Saturday mornings were Gabrail Lestrade's release. He didn't have to go into work until twelve thirty and, having spent most nights running around London, his flat was always stuffed with unused teabags. Usually he would wake up around nine, soak in the bath for half and hour, make himself some breakfast- poached egg on toast with a nice cup of tea was his favourite- and catch up on the episodes of Loose Women he missed on iPlayer. He didn't have to worry about murders or paedophiles or thefts. Someone else would do it for him. That is why he was so pissed off when he woke one Saturday because the chorus of Walking On Sunshine was blaring in his ear via his mobile which was on his bedside table. Sometimes he hated having such a cheery this particular tune had gone off whilst he was comforting a victim of sexual assult. It did not go down well with the victim's father. He had had a black eye for a whole week after. But nontheless, he kept it. It reminded him of good times being in his twenties, dancing to 80's music and walking in the park with Lisa before Kayleigh (BTW Kayleigh is Lestrade's teenage daughter by Lisa, his ex wife. She will have her own story with Sherlock junour but I just can't be assed to write it yet. Message me with any ideas of what should happen in it!) was born. Also it helped him calm down after a long and/or stressful case usually involving serial killers, an over-exicted Sherlock and an angry Anderson (Woah. Way too many a's in one sentence!) wanting to punch said detective in the face but substituted with verbal assults that either made Sherlock witty or depressed. Neither of these were suitable for a crime scene. Lestrade groaned, picked up his phone and sleepily mumbled,

"Hello?"

"Ah Lestrade! Just the man I wanted to talk to!" Sherlock's smooth tone slid down the phone, charming and soft.

"Erm. Of course you wanted to talk to me. You were the one that called me."

"Yeah but I didn't make you answer. You answered because..."

"No." Lestrade interruped the detective in mid-sentence. He didn't want to listen to Sherlock explain his reasoning now. It was too just damn early. "I don't care. I answered the phone because it was ringing. Now what do you want?"

"We need to discuss your birthday." Lestrade tried to groan inwardly but failed miserably.

"What?"

"Can we discuss this later? I mean it's six in the frigging morning!"

"So?"

"You woke me up, you bloody bastard! You know it's my morning off!"

"Oh. Sorry. Forgot." Lestrade knew this was a blatant lie but let it slide.

"I mean come on Sherlock, just 'cos you're up doesn't mean everyone else is. Did you even sleep last night?"

"Er. No. But that's not important now. We need to discuss what we're doing for your birthday. It's in two weeks! We need to sort something out. It's not everyday you turn fifty now, is it?"

"No I guess not. But please can we do this later? I'll meet you at the cafe outside Scotland Yard at nine. Ok?"

"See you then, Lestrade." There was a beeping sound as Sherlock hung up the phone. Carefully, Lestrade lay his phone on his bedside table and lay back on his bed sighing. Something was telling him today would be a long day.

Yeah. Lestrade's a bitch on Saturdays. But I can't talk. I do the same thing except I wake up earlier, eat very lightly toasted toast and settle down to read some lovely fanfictions. Also I hate Loose Women. They piss me off. I hoped you enjoyed this. I haven't posted much in the last few days 'cos my parents went away and Fanfiction wouldn't let me log on for ages. Remeber reviews taste like cake and smell like Sex Panther. If you get the previous refrence, don't hesitate to tell me! I want to know how many cool people are out there, reading my fics. Even if you don't understand that refrence, you're still cool. Probably cooler. Well I can't think of anything more to say. Bye! AOR