The case had been relatively simple - at least in the eyes of Sherlock Holmes. It had certainly been indiscernible and baffling to the officers within New Scotland Yard, whom had paced around the mutilated corpse in dumbfounded masses before finally relenting to the option of seeking input from everyone's 'favorite' (emphasis on the quotation marks) consulting detective. In his usual flair of deductive abilities and his boundless energy, he'd uncovered clues and definitive evidence that had been barely distinguishable to the average human eye and mind, which had ultimately paved the path to the culprit which had resulted in his eventual prosecution.
And so, the case had been resolved - the criminal had been apprehended, and was currently being manhandled into the back of a police car by several officers of the law. John dithered by the decrepit building in which the culmination of the case had taken place, watching idly as the blue-red flashes of the law-enforcement vehicles painted the derelict walls in a dizzying array of hues. Beside him the taller figure of detective inspector Greg Lestrade surveyed his division of officers scurrying about the premise, grimacing slightly at an easily-distinguishable silhouette pacing in the distance, clad in the omnipresent ensemble of a dark trench coat and scarf. They could hear the heightened volume of his voice raving about the incompetency of the police force even at their distance.
"Looks like he's off on another rant again," Lestrade frowned, shaking his head in disdain as Sherlock continued to chastise and insult the wincing officers with callous and brutal remarks. He shrugged his hands into his coat pockets to fight against the London chill, briefly debating whether going over and breaking up the mad detective mid-tirade would be a smart course of action - the harsh words would undoubtedly be redirected to him if he went through with it. Wisely, the detective inspector decided to stay where he was.
John sighed in response, watching his madman of a flatmate rage and seethe at the entirety of Scotland Yard, dark coat billowing out in the breeze as he paced in a fervent and angry gait. He supposed Sherlock did have a bit of a right to be a bit malcontent with Scotland Yard - he'd enacted a meticulously thought-out plan that would've made apprehending the criminal a much smoother effort. However, during mid-execution of said plan, Scotland Yard had marched up towards the building and disrupted the entire process, which had almost resulted in the criminal successfully fleeing from the grasp of the law. The crisis had been averted and the felon caught in the end, but the damage had been enough to fly Sherlock into a bit of a rage.
Still, John thought that this particular tirade was a bit of an over-exaggeration. Sure, he had a right to be angry with the police force for ruining his plan, but there had been no harm done ultimately - the criminal was caught, and all had escaped relatively unharmed. He watched Sherlock's angry rant for a few moments more before squeezing his eyes shut and pinching his nose, sighing wearily and exasperatedly at the brattiness of the detective.
Suddenly, John glanced upwards and turned towards the detective inspector standing alongside him, his eyes glimmering with subtle mischief and mirth. "You want me to help you shut him up?"
Lestrade quirked an eyebrow at him, unsure of the sudden change in demeanor and what the military doctor was evidently planning. If past exploits with Sherlock was any indication, it couldn't be anything overly good. Still, with Sherlock being such an unfavorable brat, the detective inspector wouldn't pass up an opportunity to silence him for at least a moment so he could achieve some well-desired peace. With this in mind, the silver-haired man shrugged a shoulder in response. "Shutting Sherlock Holmes up seems a fairly impossible task, especially now that he's worked himself up to a strop, but how about this-" Lestrade grinned and pulled his wallet out of his pocket, "-I'll give you $20 if you're able to do it. Yeah?"
John dipped his head in assent, smiling in the face of challenge. Squaring his shoulders, the military doctor adopted a posture of nonchalance and strode confidently towards the fuming detective still raving towards the now significantly more uncomfortable young officers of New Scotland Yard. Lestrade watched his small stature go with interest, wondering how he planned on shutting up the relentless ball of vehement energy that was Sherlock Holmes.
John approached Sherlock, his shoes thudding dully against the concrete sidewalk as he advanced upon the detective in a leisurely manner. As he neared Sherlock striaghtened up, eyes questioning, before the shorter man reached out to ball his fist into the other man's dark coat, hauling him closer with a strong yank that had Sherlock stumbling towards him. The last of the cutting words he'd planned to deliver towards the incompetent officers of New Scotland Yard died on his tongue as John grabbed hold of his collar and pulled his face close, ultimately silencing his mad tirade with his bold lips upon his.
Sherlock flailed with a muffled exclamation as John hauled him impossibly closer, hands grasping at the lapels of his coat. Sherlock's hands fluttered awkwardly before finally latching upon the smaller man's upper arms, dark lashes fluttering as John yanked him closer and kissed him harder. It was barely a second of full-mouth contact before the shorter man shoved him away, their lips disconnecting in an abrupt movement that had Sherlock stumbling backwards, eyes wide and aghast - an expression mirrored by many officers whom had caught the spectacle.
John cocked a wry eyebrow and crossed his arms, gazing up at the flushed detective with a reddening yet smug face of his own. "Were you saying something to the officers, Sherlock?"
The detective gaped openly at him with flushed cheeks before swallowing, glancing towards the group of officers whom he'd been chastising moments prior whilst trying to re-muster the anger that must have dissipated with the kiss. "Yes," he stuttered, trying in vain to reassemble his thoughts. "..um-well-"
John grinned at the clear discomfort that had colored the detective's expression as his mouth stumbled over the words.
"...never-mind," he finally stated, cheeks still flushed in mortification as he arranged his collar and did his best to school his expression. He glanced briefly towards John, an act that only had more color rush down his face and neck, before turning away to hail a cab and contain the deepening blush that was spreading across his face.
Lestrade had watched the proceedings in barely concealed shock, hardly noticing the doctor as he strode towards him with his hand outstretched. "Well, Greg?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.
"You mad bastard," Lestrade stated, shaking his head in bewildered astonishment as he reached for his wallet.