Ever since Sherlock and John had been spotted outside crime scene holding hands the rumours had been flying. Money had been exchanged from bets made years ago, and although no-one had asked, everyone had wondered. They didn't get their answers, and people moved on; Sherlock had come back from the dead and his genius had been proved true, and although his personal life was interesting, no-one found it quite as sensational.
Sally tapped her foot impatiently, waiting for Anderson to return so they could finish writing up the mass of paperwork for the latest case. He'd gone to put something in the file room, and he wasn't back yet. She checked her watch, waited another minute, and then rolled her eyes and went after him.
He wasn't hard to find, standing outside the file room door and staring at it like an idiot. "What are you doing?" she snapped – he hadn't even put away the files; she could see them still under his arm. "Are you having a mental breakdown or something?"
He jumped and turned to face her, opening and shutting his mouth like a fish. "I think…I think someone's in…in there."
She raised an eyebrow – Anderson was hardly cripplingly shy. "So?"
"John and Sherlock are in there."
She snorted. "Oh please, afraid the freak will pull your hair?" She stretched out a hand to the door, but Anderson stopped her by gripping her wrist.
"That's not what I mean. I don't think they're…er…filing things."
"What do you-oh." Her eyes widened. "Oh god, really?"
Anderson only looked at her weakly; he looked about as disturbed as she felt. "If one of them hadn't happened to…shout…I would have walked right in." He shuddered a little. "Listen."
Feeling like a pervert, but unable to resist the temptation, she pressed an ear to the door and listened to the faint sounds coming from within. There was a soft thump and a cry of 'careful', a giggle – that sounded like John, she couldn't imagine Sherlock giggling – and then a 'not there, the other way!'
She pulled back and swallowed. "God."
Anderson nodded. He looked rather sick. "I'm going to have nightmares. When I first got here one of them was saying 'oh god your trousers are in the way'."
"Anyone could walk in, you wouldn't think they'd dare," she muttered, flushing slightly as there was a second thud and a soft yelp, followed by a 'yes, there!'
"Sherlock would dare," Anderson said. Neither of them was moving, despite the fact the sounds coming from behind the door were causing them both to turn bright red.
"He sounds rather…incompetent," she whispered. Anderson covered his hand with his mouth and snorted.
"What are you two standing around for?" Lestrade's voice rang out in the almost-empty corridor and caused the both of them to jump and turn around guiltily.
"Nothing!" Anderson burst out, too quickly. Lestrade glowered at the two of them.
"What's going on?"
Anderson looked shifty, as if he were trying to think of some excuse, but Sally pushed him out of the way as she came forwards slightly. "The freak and his boyfriend are shagging each other in our filing cupboard."
Her words had the desired effect – Lestrade's eyebrows shot up so high they almost vanished into his forehead. "Oh."
"Yes, oh," she said, casting a wary glance at the door in case it should suddenly open and reveal something she really didn't want to see. There was another suggestive thump, and a groan. They all took a step backwards.
By now Lestrade was as bright red as the rest of them, but he cleared his throat and spoke quietly. "Yes…well…you can file your things later."
"But they're…you know…in the cupboard!" Anderson complained. "Surely that's against the building policy in some way."
"Are you going to go in there and tell them that?" he replied sharply. Anderson shut his mouth and shook his head, glowering at the floor, and Lestrade turned to Sally instead, raising an eyebrow.
"Don't look at me," she muttered sourly. "I was only trying to do my filing."
Lestrade scrubbed a hand through his hair and tottered off the way he'd come, leaving Sally and Anderson to make their way back to their office, still squirming uncomfortably every now and then.
Sherlock and John had gone into the filing cupboard to do exactly that – file. Sherlock tended to leave John to fill out any paperwork that needed doing, and for once John wasn't having it – he insisted Sherlock come and help him put it away, not once thinking he'd live to regret that demand entirely.
The box he needed to reach to put the papers in was way up on the highest shelf, and Sherlock, being a lazy sod, refused to lift a finger to help him get it down. He ended up standing on tiptoe and using his fingertips to edge it towards him, misjudged, and managed to bring the whole box down with a loud thump on his foot.
"Fuck!" he shouted, as his toes throbbed and the whole shelf wobbled precariously. Papers flew in the air scattered around the room, and by the time he'd extracted himself from the box Sherlock was glaring at him with haughty derision, one eyebrow raised.
"Well don't just stand there!" John hissed, clutching his sore foot. "Help me!"
"I could just stand here and watch; that would be far more amusing," Sherlock replied, smirking as he bent to start shoving the papers and files back into the box. "Luckily for you I'm extremely kind and generous."
John snorted. "Yeah, right." He limped around and began to stuff the papers into the box alongside Sherlock, and after a couple of minutes shuffling and panting they got them mostly in order and the lid back on the box, and began to heave it back up to the top shelf. They got it about three feet off the floor when Sherlock gave a yelp.
"Oh god, your trousers are in the way," John said, reaching over and unhooking the hem that had been caught in the lid of the box without either of them realising. They re-adjusted and began to lift it a second time, uncoordinated and giggling, thumping the heavy box against the side of the shelf every now and then.
"Not there, the other way!" John called as Sherlock, unable to see from the angle at which he was lifting, attempted to push the box into a spot on the shelf already occupied. John shuffled back a couple of paces, knocking against a cabinet with a thud, but finally they managed to get the box mostly in the right position to push into its slot.
"Yes, there!" John shouted triumphantly, beginning to force the whole thing back into place; Sherlock yelped as his fingers got trapped in the gap, but they gave it one more push, and finally the files slid into the correct place. John dropped his sore arms down with a groan and Sherlock stood panting, shaking out his sore finger and glowering at John, although it took him a few minutes to get his breath back to deliver a scathing remark.
"I told you paperwork was an idiotic enterprise."
John glared. "It wouldn't have spilled everywhere if you'd just helped me in the first place."
They bickered good-naturedly all the way down the corridor, hands brushing against each other discreetly. Sherlock's usually perfect hair and clothes were mussed and John was still limping slightly on his sore foot; he found it funny that both of them had ended up in such a sorry state from a simple filing cabinet.
He never did work out why Anderson gave them such a strange look as they passed by his office on their way to the stairs.
Thanks for reading. Reviews welcome!
To be continued.
