Author's note: This is based on another tumblr prompt. I figured it was time to write another Dimmock story.

I don't own anything, please review.

"By all accounts, you were one of Holmes' guys too".

While he has expected the question, he didn't think the Chief Superintendent would be quite so blunt or hostile, considering that Sherlock died less than a week ago. He hasn't even been buried yet.

And, despite everything, Dimmock can't help but wish that he would talk about the consulting detective with more respect.

He doesn't say so. He never says anything that could jeopardize his career. He never did. That is how he became the youngest DI at the Yard.

And he's certainly not going to say anything that could endanger the position he's worked so hard for.

It is difficult, though. The words are lying heavily on his tongue, and he doesn't understand why.

He and Sherlock certainly weren't friends, they weren't colleagues either; Sherlock was just – Sherlock was just Sherlock Holmes. An annoying sod with a habit of being right.

Plain and simple.

Only it's not simple, because he is dead and Dimmock never raised a voice to defend him.

Why should he have? Sherlock always treated him in the same arrogant way he treated everybody (except for John Watson, and there were times when he was barely civil to the doctor), and he owes him nothing.

Only that –

He does.

He allowed Dimmock to take the credit (officially, he can't forget about John Watson's blog) for the case with the Chinese smugglers. And all the other ones the DI called him in on.

Not that there is any evidence he called him in on more than one case. Not even Anderson or Donovan can have heard about it, for the simple reason that Sherlock never came to another one of his crime scenes. Normally, he listened to Dimmock's description, sighed, proclaimed it to be "a four" and solved it within two minutes.

He was always right. And Dimmock knows he wasn't a fraud. He couldn't have been. And he certainly couldn't have "invented all the crimes" as some journalists still proclaim because Dimmock has been to the crime scenes, has seen the bodies.

None of this – his conviction that Sherlock was innocent, the few cases he helped him out with – mean that he has to tell the Chief Superintendent that he believes in the consulting detective. What's done is done. Sherlock is dead. There is nothing he can do for him.

He can, however, save his own career.

He is aware that some would consider him heartless, but he didn't become the youngest DI by being considerate.

From an early age, he'd known what he wanted. He wanted to be good at his chosen profession, he wanted to stand out.

He was the youngest in his family, and once you had had to fight three older siblings, you got used to do anything to achieve your goal.

And he did. He graduated at the top of his class, he became the youngest DS, the youngest DI. He was on his way to the top. He was determined that nothing and no one would stop him, least of all his own conscience. He had buried it so deep by this point – one didn't get to the best positions at Scotland Yard by being amiable – he had almost forgotten that he had one.

And then Sherlock Holmes happened.

Greg Lestrade called him personally and let him know that he would be unable to visit the crime scene, but that, since the consulting detective had called it in, he would undoubtedly be there. He gave him the (somewhat condescending, or so Dimmock thought at the time) advice to listen to him and "try not to punch him".

When he met Sherlock, the young DI had to admit that it was good advice.

The consulting detective was everything he'd come to expect from the talk at the Yard. He was rude, he was convinced he was right, and he was definitely strange. Dimmock didn't understand why Doctor Watson – who seemed to be a decent bloke, by all accounts – chose to follow him around.

He was convinced it was a suicide. There was every reason to suppose Eddie Van Coon had killed himself; the door locked, a weapon next to the body – what else could it be? For the first half of their first case together, he all but hated him, didn't listen to him, and belittled his opinions.

And yet Sherlock was right. He saw what Dimmock didn't, and knew immediately that the banker hadn't killed himself. He found the Chinese smugglers. He solved the case and let the young DI have the credit.

How happy he'd be if this were the only things he remembered in connection with Sherlock Holmes.

But in truth, ever since Sherlock died, Dimmock has found that instances – memories, stuff he read, stuff he heard, everything he chose not to care about at the time, thought he had forgotten – come to his mind at all times, reminding him that the consulting detective wasn't simply the deducing machine he chose to present himself as.

He saved the lives of his flatmate and his date, ran into the Chinese smuggler's hideout not because he wanted evidence, but because he needed to help other people. At least that's what Dimmock chooses to believe. It would be easier, much easier, if he could consider him a psychopath, a freak, someone who ran into dangerous situations because he needed the rush. But he can't.

Because –

First of all, there is Doctor Watson. He may not know why he became Sherlock's friend, but he knows the ex-soldier is a good man. He wouldn't become the flatmate of a psychopath.

Dimmock saw him three days ago, right after the doctor had given his evidence on Sherlock's suicide. The young DI kept in the shadows, didn't want John Watson to see him. Even though he could see how broken he was. Ever since then, he's felt a burning shame, and he can't understand why.

