Post by GREGORY LESTRADE on Nov 17, 2012 17:09:39 GMT -5
"Selfish?" Sherlock repeated, looking for all the world offended. He took a step back from Lestrade, and Gregory could feel himself become a tad less tense from the lack of proximity. And yet, once Sherlock spoke once again, he again felt it dangerous to move. As if relaxing would defeat any conviction that, by chance, might actually get through to Holmes.
"I wouldn't say 'lots of people', Lestrade, really. You seem to express the thought that it would distress you. I'll believe that to an extent, certainly. But then you're a reasonable man, and if you regarded the fact that I had killed myself as selfish, then surely it wouldn't take long before you had forgotten, and moved on. Other than you the only person who knows me enough to care would be Mycroft. And he's a Holmes - I doubt the man would barely bat an eyelid before he worked to cover up the blemish of his little brother on his profile." Sherlock, sounding utterly bitter in tone. Gregory had nothing to say to contradict this statement - he had no idea how close Sherlock and Mycroft's relationship was.
Lestrade was so damn frustrated by Sherlock now, but he had no way left to tell show Sherlock the world was not unfeeling. Perhaps apathetic to all the wrong things, yes, but emotion - conviction - was what made the world work the way it did. People were folders, numbers, but without individuality to embrace this clinical system, there would be nothing. Suicide was one of those things, that even if you didn't know the person very well, it affected you so strikingly it was impossible to escape.
Sherlock turned heal and began to walk away, though not out, which was curious. "There would have to be a reason for one to consider suicide as the only option, Lestrade. If dying is better or easier than the alternate- It is dignified in that respect."
"You aren't dying, Sherlock. So you have to, or, should, live. Suicide is the only way out and I swear, even if you don't understand this - it's not... You don't have to understand, but it's - caring, Sherlock, it's what... it's only human." Lestrade ran a hang through his hair nervously. "It's just how things happen here,"[/b] he sighed. Here, this world. This fucking mess of empathy.
"This... this is all a mistake, Sherlock. Let's -- let's go. Let's go." Lestrade finally said, giving up any fight left whatsoever. He'd always been a quitter, and he hated himself for it. But it was so much easier.
"I wouldn't say 'lots of people', Lestrade, really. You seem to express the thought that it would distress you. I'll believe that to an extent, certainly. But then you're a reasonable man, and if you regarded the fact that I had killed myself as selfish, then surely it wouldn't take long before you had forgotten, and moved on. Other than you the only person who knows me enough to care would be Mycroft. And he's a Holmes - I doubt the man would barely bat an eyelid before he worked to cover up the blemish of his little brother on his profile." Sherlock, sounding utterly bitter in tone. Gregory had nothing to say to contradict this statement - he had no idea how close Sherlock and Mycroft's relationship was.
Lestrade was so damn frustrated by Sherlock now, but he had no way left to tell show Sherlock the world was not unfeeling. Perhaps apathetic to all the wrong things, yes, but emotion - conviction - was what made the world work the way it did. People were folders, numbers, but without individuality to embrace this clinical system, there would be nothing. Suicide was one of those things, that even if you didn't know the person very well, it affected you so strikingly it was impossible to escape.
Sherlock turned heal and began to walk away, though not out, which was curious. "There would have to be a reason for one to consider suicide as the only option, Lestrade. If dying is better or easier than the alternate- It is dignified in that respect."
"You aren't dying, Sherlock. So you have to, or, should, live. Suicide is the only way out and I swear, even if you don't understand this - it's not... You don't have to understand, but it's - caring, Sherlock, it's what... it's only human." Lestrade ran a hang through his hair nervously. "It's just how things happen here,"[/b] he sighed. Here, this world. This fucking mess of empathy.
"This... this is all a mistake, Sherlock. Let's -- let's go. Let's go." Lestrade finally said, giving up any fight left whatsoever. He'd always been a quitter, and he hated himself for it. But it was so much easier.
