Lestrade drummed his fingers impatiently on the desk as the page slowly loaded up.

"We seriously need to sort out the internet here, I don't know how they expect us to solve crimes when we've got to wait for half a bloody hour for a web page to load!" Lestrade moaned. As he said that, the page did load up. It displayed: ERROR: Twitter has over capacitated, please try again later.

"For fuck's sake!" Lestrade cried slamming his fist down on the table making Anderson jump. "Why can't I just have one thing go right for me, Anderson, why can't I!" he burrowed his head in his hands as his shoulders start to shake with fury. Anderson, shocked with the current situation gingerly patted him on the back.

"It's alright Greg…"

"No, Anderson." Lestrade interrupted "It's not alright! I have a seriously bad hangover, I've got to spend the day with you and now my Twitter won't work!" Anderson, still patting Lestrade's back, retracted his hand quickly, frowning.

"What's wrong with spending the day with me?" He asked in a hurt voice. Lestrade looked up.

"Are you asking that question in a serious light?"

"Of course I am. Who wouldn't want to spend the day with me?" Lestrade pauses for a minute before replying.

"Your wife, Sherlock, most of the guys here, me…"

"Alright, alright!" Anderson cut in "I get the picture…" he scowled, turned and walked back to his own desk. "At least Andersons Army loves me" he muttered to himself. Lestrade, having heard the statement, turned round.

"You do realise, Andy, that most of your followers are just there to take the piss out of you. Like me for example." He laughed.

"Oh shut up, Greg."