Why can't he just pity Doctor Watson as a good man who happened to be taken in?

There are too many reasons.

Lestrade is one of them. Regardless of what their colleagues may think, Dimmock has always respected the older DI, and he hasn't stopped because Sherlock Holmes took his own life. Furthermore, he doesn't believe that Lestrade wouldn't realize he was working with a criminal mastermind. Sherlock might have been a genius, but Lestrade is by no means an idiot.

How happy he would be if the consulting detective's friends were the only points he could make in his favour.

Only they aren't.

Because he remembers the slightly hurt look Sherlock gave him when he wouldn't shake his hand. Because he remembers Sherlock predicting him a glittering career, if only with his help. Because –

Because, even though he tried not to, he read every single one of John's blog entry, and Sherlock solved cases without asking for money, as long as they were interesting, gave homeless people money for information that might or might not have been worth it, saved a man's sanity.

He picked up the phone every time the young DI called. He helped him by solving his cases, even if he didn't leave his flat and was far from polite.

Sherlock allowed Lestrade to arrest him without any resistance. He escaped not five minutes later. Which means he could have escaped any time.

Which means he didn't want any suspicion to fall on DI Lestrade.

And Dimmock, during the long, fruitless hours spent searching for Sherlock (he is convinced DI Lestrade did everything in his power to hinder the search, but he wasn't the most enthusiastic participant either), watched the video of his escape – thank God for the surveillance camera on Baker Street – often enough to realize that he clicked the safety of the gun before he pointed it at his flatmate's head.

Sherlock didn't want to hurt John.

Although, considering how the doctor looked the last time Dimmock saw him, he has.

Dimmock bites his lip. The press, the public, and most important of all, the Chief Superintendent have already found Sherlock Holmes guilty. Telling anyone of his doubts will do no one any good.

The Chief Superintendent clears his throat and Dimmock realizes he hasn't answered the question. He was too busy getting lost in his head. This has happened frequently during the past week. It's alarming. It has to stop.

"Of course, I understand this can't be easy".

The Chief Superintendent is suddenly friendly; Dimmock is immediately suspicious. He never trusts sudden mood swings in his superiors. He learned early on that nothing good ever comes of it.

Especially since the Chief Superintendent suddenly seems to recognize that Sherlock's death is a tragedy, whether he was "one of his guys" or not.

Dimmock is corrected in his assumption when his boss continues.

"I know that DI Lestrade is a long-serving and excellent officer. I know many of you admire him. But none of this gave him the right to thrust Sherlock Holmes into your investigation of Eddie Van Coon's death. And, since you made the right decision never to call him in after that, you obviously had your suspicions".

There's a glitter in the Chief Superintendent's eyes, and Dimmock understands what he has to say.

Their boss wants a scapegoat; their boss wants Lestrade out of the way, fired. The older DI is already suspended, of course; but the testimony of Donovan and Anderson, considering their well-known and longstanding hatred of Sherlock Holmes, won't be considered good evidence in his hearings.

If a young officer told the Chief Superintendent that he always doubted Sherlock Holmes, that he never believed him to be a genius, that he regretted letting Lestrade convince him to let the consulting detective in on the case...

It will be enough. Lestrade will be fired.

The last policeman who officially believes in Sherlock Holmes will be gone and the Chief Superintendent can claim that he "cleaned the Yard" (as he called it during a press conference not two days after Sherlock's death, which is one reason other DI's like Gregson or – or himself haven't said a word in defence of the consulting detective).

And he has chosen Dimmock as the one to give him the ammunition to do so.

And it should be easy, so very easy. No one knows he called Sherlock now and then.

He is certain the Chief Superintendent won't forget about him, if he does what he wants. If he denounces Sherlock Holmes. As he should do in a heartbeat. Because he would do anything for his career.

At least he would have. Before Sherlock.

Before –

Before the broken look in John Watson's eyes as he stumbled out of the interrogation room.

Before Dimmock watched Lestrade answer his phone on that fateful day and knew, just from the expression on his face, what had happened.

He says nothing. Because he has nothing to say. Because he doesn't want to.

The silence stretches, fills the office, and after a minute, the Chief Superintendent shakes his hand and smiles a predatory smile, a smile that tells the young DI that he will have to tread very carefully in the future.

Then, his boss says, "I see. You believe in Sherlock Holmes".

Dimmock doesn't know if he quotes John Watson's blog by accident or on purpose. He doesn't care.

All he says is "Obviously".

Author's note: I just loved the idea of this story so much, I couldn't help it.

I hope you liked it, please review.