Chapter Text
"DETECTIVE AND HIS BLOGGER FOUND DEAD IN THEIR FLAT"
**
He's dead that was all Lestrade could think of. He was repeating it like a mantra, as if him saying it over and over again will make it seem more believable. This time he's dead for good, and it's not only him. John is dead too, and the positioning of their bodies didn't go past Lestrade. They were found in their flat, bodies tangled together, and if not for the copious amount of blood around them he'd think they were cuddling in front of the fire, in their own bloody living room.
Both their chests were cut out and their skulls pried open. The forensics report revealed that John's heart was put in Sherlock’s chest, and Sherlock’s brain put in John's skull. It was a horrendous sight and the moment Lestrade entered the flat and saw the scene he doubled over and heaved whatever tasteless bagel he had for lunch. The symbolism was too much for him to think about. He always knew they meant something to each other, that Sherlock trusted John with his heart and John always put his trust in Sherlock’s brilliant brain.
He has stood by the bodies and tried to deduce, but failing. If only Sherlock was here he would've seen everything I looked over, his brain supplemented. But no, thinking anymore about this will just make him too sick and broken to actually function properly.
As much as he didn't want to take the case, it was the last thing he could do for Sherlock and John, find their killer and avenge them. He had to be strong for them, because contrary to popular belief between New Scotland Yard coppers, he actually cared for Sherlock. He cared for the brilliant man who bombarded one of his crime scenes, high as a kite and spouting deductions. He cared for John too, John who saved Sherlock from the turmoil of his own mind. John who acted as a buffer between Sherlock and the whole world, the kindly doctor who was broken beyond repair when Sherlock died the first time and left everything behind for Sherlock - even his to be fiancée.
At least John is too dead for him to relive Sherlock’s death again, Lestrade pondered. They died before getting together, and as much as Sherlock’s used to rebuke Lestrade for his lack of his observation, he at least knew that the Sherlock and John hadn't confessed their love. He would know, because as much as Sherlock scorned sentiment, he was too gone for John to keep an appropriate distance between if they were ever together.
There was a time before the Fall when Lestrade thought John and Sherlock finally made up and got together, but then Sherlock faked his death, and came back from the dead 2 years later. John leaving his to-be-fiancée before proposing the moment he saw Sherlock should have been enough to show John's love and commitment to Sherlock. But as always with these 2 they continued to dance around each other. And now they're dead.
Lestrade wanted to bash his head against his desk. No matter how much he tries to make considerable progress in the case, his brain keeps going back to the same miserable place. Sherlock and John are dead and there's no coming back for them. For God's sake, there isn't even any leads in the case. Whoever did the deed was very careful and immaculate as to not leave a trace in their wake. Moriarty is dead, and Mycroft himself came to establish that fact.
John and Sherlock had made a lot of enemies in London and in Britain as a whole. There were too many people who wanted them dead and it could've been anyone. The sound of Lestrade's office door opening snapped him out of his trance. When he saw who it was he let out a sigh of relief, if only for that person to have saved him from the continuous torture inflicted by his own brain.
"We've found him," Mycroft Holmes said.