A/N Okay, second half as planned! (Well, another chapter really I guess XD) It's heavy on speech, so I apologise but involves lots of detective!Lestrade and detective!John XD
Disclaimer: The sun is up and I can see! It is rather unimpressive as I have good news and bad news. The bad news is that I sound like a sissy because it was not the sea. It was a duck pond. An empty duck pond at that, there aren't even any ducks, which is rubbish. However the good news is: The duck pond is in London! I am back in business my friends! Anyone got any suggestions on where to look for our mysterious Sherlock Holmes? He's got to be somewhere!
Lestrade's office was empty when John arrived at Scotland Yard that day. He had set off as soon as he was ready, worried that Sherlock would get home before him and wonder where he was. He had left a note of his own, explaining that he was out however he hadn't specified where and he knew that if he got home after Sherlock, he would have to explain himself.
It felt wrong, going behind Sherlock's back, however he felt like he couldn't take another day of Sherlock keeping things back from him. It was as if, inexplicably, Sherlock no longer trusted him. Which was impossible, of course, John thought. Sherlock had done nothing outwardly to make him feel as if he had lost faith in him and yet John could simply sense it. The pauses in conversation that held a little too long, the way that Sherlock could apparently laugh and joke with Lestrade and yet not him, how quiet Sherlock had been yesterday after meeting his father once again.
Sherlock's father was another addition to John's worries and he was yet unsure of exactly how to react to him. Sherlock seemed to want his father's approval, more than John had ever seen Sherlock want anybody's praise, even after all of his deductions or after solving a case, and he wondered if that was a good sign. He didn't know if Sherlock trusted Robert Holmes exactly, but he certainly admired the man. John didn't know if that was an endorsement enough, especially as very few people impressed Sherlock, however Lestrade's mistrustful aura around the eldest Holmes made John oddly wary of him, even with Robert's charming demeanour.
As if summoned by John's thoughts, John heard the door click open and he turned as Lestrade came through the door to his office, looking more tired than ever and rubbing his brow with an exhausted sigh. He didn't notice John at first, his gaze locked on the office carpet in apparent relief to be back in the sanctuary of his office, however he soon turned his eyes up and spotted John, jumping a little as he did, obviously startled at seeing someone else in his office.
"Christ John," Lestrade cursed, "You scared me half to death."
John gave an apologetic smile and a small shrug. Lestrade really did look terrible, perhaps even as bad as Sherlock looked and John felt, the divorce and the demotion obviously having taken more of a toll on the Detective Inspector. Despite this, the bags under Lestrade's eyes seemed to look less purple and John guessed that he had got more sleep last night than he had been doing. To his greater relief, he also saw a cup of coffee and a boxed sandwich balanced precariously in Lestrade's other hand, the sandwich box now soaked at the side due to Lestrade's startled jump, the coffee spilling out onto the container. At least he's eating, John thought and he felt as if he had to look after two children when it came to Sherlock and Lestrade.
"Sorry," John said, "The guy from reception said that I could stay in here till you arrived."
"Who? Clark?" Lestrade said, frowning. John nodded and he sat down when Lestrade gestured for him too, seeing the D.I set the coffee and the sandwich on the table and hoping that he wasn't going to discard them.
"Yeah, I think so," John said. Lestrade sighed.
"He was supposed to be moving into training today, they'd better not be holding him back," Lestrade said and John saw him looking at the sandwich with disdain, recognising the small talk as a distraction from having to eat when he was obviously far too pent-up to do so, "He's one of the _ kids. They put him on reception until they could get him into training for the force but a lot of people just think he's a posh kid with no skills. I think he's a smart young lad. He's got potential."
Eventually the small talk seemed no longer a reasonable excuse to put off the sandwich and Lestrade sighed, opening the box. "You don't mind if I eat my lunch do you?" John shook his head. Lestrade gave a nod of thanks and bit into what looked like a tuna mayo concoction.
