Chapter Text
Lestrade hadn't done it on purpose. Why would he? Sure Sherlock was annoying, rude, arrogant, and insensitive; but he honestly didn't mean to. It had been a long week: he fought with his wife, got almost no sleep due to constant hard cases, and Anderson was driving him mad. All Sherlock did was be himself; but today that was just too much.
The team was spread out across the empty flat all doing their jobs the best they could which was still disgustingly poor in Sherlock's eyes. Though the flat was void of any real character with dingy white walls, bare wooden floors, and lack of furniture it still told Sherlock a lot. Sherlock flounced about the flat with a tired looking John trailing at his heels. Sherlock instantly started jumping about the corpse that was stretched out in front of them. The woman's blonde hair was dirty and her clothing was covered in mud. He began to shout about something the yard had missed. He was just so loud, was he always that loud? Sherlock started commenting on the woman's love life or rather lack there of. Did he always move around this much when making deductions? Sherlock pulled a flashlight out and began to examine a stain on the woman's coat. Looking at it made Lestrade's headache worse...when had he gotten a headache?
"Where is her clutch?" Sherlock shouted springing up.
"There isn't one," Lestrade snarled.
"Yes there was,' Sherlock said flatly. "Now where is it?"
"I said there wasn't one," Lestrade practically snarled.
"Well you were wrong," Sherlock deadpanned.
Lestrade could feel himself losing control. "I said there wasn't a clutch here. You were wrong. Do you get that wrong! You were probably wrong about everything else too. Maybe you're too stupid to be of any use here. You're to despicable and annoying to be around if you don't know what you're doing. You may have been faking it with other cases too and we just couldn't tell. You are an embarrassment. So just go, we don' t need you!" Lestrade ranted, shouting at the top of his lungs. Sherlock looked at him with wide and so did John from where he was leaning against the wall.
Sherlock opened his mouth "I-" But Lestrade cut him off.
"Just get out of here freak," hissed Lestrade. And with that Sherlock turned on his heels and fled. John stared after him for a moment before hurriedly following after him. As soon as john was out of sight Lestrade realized the whole room was staring at him. He looked down at the corpse trying to figure out what had just happened. "Um let's call it a night guys," he called out in a tight voice. They all sent him sideways glances. Some looked sympathetic and some just looked confused. "We, uh we won't get much more done tonight. We'll just call in the night watchmen," he continued looking down at his feet. They spread out and quietly mumbled while they began to clean up for the night. Lestrade continued to stare for a few minutes before slowly making his way outside.
Lestrade began wandering around the property not wanting to go home and sleep on the couch yet. He walked across the rather large lawn toward a line of trees standing tall in the fading light. It was beginning to get colder now in preparation for winter and the lawn was already brown in a few patches. Lestrade began to get lost in his own mind as he stepped softly across the grass. As Lestrate began to calm down he started to feel guilt settle in the pit of his stomach. He tried to shake it off. This was Sherlock he was thinking about and Sherlock did not feel emotions. Though he knew this wasn't quite true it seemed to ease the guilt a little bit. Plus Sherlock was always insulting others so it was only fair he told himself. Besides Sherlock was wrong this time so it wasn't bad for him to be mad at the genius for being to self-absorbed to admit his mistake. He felt a bit better and walked back to where his team was still cleaning up for the night. As he watched one of the newer workers came up to him hesitantly hiding behind her long dark hair.
"S-sir did you want to see this?" she questioned nervously holding up a black clutch in a plastic evidence bag. The D.I. felt his stomach drop. It was just like Sherlock had said. He stuttered for a moment unsure what to say.
"I'll take a look at it tomorrow," he finally got out without looking at her eyes. She nodded and walked away. He turned away to appear as though he was examining the corpse. Now all of the entire team thought he was a jerk and an idiot. And it was all Sherlock Holmes' fault. Only it wasn't.