Anderson ↠ BBC Sherlock

act one; five

Sally Donovan.

The name sounded familiar.

"That's— she's your partner, isn't she?" Clara asked, trying to recall where she had heard the name before. Clara thought back to the perfume she had put in her bag. Did she take that from Donovan?

"Yes," said Lestrade. "She's also been having an affair with your older brother."

She had seen her before, then, when her and Philip made off into a spare room to shag. Was that the same woman whose perfume Clara had stolen? She wasn't sure. "So she's the home wrecker, huh?" asked Clara. Lestrade flinched, violently, and it took her a second to realize why. "Oh. Oh, no, I didn't mean— well, I did, but. Sorry." Clara wasn't actually sorry, of course, but she thought the sentiment might be appreciated.

While Clara had never actually met Donovan before, she had still heard about her. Philip had never fessed up to the fact that she was the one he was shagging, but he had mentioned her views on Holmes once or twice. Freak, she called him. Clara wondered if Donovan would've called her a freak, too, if they had ever met.

Either way, Clara was glad that Sally Donovan was dead.

"It's okay," said Lestrade, even though it wasn't.

"No, really. I'm sorry about your loss, Gerald," Clara told him. "I don't care that she's dead, but I am sorry that you lost a detective today." It was because of her, she knew, that Sebastian came, that James blew up the precinct. It was because of her that Donovan was dead.

The thought didn't bother as much as it should, but she wondered how Philip would take it. Clara knew he would be devastated — not only were they sleeping together, they were also coworkers, and maybe even friends — but Clara was more concerned about how it would effect his relationship with his wife. It might strengthen it, now that he wasn't sleeping with Donovan, but it also had the potential of destroying whatever still remained between them. Clara knew that she'd been debating getting a divorce.

"I'm going to have to tell her mother," Lestrade said, quietly. He elected not to comment on her getting his name wrong, considering the topic of conversation. "Donovan and I, we didn't always get along, but we had each other's back, no matter what. She even told me once that she'd like it if I were to give her away, if she ever got married. And I was just— I was honored, you know? But now..."

"But now she's dead," said Clara.

He nodded. "Donovan and her mother weren't very close, but she was still her mother, and— how am I supposed to do that? Look her in the eyes and tell her that Sally's dead? I can't. I just," he shook his head. "I can't do it."

"I don't know what you're going through," Clara said, honestly, "and I'm not going to pretend that I do. I've experienced loss, myself, but I was only a kid, then. I'm not going to keep saying sorry, either, because I didn't know Donovan, and I can't be sorry, at least not properly. But I do hope that you and Philip will be okay, one day." Clara hesitated for a moment, and then added, "And while it is by no means my place, I also hope that you and your wife, and my brother and his, will stop with the constant lies and cheating."

"My wife and I are—"

"Fine?" guessed Clara. "Earlier today I said that your wife was cheating on you, and you weren't even a little bit surprised. Please don't pretend that you haven't been sleeping on the coach."

"She wants a divorce," confessed Lestrade. "And I don't know what to do. I love her, but I'm busy all the time, and we just fight, constantly. I don't want to get divorced, but—"