Lestrade cleared his throat before he spoke. "There is no Sherlock Holmes. There never has been."
John froze. "What are you talking about?"
"Look him up. He never existed. There is no man by the name of Sherlock Holmes, ever, anywhere."
John frowned, and turned to face Sherlock, who had remained in the corner.
"Sherlock, you'd better explain, because I am not getting this."
Sherlock only looked back blankly. Clearly he was no more informed than John was.
Lestrade was looking at him sadly. "There is no one there John. You invented him."
"Mmm hmm. Invented all those crimes, those cases, racing around the city, shooting a bloody gun in a school. You have no idea how much work that was for me."
"Oh, don't be ridiculous!" John scoffed.
Lestrade sighed. "Can you honestly tell me you are absolutely sure that man exists?" he asked, gesturing in the general direction of Sherlock.
"Look, for god's sake, this man is famous, he's solved loads of cases, been in all the newspapers!"
Lestrade shook his head. "No John. He wasn't. That painting he supposedly found, the Falls of the Reichenbach, it never existed."
John looked at Sherlock, who only shook his head angrily before walking out.
"But... then who are you? What about Mrs Hudson? Surely she knew that I had a flatmate," John noted smugly.
Lestrade looked up at him. "I'm your therapist," he said slowly, as if John was an idiot. "But you seem convinced I was a Detective Inspector. I went along with it, because I hoped it would allow me to get closer to you, but it really didn't help." He shook his head. "And as for Mrs Hudson, she's a nurse. She makes sure you're safe at home."
"Stop it. Stop it now!" John shouted. He glared at Lestrade.
"I'd like to go home now," he snapped.
Lestrade nodded at the woman who had no name.
She accompanied him in the car.