It was a cold and rainy morning when Sally Donovan realised the one thing she had denied for so long. A sliver of silver passing for the moon hung low in the sky, barely casting any light over the high rise buildings that made up London. The street-lamp she was stood under with Lestrade was flickering badly and she considered putting it out of its apparent misery with the stone by her foot.
"Why do we have to do this again?" She asked, her bitter tone reflecting the wind chill. Lestrade scoffed.
"As if we'd be able to solve this case without him. Now open that door and get yourself up those stairs. Oh, and do try not to wake Mrs Hudson this time" Sally rolled her eyes. She did have the ability to be considerate when it was required for god's sake.
Upon reaching the top of the narrow staircase she hammered on the door. Consideration was no longer required.
She hoped desperately it had woken him up.
"On the contrary Sergeant Donovan, I was already awake." Holmes said as he opened the door with a flourish.
"At half past four in the morning?" She exclaimed throwing her bag down on the sofa. Sally was used to his "deductions" about what she was thinking and now she tried her hardest to catch him out. It had worked once. Sort of. She leaned against the wall with her arms crossed like an insolent child as Lestrade entered the room.
"Sherlock, we need-"
"Yes, yes you need my help yet again. I do wish you could have waited until a more reasonable hour though." Holmes sighed and shook his head, walking over to a door on the other side of the room.
"Why might that be, Freak? Is there something wrong with you or do you need to observe your Eye-Jar again?" There was no time of the day when this - this psychopath wasn't up for a body or two.
"Sociopath. And sadly it exploded in the bath. Mrs Hudson was cleaning for weeks and the results were inconclusive, " He looked saddened by this for a moment, "No I wish you'd give him a little more time asleep though." He added before yanking the door open to reveal another small set of stairs.
"What?"
"John!" He hollered, pounding his fist on the wall.
"Buggar off!" A loud groan sounded in protest.
"John we have a case again! There is the distinct possibility of food. Or dangerous activities of a dangerous kind. " A pause.
"Alright, alright I'm getting up." Came the muffled voice of John Watson. Sherlock seemed satisfied and busied himself in the kitchen making tea.
"So it's our fault-" Sally's words were cut off by a loud thump from above.
"Ow! Stupid...how did that get there? Ugh, Sherlock I hate you!"
"Continue." Holmes said, glancing at the door.
"It's our fault that you wake him up at all hours to run off after criminals and get kidnapped and injured and- oh." She stopped talking when John appeared in the doorway.
"Not his fault. Sherlock can you get me the first aid kit?" He said, his voice still thick with sleep. He was leaning against the doorframe topless holding a white shirt to his head. His pyjama bottoms were covered in an abstract artwork of blood.
"My God, are you okay?" She asked and he shrugged. Sherlock chucked a cardboard box across the room and he deftly caught it.
"Tripped in the blankets and hit the corner of the newly moved table" - at this he glared at Sherlock - "face first. Nothing life threatening." He rolled his eyes and seemed to supress a wince when it tugged at the deep cut that stretched from the bridge of his nose to the middle of his right eyebrow. He grimaced appreciatively as Sherlock also passed him a bowl of boiled water and cotton dressing pads. He lifted the mirror to his face, removed the bloodstained pyjama top and started to clean the wound.
"John what does Mrs Hudson always say and I severely disagree with?"
"More haste, less speed." They chimed together and snickered like schoolchildren.
"How long are you going to take?" Lestrade asked and John shrugged.
"However long it takes to clean my face and apply these stitches and then get dressed."
"Too long, can you do it in the car?" Sally said, snarkily and Sherlock snarled.
"Leave him be." He removed the now crimson water and put more sugar in the tea.
"Wow, Freak watch it. You might start sounding like you care in a second."
"And?" The room was silent as John used tweezers to apply the last stitch to his face and took a huge gulp of the tea.
"Sherlock." He said, before throwing the box back into the detective's waiting hands.
"Go and clothe yourself. We will wait here." Sherlock physically pushed his friend out of the room. John swatted at his hands before pushing back. The resulting fight was almost comical and they both fell about in fits of giggles.
"Go!"
"Go!" Watson mimicked before rushing up the stairs leaving Sally almost gob-smacked with wonder. Almost.
"Well, Freak. What were those unconclusive results on the Eye-Jar?" She said, bored, simply to fill the awkward silence that followed their play-fighting. And from upstairs a muffled reply was heard.
"Wow, Sally watch it. You might start sounding interested in a moment!" John said sarcastically. Sherlock snickered.
It was a cold and rainy morning when Sally Donovan realised the one thing she had denied for so long.
There are just some people out there - a minute few - who actually like Sherlock Holmes.