Follies

We all are full of weakness and errors; let us mutually pardon each other our follies

-Voltaire

I knew I shouldn't be surprised. I was with Watson as he struggled through some of the toughest times in his life – times the self-righteous detective was dead, and now that he had returned Watson had gone back to being his friend without another thought.

How could Watson stand to trust him? It was simply too much for me to understand. Holmes had left Watson to think him dead and was not even here for Watson when Mary died.

Yet, there they were.

I was standing on Baker Street, looking up at the bright window where I knew Holmes and Watson were. Only yesterday, I had been one of the few friends Watson had left. Now, he had forgotten our lunch plans. I supposed I couldn't blame him for forgetting. We had intended to discuss notes on the case and try to come up with a plausible solution, but there was no need now.

Plus Watson had just had the shock of his life.

I had heard all about Holmes' dramatic reappearance in Watson's consulting room. It was all Watson had talked about the night I helped Holmes capture Moran. I had looked over Watson's shoulder at Holmes, sending him what I hoped was a warning look.

Hurt Watson again, and I'll find some reason to stick you in a cell for some time.

Watson never deserved any of the pain and trouble Holmes had caused. From injuries or illnesses contracted on cases to the grief Watson had gone through when he thought Holmes was dead. It was unfair.

- Flashback -

I met him at the station, along with Mary, shocked about how pale and sick he looked. He smiled in greeting, but he was clearly sad.

I could hardly believe the news when Watson had written back to let us know. He was back within three days of his letter and I offered my sincerest apologies.

"It wasn't your fault Lestrade." He said.

I didn't believe him. I watched as Watson wept openly at the funeral, looking thin and tired. The poor man was overwhelmed with grief because I had failed to catch Moriarty.

Watson got pneumonia as a result of the cold drizzle at the funeral. He was ill for two weeks, Mary keeping watching over him all the while. I went to visit him when he was feeling better and found he was still deeply depressed over the loss of his closest friend.

There was little I could do save to support him. Little I could say that would help him.

- End Flashback -

But I was a respectable man who wouldn't give in to the temptation to punch my friend's best friend.

Suddenly, the blind was drawn back and I saw the familiar face of Watson looking out, I turned around quickly, hoping I hadn't been spotted. I started walking away, trying to get to the corner where I could turn and be out-of-sight.

"Lestrade?" I heard his voice call me.

I stopped, but didn't turn.

"Lestrade?" Watson called again, this time a cough followed his words. I quickly went to him, unable to hold a grudge against the man.

"What is it Watson?" I asked, getting close to him. He had come a little ways from the house and I steered him back towards it, towards his old rooms and the detective that I caught a glimpse of in the upstairs window.

"Lestrade, I forgot. I'm so sorry." Watson said.

"No, it's not your fault." I hastened to reassure him. "You've had a lot on your mind."

"I want to make it up to you. Have you had dinner yet?" Watson asked.

"Well, no, but-"

"Join us!" Watson said. I hadn't heard him be so enthused in a long time and as I looked at the eager expression on his face, I found I could refuse him, regardless that I did not want to eat with Holmes.

I agreed with as much alacrity as I could muster, and he hurried in to call to Mrs. Hudson that they would need an extra plate.

The poor landlady had also been frightened out of her wits, now she was already resuming her role as the Great Accommodator who could make last-minute changes to suit her lodger's whim.

Now there was only one lodger. Watson still lived at Kensington. I smiled at the realization. I would eventually get Watson to myself, even if I had to wait at his very doorstep.

Which was far easier than feigning some sort of ailment.

Watson led me up to the sitting room. Holmes was back in his usual seat smoking on his pipe. He smiled and gave me a little nod as he entered.

I wanted to slap the contented look right off of his face. I had respected him, admired him, just before he had died. I had wrestled with the guilt of letting Moriarty slipping through the net. Watson hadn't been the only one grieving Holmes' death, but he had a far easier time of forgiving the detective.

"Lestrade and I made lunch plans that I forgot about. He's joining us for dinner instead." Watson explained.

Holmes looked slightly caught off-guard, but just nodded.

It was his home, I suddenly remembered. Was Holmes bothered Watson had invited me without consulting the detective?

