Some choices you make for your yourself, some are practically made for you...

Lestrade stepped onto the pavements of Baker Street, surveying the area around him and though his mind was whirling like a dervish, he gave no sign of it. Everything that had happened in the last thirty-six hours had been wiped from his mind in an instant the moment he realized that the blonde woman was wearing his grandmother's engagement ring. He knew rationally he should be angry or at the very least annoyed but he just couldn't seem to work up the energy for it. He had looked into the altered face of the first woman he'd ever loved and had felt one thing – relief. She was alive and for the first time in over a decade, there was a possibility, maybe a small one, but a possibility nonetheless for some semblance of contentment.

Glancing across the street, he noted that there were officers from the Met stationed on the street and one of them was minding his car. He glanced back up at the windows of 221B, pulled his coat tight around him against the wind and strode to his car. The first thing on his agenda was to head home and to pack a bag and head over to the Watson's house for the evening. Time enough to work through everything grinding through his brain when he was counting dots on the ceiling tiles because he was damn sure not going to be getting much sleep – of that, he was certain.

He smiled to himself when he spotted two police cars on the street in front of his house, noting with pride the attention that the constables were paying to the job. He pulled his car in front of the house and was surprised to see Donovan exit one of the cars and walk up to him. "Didn't expect to see you here, sir," she said simply.

Shrugging his shoulders slightly, "Need to pick up a few things – going to stay with the Watson's for a few nights until we know what in Christ is going on." When she nodded sagely, he stopped and studied her for a moment. Her hands were tucked into the pockets and her shoulders were hunched in slightly as if against the wind (which was quite calm at the moment). One good solid look at his detective sergeant and he knew, without a doubt, that she was stalling him. "How long has he been in there?" he asked, "Do you know who it is?"

She shook her head vigorously, hunching even smaller, "Nah, no idea, sir. Just saw a flurry of activity upstairs when I pulled in a few minutes ago. Freak messaged, suggested that you should have extra coverage for a while." She grimaced then, "Figured you'd want to give them a few minutes so that you're not blinded by it all."

His eyes flicked from her to the house, "Thanks for the kindness, Sally," he stared at the door of the house, "See to it that a detail stays here to watch over her for the next couple of days." He ran a hand through steel grey cropped hair, "I'll just be a moment."

With that he took a deep breath and strode into his house, but no longer his home, and prepared for the inevitable tears and recriminations. He entered the house as per his norm, neither quiet nor loud, and made his way up to the bedroom. There was no sign of his wife's paramour and he wondered for a moment if she'd pushed him out a window before he gave himself a mental shake and as he walked to the closet, she practically dove across the bed to stop him.

One day, he thought, what a difference a day can make. Closing his eyes as he took a steadying breath, he opened his eyes and looked over at his wife who was trying desperately to budge him. Softly, in a barely audible voice, he said, "The room smells of cheap aftershave and stale sex, Donovan didn't stall me long enough for you to fix the bed and your body is just screaming that he's in the closet." When her lips pressed themselves together and she stared at him as she waited for him to explode, he said, "Right, so here's how it goes. I'm going to gather some clothing, you're going to get me a suitcase out of the closet and then I'll pack and go."

"Greg, I…"

He shook his head at her as he moved to a dresser and extracted shirts, trousers and other items he was going to need. "Nah. Doesn't matter what you say about this. I have protection detail to do and frankly," he said, turning to look at her over his shoulder, "I'm just tired of this and I'm not doing it anymore."

Her voice was harsh, as she spat, "What do you mean you're not doing this? You haven't done this in months!"

He nodded, "Fair cop. Are you going to grab the bag or what?" As she spun on her heel to search the closet, he went into the bathroom and collected his toiletries. When he returned, she'd thrown papers from her solicitor on the bed beside his clothing and the suitcase – not the first time she'd taken this ploy. This was her pattern, one that he knew Sherlock thought he was unaware of. She had a formula, step one, cheat. Step two, arrange to be discovered. Step three; threaten divorce and all manner of hysteria when he packed to leave. Step four; plead, grovel and beg for the sake of the 'marriage'. Step five required that he act the fool by placating her with gifts and lavishing attention on her until she grew bored and repeated the cycle. He wondered for a moment if it was the same papers every time or if that's part of what she spent his pay on – a constant cycle of solicitor's fees. To her surprise, he picked up the papers, extracted a pen from his jacket pocket and signed the bloody things. Her cry of surprise cut off abruptly as he tossed the papers into the suitcase and zipped it up. She blocked his path as he moved to leave and he studied her for a moment and said, "Be happy, Margo, if you have any idea how to be." With that he brushed past her, the sounds of her wailing following him down the stairs and out of the house.

Donovan was still waiting outside the house when he emerged, leaning against her car as if she had nothing better to do. He set his bag in the boot and then said, "I'll be at the Watson's, have them call me if anything turns up."

She studied him for a moment, then glanced at the house and gave a tip of her chin, "What changed?" When he looked at her blankly, she said, "This isn't the first time you've been here, Lestrade, but it's the first time you've walked out of that house and not been bloody pissed. What changed?" Lestrade opened his mouth to answer and in that moment, the answer to everything was clear as day. Without answering, he jumped into his car and sped away, leaving her to stare open mouthed at the car.