"Sorry it's taken me so long to upload the next instalment. Thank you to all who have read and reviewed – I'm genuinely so glad some people like the story! Sorry if in this chapter Anderson isn't up to his usual antics, it'll take me a bit of time to get back into the childish way his mind works.

Anyway, enjoy! "

The door swung silently open and a masked being appeared in the gap. They appeared to peer through before nudging the door with their foot to widen the entrance. The figure ducked to the floor and rolled through the thresh-hold in a 'James Bond' style.

In the process, the intruder knocked the heavily littered desk situated in the middle of the room causing many of its objects to clatter to the ground along with the many folders of paperwork which slid onto the figure who let out a yelp.

On hearing the commotion, Lestrade strode into the office and flicked the light on with one swift motion.

"What the bloody Hell is going on in here?" He exclaimed, eyeing the mess as the masked burglar appeared and pulled off the balaclava currently concealing their face…

"Anderson…?" Lestrade started, this appearance evidently confusing him and it took him several moments to actually form a sentence that was vaguely comprehendible; "You…wha…what…are you doing?! You could have given me a heart attack, you buffoon!"

Anderson who, by this time, had managed to get to his feet and brush the sweat beading on his forehead from the current situation off with the back of his sleeve, looked sheepishly down at the carpet, shuffling uncomfortably. "I-I'm sorry, Greg. I didn't mean to scare you."

"Didn't mean to scare me? Anderson, you dressed all in black and then broke into my office, what emotion were you aiming to evoke?" Greg asks, his voice laced with sarcasm as his heart rate begins to return to normal. "Or, a better question would be why are you dressed all in black and attempting to break into my office?" Lestrade's arms fold across his chest, a single brow rising quizzically as he continues to eye Anderson's embarrassed stature.

"I wanted to use your computer…" He mumbles, realising lying would be futile.

"My computer?" His brow furrows. "Why can't you use yours?"

"Sherlock thought it would be funny to get my computer to play the Barney the Dinosaur theme tune every time I press a button and I can't stop it" His hands creep to ears to cover them. "I can't get it out of my head!" Anderson shudders, staring unblinkingly as though in a trance.

"Tell him good work from me." Greg smirks. "Anyway, why do you want your computer? I thought you were going out on the case with Dimmock today?"

"I am" Anderson replies, twisting the recently removed balaclava in his hands. "I just wanted to quickly check my Twitter…" He continues, a blush arising in his cheeks as his voice tails off to silence.

"Oh, Anderson. Not this again." Greg shakes his head. "We're here to work. Not to socialise with the internet world. You're obsessed with it."

"Says you! You're the one who's constantly online. Always retweeting Sherlock's insults about me and favouriting John's pick-up lines to Sherlock. You're the obsessed one. Besides, you never retweet any of my tweets!" Anderson huffs, folding his arms over his chest like an irritable child. "Not to mention those mysterious direct messages you seem to keep receiving!"

At the mention of the 'secret messages', a slow smile threatens to upturn the corners of Greg's lips. "Keep your big beak out of things that don't concern you, Andy-Pandy." This statement causes Anderson to huff again. "You're lucky I'm not reporting you for breaking and entering." This time, Lestrade can't help but smirk, looking at Anderson like a parent would look at a misbehaving child.

"Sorry, Greg." Anderson mumbles, head lowered to look at the floor and his shoulders slump.

"Now, get the Hell out of my office." Greg began as he wanders round Anderson to take a seat on his plush office chair and prop his feet up upon the desk. As this happens, Anderson trails back towards the doorway, his bottom lip protruding to form a childish pout.

Just before he leaves, Anderson turns to face Lestrade once more who was now tapping vigorously away at his keyboard. "Greg…" He whines.

"What do you want, dino-boy?" Greg questions, sighing as he temporarily ceases his typing.

"Just one last thing...if I make you a cup of coffee, will you retweet one of my tweets?" A hint of desperation in his voice and his fingers cross themselves behind his back.

Lestrade opens his mouth as if to shoot back an order for Anderson to get out but then stops and pauses to consider this proposition before smirking again. "Deal."

At these words, a beam spreads the breadth of Anderson's face. "Oh, thank you, Greg."

"Milk no, no sugar. I wouldn't mind a biscuit or two either. Now, leave me in peace."

"Righty-ho!" Anderson performs a mock-salute in Lestrade's general direction before almost dancing out of the office but, instead, settling on a little jump and click of his heels for his own amusement as he does so.