after him? He'd been there for him at Baskerville, he'd been there for him so many times, even if the little git had pretended he hadn't known his name, but it killed him that Sherlock hadn't trusted him at the end.

Greg had looked into Sherlock's blazing eyes and seen through the cold amusement to the despair beneath and he had still turned and walked away from him. God forgive him, if only he had gone with his instincts instead of following his duty that day.

"Sherlock you idiot, we could have fought it together. The evidence was all there just waiting for them, all the cases were too well documented, we could have sorted it and of course the media crap had been a fit up by that scumbag Moriarty".

Now, now he had to fight to clear the name of a dead man, when nobody was interested, when it was so much more fun to slander and libel the man, and read the ridiculous stories about him, if Sherlock had been alive, he would have had rights, and it would have been easier. But it didn't matter, if it was the last thing he could do for Sherlock Holmes, he would clear his name. He was a detective inspector of New Scotland Yard, and he was fucking good at his job, even if most of his colleagues had conveniently forgotten it.

So far only Ian Dimmock had the guts to actually talk to him properly, loudly declaiming that he believed in Sherlock Holmes and Moriarty was real, and if anyone was idiotic enough to believe the crap in those trashy newspapers then they were as stupid as Sherlock always said they were, in front of a flushing Anderson, and grim faced Donovan and staring at them unblinkingly so they had no doubt who he was talking about.

Ian Dimmock shook his hand formally and said

"Best DI on the force and they had better not forget it"

He had been touched by that display of solidarity, almost as much as he had been hurt by Sally Donovan's betrayal. That particular knife thrust had been deep.

They had worked together for nearly eight years; he had seen her potential as a young copper when he had been called to a crime scene on her beat. She had been quietly efficient and smart, pointing out little things that his more experienced staff had missed because they hadn't taken the crime seriously. A young drug addict beaten to death for his stash. Sally Donovan had cared and wanted to get the person responsible. She'd known the kid from her beat, and she had cared.

God he'd known that she didn't like Sherlock, he had let her vent her spleen because Sherlock was a complete git sometimes, he had warned her about her attitude but not stopped the use of the word Freak because Sherlock always came up with nastier put downs anyway, but for her to turn on her boss and friend and betray him in such a way just to get to Sherlock, he wasn't going to forgive her for that. If by some miracle he kept his job and his position in the force, then Sally was gone. He wouldn't work with her again.

As she passed him on the way out of the church after the funeral, he bent his head towards her and asked her coldly in a low vicious voice.

"Came to make sure the freak's actually dead did you Donovan, just in case what you did wasn't enough to destroy him?"

She paled and he even thought there was a flash of hurt in her eyes but as she went to say something, he interrupted

"Don't bother, there's nothing you could say that I am possibly interested in."

And he had turned his back on her.

As for Anderson, that little weasel wasn't even worth a second of his attention, but again, he would find another forensic officer to work with if he came back from this.

He'd known it was coming when he had read the headlines

"Confidential Information given to Sherlock Holmes the Fraud by New Scotland Yard"

"Lestrade, Holmes Pet Policeman?"

"Lestrade Fraud or Fool?"

"Fraudulent Farce costs the British Tax payer? "

Oh he loved that last one; they had never paid that snobby bugger a penny, but what was the truth to the tabloids when they got their teeth into something.

But he had really known it was coming and that it was going to be bad, very bad, when he received the text:

Detective Inspector Lestrade,

I am truly sorry for what's about to happen.

MH

AN: Poor Lestrade and he hadn't even had to deal with John yet ! A "Brief" by the way is london slang for a solicitor (lawyer). So please let me know what you think.. reviews would be fabulous xx