Chapter Text
Sherlock tried his best to focus only on the important stuff. The tuft of hair on the floor, the chipped nails of this victim and the blood drops on the floor but the rustling of Lestrade’s coat against the wall, John’s staring at the DI, and Mycroft’s pacing was proving too much to ignore.
Sherlock stood up from the victim and turned to Lestrade and John. “Lestrade, you usually have an entirely unhelpful quip by now, let’s hear it!”
Lestrade ran his hands down his face and pinched his nose. If his body sagged even more he might even become a part of the wall he was leaning against. “I have nothing, Sherlock,” he sighed instead, defeat radiating from his voice.
“Come on, Graham hit us with your utterly idiotic theory!” Sherlock’s voice climbed an octave as he danced around the victim’s body.
“You okay?” John asked when Greg didn’t answer anything, not even to correct Sherlock in the matter of his name.
“Yeah.” Greg pressed a hand against his temple. “Just tired from the case and have a killer headache.” The DI sighed as John’s medical training slowly kicked in and began to lead Greg away from the ecstatic and loud Sherlock.
Greg turned back one last time to find the elder Holmes’ eyes. “If you could come by the station tomorrow for an official statement?” Greg tried to sound confident but the tone of his voice turned the statement into a question and adding, “That would be great,” certainly didn’t help. Yet Mycroft found a small smile on his lips when his and the DI’s eyes met and Mycroft gave the confirmatory nod.
“Why don’t you go home? Let us deal with all this?” John prompted but Lestrade shook his head with a hiss of pain. With a sigh, John led Lestrade to one of the police cars and helped him lay down on the back seats. Before John managed to say anything Greg was asleep.