"I don't have to stay if you don't want me to." I told Holmes. A part of me wanted him to tell me I could leave, but Watson was looking shocked, and I felt guilty for pointing out his mistake.

"No, that's perfectly fine. I never got a chance to thank you for your quick service last night." Holmes said.

"It was no trouble." I said. It wasn't really – he was the problem.

"Well, another case concluded." Watson said. The words reminded me of another case concluded, but the ending had been terrible.

-Flashback-

Watson stood, weeping opening in front of the coffin that was being lowered slowly into the ground. The thump it made as it settled into the hole echoed and brought on a fresh wave of tears.

The minister was saying something, I think it might have had to do with how God would bring us peace, but I wasn't paying any attention to that. I was firmly convinced Watson might never recover from this, and was fighting to keep some life in him.

Which is why my eyes were firmly fixed on him. Why I was able to note his collapse and catch him before anyone else had realized what was happening. I held him firmly in my arms as he sobbed long and hard. Gregson and I stayed behind with him long after everyone else had gone. When he was finally able to stand, we had to support him most of the way.

I wouldn't leave him alone for a long time after that. Through some arrangements and the kind donations of the elder Mr. Holmes I kept a doctor or friend by Watson through the next three months. Then we slowly began to see him recovering and I approached him about the idea of teaming up with me on some cases.

The activity helped him immensely. He still went through spells, but he began to get back to a normal routine at least. And now Holmes' sudden return from the dead, how convenient now that I got him through the worst.

-End Flashback-

Dinner consisted, as I expected, of reminiscing (mostly on the part of Holmes and Watson), while I sat there, nibbling at my food, and occasionally lending a comment or two when Watson tried to include me. I knew he was doing his best to juggle the two of us, since we had hardly said a word to one another.

I wondered if he was mad at me. Was he jealous of my friendship with Watson? Was he beginning to regret his disappearance?

Holmes was regarding me with a cool look and I finally set down my fork. "Go on, say what is on your mind." I ordered.

Watson hadn't known us long, but he knew when a fight was brewing. "Another roll perhaps Lestrade?" He offered me one.

I politely turned it down and set my eyes on Holmes. He seemed as keen as I to finally the matter out. "Well, however did he escape?" Holmes asked

I glared. "I'm lucky we caught all but two Holmes. I told you straight on that I didn't believe we had the manpower to do it.

"And yet you insisted that I could not be bait." Holmes replied. "That ruse would've worked."

"I could no more risk your life than I could my own!" I cried bitterly, rising.

Watson rose as well. "Gentlemen – "

But we weren't gentlemen anymore. We were tigers snarling and snapping at one another, hackles spiked for a fight. "You certainly cannot tell me you were really that sorry to be rid of me – your greatest opponent when it comes to your cases." Holmes hissed.

"Holmes – " Watson was again cut off.

"I couldn't risk you because of him!" I pointed at Watson. "Not that it mattered because what I feared came to pass anyway – but it was all a ruse now wasn't it? You played some cruel twisted joke while the rest of us had to watch people who loved you grieving deeply for you! You weren't with him when he sat grieving for the loss of his closest friend! You weren't there to support him when he nearly collapsed at his wife's funeral!" I snapped.

Holmes had gone deathly pale at this tirade and I was even surprised at myself. Watson was regarding us with a mixture of astonishment and concern. "Lestrade…."

I looked at him sorrowfully. "I would never have wished you anymore grief then what you already have had to bear. You've had more than your share."

Holmes was quiet, not meeting our eyes. Watson just turned and left. I couldn't help but worry about his wellbeing. It was almost an automated reaction whenever I noticed he was down in spirits.

I just looked at Holmes. "Going after him?"

"Aren't you? I thought that I made pretty poor company." He growled.

"But you're the one he loves like a brother." I replied, turning to leave. "Even if I never understand it, you're the one he wanted all this time."

Holmes sighed. "I never wanted to hurt him."

I swallowed, trying to force down my anger for the sake of our mutual friend. "I know… neither did I."

With that I turned to leave, but Holmes bolted passed me on his way to catch up with Watson. I let them go, just wishing I could somehow erase the past, wishing I could undo my mistake.

Because even though Holmes had chosen to stay away, I had been the reason Moriarty had found him in the first place. Alone with my guilt and hoping they could forgive me, I walked silently home, hoping for the best for both of them.