Detective Inspector Lestrade hated calling on Sherlock and John at such a time of the night, despite knowing the consulting detective a) hardly slept and b) would love the case. He felt guilty waking the poor doctor, heaven knows he worked hard enough between the clinic and keeping his roommate in line. Lestrade felt worse this time though, as Anderson and Donovan were coming with him. He hoped they would both keep their mouths shut, it was too early in the morning to be dealing with any verbal wars.
Lestrade pulled up out the front of the Baker street residence, and then buzzed the doorbell. He desperately hoped it would wake one of the two upstairs before it woke their land lady.
The door opened to see Sherlock, his charcoal hair dishevelled and his blue robe open to show pyjama pants but no top.
"Inspector," he said, nodding at Lestrade and purposely ignoring the duo behind him, "Come in."
If anyone noticed Sherlock's voice was slightly deeper and more gravelly than usual, they made no comment. They reached the sitting room just as John has made his way downstairs.
Lestrade noticed the doctor looked more dishevelled than usual, but he put it down to the fact he'd woken the pair at an ungodly hour of the morning.
"Lestrade," John nodded a greeting, "Tea anyone?"
The trio of police shook their heads, and John ambled into the kitchen, presumably to make himself a cup.
"Now, Lestrade," Sherlock said, sinking into his chair and waving at the others to take a seat. "What brings you here at this time of the," he flicks his eyes to the clock, "morning?"
"A triple homicide," Lestrade replied, "Came straight from the crime scene. Which is why these two are with me."
"Yea," Anderson started, "It's not like we're here by choice." He practically spat the last word out.
"I don't even see why we need your help," Donovan continued, "Freak."
John chose that moment to walk back in, two cups of tea in his hand. Swiftly he handed one to Sherlock, who nodded in thanks, and then turned on Donovan and Anderson before Lestrade could get a word out.
"While you are in OUR house," he said, voice low and commanding, "You will speak civilly to both myself and Sherlock. Understand?" There was no room for argument in his voice.
He received a mumbled reply of agreement from both, though Donovan looked like she'd swallowed a lemon. Sufficiently please with the response, he sank onto his chair and then listened to what the Detective Inspector had to say.
After they had been briefed on the situation, the trio stood to leave.
"Let me change and I will be right behind you," Sherlock stood, his statement directed at the Detective Inspector.
"What?" John asked, "No, Sherlock. You need a few more hours sleep."
The taller man turned to look at the ex soldier. "The game is on, John. I can't be wasting time on something as meaningless as sleep."
There was a light in the detective's eyes, sparkling full of energy. Lestrade looked between the two, wondering if he should wait for Sherlock. John caught his eye, inclining his head towards the door, telling Lestrade to go home.
"Sherlock, I'm tired and the crime scene can wait until 7am." The lanky detective huffed and pulled his dressing gown tighter around him. Lestrade, with Anderson and Donovan following close behind, slipped out of the apartment.
"I'm going back to bed, Sherlock," John sighed.
Sherlock nodded, flopping onto the couch.
"You can't do any work yet, not without seeing the crime scene," John had stopped in the doorway leading upstairs.
Sherlock huffed before standing up and walking towards John.
"I suppose I could lie in bed a few hours longer," he trailed off.
And if he added that the bed was more interesting when John was in it, well only the walls were close enough to hear.