"He should be a good copper once he's passed training. If no-one else'll have him, he can come on my team," Lestrade said. John smiled. It sounded almost as if Lestrade was defending him; however John was certain that if Lestrade thought he was a good one, he most likely was. He knew that Lestrade was a good D.I and also that he vouched for the right sort of people. When everyone else had dismissed Sherlock, hated him even, Lestrade had been the one that had stood up for him and asked his help, given him a second chance even when he knew that Sherlock was a drug addict and rubbed up all of his officers the wrong way.
"I take it you're here about Sherlock then?" Lestrade said and John was a little taken aback by Lestrade's straight to the point observation, especially after his little off subject tirade.
"Yeah," John answered, "I think he's keeping something back." Lestrade gave a little chuckle.
"Sound like Sherlock all right. I thought you'd be coming to ask about his dad," Lestrade said. John thought about that. He had been wondering about the type of men who had raised a person like Sherlock Holmes, he had wondered if he was as much like Sherlock in his day to day personality as he was in looks, but it had seemed less important compared to the events of the past few months.
"Why, is there something I should know?" John asked, eager to latch onto the subject, the need to put off the real reason for his being here for as long as possible growing stronger.
Lestrade finished off the first sandwich and stared at the other one with a clear question of how much it would upset his stomach to eat it displayed plainly on his face.
"Not really," Lestrade said with a shrug, "Seems like a normal bloke, which is weird considering he's Sherlock's dad and all. I'd expect him to be… weirder."
"Then how come you trust Sherlock and not his dad, if Sherlock's weirder?" John said, feeling a slight bit of defensiveness spring up despite the fact that he knew Lestrade meant it in a familial way. Lestrade seemed to notice the defensiveness and paused before he spoke again.
"I don't know to be honest," he admitted, "It's just… don't you think it's a bit…weird that after all this time looking for a way to clear Sherlock's name and he never mentioned once that he was his father? I mean, it just doesn't sit right."
John watched Lestrade pick at the other sandwich before he picked it up, taking a swig of coffee before he started. He looked like those thin business you sometimes got who were constantly too on edge and nervous to eat without feeling sick and he was certainly looking as if he would happily revisit his lunch at any time. Being a doctor, John had seen enough bodily fluids that they didn't faze him and so he felt more worried about Lestrade's health than the fact that he was in the danger zone from where he was sat.
"I mean, what kind of guy doesn't mention that his own son has just committed suicide?" Lestrade said, outraged. John nodded in understanding. He could see the gaps in the logic but something still told him to try and patch them over as best he could, perhaps because he knew that Robert Holmes meant something to Sherlock.
"Maybe he was worried he'd appear too close to the case and be taken off it? Or if he's like Sherlock he might not have thought it was necessary to mention it?" John reasoned.
Lestrade shrugged. "Maybe," he said but it was obvious that he wasn't convinced and now John could feel doubt bubbling in his own stomach. It did seem strange that he wouldn't mention Sherlock being his son. Especially since, although it was unlikely, it was possible that he had information or at least an insight into Sherlock that could have aided the investigation.
"Anyway," Lestrade said, "you said you were here for something else?" John nodded, pushing down the worrying thoughts for later.
John nodded. "I've been thinking about the day that Sherlock, um… jumped," John said, words failing him on how to exactly describe that day when he had seen his best friend at the top of Bart's Hospital.
"Oh," Lestrade said simply and the silence lingered for a second as Lestrade took another sip of coffee. He had obviously been affected too; primarily by shock most likely, but then being a D.I meant that he had then been subjected to having to review the crime scene, take the heat for allowing Sherlock to consult, being constantly reminded of his friend as being a fraud. "Oh" didn't quite sound like enough and yet, at the same, it sounded overly too much for just one life.
"There's something he's not told me about it," John pressed on. Lestrade lifted his head.
"What is it?" he asked and John gave a short, hollow laugh.
"If I knew that I wouldn't be here. I just – I just think that he's holding something back, that's all. I think maybe it's just my imagination but I don't know," John confessed.
"I looked into the case myself," Lestrade said, "Before Robert Sherrin - Robert Holmes turned up and took over, I ran my own private investigation into it. I wanted to know if Sherlock had really jumped or if, maybe, he could have been pushed. I know you gave your statement in and I didn't doubt you, I just… I suppose I wanted to hope." The admission was quiet and filled with loneliness and from it John knew that Lestrade had been alone in his hope. No-one else had wanted to help him because they wanted Sherlock to be the villain. Sherlock would never know the extent to which Lestrade had fought tooth and claw for him after his "death", not even with all the deductive skills in the world.
