Disclaimer: Still no change from the last chapter. They don't belong to me and the universe hates me so they never will.

A/N: Please stop sending hate reviews? Really. He's not dead. Promise. Like I'd ever kill off Greg. Okay so the only person that gave me a hate review was my daughter and she hit me around the head for killing Greg. Don't worry, he's still alive and he has a plan to get back at Mycroft for being an idiot. That's all I'm going to tell you. Well…that and that this chapter is stuff that happened before and after the crime scene. Mostly from Sherlock and John's POV but I think Anderson and DI Dimmock slip in too.

Wednesday III

"Why did the murderer take her clothes, John? He didn't sexually molest her but he left her naked. Why? What was the point?" Sherlock rambled as he paced the confines of the parlour of 221B Baker St.

John watched his husband's pacing with a fond smile on his lips. "Humiliation maybe?" He offered. "She'd done something that humiliated him and so he wanted to pay her back."

Sherlock stopped suddenly and regarded his husband with a smirk. "Brilliant!" He exclaimed. "You should use your brain more often, John!" He strode to stand in front of the blond man and leaned down. After planting a swift, hard kiss on his husband's lips he jumped back and nearly ran from the room.

John lifted his fingers to his lips and stared after the younger man, bemused. "Wait!" He called out when his brain came back online. "Where are you going?"

"To see Lestrade!" Sherlock shouted back from the bedroom. "He needs to ask the family and friends if Ms. McKnight had made any enemies."

John shook his head with a slight smile and stood to follow his daft husband to the Yard. It was the only way to keep him out of trouble. Or at least try anyway.

MH/GL MH/GL MH/GL

Sherlock tapped furiously at the mobile in his hands as he and John sped to the crime scene. The sergeant on the desk had been reluctant to give them the address but he'd finally relented. The fact that Sherlock had information pertaining to the case overrode the desk sergeant's dislike of civilian consultants.

John sat next to him, hands folded in his lap watching out the window. There were times when John's unfailing calm irritated him but usually Sherlock didn't mind it. To be truthful Sherlock usually depended on it.

"The road's blocked," the cabbie informed them. "There's a mess of people and pandas and ambulances."

Sherlock looked up from his text and his eyes surveyed the scene. John switched his attention to the scene in front of them and gasped. There shouldn't have been that many ambulances and police cruisers. Something was going on. John didn't think it would be anything good either.

"It's all right, Richard," Sherlock told the cabbie in a distracted tone. "You can let us out here and we'll walk the rest of the way."

"Sure thing, Mr. Sherlock," the cabbie nodded and pulled up to the kerb. "Want I should come back in a few hours?"

"I don't think that will be necessary," John answered as he paid Richard and stepped from the cab. "We'll call you if we need a ride home."

Sherlock ignored the exchange and scanned the street for a familiar face. "Roberts!" He shouted at the newest member of Lestrade's team. "What's happening?"

Roberts turned to face the voice and cringed. "I can't let you through, Mr. Holmes. I…I'm supposed to guard the perimeter. I can't let you through."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and scowled at him. "I didn't ask to be let through. Why are the ambulances here?"

Brown eyes filled with tears and Sherlock's scowl grew. "The…the D-d-d I…he was…he was shot, sir. They say he's dead."

Behind Sherlock John gasped and shook his head. "Roberts," he started and then stopped. "Roberts, are you sure?" He asked and slowly approached the young man.

Sherlock, realizing he wasn't going to get anything out of the shocked young man, returned to scanning the crowd of people. "Dimmock!" He called out when he saw the other DI he helped occasionally.

John ignored his husband and focused on the man before him. Roberts was nearly hyperventilating and his pupils were blown wide. "Roberts," he said gently while motioning for a paramedic. "Roberts, I need you to focus on me." The brown eyes wheeled around for a moment and then focused on John. "Good," John's tone was soothing. "Good. Now, are you injured?"

The young man shuddered. "I don't…I'm…I don't think so," he stuttered out. John carefully reached a hand up to squeeze the PC's shoulder in comfort and Roberts hissed in pain before his knees buckled.

John caught him before he hit the pavement, Sherlock rolled his eyes when Dimmock squawked and helped his husband lay the PC out on the ground to await the paramedics. "What idiot sent an injured man to guard the perimeter?" He asked dryly.

"Donovan," Dimmock admitted. "She's a bit frantic though so I'll have to give her a bit of leeway. Apparently Lestrade has been shot in the head." He was a bit too calm for John. Dimmock must have caught his glare and shook his head with a small smile. "Can't be true," he pointed out. "We're not inundated with government agents baying for blood. If Lestrade had been injured then his husband would have all of us cleared out and the person that shot him in chains and awaiting interrogation in a smelly dungeon somewhere."

Sherlock gave a short laugh and John nodded. The paramedic arrived and the three men stood to let the paramedic deal with the PC. Dimmock led Sherlock and John past the crime scene tape. "Lestrade is in that alley with the shooter though," he told them. "He's hiding, I think, as he's not answering us."

John felt a shiver of dread race down his spine and one look at his husband showed he'd felt the same thing. He glanced around and then nodded to one of the buildings defining the alley. Sherlock nodded silently and John peeled off, hurrying into the building and up one flight of stairs before he made his way towards one of the windows facing the alley.

Thank God it was an office building and also that it had already been cleared out by the cops. John didn't think he had the stomach to deal with civilians at the moment. They asked far too many questions and took up time that Greg didn't have.

MH/GL MH/GL MH/GL

Later almost no one was sure what had happened. Those that did know kept the secret to themselves.

Dimmock had seen John leave from the corner of his eye and didn't say a word about it. He knew quite well that having John run off meant a quick resolution and a suspect in custody. Had they left Lestrade in the alley much longer the Government would have become involved and then they'd lose the suspect and probably a few of their officers. Mycroft Holmes did not take kindly to someone threatening his husband or the people that allowed it to happen. John would at least leave the suspect alive.

Sherlock knew exactly what his husband intended with a single look and only nodded his permission and acceptance. Lestrade was his brother-in-law and friend, though he'd never admit that second part aloud. Anyone injuring Lestrade should be prepared for Hell to rain down upon them.

Anderson and Donovan stood together at the mouth of the alley attempting to talk the gunman into letting them in to check on their silent DI. The shooter was having none of it. Anderson felt the Psychopath and DI Dimmock before he saw them and only lifted an eyebrow at the missing Dr. Watson. The echo of a gunshot had him smiling grimly as the shooter screamed in pain and blood blossomed from his shattered hand. When Dr. Watson joined them as they rushed towards the suspect and the fallen form of Lestrade Anderson nodded to the Doctor and went about following his orders on Lestrade's care until the paramedics showed up.

No one else had any idea what had happened though there were theories. They ranged from close to the reality to the truly absurd. Some said that Lestrade had a bodyguard because of his husband. Others claimed that because Mycroft worked for the government he had access to secret labs and the ability to turn back time. None of them ever connected the quiet, unassuming, polite Dr. Watson with the events of that afternoon.

The facts of the case were easily discernible. An unnamed, unidentified sniper had shoot a murder suspect through his gun hand, shattering said hand and disabling the gun. DI Lestrade had caught a ricocheted bullet with his head and was currently in critical condition at St. Bart's. A doctor on scene had applied immediate first aid to the DI probably saving his life. Unfortunately that same doctor was only one man and had no time to treat the suspect causing the suspect to lose his hand after three hours of surgery once he'd been transferred to an unnamed hospital. That was all that the reporters and population needed to know.