Nicotine

Six Months Onwards

Preposterously early in the morning, Lestrade hammered on the knocker of 221b.

"SHERLOCK!" He yelled.

He pounded his fist on the door.

"SHERLOCK HOLMES!" He shouted up at the window.

"FOR CHRIST'S SAKE I DON'T HAVE TO BREAK IN DO I?! You lazy son of a-"

Lestrade stopped abruptly as the door flung open.

"You," Said a dishevelled Mrs Hudson. "Are a very rude young man." She adjusted her nightie decidedly.

"Oh my- I am so sorry, Mrs Hudson. I didn't mean to wake you- I didn't think- I just, Sherlock's a genius, and, well -frankly, I-"

"Oh, go on in dear, but I think they'll still be asleep, it's six in the morning don't you know." She said sternly,  but her smile was kind.

"Thank you. And, sorry again for waking you." Lestrade said, stepping inside.

*

"WHAT SORT OF TIME DO YOU CALL THIS!?" Sherlock roared from his bedroom. He threw the door open and strode out angrily into the living room, bedsheet sweeping along the floor. The door hit the wall with a crack and rebounded shut. Lestrade winced.

"What time is it anyway?" He asked, sweeping past him to switch on John's laptop.

"Six."

"Well it better be good. Really good. I don't do average cases before seven." He shot at Lestrade.

Lestrade made a face, before squinting carefully at Sherlock's neck.

Sherlock eyed him closely. He pulled his sheet more securely around himself and swept out.

"Where are you going?" Lestrade called. "Where's John?"

"To wash." The bathroom door slammed shut. The sound of a shower filled the flat.

"Just brilliant." Lestrade murmured to himself, turning round to look for a seat.

John appeared in the doorway of Sherlock's room. He scratched his head and yawned, adjusting his dressing gown. He padded forwards into the living room and looked up at Lestrade groggily.

"What the hell are you doing here?" John said, flicking the kettle on.

Lestrade frowned. "Did you just come out of-"

"Bed, yes. It's six in the bloody morning." John said sarcastically, throwing teabags into two mugs.

"-Sherlock's room?"

John cleared his throat and adjusted his mug a fraction. "Our room, actually."

Lestrade's eyes widened.

"Bloody hell- you're not - you are?"

John poured the boiling water into the cups without looking up

"No problems John, it's just- well, a little unexpected, that's all." Lestrade grinned sheepishly.

"Yeah, well that makes two of us." John said, smiling hesitantly. He walked over to the bathroom and knocked on the door before going in. Lestrade stared pointedly at the ceiling. He could hear the shower and low murmurs, but couldn't make out words. The voices became raised, then a shout and a swear. John shot out the bathroom, chuckling.

"Little shit." John said good-naturedly. He gestured to the mugs of tea. "He'll be a while. Always is. D'you want it? Should've offered."

"Please." Said Greg, sitting down in Sherlock's chair.

John came over with the tea and sat down opposite Lestrade. He leaned back, scratching his neck.

Lestrade spat out his mouthful of tea.

"Oh, you kinky bastard." He said, wiping tea from his chin.

"What?" John asked.

Lestrade tapped his neck and jerked his head towards the bathroom. John coloured rapidly.

"What?" John repeated innocently.

"You know what." Lestrade said, grinning. John averted his eyes from Lestrade's gaze.

"So." Lestrade leaned forwards. "Forgive me for being intrusive, but, you know what I'm going to ask. How was he?"

John laughed. Lestrade chuckled, the topic of conversation being a common one when at the pub together.

"So?"

"Good, yeah. Really- good in fact. Quite- I don't know...extraordinary. Surprisingly good."

Lestrade grinned. "As good as that girl from Edinburgh?"

John paused for thought. "Better." He said decisively.

Lestrade whistled. "Heck, John. That's- that's quite something...jesus...Sherlock? You've got a hell of a lot on your plate, that's for sure." Lestrade hummed.

A sharply dressed figure appeared behind John. "I do, don't I?" The detective purred.

Lestrade shifted uncomfortably.

Sherlock's face suddenly lit up. He clapped his hands together. "The case!" He cried.

"Ah, yeah. The case." Lestrade cleared his throat. "Remember the murder from last week?" He said.

"You texted."

"Yeah, well, there's another one."

Sherlock grinned extatically. "Serial killer?! Bet it is. Love those. There will probably be another next Tuesday. Murder, not serial killer, to clarify. If we haven't found him. John!" Sherlock exclaimed rapidly.

"What!"

"Get ready we're leaving." Sherlock said, spinning round. He caught sight of himself in the mirror and rubbed at the tell-tale red mark on his neck. He grabbed his coat, flipping up the collar.

John was already in their bedroom getting dressed hurriedly.

"Lestrade!" Sherlock yelled. "Where are we going?"

"Central Park Road. There's a car outsi-"

"Cab. We'll be right behind. JOHN!" Sherlock said excitedly.

"I'm coming, for Christ's sake calm down." John said as he dragged himself into the kitchen, mussing his hair distractedly.

Sherlock whirled around the flat, grabbing various items and stuffing them into his pockets.

"Ready?" Said an incredulous Lestrade.

"I just need my-" Sherlock began hurriedly.

"Scarf." John replied, throwing it at him.

Sherlock paused in his whirlwind of activity. "Thank you." He said, his voice low as he stared intently at John.

"Oh, you're welcome." John said, raising an eyebrow.

"For God's sake not now." Lestrade moaned, shoving them towards the exit.

"A serial killer, John! It's practically Christm-"

Lestrade slammed the door shut and pushed them towards the stairs.

"Crime scene. Now."