His head was pounding, a headache coming on that would remind him not to insult the little brute, at least for a little while. To his surprise, Anderson packed quite the punch. As he thought back to what he had said, he realised it may have been a little too harsh this time.

They had been at a crime scene, tape surrounding the building. Anderson had been trying to say something he thought was relevant but Sherlock again had silenced him. He refused to be silenced and spoke up. "You know, nobody is ever going to like you." He hissed at Sherlock. "You're just rude and you don't pay attention to what anyone has to say."

Sherlock had smirked. "That description could fit others as well," He said, pointedly looking at Anderson. "But I at least have half a brain going for me."

Anderson had just glared at him, straight into his eyes, before raising his arm and punching him in the jaw. Then he had walked off, removing the over clothes and shoe coverings, and heading across the street and sitting down in a coffee house.

Sherlock could have blocked the punch. It wouldn't have been much of a problem, one movement to duck out of the way, but he let him. Anderson deserved a hit after the way he had been treated all these years. He finished checking over the body. Cause of death, smoke inhalation, in an adult male who didn't, nor did he ever, smoke. Checked for recent fires and asked relatives for recent places and times the man had been out, eventually discovering he had been the arsonist who had been burning down lots of buildings in Dublin. Easy, simple, boring. He and John had been about to go home when he saw Anderson in the Coffee House, staring down into a mug. He told John he'd be back and went inside, sitting down across from Anderson.

"I'm sorry." He said instantly as he looked up and saw who had sat down in front of him. "I shouldn't have hit you."

"I deserved it." Sherlock replied, noting that Anderson wasn't looking up from his coffee. Sherlock ordered himself a tea. "Feel better now that you have hit me?"

"No." Anderson shook his head. He didn't feel better. He felt worse. He never really wanted to hurt Sherlock. He just wanted him to pay attention to him. He had wanted to point out that he had seen the man in Dublin the other day on the scene of one of the fires. Sherlock always ignored him or scoffed at him. Seeing as he usually didn't have anything nice to say, it made sense. But even when all he had said was 'hello' , Sherlock would smirk and speak down to him, like a child. Like he hadn't gone through university to get his degree in forensics, like he didn't know what he was doing.

"Oh." Sherlock nodded as he got his tea and sipped it. "Well," He started hesitantly, being as he usually didn't apologise to anyone. "I'm s-sorry for insulting you." He muttered. "I usually don't care but I can tell I've upset you more than usual this time."

"You were right though." He said incredulously. "You're a genius so some people do like you, if only of that reason. I really don't have anything going for me."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "I don't think that's true." He insisted. "You actually aren't completely useless. You're relatively intelligent, you aren't horrible looking, and you have a well paying job."

"Whatever." Anderson said dismissively. "Why are you being nice?"

"I don't actually know." Sherlock admitted. He himself was confused by this behaviour. "Maybe I'm losing it." He smiled. He took out his phone under the table and texted John that he would meet him back at the flat later. "So you mean to say that you're married and you don't think you have anything at all going for you?"

"We're getting a divorce. Figured you'd know that."

"I did but she had to have seen something in you to marry you in the first place." Sherlock shrugged.

Anderson looked up at Sherlock from his coffee for the first time since he sat down. "Nasty bruise forming."

"I'll wear it proudly."

They both laughed.

Sherlock found himself looking at Anderson in a new light, seeing him in a way he had never seen before. He was no longer the stupid guy on the forensics crew. He was a real person, with feelings, who got upset, who could throw a hard punch, who had low self esteem. Low self esteem probably due to Sherlock's teasing. Sherlock licked his dry lips. "Do you really think nobody likes me?" He asked him.

"I do." Anderson answered quickly without thinking. "Have since the first time you showed up, years ago at that scene on drugs."

Sherlock's eyes widened and he locked them with Anderson's.

"You have a lot more going for you than your brain. You have astounding good looks, you have an unbreakable charisma, and anyone would be lucky to be with you."

"Really?" He asked quietly.

"Yeah." Anderson grunted.

"Nobody ever has."

Anderson looked away. Sherlock had practically just told him that he was a virgin, never dated, possibly never even kissed someone. Why would he tell him, of all people, that? He had been deep in thought and hadn't noticed Sherlock move to sit beside him rather than across from him. When he turned his head he found himself looking almost straight up and into Sherlock's eyes. He inhaled sharply as Sherlock lowered his head and pressed his lips against his lightly. When he pulled away, Anderson stared in shock. "Why did you do that?"

"I wanted to." He muttered, standing up. "Have a good evening, Anderson." He smiled before turning and going home, leaving Anderson to wonder. Why had he liked that? Why had his heart fluttered when Sherlock had kissed him? Why had he done it to begin with? Would it ever happen again?