Hello,

this is it, my first fanfiction in English, so please, don't be hard on me. But I like to take advice on the grammar and language :)

Every Sherlockian seems to hate Anderson. At first I hate him to but then it hit me: Aren't we all a little bit Anderson inside. I mean, I would tolerate Sherlock somehow but I think I would also fail at deductioning things although I'm practising ;) So, enjoy, somehow X)

It's 3 o'clock in the morning and I'm really not in the mood for another crime scene even if it's my job. But it's fucking 3 o'clock in the morning and I have the right to be pissed. We are standing on an old industrial area which is close to the Thames. This is the explanation for the freaking coldness. Not even the blinking stars above the sky can cheer up my mood.

And the reason for all my miseries can only be caused by one man. One psychopath, oh sorry, one high functioning sociopath: Sherlock Holmes. The first time I saw him, it was hate at first sight. My hate for him grows even stronger with every word he says, especially to me. His arrogance and his selfish behaviour are freaking me off and the whole Scotland Yard. But Lestrade seems to be an exception. Before he gets to a crime scene he already takes his phone out and begins to text HIM. "Because I'm desperate," he once answered me as I asked him why he texted that freak every time. Well, maybe I should call the Wisteria Lane to check if their have a free place for him.

But I'm drifting off. So, we're standing here on a old industrial area, it's freaking cold and reason for me standing here is Sherlock Holmes. Clever Dick Sherlock Holmes. Solving a crime on his own without the Scotland Yard because to him we're all idiots. Well, I wouldn't be shocked if we drawing his dead body out of the Thames one day. It would be all his fault when he still refuses to work with

us.

This industrial area was chosen by a drug dealer. He made amounts of money with dealing drugs to the party scene in London. Unfortunately for the party scene was that the drugs weren't harmless as they predicted to be. There are lot of dead people because of it. That means for Scotland to stop that treat, for Lestrade one call and for that freak a new case. That was 11 hours ago.

In this moment a few police men are dragging the drug dealers out of the building. They were pushed in the cars and in the next moment they're driving away.

That's it? Really? What I'm here for? Are there any dead bodies? I would like to punch Lestrade in his face right now in front of everyone. Where is Lestrade anyway?

Lestrade was talking to a couple of people to organize probably the further actions. He looks calm and knows what to do and our great consulting detective is standing nervously beside him.

...Wait! Nervous? Sherlock is really nervous? There are certain characteristics who would support it. The police men are going away from Lestrade and Sherlock begins talk with wild gestures. Lestrade stays calm. A talent which was furthered probably by Dr. Frank-N-Furter.

Thinking about doctors, where is his colleague of his, Dr. Watson? Actually the whole Scotland Yards is convinced that they're boyfriends or maybe friends with benefits but definitely not only colleagues. They're living together. It's a real wonder that John Watson seems to be normal, too normal for that freak. Donovan seems to be attracted to that doctor. It is a joke I made once at our lunch break. She said she only cared for him because he had seen enough in Afghanistan. But she's also convinced that they're having sex. Otherwise they're wouldn't be living together.

And there is Dr. Watson. Completely soaked in water, shivering, pale with blue lips and a blanket around his body. It is wonder he could walk in his situation. And there is Sherlock, firstly shocked and then relieved as he sees him. John tries to smile and in that moment Sherlock runs and hugs him. His head rested on Johns shoulder and he squeezes him tightly. The doctor tries to calm him and strokes the back of the freak.

I stepped to Lestrade: "What happened to him?"

"He fell in the Thames."

"What?"

"He was in a fight with one of the dealers and threw him and himself accidentally out of the window. It's a wonder that he has no serious injuries. Must be the result of fighting in Afghanistan."

"And that dealer?"

"Already on his way to Scotland Yard."

We are starring at them and they're still hugging. I actually feel a little ashamed because it looks really privately.

And then the words are escaping my mouth which should be only in my mind: "He loves him."

Lestrade stares at me: "What?"

"It... it doesn't matter."

Lestrade stares back an them and he says: "Yes, Sherlock really loves him even if he doesn't understand it right now."

I think this is the moment in which Sherlock isn't the sociopath any more he would like to be. Well, he would be a sociopath to other people but John would be the only exception and this exception changes everything. When he starts to have feelings for him then maybe he actually could be not an completely dick any more. That would mean a lot of work for John Watson. But he invaded Afghanistan, he could do it, too.

Next time I could tell him that I've done my researches and smear the facts right into his face.

Lestrade smiles and turns back to leave the scene.

Then I laugh.

"What is it, Anderson?"

"Don't you think they wouldn't be great as Dr. Frank-N-Furter and Rocky on Halloween?"