Written for a challenge with the prompt: "first". Beta by chocolate_limes at livejournal.

This story is completed, meaning it's a one-shot, meaning I won't write any more chapters, meaning you don't have to set story alerts, it's pointless. It's just a funny stand-alone scene, that's all.

When a very alarmed Mrs Hudson finally opened the door to her lodger's flat with the spare key, Lestrade and his men found Sherlock sprawled on the sofa.

Lestrade hurried to his side. "Are you alright?" he asked urgently, looking for any signs of injury or illness. God only knew what Sherlock could have got himself into this time.

"I'm unhurt, if that's what you mean," Sherlock replied, his voice cold and expressionless. He craned his head to look at the small party assembled in his living room. "Though you should know Anderson's presence grates on my nerves."

"What's going on?" the man snapped back. "Where's your emergency?"

"Good of you to come along, Anderson," Sherlock replied, ignoring the question. "Next time, don't bother. You're only making things worse."

"Seriously, Sherlock, what's going on?" Lestrade asked, rubbing his eyes tiredly. It had been a long day and by now he should be on his way home instead of having to deal with Sherlock's antics. "Your message sounded urgent, so don't tell me we rushed here just so that you could have a crack at Anderson."

Sherlock sighed. "If, for once, you bothered to use your powers of observation," he said closing his eyes, "you'd notice that something is missing."

Lestrade looked around, perplexed. The flat was in its usual state of endemic disarray, Sherlock's possessions strewn around carelessly. He couldn't say he noticed anything different from the other times he'd been there.

He looked at Anderson, who just rolled his eyes, then at Donovan.

"No spare body parts lying around?" she ventured, making Sherlock scoff.

"Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson broke in indignantly. "I hope you haven't been messing around with anything horrible in the kitchen again, it gave me such a fright last time..."

Lestrade was about to ask her if she had noticed anything out of the ordinary when Sherlock, clearly bored of their guessing game, sat up abruptly.

"John!" he exclaimed, sounding thoroughly annoyed. "It's John!"

For a moment, Lestrade forgot his annoyance. "Kidnapped?" he asked quickly, hoping the doctor hadn't got involved in something else. He felt sympathy for John, whom he thought was a good man and didn't deserve to have to deal with Sherlock on a daily basis.

"Worse," Sherlock said, making Lestrade's heart skipped a beat. "He went out with Sarah."

It took Lestrade a moment to process this information. Anderson was quicker. "You mean you called Scotland Yard and had us rush here because your flatmate ditched you for a girl?" he spluttered. "And you called it an emergency?"

"He said not to wait up because he wouldn't be back until tomorrow," Sherlock said as if that explained everything. In his mind, it probably did. "It's the first time he's done that. I was getting thirsty. Mrs Hudson complains when I call her to make me tea."

Lestrade was suddenly overwhelmed by the desire to beat Sherlock to death with his own kettle. He was sure Anderson and Donovan would back him up, and the landlady would probably help hide the body.

Instead he took a few calming breaths, cut off Anderson mid-insult and gestured to him and Donovan. "Let's go," he said. "We're done here."

"But you haven't made my tea yet," Sherlock complained, and even had the gall to sound annoyed. Lestrade made a point of slamming the door on his way out.

He was back within fifteen minutes, just enough time to ditch Anderson and Donovan and retrace his steps. "Just this once," he said. Sherlock smirked at him from the sofa and Lestrade felt compelled to add, "I'm off duty anyway. And I want your opinion on the Carfax case."

Then he went to put on the kettle.