(an: just so you know in my mind canon jw is usually the younger, if not i'll say so, but generally he will be anywhere from a few years to ten years younger than sh)
There was a signal unspoken rule between Sherlock and the Police; no matter how crazy the case was or how crazy Sherlock became they were to never come to his flat, especially not to come into the flat.
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The first time Lestrade met Sherlock he was honestly shocked but agreed to work with him non the less, the other was an anomaly amongst men. Though in his own way Sherlock was really rather simple, he soon found.
Text him and he would be there within the hour.
He'd run about the city and hand them their answers, the whole ordeal tied with a neat little bow. They just had keep up is all.
Some days Lestrade would wake up with a message awaiting him; 'Booked-SH', and that would be that for the day. No Sherlock for twenty-four hours, if something did come he would deal with it at later date (generally the very next day).
Now Lestrade knew nothing of what Sherlock did on these 'Booked' days. The DI pondered it some days though; perhaps Holmes did some PI work or maybe, even he had a wife and kids to tend to.
Either way, Lestrade didn't plan pushing the matter anytime soon.
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Sally Donavan, all together, different case. She didn't trust Sherlock a lick; he was a freak! For all they knew he could be planning and committing half of their cases while he was off on his 'Booked' days. Perhaps he was even this elusive Moriarty fellow cropped every other case. That would be perfect! Sally thought him to definitely be in love with himself enough to pull it off.
On anther note, she hated his 'Booked' days. Why should he get a day off when ever he bloody well wanted. Just because he wasn't on payroll didn't give him the right to jerk them about with his personal schedule.
So, it was with this mentality Donavan broke the cardinal rule of working with Sherlock Holmes. She went to his flat on a 'Booked' day when the team was faced with two new murders in what was turning out to be a rather nasty trail of the serial killings.
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It was just after a particularly nice morning, with blissfully uneventful breakfast of toast and tea. John was in the living room reading while Sherlock was in their room fiddling about with his latest experiment, an aggressive knock sounded from their front door. John was puzzled, while he and Sherlock had their fair share visitors none of them ever bothered to knock.
"Coming!" he called cordially, marking his place he got up.
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Sherlock was contentedly jotting down notes, still basking in the after glow of few amazing bouts of morning sex and stomach was giving him no trouble at all despite the food he had partaken in.
His calm was ruptured abruptly however when he heard John call out 'Coming', his mind scrolled through all the possible callers and he found he wasn't pleased with the prospects. He quickly squabbled to his feet and ran to the front room.
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"Yes?" answered a rather short man with sandy colored hair, he look pleasant enough like a pediatrician.
"Oh, I'm Sgt. Donavan, I'm looking for Sherlock Holmes. The woman down stairs said this was his flat." the woman replied in a somewhat apologetic tone.
Just then long, pale, and thin fingers wrapped around the edge of the door, shortly followed by an long, pale, and thin hand that wrapped around kind man's waist. The finale, of course, was Sherlock's face appearing from behind the door.
"Why don't you put us on some tea, love?"
The shorter looked between the guest and his boyfriend a little uncertainly for a moment, deliberating.
"Okay." he decided, popping up on his tippy toes for a moment to give Sherlock a peck, this shocked Sally even further. As soon as he was in the kitchen though, Sherlock's eyes snapped back to her as cold as ever.
"Why the hell are you here?" he snarled just low enough so John didn't hear.