A/N: And now, as they say, shit becomes real.

Part Two

It was the night of Greg's riskiest endeavor to date. The place he was planning to tag was public, unsheltered, and brightly lit by a multitude of streetlamps. A guard walked by it at regular intervals. However, it would have a huge impact on the campaign.

Tonight, Greg was going to spray paint the sidewalk in front of St Bartholomew's Hospital.

Whether through reverence or fear, none of the "soldiers" in the "Great London Graffiti War" had dared to tag the sidewalk that had killed Sherlock Holmes. But that ended tonight.

Greg hid in the shadow of a dumpster until the guard disappeared around the corner of the building. He had approximately thirty minutes before the guard returned. Just in case, he would try to do it in twenty.

Greg scrambled to the middle of the sidewalk and readied his can. He felt so exposed with nothing at his back but the silent street. He sprayed quickly and expertly, seeing nothing but the yellow paint and the gray sidewalk, hearing nothing but the quiet hiss of the can. Finally, he completed the last letter and turned to leave, only to run straight into something solid.

He stepped back, surprised. The solid thing was a tall, slim woman with dark, tightly curled hair and her arms crossed over her chest.

"Donovan!" Greg gasped, "What are you doing here?"

"Good evening, Lestrade," Sargent Sally Donovan said, softly, "I'm afraid I'm going to have to arrest you."

"I suppose you are." Greg extended his wrists, palms up. For a moment, Donovan stared at them in confusion. Then, comprehension dawned on her, and she pulled out her handcuffs.

"This is so weird," she muttered as she fastened them about his wrists.

Greg attempted a wry smile. "You're telling me!"

Donovan led Greg to her police car, which was parked just out of sight around the corner, and opened the door to the backseat for him. "I've never sat back here before," Greg tried to joke as he sat down. Donovan almost smiled, but her eyes were focused far in the distance. She went around to the driver's seat and started the car. She began to drive towards the nearest police station.

For a while, both of them were silent. Then Donovan asked "Why did you do it?"

Greg thought for a moment, then answered. "I guess... because I do."

"Do what?"

"Believe. In Sherlock Homes."

"But why, Lestrade? Greg," she said his first name softly, "Why?"

"I had to. Haven't you ever felt that you needed to do something, even when you knew it would ruin everything? Haven't you ever believed in something that was impossible, and tried to make it possible?"

Donovan said nothing. Perhaps, Greg thought, she was thinking about her affair with Anderson. When she did finally speak, it wasn't to answer any of his questions. "You'll lose everything," she said.

"What have I really got to lose?"

"Your job. Your daughter, permanently."

"I would lose my job anyway. You know they're looking for a reason to fire me. I'm associated with Sherlock Homes. I make them look bad. And Emily..." Greg sighed, "If I find another job, maybe I can get her back. And at least..."

"At least what?" Donovan urged.

"At least I'll still have my self respect."

"What will you do?"

"I dunno. I was thinking of becoming a private detective. I'm certainly dashing enough for it, aren't I?"

Donovan laughed, but her laughter was hollow and sad. "You know, I always looked up to you. Since I first joined the force I wanted to be like Detective Inspector Lestrade. You were my hero."

Greg couldn't think of anything to say to that, so he stayed quiet.

After several long moments of silence, Donovan said, "Steve and I are getting married."

"Sorry, Steve?" Greg asked, confused.

"Anderson. His first name is Steve."

"Really? How come I never knew that?" Greg shook his head, and added "Congratulations."

"Thanks. We'll set a date for the wedding as soon as his divorce goes through."

"I sincerely hope it didn't take as long as mine did."

Silence again. Then, all of a sudden, Donovan swerved to the leftmost lane.

"Wha-" Greg lurched to the side, and the righted himself. "Donovan, what the hell are you doing?"

"I may not believe in Sherlock Holmes," Donovan began, in a voice stronger than any she had used that night, "but I do believe in you, Gregory Lestrade, and you will not be arrested on my watch. Here," she pulled to the side of the road, "the key to the handcuffs."

Greg uncuffed himself and opened the car door. "I don't know how I could ever repay you," he said.

"Just..." Donovan smiled sadly up at him, "come to our wedding, alright?"

"I will... Sally." And with that, Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade disappeared into the night.

A/N: Review, my friends, review.