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[ A string of PRIVATE TEXTS ]

Sherlock, you could have at least left me a drink.
- GL

You know it's usually the cat that leaves corpses as gifts about the house, not the other way around.
- GL

Ten minutes.
- GL
[ about two minutes later, another one ]

You have a look at our little sitcom as well?
- GL

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No room in our fridge. John's
filled it with useless things.

SH

Of course.

SH

Well find someplace else. My roommate's some
sort of forest troll, that cat might have been his
best friend's second cousin or some other.

GL

Forest trolls unlikely to be felid
in nature. I'll collect it.

SH

[ and if Sherlock's texts could have tones besides "condescending" and "bored," this one's might be "suspicious" and "wary." ]

How far did you get?

SH

He's a fairly sociable chap, Sherlock. Thank you.
GL

Er all of it?
GL

Don't tell John.

SH

He didn't watch it?
GL

Oddly enough, he was less
than eager to witness my
televised demise.

SH

Well I wasn't expecting that.
GL

If you're going to joke, don't hit
send.

SH

Bugger off, as if I would!
GL

Actually don't, your feline awaits.
GL

On the condition that you don't
tell John anything.

SH

If that's how you two want to play it, fine.
GL

That's not your concern.

SH

Alright, alright. I promised I'd stay my tongue, now will you come?
GL

Fine.

SH

[ Lestrade's tired from work, emotionally drained from the week's events, and over all not very compliant at the prospect of peeling himself off the couch.

He figures Sherlock will find his way in anyway. ]

[ as if Sherlock would knock. the sound of his doorbell is the dulcet tones of breaking and entering, a click at the latch -- he knows Lestrade is in, he's not going to bother being quiet -- and he swings the door open, striding in and dragging along a draft in the wake of his coat. he regards Lestrade intensely: probably slept badly. more probably hasn't eaten in a while. most probably too fed up to deal with Sherlock. good. he'll get his experiment and leave without fuss over the bloody show, then. ]

I do hope you didn't touch anything.

[ Ah, there's the old boy.

Without moving from his lax position, Lestrade simply makes a sweeping gesture at the front of his body ( look, no cat hair ) and points one steady finger at his all to familiar guest-intruder. Sherlock was right. Lestrade was in no mood to deal with Sherlock. His grave voice sounds even rougher when he grinds out: ]

You know, I ought to punch you.

[ Sherlock halts in his trek towards the kitchen, and turns to face Lestrade again, mouth tense as if he is bracing for it already. ]

I made sure to wrap and label it, it's not like I put it on your takeaway. [ in a tone that implies this has actually happened (because it has.) Sherlock knows he's deflecting, but because nothing is going to actually distract Lestrade from where he's going so Sherlock might as well throw down a roadblock where he can. it's practically tradition. ]

[ Impatient as he is, Lestrade talks and moves (as in barely) as if an unnatural calm has settled over him. Tired and over(paper)worked, the detective lets himself unthinkingly go through the motions of Sherlock&his mini rituals. ]

I'll be sure to tell the ol' ex-wife you've learned a thing or two.

[ But then both of his eyebrows rise and Lestrade levels Sherlock with an expectant look. ]

Wouldn't be fair to claim dibs on your face anyway. Seems more like John's jurisdiction.

[ to be fair, Sherlock had allowed for a 35% chance that Lestrade would just punch him in the doorway anyway. ] Yes, it's very big of you not to deny him the pleasure. Pity it won't be necessary.

Now look, don't push it.

[ Shifts to stand, rummages a hand through his hair, and heaves a deep sigh. He doesn't quite know what to say, so he reaches for a cigarette. ]

If you can cheat, I can too.

[ He saw that fag Mycroft lent you, Sherlock. ]

Oh no, by all means. I fall off of buildings now apparently, you can feel free to fall off the wagon.

[ and Sherlock escapes into the kitchen to fetch his experiment before Lestrade can waste too much second-hand smoke, making a note to pickpocket the cigarettes before he leaves. ]

Edited 2012-03-19 04:30 (UTC)

[ Clearly unamused, Lestrade watches Sherlock leave, finishes off his cigarette. Shakes his head, heaves another world weary sigh. He sends off one last text before he tosses his mobile on the counter and retreats into his room. ]

Thank you.
GL

Edited 2012-03-19 06:59 (UTC)

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