dear_mun | many happy returns. [ spoilers for reichenbach + minisode ]

[Text from an unknown source.]

So you wouldn't be as happy as Doctor Watson to see him return?

Don't see why 'happy' and 'furious' have to be mutually exclusive.

The biggest difference lies in what would physically happen to the individual in question.

[Anonymity is a great thing. Sherlock can be concerned about his physical well-being without anyone knowing.]

[Anonymity is, indeed, a great thing -- but few people text Lestrade in such a snotty intellectual manner. He's got the idea.]

If Sherlock Holmes thinks he's going to walk away without a black eye after he let all of us believe that he's been dead for the past two years -- well, I guess we're going to need a new consulting detective, won't we? Seeing as he's lost his edge and gone mad.

I wish you all the best in such a fruitless endeavour. Rumour has it, he invented the job.

Didn't leave me much of a choice but to find a replacement, did he?

Speaking of replacements, did you find one for Anderson?

No.

[Lestrade, after all, is trying to get Anderson his job back as long as he drops this idiocy.]

Good. The same faces makes things easier for everyone.

[Sherlock will find it easier anyway.]

I don't want to have to tell you I told you so, but...

[He's SO going to, just you wait and see.]

He was smart -- brilliant, even, but he's just that -- was.

[It's not so much a stubborn grinding of his teeth as a frustrated one. Lestrade has been repeating himself for the past two years, after all.]

There's no sense in connecting points that don't have to be connected. People are still dying, stores are still getting robbed -- we've got work to do past figuring out whether or not Sherlock Holmes managed to slip his own noose.

[Unfortunately, Anderson doesn't exactly have a job anymore... but those are details he's not currently bothering himself with. Actually, he should be more bothered than he is, but he's been too obsessed with tracking Sherlock's moves - hence the beard and the slightly manic look in his eye.]

He's coming back, Lestrade, you'll see. He's fooled you before. He's clever enough to do this, to fake his own death. You'll see...

This isn't the same as hacking a phone network or figuring out what a loose strand of silk means, Anderson.

[It's said patiently, with the air of having explained this a dozen times before.]

We buried him, I spoke at the funeral, it's done. We need to move on with our lives.

[there it is again, that sad, sort of lost puppydog look in Anderson's eyes. He gets that a lot lately, when he's told Sherlock is really dead, and he thinks of how he played some part in that.

But it's gone just as soon as it appeared, because Lestrade has been wrong before. For once, Anderson is the clever one.]

He's clever, he could do it. He could fake it all, even the body.

[He's like a madman, almost.]

[If Anderson feels responsible, then Lestrade is. They arrested Sherlock -- and even though Lestrade never once doubted him, never once believed the stories -- he had to have it done.

He feels guilt, but he's also practical.

Sherlock's dead. That's just how it is.]

There are things not even he's capable of, Anderson.

[His tone is a bit more gentle than his usual frustrated gruffness.]

You've got to move on and let it go.

[But Lestrade might not have arrested Sherlock if it wasn't for Anderson and Sally. He hadn't felt guilt then, because they'd been convinced that Sherlock had something to do with it all, until he went and jumped off Bart's rooftop.

Anderson hadn't ever been all that jealous of Sherlock, not really. Sure, he'd been annoyed by the arrogance of him, and the way he treated him, but he'd tried to get on with him. Okay, so maybe they hadn't gotten along well, but he'd come full circle. Anderson saw the error of his ways, so why couldn't Lestrade see it, too?]

You don't know that, Lestrade. He did things no one could have ever done, deduced things from so little evidence.

[Anderson looks back down at the map he seems to always carry around, now.] He's... he's the real thing. He always was. I should have seen it earlier.

[Lestrade holds his tongue as Anderson continues, because unlike the rest of them, Lestrade has always been firmly on Sherlock's side. Everyone called him mad, if Lestrade remembers correctly, that he allowed the detective so much freedom. And now that Sherlock is gone, everyone seems to miss him?

