He nods and sips his brandy and tries not to think about what this place will look like when Holmes has been scrubbed out of it. Conversation like this isn't his forte, not really, and he glances at Watson, taking him in.

"How are you doing?" he asks, cutting right down to the quick of it. Sure, they could dance around, act like they're fine, but he isn't, and if he isn't, then Watson sure as hell isn't. And if there's anyone he can be honest with... Well, Lestrade likes to think that person is him, now. He hopes he's right.