Greg Lestrade – Part 1 of 'She's Back'

Greg Lestrade fell apart a little more inside every time Anderson came to him with another one of his crazy conspiracy theories, all on how Sherlock was actually still alive. The ridiculous thing was that he knew that if anyone could pull it off that person would be Sherlock. But as weeks passed into months and months into years, until even John had stopped staying in contact, his hope at Anderson's idea that it was all faked had cracked and then shattered completely. Now…now it just hurt, and right now he was losing his patience.

"Enough!" he snapped at the other man who looked like the poster boy for basement-conspiracy-nuts-'r'-us and nothing like the clean shaven 'serial adulterer' (as Sherlock had referred to him more than once) of a few years ago.

"You know what this is, don't you?" he pointed his finger at him, trying not to lose his temper completely. It was a hard thing with Anderson. And whenever he saw Donovan too come think of it. "It's guilt. You drove her to do what she did. You and Donovan. With your spite and your accusations, you both drove her into jumping," he took in a deep breath through his nose to calm down, "And you can't live with the guilt,"

The smartest, the goodest (although she had went to her grave thinking that he still thought she lacked that), the most honest, un-people person Greg had ever known had leapt to her death and he had done nothing to prevent it. Not all he could have done. He had followed orders and done his job and not a day went by when he wished he had told the Yard where to go and stood by her. But he hadn't. All he had been able to do was push the investigation on Richard Brooks – James Moriarty – and by doing so exonerate Sherlock and clear her name. Any hope any of the criminals she had helped put away had entertained on being released had been shot down upon the clearing of the detective's reputation.

Now, after two years, he was standing no more than ten feet away from the reporters who had to happily jumped on the 'Sherlock Holmes Witch Hunt' bus back when this mess started and who were now proclaiming her innocence to the world.

Blood suckers the lot of them.

He wouldn't even be watching this on the telly as a matter of principle but he had been called upon to give an interview. The cheek of the thing was that he had to get himself to the cameras and then proceed to freeze his arse off waiting for them to wave him over.

Anderson was still harping on with his theories. After two years of listening to the guilt stricken man come up with one outlandish idea after the next Greg had become an expert at almost always keeping his composure, but as soon as the paving stones she had landed on came into the equation he had quite honestly had enough.

"That's enough!"

Anderson's mouth hung open mid word-in shock and Greg took a quick sip of his coffee to try and stop himself from decking his ex-colleague. He couldn't do that with all of the news cameras about.

"Sherlock is dead and she is staying dead," he told Anderson harshly.

The other man made a move to argue.

"No! Guilt. That's all this is. It doesn't matter how many theories you think up it won't change what happened. What she was driven to do,"

Greg walked away, surprised that he hadn't squashed the paper cup and sent coffee all over himself in his anger.

Anderson was unbalanced. He just had to keep remembering that.

"I believe in Sherlock Holmes," the idiot called from behind him.

Greg sighed heavily and turned.

"That won't bring her back though, will it?"

He ignored the shattered expression on Anderson's face and turned back to the reporters. He wanted this to be over and done with.

The interviews were done, if not to the full satisfaction of the Yard at least to Greg's mind. If they didn't want awkward questions being answered or him occasionally diverting from the script then they should have bullied someone else into being the speaker.

He strode through the car park, his nerves screaming before he finally gave in, stopped, and started the hunt for his already half empty packet of cigarettes.

Taking one from the packet and returning the small packet advertising the state of his lungs to his pocket he searched for his lighter next when the sound of something like a glass bottle being knocked over echoed through the cement walled and ceilinged area.

When he heard nothing else he continued looking for the lighter, the bloody thing, he knew he should have kept it in the packet.

Finally.

"Those things will kill you, you know," a voice announced from the darkness as he raised the lighter to his mouth. His jaw slackened and his heart pounded. The overwhelming urge to giggle bubbled up inside him as he snatched the still unlit cigarette from his lips (and if there was ever a time that he needed nicotine that time was now) and turned slowly in the direction of the voice he hadn't heard in over two year.

"Sherlock?" he whispered in shock as a slim, willowy figure shrouded in a tell-tale jacket stepped from the blackness and into the light.

In that one moment, standing there pale and unsure Sherlock Holmes was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.

"Hello Greg," here voice was trembling and all he could do was stare at her, drinking in the sight.

"You've," she cleared her throat, "You've been letting things slide a little while I've been away," a small wobbly smile came to her lips and something snapped inside him. He darted forward and engulfed her far to skinny frame in his arms, pulling her close and holding her tightly. Greg began to rock from side to side without knowing, an automatic reaction to feeling the dampness on his neck. Who was it coming from? He didn't care. She had been tense in his embrace but now she had relaxed and he held her all the tighter for it.

It wasn't until much later that night after he had dropped her off at Baker Street-

"Doesn't John know?" he asked her as he pulled up the handbrake and just sat.

Sherlock nodded her head.

"And?" he prompted.

"He's angry," she supplied after some silence.

"Ah,"

"I…I can see why. I am not entirely stupid when it some to these things," she defended.

No, she wasn't. She had grown as a person during her absence. But there was a new darkness in her eyes that had not been there before her 'death'.

"But…" she sighed, "But I would be lying if I said I had not hoped for a different reaction.

-that his eyes shot open in realisation.

Anderson had been right all along.

Hello guys,

This is the first part of a three-shot (totally a thing ;)) I did quite a while ago. I figured it was time I finally posted it here.

Mrs Hudson and John will be next.

Please let me know what you think.

Take care :)