Having Seen Too Much

She had been six years old—a beautiful little girl with black curls, wide eyes and a sweet smile. Two days ago, she had gone missing, presumed kidnapped. Now they stood around her body; her curls crusted with dried blood, her eyes frozen open, mouth contorted in a permanent scream.

The kidnapper had tortured the little girl for two days before finally slitting her throat. It was one of the most gruesome cases that Detective-Inspector Greg Lestrade had ever worked, even with the amount of years in the field that he did. Looking at the body, he suppressed a shudder, wondering how such a monster could walk among humanity and not be recognized for what it was.

Sherlock was currently examining the body, impassive as ever. When he stood up, he reported, "He's meticulous, this killer. That's why we weren't able to find him before this point. He kept her elsewhere until he wanted to kill her, then brought her here."

The consulting detective's callous attitude rubbed at Lestrade and he had to concentrate on keeping his face neutral. Sherlock continued speaking, but Greg unconsciously tuned him out.

"… Lestrade, are you listening?" Sherlock finally asked after realizing the older man's apparent inattention.

Greg's dark eyes snapped up and he asked in a pained voice, "Don't you feel anything?" Sherlock raised his brow in an unspoken question, asking for clarification. "Don't you have any compassion; feel any guilt that we didn't get to her in time? Do you feel any horror at what was done to her? Or is this just another game to you?" demanded Lestrade, wondering where this flash of anger came from.

"Emotion hinders logical reasoning," Sherlock replied calmly. "My guilt or horror won't find her killer."

Unable to bear the cold eyes anymore, Lestrade turned away, murmuring something about needing some air. He walked away from the scene until he found a place out of sight. Taking deep breaths, he attempted to locate the calm that seemed so elusive today.

Rubbing his fingers together in an unconscious want for a cigarette, he leaned his forehead against the wall. His anger had dissipated, but in its wake came a deep seated despair. He had seen too much of the world and it seemed as though it would just crash and burn around them, taking no heed to the people that tried to make it better.

His thoughts spiraling downwards, he couldn't stop the single tear that coursed down his cheek.