Lestrade entered the room without a word, slipping the door closed behind him and pulling a cold metal chair out. He sat and watched the man across from him for a few moments.
"Do you know why you're here?" He asked.
"No," the younger man answered avoiding all eye contact.
"So you don't know what you've done," Lestrade asked tapping his chin and sending a sideways glance to the one-way glass on the side of the interrogation room.
"I've told you, I haven't done anything."
"Are you too guilty to admit it?"
"Admit what?" He asked jumping up from the chair and throwing his hands up.
"Please sit back down," Lestrade said standing and trying to calm the man.
"Not until someone tells me what's going on!" He yelled slamming his fists down on the hard table.
"It's about Sherlock Holmes," Lestrade said calmly.
"Is he here too? Are you interrogating him as well for something?"
"No John," Lestrade answered, "that's quite impossible now."
"And why is that?" He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes.
"Because Sherlock Holmes is dead." The last word trickled out of his mouth slowly and hung in the air around the two men who were once friends. John dropped his arms and felt his knees weaken as he fell into the chair. His throat began to swell as his palms became clammy and his pupil's dilated.
"Wh…what?" He asked swallowing down the bile that was rising in his throat.
"Don't act as if you didn't know," Lestrade ran a hand over his tired face.
"How?" John asked.
"That's a good question John, why don't you enlighten me."
"What are you talking about?" John asked.
"Tell me how he died," Lestrade's expression was stoic but John caught the catch in his voice.
"I have no idea and I don't know what game you're playing at but-"
"Tell me why you killed him!" This time it was Lestrade who shot up banging his hands down.
"Excuse me?" John asked.
"Why did you do it John?" He asked leaning over the table to look him in the eyes.
"You sick bastard," John spat out, how can you even accuse me of that?"
"Accuse you?" Lestrade asked. "I don't need to accuse anyone, everyone saw you up there with him."
"Up where?" John asked.
"You're better than I thought," Lestrade said almost allowing a smile, "but I've had enough with this."
"I honestly have no idea what you're talking about."
"You pushed Sherlock Holmes off a roof! We have witnesses and recordings and testimonies a mile wide, why are you still playing dumb with me?"
"Do you really think I could kill him?"
"You've killed before."
"Strangers in war, not my best friend, not my-" but John couldn't finish the sentence.
"I don't know John," Lestrade looked tired, "I just need you to tell me." The younger man closed his eyes and leaned his head back.
"I remember…I remember Moriarty."
"You remember the trial?"
"No, the apartment he was him but he wasn't."
"You two were on the roof, "Lestrade corrected him.
"No, I went home to check on Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock was…"
"Sherlock went with you."
"No he didn't," John shook his head. "I came later, I…I saw him on the roof and and he told me to stay put and…"
"You brought him on the roof John, people saw you drag him up."
"No," he was crying now, "I wasn't there I tried to…I wanted to save him, oh god, I wanted him safe."
"You pushed him John," Lestrade informed him before standing and leaving the room. John sat crying until two guards came to take him away. In the trial he was declared "mentally unstable" and sent to a clinic in Birmingham.

"Good morning John," Doctor Engle addressed him as she entered his room. "Do you feel like talking today?"
"I want to see Sherlock," he said not meeting her eyes.
"John," he voice chastised him.
"When can I see Sherlock?"
"Sherlock's dead, you killed him, remember?"
"No," he shook his head, "I need to see him."
"Maybe we'll talk tomorrow John," she said leaving the room with a sad shake of the head.

Three years later a man returned to England and revealed the truth of his "death". He explained about Moriarty and how he committed suicide before trying to trick Sherlock into doing the same.
"Where's John at?" Sherlock asked after he told Lestrade the story. The man was still gaping at him with a shocked expression.
"It's impossible," he said for the fifth time.
"Yes yes you're very daft, now where is John?"
"We thought he had killed you," Lestrade whispered.
"That's ridiculous," Sherlock huffed.
"We have evidence," he showed him the film of John pushing Sherlock off the roof and the witness testimonies.
"Well obviously it's been doctored," Sherlock said.
"By whom?"
"Moriarty would be my first guess, maybe a last minute diversion plan, I don't know," Sherlock threw down the statements in disgust.
"All this time," Lestrade shook his head shamefully.
"Really Lestrade I have to see him now," Sherlock said than added after a second thought, "please."
"He's dead Sherlock," Lestrade said looking down, "hung himself in his room at the clinic. From the grief we thought, but this…this…"
"No," Sherlock pushed past the man and ran out of the room. He checked every spot John would be, the flat, the pub, even the hospital. At last he ended in the graveyard and stood before two graves. One reading his own name, the other: John Watson.
In the end Moriarty did exactly what he said he would, he burned a heart out of Sherlock Holmes in the most painful way possible.