"What did you find?" John asked and for a moment Lestrade didn't say anything and for a fleeting second, John believed that he would simply say "nothing" and it would all be his imagination and he could continue as if nothing had happened. He didn't know if he would be happy to hear the news or if the fact that Sherlock's distance was through something else and not a secret would make him feel worse. However, that decision was taken from him as Lestrade spoke.
"There was something else going on John, I was certain of it," Lestrade said and John didn't know if his stomach dropped or soared at that, "Moriarty was dead but the gun he had didn't misfire, no matter what the reports said. Sherlock says that Richard Brook was an alias, that it was only Moriarty which means that, if what I saw is right, Moriarty committed suicide on the top of Bart's Hospital."
John gaped at him. Moriarty had committed suicide? It didn't seem possible, someone who John had always thought as a calculating mastermind who would be all for self-preservation and yet, he had killed himself? He couldn't believe it but then, if someone had said the same thing about Sherlock Holmes to him four months earlier, he would not have believed that either.
"He killed himself?" John said, aghast. Lestrade nodded.
"The wound was too precise, it was from the back of the mouth to the back of the head," Lestrade began.
"Which means that any misfire would have had to have gone in the opposite direction for it to be even plausible," John continued.
"And even then it is a statistical anomaly," Lestrade finished. John digested the information slowly.
"Why did no-one else pick up on that?" John said, shock filling his system.
"They did. The officers on the scene didn't care, Sherlock was the villain, it all looked neat to them, the perfect rounding off to a story and no-one questioned it until Robert Holmes came along," Lestrade supplied. John nodded. Of course people would want Sherlock to be the villain. It made for a better newspaper article, a better person to blame it on and, of course, it made those people that Sherlock had made look bad, which was a lot, sleep better at night.
"Why? Why would he do that?" John muttered.
"Who? The Chief Super?" Lestrade asked with a frown.
"No, Moriarty. Why would he kill himself? If he wanted Sherlock destroyed, he already had him beat with that article he faked. So why would he kill himself right before he had Sherlock beat?"
Both men were silent for a moment, each figuring through the problem, Lestrade working through it with police procedure, John using what he knew from Sherlock in order to reach the same goal.
"What if he didn't die in order to make something happen and instead killed himself so that something else didn't happen?" Lestrade offered. John blinked in confusion.
"Okay, that makes no sense at all," John said with a breath of laughter. Lestrade smiled and nodded in an "I'll give you that" fashion.
"Alright, so there's no reason why Moriarty would have to commit suicide in order to make something happen. He had contacts everywhere, if he wanted something to happen, he could get it done easy as sending a text; the news article is evidence of that," Lestrade began to explain, "But what if the only way that he could stop Sherlock from stopping him was to kill himself? If Sherlock had found a way to stop him and the only way to get around that, to beat Sherlock, would be to kill himself. I never met the bloke but he sounded mad enough to do that just so he could win."
John raised an eyebrow. It was an impressive theory and despite Sherlock's jibes, it was testimony that something other than dogged determination and persistence had gained Lestrade his position in the force. It certainly sounded like something Sherlock would do. To allow himself to be cornered but then pull out the ace in his sleeve and force Moriarty to do something equally as drastic. And Moriarty would indeed go that far in order to win.
"But what on earth would he have to kill himself to do? It must have been something Moriarty had that meant he couldn't live with it if Sherlock could get it from him, but what the hell could that be?" John said, speaking his thoughts aloud. Lestrade shrugged.
"The article maybe? Maybe it wouldn't be published if Sherlock could stop it," Lestrade suggested.
"I doubt Moriarty would leave something like that hanging on a loose end," he said, "But it sounds like the right track. I mean they both, sort of, died so they weren't doing it to save themselves"
Lestrade raised an eyebrow at that and leaned back in his chair with an overwhelmed sigh. John thought about what Sherlock would say if he saw them both here, trying to puzzle it over. He'd probably be jumping up and down and calling them idiots by this point before launching into an elaborate description of the conclusion he had come to. The thought made John smile and he forced himself back to the problem.
