"He isn't really a Velociraptor you know." Those grey eyes were staring directly at him. Chills and pinpricks spread throughout Anderson's body, as they always did the consulting detective was reading him. "Of course he isn't. I know that. He's my pet." Anderson just wanted Sherlock to leave him alone. Why was he always there, where he wasn't wanted. How was Anderson supposed to prove to Lestrade he could handle these things, if the DI never gave him the chance. Oh great, he was talking again. "Then why do you tell people that he is?" He probably already knew the answer. Sherlock had accused Anderson on multiple occassions of thinking too loudly. Could he really be that easy to read? So simply observed and read that he provided distraction just be being present? He crouched closer to the bloodied carpet, trying to look as though he was paying little attentoin to the consulting detective. "Because people are familiar with the term Velociraptor. No one really knows much about , so they get frightened away by their lack of knowledge." There was a slight frown, for only a moment, before Sherlock's expression returned to its usual probing stare. "So you tell people something you know not to be true, just to avoid making them feel," the tall man paused. "Stupid?" Anderson supplied, mentally slapping himself. You do not have a conversation with this man, his mind shouted at him. It will only end in you feeling, well, stupid. "Yes. Is it really necessary? Most people should feel stupid, because they are." Anderson stood up and turned to face the other man directly. "Some people actually care about other's feelings. Which can come in handy, if you want to make friends instead of enemies. Besides, if someone picks up on the error, usually it is the starting point of an intelligent discussion. I've met several dinosaur enthusiasts that way. It's a bit like sorting the wheat from the chaff." Sherlock looked as though he were about to respond, but he was interupted by Lestrade. "Right, we've got the suits now. John found them out the back behind the shed. God only knows how they ended up there. I can let you upstairs now." As Sherlock turned and followed the DI upstairs, Anderson reflected on the short conversation he had just had. Despite arguing the best he had in a long while, there was something about the way Sherlock had looked at him just before Lestrade interrupted them, that told him that he had lost.
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