From GwenCooper456's suggestion. Donovan/Anderson, when they're not being cruel to Sherlock. Hope you like!

Sally Donovan's office is very tidy: everything organised meticulously. Her desk does not mirror the haphazard mess that characterises many of her colleagues work spaces. The only clutter on it is carefully stacked and ordered. There's a single pile of files on the left hand side, with coloured tags sticking out of them, labelled in a loopy scrawl. Apart from them, there's her computer on the opposite side, and a small orange pot of assorted pens. There's a small window too, letting shafts of early morning sunlight illuminate the desk, pooling across the cardboard outer of the files.

The one thing ruining the perfection of the room is the man perched on top of the table, causing the files to hang slightly off the edge. He's of average build, and his dark hair catches the sun shining through the window, so it looks almost auburn in places. His feet rest on the second chair that is usually tucked under the table, and he is talking to the occupant of the office. She has her hand resting on his knee.

As they speak, Sally moves her hand from his knee and he slides off the desk and straightens up, apparently making to leave. Her eyes flick upwards to look at him, and she shakes her dark hair out of her face.

"See ya later," she says, a little smile twisting her features.

"Of course," he tells her, his smile matching hers. "I look forward to it."

They share a look, their smiles widening until they look away and she stands up, placing a hand on his shoulder to coax him out of the door.

"Go on, then."

He raises his eyebrows at her apparent eagerness to be rid of him, stepping a little closer with a little sceptical expression. Smug bastard.

"Sure?"

He leans in for a quick peck, as he likes to do. It's not so much Sally minds, it's more that people know he has a wife, and it doesn't exactly make her look good to let him.

"Go!" She tells him, giving him a shove: still more playful than forceful, which only makes his grin intensify. He would be the death of her, she muses, as she lets him kiss her again.

That second kiss ended up a little more inappropriate: more tongues and wandering hands than were probably suitable for nine o' clock in the morning, especially at work.

Most people's offices have flaws. Some have no heating, leaving the occupant wearing six coats whenever winter comes around. Some have no blinds, meaning the resident of said office ends up unable to see for several hours of the day. Some have wobbly desks, wobbly chairs, things for the boss to trip over when they come for a check up.

Sally Donovan's office has none of these flaws.

However, right now, the flaw in her office is that it has a door. A newly opened one.

She lets go of Anderson as if burned, curses her own weak will, and turns in trepidation towards the figure framed in the doorway. This relationship was never meant to be in the public domain. Unfortunately, it had been for a good long time.

The man standing in her doorway is tall and thin, is sporting that ridiculous over-dramatic coat and has a pair of incredibly pale eyes. A pair of incredibly pale eyes that are currently flicking between her and Anderson, glittering with something resembling amusement, or possibly malice. The corner of his mouth was certainly twitching.

"Sally," he says, flashing a faux smile at her, that amusement still glinting infuriatingly in his eyes. "I couldn't borrow the files on Danny Richards' murder, could I? Lestrade told me you'd have them."

His voice is carefully polite, but as he speaks, his eyes are fixed on Anderson. The amusement intensifies into something bordering on hilarity, though carefully controlled. Sally can feel her cheeks warming, and is well aware that it will not help the situation.

She's inclined to say something cutting to him, but the shock has not quite worn off, and even 'Freak' won't come out. Instead, she finds the file as fast as possible, and shoves it into his hand. He nods in acknowledgement, and Sally shares a quick glance with Anderson. He looks as horrified as Sally feels.

"I'll leave you to the – investigation," Sherlock sneers, and Sally is sure that neither she nor Anderson missed the double meaning. The latter almost runs from her office as soon as Sherlock leaves, leaving her to wallow in the prospect of renewed suggestive remarks from the detective regarding her and her colleague.

The last thing Sherlock Holmes had needed was more ammunition.

Again, reviews/requests very welcome. Working on the suggestions already...uh, suggested.