14th December 2011.Miller made her way down a flight of stairs, her chest still hurting after the almost fatal gunshot wound she had received two months ago. Gregory Lestrade followed after her silently, mostly oblivious to where they were going. When they reached the bottom of the stairs Lestrade pushed Miller up against the wall before placing a chaste kiss against her lips. She smiled at him before pulling him closer with his tie.
The morgue in St Bart's was empty around this time of the night, and the Detective Inspector had been called to the hospital by a victim that had a blow to the head, after he had finished taking notes on the patient account with the vicious murderer that had been killing for the past few weeks, he received a text message.
Meet me in the morgue.
-MSHe smiled to himself and made his way towards the dimly lit morgue where his girlfriend spent most of her time when she wasn't working on a case. Miller was sitting on the stairs that led down to where the murder victims were kept, she smiled at him and grabbed his hand before leading him down the stairs. Once they had reached the bottom of the stairs things had started to get heated, as the clothes came off the room temperature rose to the point when the couple were sweating profusely, as Lestrade began to screw his girlfriend in a room full of dead eyes watching them he began to become very self conscience about the place they were in. "Stop." He commanded and she looked up at him, slightly confused. "I-I can't, not in here." He stated, before pulling his shirt, boxers and pants back on, followed by his tie. Miller nodded, her short pixie-style hair, a mess. Lestrade smiled softly at her and made his way towards the staircase and started walking up them. "I'll see you later then." She called after him, his answer was silent but she knew that she would see him again soon.
Sherlock was working upstairs in the lab when he had heard the Detective Inspector come up the stairs; he walked over to the door and looked out of the small round window, studying him. It was obvious what he had been up to down there, but with whom? Had he been screwing the corpses'? Sherlock had certainly hoped not, though he had decided once it would have been a good experiment, he had never tried it though. After Lestrade was out of the hallway Sherlock made his way down the stairs to where the Detective Inspector had come from. The room was lightly lit and a riding crop similar to his own was lying next to a corpse on a metal table. "Hello?" Sherlock called, a shadow moved in the small kitchen that was designated with a tea pot. Sherlock walked closer to the room, holding his breath, wondering who he would find. "Freak." A voice called out to him from the room. Sherlock smirked and lent against the door frame. "Nark." Miller filled a cup full of tea before replying, "Amateur." "Psychopath." He retorted, before biting his tongue, he knew how much he disliked being called that, "So-" Sherlock started before he was cut off, "Tea?" He nodded and pulled a cup out of the cupboard above Miller's head. She filled his cup full to the brim with steaming tea, before leaning back against the counter. "How's your chest?" Sherlock asked, feeling slightly guilty, he knew the reason she was shot was mostly his fault. "Fine." She replied before taking a sip of her tea. "And the boyfriend?" She looked up at him before her eyes returned to studying the ground, "Fine." She replied, a small smile gracing her lips. "How's John?" She asked; her eyes fixating on his own, Sherlock smiled before a light pink blush painted his cheeks. "I knew it." She exclaimed, lacking the exited part. Sherlock's phone buzzed, who would be texting him at 2 o'clock in the morning?
Sender: Unknown Why don't you just tell her the truth?
Subject:
We all know who you fancy.
How does Miller Holmes sound?