"Lestrade, just bugger off ok!" The exasperated tone alone was enough to make Lestrade fall back. A hurt look flickered across his face for an instant before it turned to anger. "Sherlock, just get out!" He yelled. I sighed. Sherlock had really done it this time; it was unlikely we would be invited back to another case for at least a week. That was bad. No cases meant a bored Sherlock, and a bored Sherlock drew smiley faces on the wall in face paint then shot it, filled the fridge with thumbs or designed some strange, horrid experiment that would result in me having to replace to microwave.
Again.
We stepped outside into the bustling city of London where it was drizzling slightly and Sherlock hailed a cab. I don't know how he managed it but he always managed to time it just right. When I was with Sherlock I'd never waited more than half a minute for a taxi. Sherlock ducked inside and I followed, glad to be out of the drizzle. I fixed him with a stare. "Sherlock, why? Why is it, you feel it necessary to insult people? Does it make you feel better than them? I don't get it." He gave me with a blank look then said, "You were dumped five minutes ago by you girlfriend, you ironing board has a wonky leg and Harry's been drinking again." I glared at him. "Sherlock, don't do this, making deductions about faults I may have is all very well and good, but all things considered is a rubbish deflection technique; it just serves to make people angrier at you. Sherlock's face crumpled for an instant and then was replaced with an expressionless mask.
The rest of the journey home took place in silence. Thoughts were running around my head like children on sports day, not particularly fast but there were loads of them. The cab pulled up at Baker Street and I clambered out quickly. I felt vindictive; a small victory, making Sherlock pay for the cab. I walked up the stairs to our flat and unlocked the door. My chair was bathed in sunlight and it looked very welcoming after the day I had just had. I couldn't believe it. Lestrade didn't have to give Sherlock the chance to solve Scotland Yards cases, though admittedly they did need the help; Sherlock was just so rude. Why did he do it? Declaring that Lestrade was gay, and dating his brother, in front of all his colleagues. I was surprised we hadn't been kicked out then and there. But that, what Sherlock had said later, was the final straw. Telling Lestrade to bugger off. Sherlock was one of Lestrade's best friends, even if Sherlock couldn't even remember his name. He cared for Sherlock deeply; he showed in small ways like letting him on cases, bailing him out every so often. Sherlock didn't have many friends, he should take care of the ones he had.
Sherlock trudged in. His hair was dripping slightly and I watched as a small drop of water ran down his nose. "Sherlock," I said, moderately calmly, "Sit." He stayed standing. "We need to talk. Behaviour like you displayed in Scotland Yard is unacceptable. You were rude, arrogant and stupid. Traits which you share with Anderson if I remember correctly from the last insult you threw at him." Sherlock flumped onto the sofa and curled up on his side. "Sherlock! Listen to me! And look at me when I'm talking to you. This type of behaviour has to stop. I don't care whether you like it or not, you will stop." I looked at him, trying to gauge his reaction. He swung his legs round and looked at the floor, meekly. "Sherlock you have to learn, do you understand?" He nodded quietly. "So," I addressed him like a child, "Can you tell me what you have done wrong?" He frowned slightly, a small crease appearing in his forehead. "I… I shouldn't have told Lestrade to go away?" He guessed vaguely. "Yes," I nodded encouragingly, "And can you tell me why?" Because it was… rude and insulting, and I swore at him?" "Exactly!" I smiled, this was progress. "And what else." "I shouldn't have told everyone about the deductions I made about him because if he hadn't told anyone then maybe he wanted to keep it private." Sherlock was really getting the hang of this now. He had managed to understand, to some extent, people's feelings. "So, what do you think you should do now?" I asked him, hoping he'd get it. He frowned again and I waited a full minute before for muttered, "Apologise." I smiled; Sherlock could be so remarkably ignorant sometimes, it was like having a child. "So when you see him next week, you will apologise, and no more cases for a week." His face fell again but he didn't argue. I walked out of the room leaving him to his thoughts.
One week later, to the day, my phone buzzed. It was Lestrade; the message said: I have a case you both may be interested in if you want to come down. The address was on the bottom. I sighed in relief. It had been a hard week. Lestrade hadn't texted and even if he had I wouldn't have let Sherlock go out. But Sherlock had been bored. And a bored Sherlock was an uncontainable Sherlock. He'd rowed with five people in the supermarket, melted the kettle, blown up the microwave and put 23 more holes in the wall. And that was just Monday. "Sherlock!" I called, "We've got a case!" There was a large thump from upstairs and a distant cry of, "Coming!" Sherlock bounded downstairs his face lit up like a child's on Christmas day. "Now remember," I said gently as I put on my coat, "You have to apologise to Lestrade." "I know, I know." He mustered back, sulkily, "I have been thinking about it." "Really?" I said in surprised, the truth was I had too. I all honesty I was a bit worried, what if he said something awful, knowing Sherlock, he was just as likely to insult Lestrade again, even if he didn't mean it.
We arrived and the address. Sherlock clambered out of the cab quickly and I followed wearily behind. The house was very picturesque, with roses in boxes around the windows. It was hard to imagine a murder happening here. Sherlock had ignored the exterior of the house and rushed inside. I followed at a statelier pace. Sherlock barged into the room where Lestrade and all the people Sherlock had embarrassed him in front of were in. "Lestrade," Sherlock began. The room fell silent. "Lestrade," Sherlock said again. "I am very sorry for embarrassing you in front of you colleagues and friends." I chanced a look a Lestrade, he look confused, pleased and angry all at the same time. Sherlock went on, "I didn't not think, when making my deductions, that you would be upset after. For me it was blindingly obvious, as though you were trying to tell the world. You weren't. Greg…?" He looked at me, I nodded. "Greg, you are a good man and even though your intelligence leaves something to be desired I respect you. So, I also apologise for telling you to 'bugger off.' Forgive me; I will try hard to upset you again." Sherlock looked around to the mass of gaping faces in front of him, looked at me and said, "This lot are rubbish, they're just standing there like… goldfish!" He finished triumphantly. This shook everyone out of their stupor and the returned to work.
Lestrade came over and to mine (and most likely Sherlock's surprise) enveloped him in a large hug. "Thank you Sherlock for saying that, it was… very thoughtful. Sherlock detached himself from Lestrade's embrace and wandered off to see the body without another word. Lestrade look at me. "Thank you," He said, "You have really helped Sherlock these last few months." I gave a small smile. "John," Came Sherlock's voice, over the sea of chatter in the small room. "I need my blogger!" I smiled – some things never change.