Sherlock's mobile phone was tucked safely in Lestrade's pocket where it had been burning a hole for the last two days.

He hadn't really been sure what to do with it. It wasn't technically evidence since Sherlock's death had been declared a suicide and therefore an open and shut case.

Greg knew the recording he had found on the phone could change that in an instant, yet somehow it seemed far to personal to be made public. Sherlock would chastise him for his sentiment but that didn't stop Greg from feeling it.

Finally near the end of the second day, Lestrade came to a decision. The media continued to drone on about Sherlock being a fraud and a coward for taking his own life and he just couldn't allow that to continue, not when he knew the truth.

As he headed out of the office for the night, he decided he would introduce the new evidence first thing in the morning but there was something he needed to do first. Someone who deserved to to hear the truth before those media hounds got a hold of it.

Lestrade hadn't seen John Watson since the funeral nearly a week ago. He could hardly bring himself to look at the man as he stood stoic and dressed in all black next the the closed coffin. The last time he had spoken to John was when he came around to 221b to arrest Sherlock and he didn't particularly want to think that time.

Still he deserved to know the truth about why Sherlock had taken his own life. Why he was murdered, Lestrade mentally corrected, because it was murder.

Lestrade pulled to a stop in the parking lot of the hotel where John was staying. He had all but moved out of 221b, or so Mrs. Hudson had said when he saw her a few days before. Too many memories, she told him with a sigh.

Lestrade couldn't help but agree with her. He hadn't particularly wanted to walk back into that flat and see Sherlock's science equipment packed away in boxes and his violin set aside to collect dust.

Greg was able to get John's room number from the sleepy receptionist who looked as if she wanted to be anywhere but behind the desk and quickly made his way to the room. He wasn't anymore eagar to speak with John than he had been to step onto St. Bart's rooftop but he figured the man had been waiting long enough for the truth.

Mentally berating himself for his cowardice, Lestrade rapped sharply on the door. There was a slow, faint shuffle from inside before the door opened and a teary eyes John looked up at him in surprise.

"I know it's late," he said, softly. "But I need to speak with you."

"Greg..."

"Please," Lestrade begged. John nodded slowly, stepping back to grant him access to the room.

Like many hotel rooms it was cold and impersonal. A half open duffel bag was all the proof that anyone was even staying here. Lestrade took a seat in an empty chair while John sat heavily on the edge of the bed.

"What's this about, Greg?" Lestrade cleared his voice before speaking.

"It's about Sherlock." John's face twisted in a grimace as he tried and failed to muffle a sob.

Greg fought the overwhelming urge to gather him up in his arms like he would a child and tell him everything would be alright. But he knew that would be a lie. Suddenly he wasn't sure if telling John the truth would be beneficial to him but it was too late to turn back now.

Slowly he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the mobile, flipping it over in his hands. John's eyes were immediately drawn to the object.

"He wasn't alone on that roof." At John's confused stare, Lestrade decided it would be easier to just play the tape. With shaking hands he started the recording.

John's body went rigid as the first notes of the song that had so confused Lestrade started to play. Clearly he knew what it had meant.

Sherlock's deep, baritone voice seemed to cause John more anguish but he stayed silent as the recording continued to play.

Lestrade knew what was coming but that didn't stop his heart from skipping a beat as Moriarty detailed how he planned to kill them if Sherlock didn't jump. He couldn't bring himself to look at John but the sobs that he no longer tried to muffled tore at his heart.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity but could only be five minutes at the most, the recording ended. The silence was almost deafening in the room but neither of them said a word. Lestrade let the phone rest on his knee, taking care that it wouldn't fall.

"John," Lestrade said after a moment.

"Please," John cut him off. "Don't." Lestrade nodded in understanding. He needed this time to grieve.

"Tomorrow I will be admitting this recording as evidence," Lestrade said softly. "People will know the truth about him. He deserves that much."

Lestrade slipped the phone back in his pocket and made for the door.

"Greg," John called to him. Lestrade stopped in his tracks and glanced back over his shoulder. "Thank you."

Lestrade nodded, knowing there was nothing more that needed to be said. Sparing one last glace back to the broken man, Greg silently closed the door and headed for his car.

Tomorrow he would see that justice was done.