He's too good to say that out loud, though, and Lestrade scrubs at his face before looking at him with a tired expression, frowning.]

And what are we supposed to do about it, huh? Let's say this mad idea of yours is right -- Sherlock's alive. Why's he waited so long to out himself? Why the wait?

Leave some for me, would you?

Oh, you've got the first swing if this madness actually comes to pass.

[Which it won't because they buried the lunatic.]

Good.

You know, I wouldn't be surprised. He's enough of a git to do it.

[Lestrade lets a bit of air between his teeth in a slight huff, agreeing with John without saying it.]

Neither would I, but he's dead. And I wish he weren't.

[He's quick to add on, because -- well, as much as Lestrade bitches and complains about Sherlock and however much he butts heads with the detective, he always allows Sherlock his room to work. He respects him -- they were friends, as much as Sherlock Holmes as got any friends. Close co-workers would probably be a better term, as Sherlock's only got one friend, and Lestrade is talking to him.]

We collected his body, there was an autopsy, for God's sake. And even if there weren't -- I just -- there's no reason for him to fake it. There's always got to be a reason with him.

I wonder...

[ ...damn it. He's doing it again.

Pinches the bridge of his nose. ]

I said I'd move on. I need to stop this.

It's not something you can switch like a light switch, John, it takes time.

[ -- but, Lestrade sighs.]

You aren't the only one who's got doubts.

Well, that's something. I think.

My team's split between being glad he's dead, wishing he wasn't dead, or thinking he's not dead. Anderson's off his rocker thinking Sherlock's been traveling the world, solving crimes that no one else could solve.

[Tired and exasperated as always, Lestrade sighs again.]

Maybe it is true, I don't know -- wouldn't be the first time Sherlock Holmes has proved be wrong, but I can't think of a way he'd do it without somehow becoming Harry Potter.

[Lestrade saw the damn body. He collected it. He checked it in to be processed. There wasn't a pulse, he was crushed to death. There were broken bones and blood everywhere. It was him.

The pragmatist in him just refuses to believe otherwise.]

Anderson? Really?

[ What.

No seriously since when does Anderson have more faith in Sherlock than John does? This is ridiculous. ]

He's lost his mind.

[A bit heavily, running his hands over his face.]

Lost his job and everything over the whole mess.

[ Hang on. Just a moment.

He needs to process this. Because that is just... What? ]

Anderson.

[ What. ]

You can't be serious.

I'm not going to joke about something like that.

[Come on, John.]

He snapped.

--no, no. Of course not. It's just.

He's just the last person I would have expected that of. Well, one of the last.

Guilt's a powerful motivator in forgiveness.

[Anderson was Sherlock's biggest critic and one of the first to throw him underneath the bus when Moriarty played his last trick.

Lestrade carries a good deal of guilt, but he tries not to blame himself for Sherlock's death. Unlike some people.]

...ah.

[ Welp. ]

That's...

[ He licks his lips. Honestly, he doesn't feel entirely bad for Anderson. But a little bad.

Clears his throat.

He doesn't know how to approach this. ]

Right.

People handle grief in different ways.

[Lestrade had been healthy about it. He worked the case, he ruled it a suicide, he put Sherlock in the ground. There had been some anger, tears -- Lestrade spoke kindly at his funeral and worked through it with the mandatory grief counseling at Scotland Yard and he had picked up and moved on with his life. London still wasn't safe and the police still had work to do.

If Anderson wanted to waste his time believing Sherlock was dead, then Lestrade wasn't going to stop him. The only thing he could do was help his friend when able.]

Yeah. Yeah.

[ That makes him wonder just how he's dealt with it. Moved out of Baker Street. Found something else to occupy his time with. Yet he still sits and tells Sherlock that he should stop being dead, as if that'll change anything. Still holding onto that small chance that Sherlock might just still be alive, because it'd be just like him.

But he needs to stop. He does need to stop. ]

Not like Sherlock is the only ridiculously brilliant person out there.

