Author's note: I know all of you probably don't give a crap about the author so you skip right over these notes. But I write them for my own satisfaction so you'll just have to deal with one for every chapter. MUAHAHAHAHA!
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Sherlock didn't like it when John was mad at him; it always made him feel as though he had swallowed a ten pound weight. Sherlock had catalogued this highly unpleasant feeling and stashed away more times than he would like to count. John let out an exasperated sigh and just said
"Not good Sherlock, really not good." And walked away to apologize to the chief. Sherlock had never been concerned whether or not the comments he made were good or not before he met John and despite that he still hated it when John wasn't there. It had been hell without John those three years after he had faked his death. He shuddered at the memory; the image of John crying at his grave came up in his mind and made him shudder. He was glad John had let him back into his life, because he honestly believed he wouldn't have been able to survive without him. It gave a whole new meaning to "I'd be lost without my blogger." Sherlock moved to follow John to the chief's office but was stopped by the man he'd offended. Head Detective Carlton Lassiter if the name plate on his desk was correct.
"Head Detective, I should probably apologize for my earlier behavior." Sherlock said trying to look remorseful; it was a look he was not very well acquainted with.
"Listen, I promise to forget it if you promise not to tell anyone about Shawn." The Detective knew that Sherlock knew, he was a good deal smarter than Sherlock had initially assumed.
"So that's his name?" Sherlock asked raising one dark eyebrow.
"Yes, now promise me you won't tell him, or anyone else." The detective gave Sherlock a hard look and Sherlock nodded. The head detective relaxed and walked over the chief's door, Sherlock made a mental note of the promise and followed.
John did not like it when Sherlock made enemies, and he made enemies a lot. John hoped the victim of Sherlock's latest 'deductions' (which is a polite way to say insults) would be forgiving towards him. Because Sherlock really did not need any more enemies; At least he was a cop, so John wouldn't have to worry about him tying Sherlock up and hanging him from the ceiling. John shuddered at the memory, after that John made Sherlock promise not to insult possible serial killers ever again. John sighed inwardly as Sherlock walked up next to him. They were in the office of the Santa Barbara Police Department's chief with the man Sherlock had insulted, a pretty blonde woman, the chief, and two out of place men. The chief was explaining how things would be working with them on the case.
"You will be treated as unpaid consultants, so no special privileges, no access to police files unless given permission, and you will not be given badges or anything similar." The chief didn't seem very happy about having a couple of British detectives working on the case.
"You'll be working with our own local consultants, Shawn Spencer and Burton Guster." She gestured to the two men in the corner who both grinned and bumped fists.
"Mr. Spencer is a psychic." Now John understood why the chief wasn't happy about Sherlock being there. Shawn Spencer and Burton Guster looked like they might be quite a handful as it was, not to mention one of them being 'psychic'. Sherlock humphed skeptically and gave Shawn the patented Sherlock once over, no doubt learning everything about the man from a single glance. Sherlock opened his mouth to speak but John nudged him in warning.
"Head Detective Carlton Lassiter has been assigned to keep an eye on you, as requested by the British government." Sherlock groaned in unison with Detective Lassiter, Mycroft had obviously set it up due to the severe lack of DI Lestrade.
"Here are your case files, if you need anything ask Detective Lassiter." She handed out some folders containing information on the missing man, most of which Sherlock and John already knew from Mycroft's file.
"O'Hara, I'm assigning you to another case for the time being. The rest of you go get to work." With that everyone except for the pretty blonde woman left the chief's office. Shawn jogged up next to John and grinned broadly.
"Hi, I'm Shawn, the psychic. What's you guy's names?" He said, extending his hand which John shook firmly.
"John Watson." Shawn beamed at him and reached across John to try and shake Sherlock's hand. Sherlock shook it and smiled tightly.
"Holmes, Sherlock Holmes." Both men giggled and Sherlock frowned.
"What?" He asked.
"Nothing." They said between giggles. Detective Lassiter just rolled his eyes and John shook his head, trying unsuccessfully to suppress a smile. Shawn and his friend (whose name John had already forgotten) got into a small blue car and Lassiter got into his navy blue Toyota. Sherlock climbed into the driver's seat of the large, and probably bulletproof, jeep Mycroft had gotten them. Apparently Sherlock knew how to drive in America, because he nearly gave John a heart attack when he began to drive on the wrong side of the road, or at least what John thought was the wrong side; which turned out to be the right side according to Sherlock.
"Americans, they have to do everything differently than the rest of the world, don't they." John breathed, Sherlock smiled and they drove in silence to the crime scene.