Jo wasn't even the tiniest bit surprised to come home to a flat full of policemen on a "drugs bust." She knew that that probably meant she should rethink some of her life choices, but she was too tired to care just then. She wearily climbed the seventeen steps up to her flat to find Lestrade sitting in Sherlock's chair, smirking, Sherlock sulking on the couch, and about ten officers going through their things - very thoroughly. Jo's shoulders tensed, but she forced herself to relax. She tightened her grip on her shopping bags before walking the rest of the way inside and taking a seat next to Sherlock. Her friend seemed just as tense as she was and she resisted the urge to reach out and comfort him.

"You went shopping," the detective announced moments later, his frown deepening. Jo nodded but refrained from giving her usual sarcastic retort. Her friend continued, his voice still harsh. "Why did you go shopping?"

"Because I have a job that I get paid for and thus am allowed to spend my money every now and then," she answered, her tone matching his. He raised his eyebrows and she sighed, giving him the answer he was really looking for. "I needed a dress to wear to the wedding. Surprisingly, my wardrobe doesn't actually include much evening wear."

He looked into the bag and sniffed. "This hardly counts as evening wear."

"Well pardon me if its not bespoke," Jo bit out, her temper rising.

Sherlock's eyes snapped up to her and his gaze softened. "I didn't mean that it isn't nice. I'm sure it will look lovely." He sounded awkward and he quickly shoved the bag back towards Jo, but she smiled at his efforts nonetheless.

She turned to look at Lestrade. "Alright, what has he done this time. And remember, I've been gone since seven this morning, so if you're going to be arresting anyone I had nothing to do with it."

Sherlock scowled and the DI laughed. "Nobody's getting arrested here - at least I hadn't planned on arresting anyone. Sherlock is just being stubborn about telling us who killed Kate Bennett."

"I told you," Sherlock growled, glaring at Lestrade, "I don't know who killed Miss Bennett. I have my suspicions, yes, but they have yet to be proven. I will tell you as soon as the results of my research come in."

Lestrade sighed. "And when will that be?"

"Soon," he replied still frowning. Just then, his mobile beeped with a text. After reading it he grinned and looked up at the DI. "Patience is a virtue, Lestrade. If you had only waited I would have happily told you that the brother did it, and this all would have been avoided. Now get out of my flat!" Lestrade eyed the detective warily, but after a few moments he gave the order for his team to leave; they were gone within five minutes.

Jo sighed and finally relaxed into the couch. "Why do they have to make such a mess?" Sherlock shrugged and reached for her second bag.

"Why did you buy a scrapbook?" He asked, frowning again. "Please tell me you're not going to start keeping newspaper clippings about our cases."

She glared at him and snatched the bag back. "It's none of your damn business! And, contrary to popular opinion, not everything in my life revolves around you." She quickly stood up and made her way upstairs, well aware that she was overreacting, but unwilling to stop it.

"You're upset with me," Sherlock said once she made it to the stairs. His voice was unsure and it was almost a question, but Jo didn't answer - she didn't trust herself not to say something hurtful.

An hour later Jo was sitting cross legged on her bed, her new scrapbooking material spread out in front of her. She wasn't really surprised when her door opened, but she didn't make any sign of acknowledgment as Sherlock stepped inside her room. She had long ago let go of any lingering concepts of private property or personal space when it came to her flatmate, but that didn't mean that she was going to actively encourage the behaviour. He held a thick binder in his hands, and when she didn't protest he cautiously came and sat at the end of her bed, facing his friend.

"I didn't mean to upset you earlier," he said quietly. "I was just teasing." Most people assumed that Sherlock never apologized, but that was blatantly false. True, his apologies were often a bit odd, but they were almost always there and Jo appreciated the effort.

She shrugged, still not looking up at him. "I overreacted, again. I've always had a short temper."

"It's worse when you're stressed," he replied, accepting her implicit apology. "Why are you stressed?"

Jo sighed. "It was just a long day with lots of screaming children and angry parents. And shopping. I really do hate shopping."

"Explains why you waited until the week before we leave to buy a dress," he said, smiling a bit as he cataloged the new information. He looked at what she was doing with the scrapbook and smiled. "Luke will definitely appreciate your efforts at organization." Jo smiled as well. Luke had been sending her pictures ever since James' birthday party, and she had finally decided that she needed a way to ensure their safety.

"I promised him that I'd keep them," she explained quietly. "I didn't want them to get crumpled or lost."

Sherlock smiled reassuringly at her. "It'll mean a lot to him. Luke doesn't generally take to people like he's apparently taken to you." Jo blushed and focused her eyes on the binder resting in his lap.

"What's that?" She asked, indicating what she meant with a nod of her head.

Sherlock held it out to her, looking slightly nervous. "A peace offering." She took it carefully and laid it down in front of her to open it. She smiled and looked up at him, her eyes lighting up.

"You honestly do keep a scrapbook of all your cases," she said, being careful to keep her voice neutral so that it wouldn't be construed as offensive.

He shrugged, looking down at her bedspread as if it were the most interesting thing in the room. "I wanted to make sure that I could remember them all."

"This is great," she said honestly. "It's really fantastic."

He shrugged again. "A bit sentimental, I suppose."

"A bit of sentiment is a good thing," she answered, looking up at him.

He cracked a smile. "I suppose it is."