"So," Lestrade said, "They weren't in it to save themselves."
"So they must have been in for a bigger picture. Saving or destroying someone else," John finished the sentence. He remembered back to what Moriarty had said about buring the heart out of Sherlock. John didn't know what was in Sherlock's heart (he knew he had one, despite Sherlock's protests to the contrary) but John knew that his own heart was filled with people that he do anything to save and no matter how inhuman people claimed Sherlock was, John would always believe that what he said at Sherlock's grave was true. Sherlock was the most human human being that John knew and he was convinced that Sherlock's heart was also just as human as everyone else's.
"So, what, Moriarty killed himself and still no-one else got hurt? That doesn't make any sense," Lestrade said.
"Not unless Sherlock then stopped the order by faking his death. I don't know it's a work in progress," John argued, "I don't know, maybe Moriarty said that if he didn't jump he'd hurt someone and then he killed himself so Sherlock had to do it." Lestrade's eyes widened momentarily, taking it all in. The more John thought about it, the more he could fill in, the more it made sense. He still didn't know why Sherlock would hide that from him, but it made more sense than any other thought that had crossed his mind in all the time Sherlock had been missing.
Eventually, Lestrade broke the silence. "Bloody Hell, you don't think he threatened one of us do you?" Lestrade said. If it hadn't have been such a deadly notion, John would have laughed at Lestrade's outraged tone but the memory of the bomb vest strapped to him that Lestrade had never been informed of made him sober up immediately, knowing how real that threat really was. He shook his head and shrugged, unable to give an answer.
"If there is anything strange about anything after Sherlock disappeared, if any criminals turned up that hadn't been well known before, then I guess we could start pinpointing exactly what was being threatened," John said, "It could be any time in those three months. Just… anything strange."
"I can look into it," Lestrade said, "it might take a day or so, but I can see what I can find."
John thanked him but the atmosphere was subdued, the thought of how close both of them may have come to death that day and not known it making each of the men shiver. Sherlock would never know the extent to which his friends had defended him but, as always with friendship, it swung both ways and each of the men in Lestrade's office appreciated that Sherlock Holmes may have done something for them that they also may never know and yet had saved their lives.
"Thanks again, Greg," John thanked and he stood, everything inside him feeling cold as he did so. He gestured to the half-eaten second sandwich on the desk.
"I'll leave you to finish your lunch," John said, silently willing the D.I to take the hint and finish it off, giving him a look that made Lestrade look momentarily embarrassed that John had noticed before he nodded. John returned the gesture and turned to go.
"I'll keep an eye on Holmes senior," Lestrade promised him quickly, "So you just have to look after the younger one and keep him out of trouble." John laughed at that.
"Me? Keep Sherlock out of trouble? Greg, I don't think anybody could manage that, let alone me," John retorted and he gave Lestrade a wave goodbye as he left.
On his way home, John couldn't stop thinking about the conversation he had just experienced. It was surreal, to think that Sherlock had been forced to endure such a thing on his own and not only that, but had done it to protect someone else. The Sherlock Holmes that everyone else called heartless and inhuman and yet he had saved more lives than perhaps any of that, without ever asking for thanks or for payment. The Reichenbach hero.
He took out his phone, pulling his eyes from the view outside the taxi window.
Have you talked to Sherlock? He wrote and then, thinking for a second, he continued, Your dad is in Scotland Yard. Why didn't you tell me? Did you know? Can you tell me anything about him? JW. He read through it once and then picked Mycroft out of his phone book and sent it, waiting for the no doubt prompt reply.
John got all the way to Baker Street without a reply and he felt anxiety paw at his insides. Mycroft Holmes always replied. Without fail. Looking at his phone he felt his stomach twist in apprehension and he sighed before entering the flat. Either Mycroft was busy (which was more unlikely but John hoped that was it) or they were all in big trouble.
A/N Thanks so much for reading, reviews are very, very welcome and I hope you all have a lovely week! Thanks again!