Author's note: Thanks to all my faithful readers! Just another short one for fun. Please review!
"What if... the body was dumped out the window and just washed away? It could have been the husband that did it," mused Anderson aloud.
Adopting a face of pure sincerity, Sherlock proclaimed, "Spectacular Anderson. I can see an award with your name written all over it."
"...Really?" was Anderson's—understandably—apprehensive reply.
"Oh yes. A Darwin Award. After you die."
DI Lestrade shot the consulting detective a stern look.
"Behave Sherlock. Don't make me tell you again."
"Perhaps if you would quiet the nose?" suggested Sherlock with a smugly innocent smile.
"Hey!" was the indignant cry.
Lestrade shot the insulted man a tired glance. Barely repressing a sigh, he intoned, "Anderson, do us all a favor, and just shut up for a bit, will ya?"
"I have the right to speak!" Anderson exclaimed angrily.
"No need to abuse that right," was Sherlock's dry muttered response.
"Sherlock!" the DI called out as a reprimand. He gave up with a resigned—and partially amused—sigh as he observed the smug curl of Sherlock's lips as he turned back to his examination of the crime scene, not even sparing a thought for Lestrade or the still-miffed man who he had offended.
Honestly, why try? He'd never be able to control Sherlock, and to be quite honest, he didn't particularly want to. Much as he would never admit it, Sherlock's sarcastic taunts always kept him amused at the crime scene. Secretly, Lestrade and his coworkers (those who also employed Sherlock on cases) would sometimes meet in the break room at Scotland Yard and share notes they'd taken on Sherlock's wittier jibes. The "Anderson Annihilations" were always a hit, and so, with an invisible grin, Lestrade pulled out his pencil and pad of paper and quickly scribbled down notes, detailing this most recent assault on "the nose" and his future eligibility for the Darwin Award.