Fic: Regret
Regret
Rating: G
Characters: Sally Donovan, Sherlock Holmes, John Watson
Warning: SPOILERS for S2E3 (The Reichenbach Fall)
Summary: One shot. Post-Reichenbach, Sally regrets her actions.
****
Sally hadn't gone to the funeral, of course she hadn't. Firstly, she hadn't been invited, which came as no surprise, and secondly, even if she had been invited, she wouldn't have had it in her to go. To stand at the graveside of a man she had detested, a man she had helped to ruin. And that was the rub wasn't it: she had hated him for his arrogance and his coldness and a thousand other things, but it still made her sick to the stomach to think of him, up on the roof of St. Bart's, with the knowledge that his reputation was in tatters. The news had spread around the Yard within a few hours and Sally had had to step outside, away from the knowing smirks and self-satisfied nods of those who had always suspected the worst about Sherlock Holmes and felt all their suspicions to be confirmed by this one awful act. She felt no satisfaction, no triumph: she had driven a man to his death.
Sherlock Holmes was dead and buried in the ground and she had helped put him there with a few offhand comments to Lestrade. It was an awful weight on her mind.
And it wasn't just Sherlock who had suffered, which made it a hundred times worse. Lestrade had been suspended and was facing demotion. Several other DIs were under investigation. Dozens of cases had been reopened, victims had to relive their ordeals again, a number of opportunistic prisoners had taken advantage of the possibility for an appeal. And worst of all, worse than the administrative nightmare, worse than sleepless nights, had been the sight of a broken, dispirited John Watson. He had been called in to give his side of the story - not that they had gotten anywhere because he still insisted that Sherlock was not a fraud. Sally had watched his interview from the next room, her heart in her throat as he continually - tiredly but firmly - defended his friend. He looked wrecked and when he finally left, hours later, he was leaning heavily on the cane she had not seen him use in over a year.
Haunted by John Watson's griefstricken face and his quiet insistence, Sally had thrown herself into many of the reopened cases. She had started this and she had to see it through, had to find the proof of her suspicions. But time and time again, after all the evidence had been re-examined, she was proved wrong. Again and again, Sherlock Holmes was acquitted.
Six months to the day that Sherlock Holmes had jumped to his death, Sally found herself at the cemetery, watching John Watson from a distance. He was standing completely still, hands clasped together, head bowed. She had not expected John to be there - although perhaps she should have - and for several minutes she dithered, hovering by the gate. She had never been a coward though, and perhaps she owed it to John to show that now. She forced herself forward and joined John in front of the stark black headstone inscribed with 'Sherlock Holmes', and nothing else.
John startled as she joined him and turned to her surprise.
"I was wrong," she said simply. She kept her eyes fixed on the headstone but she could feel the weight of John's gaze on her. "I'm sorry."
There was silence for a long moment, and then his quiet reply: "Thank you."
He stepped forward and pressed his hand to the stone for a moment, before turning quickly, meeting her eye for a second, then walking away. She took a deep breath, let it out again, and then turned to follow John.
THE END
Rating: G
Characters: Sally Donovan, Sherlock Holmes, John Watson
Warning: SPOILERS for S2E3 (The Reichenbach Fall)
Summary: One shot. Post-Reichenbach, Sally regrets her actions.
****
Sally hadn't gone to the funeral, of course she hadn't. Firstly, she hadn't been invited, which came as no surprise, and secondly, even if she had been invited, she wouldn't have had it in her to go. To stand at the graveside of a man she had detested, a man she had helped to ruin. And that was the rub wasn't it: she had hated him for his arrogance and his coldness and a thousand other things, but it still made her sick to the stomach to think of him, up on the roof of St. Bart's, with the knowledge that his reputation was in tatters. The news had spread around the Yard within a few hours and Sally had had to step outside, away from the knowing smirks and self-satisfied nods of those who had always suspected the worst about Sherlock Holmes and felt all their suspicions to be confirmed by this one awful act. She felt no satisfaction, no triumph: she had driven a man to his death.
Sherlock Holmes was dead and buried in the ground and she had helped put him there with a few offhand comments to Lestrade. It was an awful weight on her mind.
And it wasn't just Sherlock who had suffered, which made it a hundred times worse. Lestrade had been suspended and was facing demotion. Several other DIs were under investigation. Dozens of cases had been reopened, victims had to relive their ordeals again, a number of opportunistic prisoners had taken advantage of the possibility for an appeal. And worst of all, worse than the administrative nightmare, worse than sleepless nights, had been the sight of a broken, dispirited John Watson. He had been called in to give his side of the story - not that they had gotten anywhere because he still insisted that Sherlock was not a fraud. Sally had watched his interview from the next room, her heart in her throat as he continually - tiredly but firmly - defended his friend. He looked wrecked and when he finally left, hours later, he was leaning heavily on the cane she had not seen him use in over a year.
Haunted by John Watson's griefstricken face and his quiet insistence, Sally had thrown herself into many of the reopened cases. She had started this and she had to see it through, had to find the proof of her suspicions. But time and time again, after all the evidence had been re-examined, she was proved wrong. Again and again, Sherlock Holmes was acquitted.
Six months to the day that Sherlock Holmes had jumped to his death, Sally found herself at the cemetery, watching John Watson from a distance. He was standing completely still, hands clasped together, head bowed. She had not expected John to be there - although perhaps she should have - and for several minutes she dithered, hovering by the gate. She had never been a coward though, and perhaps she owed it to John to show that now. She forced herself forward and joined John in front of the stark black headstone inscribed with 'Sherlock Holmes', and nothing else.
John startled as she joined him and turned to her surprise.
"I was wrong," she said simply. She kept her eyes fixed on the headstone but she could feel the weight of John's gaze on her. "I'm sorry."
There was silence for a long moment, and then his quiet reply: "Thank you."
He stepped forward and pressed his hand to the stone for a moment, before turning quickly, meeting her eye for a second, then walking away. She took a deep breath, let it out again, and then turned to follow John.
THE END