[That creates a slight grin.]

Another ridiculously brilliant person out there?

He's got to be rolling over in his grave.

Yeah, well. He won't ever get a break, then.

Serves him right, the bastard.

[with a wave of his fingers.]

Mm. Justice.

[ Bah. ]

Edited 2013-12-27 20:24 (UTC)

[Greg.

Look into his wet doge eyes.

It's okay, Gladstone knows. Everything will be okay, Gregory. When people are batshit, it's best to play dead, because then they might stop shoving needs into him and talking about how sad they are Watson is gone.

Shh, Greg, shh. Stop talking, sweet beautiful man.

It's hard not to look into his wet dog eyes when he's randomly there at his feet, staring up at him and panting. God, it's a bulldog, too. There's slobber. Everywhere. It's going to get on his shoes and his pants and Jesus, it may never stop. Slobber factory, coupled with snorty grunty bulldog noises because he is a very fine specimen of a bulldog.

Pet the doge, Greg.]

[Oh good, just what he needs, dogs slobbering all over his shoes and his pants before he has to be in at the office today.

Still, Lestrade does his part by kneeling down to the dog's level, patting him gently on the head before instinctively feeling about for a collar.]

Who left you behind here, eh?

[There is a collar there! What a great detective Greg must be, to go for it. It's like he knows. Mystic powers, that's what they must be!

Gladstone is ridiculously pleased with the attention and licks his lipthings (oh God, such spit much grossness very bulldog) tilting his head so that there's some room for his collar to be found. It's like trying to climb out of a warehouse full of pillows, really, having to fight through the folds of his fat on his neck he's a bulldog he's not OVERWEIGHT yes he is.

But anyway yes, once he manages to get through his flabby lardneck, there's a collar. A glorious, beautiful collar that says:

GLADSTONE 221b BAKER STREET

Since Greg is obviously very smart with the deductions and things, he has faith that he understands what it means. His name is Gladstone, not Gladstone 221b Baker Street. He lives on Baker Street, it's not his name! That would be silly.

For Greggy's valiant efforts, he is reward with a soft roooooo sound. It's possible it's bulldog for "Merry Christmas!" It's also possible it's just a fucking dog making noise; endless possibilities!]

[Lestrade mouths the familiar address to himself -- 221b Baker Street -- before staring at the dog incredulously.]

Sherlock's? John's?

They've got a dog?

[Pause.]

Christ, I don't think I collected a dog.

[The poor dog's probably escaped after everyone moved out.]

[Gladstone sees that look and doesn't get it

so he just assumes this man is either in awe of a) his amazing bodacious good looks for a bulldog or b) his amazing name bodacious good name for any creature ever born because fucking hell, Gladstone is a great name.

He knows the name Sherlock, though, if only because he's his tormenter. If there was a devil, he frequently possessed the bastard because no man in his right mind would do such experiments on a dog. Now, Gladstone was immortal, immune to every disease that was or ever would be. He was superior. In the end, there would be cockroaches and salt and Gladstone the Valiant.

All would fall before his might.

John, though, that's a better name to hear, and he stands up on all four stubby stubs for legs, smiling. Yes. John. Good name, John. He likes John. John is Good People. That also stubby tail starts to wag, because this means one thing:

Greggo is taking him to John.

New best friend!!!]

It would be nice, wouldn't it? If Sherlock wasn't, ehm... I mean, if he wasn't... if he was still around. [Awkward. But Molly's gotten pretty good at lying.]

Edited 2013-12-25 20:01 (UTC)

It would, wouldn't it?

[You are so grounded, Molly Hooper.]

many happy returns. [ spoilers for reichenbach + minisode ]

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omg gladstone below is hilarious

ikr this fandom

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I JUST LOST MY SHIT

Gladstone would help you collect it but it would be covered in spit, so...

lmsafohdsfkdsfgd

Merry Christmas, chum! \o/

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