Police Constable Lestrade cannot complain about his job. It pays well, it keeps the peace, n it's something he does enjoy. No, the worst part of the job is the location. A sleepy little village in the north of Hertfordshire.

And the worst crime is stealing.

For some kids, that's sweets and games and things of a kind of value. He understands. Sometimes, you have to steal to eat, and he's a soft spot for them.

Sherlock Holmes doesn't steal because he's hungry. He steals because John is. They go together, around the countryside, and they never take any more than a few apples or so. Lestrade can't understand that, and he's never caught up with either to ask them.

John isn't from a family like Sherlock's. He's hungry more often, he's cold more often. So they steal together: John does it to eat, Sherlock is hungry for the thrill. The fences are high and some are barbed wire. If you can't scale a fence, and you can't keep up, you're supposed to be left behind. But Lestrade's seen it.

It was Hurst's farm they'd taken to, and were still picking from the tree when the farmer began shouting. He watched in amusement as they scrambled, Sherlock is one swift movement, up and over the fence, John looking helpless on the other side.

It was right when Sherlock turned and looked at him. As if he were contemplating the notion of leaving. It was in that second Lestrade found tat the Holmes were human.

Over the fence Sherlock went. Then, back over with John.

"Don't," Sherlock insisted, when they were a comfortable distance away. But he was smiling, and had let his eyes betray his heart. John could not thank him, and so kissed him instead.

Lestrade hadn't the heart to arrest either of them.