It was just another day at a crime scene. Donovan being a bitch as usual and Anderson being a complete idiot. But Sherlock didn't care for the meantime. He was too busy to be bothered with them, let alone insult them. John was at his sister's, so he couldn't join him in deducing the lifeless body that lay before him, mangled with its face turned towards the floor.
"It was the scorpion." he exclaimed proudly, snapping in z formation.
"The scorpion?" Lestrade's face contorted into confusion. He couldn't believe it, hence the gasp and the widening of his eyes. No - it couldn't be.
"Yes, her pet scorpion," Sherlock informed, circling the body, crouching down and examining it carefully. He knew he had it right, he was Sherlock Motherfucking Holmes, and when you were Sherlock Motherfucking Holmes, you were always right, even when you knew you weren't.
"Turns out the scorpion wasn't as safe as she thought. It injected her with poison and now..." He removed his glasses, bowing his head. "... She's dead."
"Son of a nutcracker." Gregory Lestrade shook his head in disbelief. They would have to get rid of the scorpion, maybe send it to the desert where it couldn't harm anyone any more. He wasn't having any of it.
"I'll be off now." Sherlock nodded and swept out of the room, his coat trailing behind him (he had always thought long coats like the one Snape wore were mesmerizing) as he exited the crime scene, only to be met with Anderson stopping him.
"What do you want, fleabag?" The detective hissed, glaring at Anderson for stopping him. He had no time for this tomfoolery. Why couldn't he just get out of the way and allow Sherlock to go home? It was not that hard!
"I need to say it in private. We're not safe here." Anderson warily glanced around him. Sally was watching from a distance, clearly wondering what they were up to. He couldn't let her in on this - not this time. She wasn't enough for him.
He dragged Sherlock behind a wall into a deserted alleyway. No one could spy on them now, or listen to what they were saying.
"You made fun of the cologne I use, and you're the one that smells funny."
"How dare you!" Sherlock boomed, roughly shoving Anderson against the wall. He leaned in close to hiss in his ear, his words harsh and colder than ever. "Instead of insulting me, you should put your mouth to good use."
With that, Anderson was on his knees in an instant, Sherlock's trousers were to his ankles, and Anderson's tongue was dragging up the detective's thick member.
"Oh, Andy..." Sherlock groaned in pleasure. He had waited for this for so long.
Before he knew it, he was pressed against the wall face forward, a zipper came down and Anderson was pushing his beloved treasure up his cake hole. He pushed deeper with a loud moan, and it wasn't long before Sherlock came with a shuddering cry, and the other man's icing filled him whole. Anderson pulled out shortly afterwards and pulled up his trousers again, eyes raking over the hunk of a detective as he did the same.
"Well?" Anderson pressed, waiting for Sherlock to say something.
"Yes, um... thank you for your input." And then he simply walked away with a smirk, hips swaying as he swaggered back to Baker Street.