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John Watson was always on time.

It was something he had learnt from his army days.

To be prompt at all times. And he was...

Never too early and never too late. Just on time, at all times.

But this was something he never expected from anyone else.

"Will you get the door?" yelled Sherlock's voice from the room downstairs.

John groaned and opened his bleary eyes staring at his alarm clock.

10.30

It was his first day off in ages. Between Sherlock's cases and his part-time work at the Doctor's surgery he was getting very little sleep and he could really do with a major lie-in.

From downstairs he could just make out the distant sound of the doorbell.

Sighing to himself he shuffled up and out from the covers of his warm and comfortable bed and rubbed his tired eyes.

"Coming," he called as the doorbell rang repeatedly, running down the stairs in nothing but a t-shirt and his boxer shorts.

He opened the front door with a flourish and stared in horror at the sight that met him.

Rebecca.

"Morning John," she said cheerily, pushing past him and stepping over the threshold without being asked.

John stared after her, his eyes widening. "Um, hi," he muttered, feeling suddenly incredibly self-conscious, tugging down his t-shirt, trying to cover all his exposed body parts.

"It's freezing out there," said Rebecca with a shudder, unravelling her scarf. "You look all cosy though. Nice for some."

She swept past John, who looked on stunned, at this woman's brusque attitude.

"Sherlock upstairs is he?" she said climbing the stairs, removing her gloves as she did so.

John gaped, before following her quickly. "Actually I don't think he's-"

But before John could finish his sentence Sherlock had appeared at the top of the staircase, standing in the open doorway to the living room.

"Ah it's you," said the dark-haired figure of Sherlock staring intensely at Rebecca.

"Yes, it's me," she said dumping her scarf and gloves into Sherlock's arms, brushing past him and waltzing into the living room where a roaring fire was burning in the grate.

"I thought you said 10.30?" asked Sherlock matter-of-factly, ignoring Rebecca's abrupt entrance and dropping her belongings onto the side-board.

Rebecca strode over to the fire and held out her hands towards it warming herself. "It is 10.30," she said with a frown.

"No, it was 10.26 when you knocked on the door," said Sherlock moving further into the room, a slight smirk upon his face.

"Rebecca turned to face the Detective, glaring at him angrily. "So that's why you left me out there in the cold all that time," she said loudly. "I can't believe you sometimes. You almost give me pneumonia trying to prove a bloody point!"

She shook her head before turning back towards the fire.

John suddenly tugged the Detective into the kitchen out of earshot.

"What was all that about?" he asked with a scowl.

"What?" said Sherlock innocently.

"That. Making me go downstairs to answer to door when you were already up and dressed," said John in a whisper.

"So?" said Sherlock glancing up at Rebecca who was examining her tousled hair in the mirror above the mantelpiece.

"So, look at me Sherlock," said John angrily, gesturing to his scruffy t-shirt and novelty boxer-shorts. "Why couldn't you have answered the door to her?"

Sherlock seemed to ponder the question for a few seconds before answering. "I was busy," he muttered.

"Busy?" snarled John. "Busy doing what?"

But Sherlock didn't answer. He merely strode back into the living room and settled himself at the table near to the window.

"I have those papers for you," he said after a moment, causing Rebecca to turn around and cock an eyebrow in his direction.

"Oh, haven't found any more in discrepancies then have you?" she asked, moving over to where the detective sat, his arms crossed across his chest.

"A few, but I'm willing to overlook them," he said, his eyes lingering upon her face as he passed her the documents.

Rebecca rolled her eyes, before settling into the chair opposite him and studying the signatures on each page.

"Well this all seems to be in order," she said shuffling the papers into a neat pile.

"I have the Forthworth clause for you to sign," she said leaning back in her chair, absent-mindedly mimicking Sherlock's pose. "Spelt correctly this time. He emailed it to me first thing this morning."

She handed him the fresh document, which he quickly glanced over before scrawling his signature at the bottom.

"Brilliant," she said once he had finished, pushing the paperwork back into her briefcase. "I'll send them on later today."

She made to get up from her chair but John suddenly reappeared in the doorway, this time fully-dressed in jeans and a dark shirt, a strong smell of aftershave lingering in the air. "You fancy some tea Rebecca?" he asked, clapping his hands together.

"Uh yeah, that'd be great thanks," she said with a smirk, which she quickly hid behind her hand.

But she wasn't quick enough for Sherlock not to catch it and a small flicker of a grin twitched at his own lips.

"I'll have a coffee," he shouted, leaning forwards and resting his chin upon entwined fingers.

"I wasn't asking you," came John's quick reply from the kitchen, but nonetheless, a few minutes later he had reappeared with three steaming mugs of liquid.

Rebecca thanked him as he placed down a mug in front of her, taking a seat at the end of the table.

"So Sherlock," she said, tracing a scratch of the table with her finger, "got any cases on at the moment?"

The Detective leaned back in his chair taking in Rebecca's every movement. "I always have cases to crack," he muttered with a growl. "I'm assuming there's an ulterior motive behind this question?"

"Well," she said with a shrug, taking a sip of her tea," you know that I like to keep a close eye on what you're doing."

"Well it's unlikely he's ever going to end up in jail is it?" laughed John.

But his smile soon diminished as he noticed that both Sherlock and Rebecca were staring at each other a little uncomfortably.

"What? You've been to-"

"It was a long time ago John," said Sherlock quickly, giving Rebecca a warning look.

But his lawyer merely smiled, obviously knowing how much she could get under Sherlock's skin.

John gaped, before shaking his head incredulously.

Sherlock, in jail...

He wasn't even sure he could comprehend such a thing.

"What for?" he stuttered, "What exactly did you do to end up in jail Sherlock?" asked John, flabbergasted.

Sherlock grimaced. "There was a...misunderstanding," he said carefully avoiding John's eye.

John looked towards Rebecca for an explanation but she merely grinned at the Detective and got up from her seat.

"I'd best be going," she said cheerily, draining her cup. "Thanks for the tea, John."

John stood up quickly as Rebecca moved over to the side table, slipping on her coat and grasping her briefcase.

But Sherlock remained seated, his surly demeanour unflinching, his eyes however were following Rebecca's very movement.

John quickly stood himself and moved over to Rebecca, hoping to be out of Sherlock's earshot.

"So," he said conversationally, "you don't fancy going for a coffee sometime do you?"

Rebecca looked up at him suddenly, her eyes widening.

"I...um..." she said blushing and glancing over at Sherlock, "I'm actually pretty busy, Toby's sick so-"

"Toby's your boyfriend then?" said John nodding. "Sorry I should have realised..."

Rebecca smirked, flinging her scarf around her neck with a flourish and heading for the door. "No. Toby's my dog," she said matter-of-factly. "Basset-hound, lovely demeanour."

She exited into the stairwell, and glanced back at the two men, smiling.

"Nice to see you again John," she called in a sing-song voice, making her way down the stairs. "And Sherlock, I'll be in touch sometime in the week. I'll give you a call or something."

"Make it a text!" he called after her, as the front door slammed shut.

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