Weathering the Storm
Title: Weathering the Storm
Author: aislingdoheanta
Fandom: Sherlock
Characters/Pairing: Greg Lestrade, brief Mystrade
Summary: Lestrade's immediate reaction.
Rating: T mentions of suicide
Word Count: 1373
Notes: Written as part of my Storm series--post R focused on Mystrade. Next one will focus only on Mycroft.
Warnings: SPOILERS for The Fall
Disclaimer: Obviously Not Mine
Here's the first two stories in the series--don't need to read them to understand this one, but it helps:
The Approaching Storm
Lull Before the Storm
Gregory Lestrade was getting coffee when the chaos hit. Cops were rushing about. Man. Thirties. Fell from roof of St. Bart's.
Lestrade hadn't given the situation much more thought than, poor bloke, as he grabbed his cup of crap coffee. He walked back to his office, after all, it wasn't his turn. He was here for the next few hours to finish up paperwork.
Then his phone buzzed. He answered it and felt his world crumble around him. He rushed from the office, not even remembering to grab a coat. He didn't even know he still had his mobile until he felt it cutting into his palm as Sally drove to St. Bart's.
He tried to focus on his breathing and stay calm until he saw it, physically took in the scene for himself.
Sherlock's dead.
He jumped from the car to see Molly wheeling the trolley holding Sherlock away with the help of two medics. Her face was grim and set. Sherlock's face was covered in blood and Lestrade had to look away. He didn't want to remember Sherlock that way.
He glanced around and saw John who was struggling with the medics. Lestrade walked over to him.
"Have to...myn fren," John slurred out as he pointed to where Molly took Sherlock. "Please."
Lestrade placed a hand on John's shoulder, pulling himself into Detective mode. He needed to be strong now, for John. John's wild, pain-filled eyes landed on him but didn't seem to see him. "John...they're going to take care of him now, yeah?" He waited for John's attention again before continuing. "John, let them patch you up so you can be there for him later."
The medic had managed to jab John with something, probably to help with pain from his head injury or potentially to help him with shock. John's eyes rolled before he shook himself clear. Lestrade nodded to the medic and turned to face the scene.
He walked to where Sally was setting up the tape. He stood there, hands in his pockets as he took in the scene. It had obviously been cleared, probably by one of the staff members here who hadn't wanted to have such a gruesome a sight for the random passer-bys. He wished they hadn't so he would actually have a crime scene, but then again, would he have really wanted to face, truly face, what he had caused?
Christ, he thought scrubbing a hand over his face, had it really only been a few hours since he had accused Sherlock of being a criminal and forced him in for questioning? How quickly things had changed.
His eyes snapped open as his hand flew to his mobile. Mycroft. He hadn't contacted him. His fingers rushed over the buttons of the familiar number and he held his breath as he heard the ringing.
"Yes, Gregory. I know." Mycroft's voice was flat, emotionless. It broke Lestrade's heart.
"I'm sorry. It came about so quickly and I just thought--"
"No matter, Gregory. I understand what you had to go through before contacting me. No need to apologize for your job." Again his voice sounded robotic.
Lestrade sighed, realized he was shaking. "Where are you?"
"The roof."
Lestrade cursed. "I'm coming up. I'll be right there." He held onto his phone and rushed up the stairs. He didn't think Mycroft would do anything rash, but he couldn't be certain. After all, he had assumed Sherlock Holmes had loved himself far too much to ever take his own life. Unless of course, it had been apart of an experiment.
Lestrade didn't think that was the case.
Lestrade burst through the door to the roof at a run, his eyes instantly on the figure clad in black standing near the ledge. Mycroft was fiddling with his pocket watch and holding the handle of his umbrella so tightly his knuckles were white. He was just staring down where his brother had landed after his fall.
Mycroft turned around a moment after Lestrade came through the door. He looked at him, but made no move to come closer. Lestrade looked at him and was able to see, again, why he was named The Iceman. He looked so closed off. His eyes were flat and his mouth in a slight frown.
Lestrade knew that when Mycroft felt, it was in private. He hated showing what he thought a weakness. It had taken a while for Mycroft to finally start taking down part of his wall for Lestrade. But just because Lestrade understood it, didn't mean he had to like it.
They both stood at opposite ends of the roof staring at each other, neither one quite able to do anything more. It took over a minute for Lestrade to move. He rushed at Mycroft and pulled him close. He wasn't sure if it was meant to comfort himself or Mycroft, but decided it didn't matter. He just held on, praying that he would be able to pull himself together.
Mycroft, however, didn't move. He didn't return the embrace and was tense. Lestrade didn't expect to find Mycroft falling apart at the seams, but he did expect some sort of response from him as Lestrade hugged him.
Mycroft pulled away and looked down, his hand gripping his umbrella was trembling slightly. "I apologize, Gregory, but there are some things I need to see to."
Lestrade nodded. Identifying the body. Sherlock's body. "Of course. Yeah. Course you do do."
Mycroft clicked his heels on the ground and turned toward the door. "I shall see you later." He hurried off before Lestrade could say anything.
Lestrade watched him leave, knowing he should be upset but couldn't bring himself to be. He knew the Holmes brothers had a difficult time expression emotion. Mycroft tended to shut down when he was upset and pretend that nothing was wrong.
Lestrade approached the ledge and looked down. He could see Mycroft walking toward his car. Mycroft paused for the briefest of seconds, his eyes locked on where they were marking Sherlock's fall. Lestrade knew he would be breathing harder than normal, maybe even shaking slightly. Then shook himself and got into the car.
Lestrade tried to put Mycroft from his mind, he could worry about him later. He had a job to do after all. He took a breath and looked down, seeing Sherlock's fall in his mind. He didn't run and jump and he wasn't pushed, the body was too close to the building for anything that. He simply just fell or let himself fall from this ledge.
Lestrade had put his faith in Sherlock and his abilities since he had helped with that first case. Of course he was eccentric, rude, and obnoxious, but he was also brilliant. Lestrade had never doubted that infuriating man. He never would doubt that he had been anything other than what he claimed to be.
He would never believe that Sherlock Holmes had created these crimes just to prove his brilliance.
Unfortunately for Lestrade, he had had no choice in bringing him in for questioning. He had part of his team going to his supervisor, and if he hadn't been present and they brought this to him, Lestrade's career as a DI would have been over faster than he could have blinked. So he had to go along with them, the whole time knowing that Sherlock couldn't have done what Donovan and Anderson thought him capable of.
But he had to go through the steps, had to ask him to come in for questioning. Had to cuff him.
It had hurt Lestrade more than he would admit because he felt very protective of Sherlock, that's what happened when you were in a relationship with the elder brother. However, his own beliefs and feelings had to be put aside to do the job at hand. His hands had been tied.
He took a step off the ledge and looked around the roof. He wondered what had been going through Sherlock's mind while he had been up on this ledge. He prayed that it wasn't despair at what Lestrade had to put him through.
Lestrade would always believe in Sherlock Holmes. He just wished he had been able to tell him.
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