literature

Aftermath

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Literature Text

It takes several moments for him to realize that there's blood on the floor. Where did it come from? Is it Lestrade's? Oh god, he hopes not. He blinks. There's something wet on his lips. Dimmock looks down to see the front of his shirt soaked in blood.

Oh... the blood is his own.

He feels like an unobservant idiot for not seeing it sooner- he tries not to think about the fact that Sherlock would say that was exactly the case had he been there. Had he been alive.

Thankfully Sally- Donovan is there to help take him away from those thoughts. She kneels beside him on the floor and has him tip his head forward so that the blood doesn't run down his throat. Anderson's there, too, helping him to his feet.

"Let's get you to the hospital," Donovan says, her voice more even and calm than it ought to be after what just happened.

"No one tells a soul about this."

The words leave Dimmock's mouth before he even realizes he's speaking. He covers his shock and drills both of them with a stare.

"You've got it?"

They pause and look at each other worriedly. Really, they ought to tell someone that Lestrade has just snapped and beat up one of his best mates (admittedly, Dimmock did just hold the man back from beating the hell out of Anderson for talking trash about Sherlock even after everything, but it's no excuse), but they've already caused enough damage telling on people. They are not about to do so again willingly, especially since everyone's favourite D.I. is already so close to losing his job.


As if he needed to lose yet another thing so precious to him.


So they say nothing. Anderson stays behind to clean up the mess, and Donovan walks downstairs with Dimmock and makes sure no one sees. As much as he holds a grudge against her, he can't find it within himself to hate her (or even dislike her), and thus his next words are spoken without the animosity they might have had otherwise.

"Seriously, Sally. There's no need to come with me. I haven't had a concussion or anything. I'm fine- I've handled worse."

She wants to argue with him, to reason- or maybe she wants to redeem herself in Dimmock's eyes because she knows that she has no chance right now to do so in Lestrade's. But she doesn't. She simply nods and gazes at him apologetically.

"I'll tell them you've had a headache and gone home."

There aren't many people who know about his chronic migraines, but right now Dimmock is thankful that Donovan does. He hasn't had one in almost a month, so his superiors won't be very surprised to hear that he has one now.

Dimmock gives a curt nod and gets into the cab that has just pulled up to the curb. Donovan watches as it drives away and wishes yet again that things had turned out differently. She doesn't regret her actions- she'd do it all over again if necessary- but wishes the consequences hadn't been so... destructive.

---

Later that night, after he's all bandaged and drugged and generally taken care of, Dimmock walks over to the bar where he and Lestrade like to have a pint together. It's not the same one as the Yard likes to have their drinks, which is good because that means no one will find either one of them there.

Dimmock walks into the place and gives a nod to Larry, the bartender, and Julia, who plays music there most nights nowadays. They both look at him in concern but neither pry. They can tell just by looking at him that Dimmock won't say a word. He smiles at them gratefully.

He finds the older man sitting at the bar hidden in shadow. The brunette approaches him slowly and makes enough noise to ensure that he doesn't end up taking Lestrade by surprise. He doesn't want to have to got back to the hospital after all that. Dimmock slides in next to him wordlessly and taps the counter for a drink.

Larry knows what he likes and gives it to him with a worried glance toward the pensive silver-haired man. Dimmock gives him a reassuring look, though he doesn't feel all that assured. After the bartender leaves, the two detective inspectors sit in silence for a long while.

"It's not your fault, Greg."

It's a lie, a stupid thing to say, yet he is convinced that is the right thing to say. Because if there is one man who doesn't deserve the blame, it's Lestrade, the man who has done everything anyone would expect of him and ten times more, the man who has given up so much and gotten so little in return, the man who is simultaneously adored, scorned, and ignored.

The man Dimmock owes so much to.

"It's not your fault," he repeats. "Blame anyone you like- Anderson, me, Moriarty, whoever. Just don't blame yourself. Please."

Lestrade is like another father to him, and Dimmock can't bear to see him like this. He just can't, even if it means laying this all out like a sissy. He wants to take a swig of ale and pretend none of this ever happened, but it has, and it needs resolution, so he sighs and waits for the man's reaction.

He just hopes he hasn't done anything too incredibly stupid.
The sequel to :iconsaskatchewanstardust:'s piece here: [link]

It wasn't part of the agreement, but I just had to leave it open-ended. I want to know what Lestrade's reaction is, but I want ~SaskatchewanStardust to write it, if she would be so inclined to. :)

EDIT
Part One: [link]
Part Two: Here
Part Three: [link]
Part Four: [link]
Part Five: [link]
Part Six: [link]
© 2012 - 2024 DNA-The-Authoress
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