Lestrade entered the room indicating by Mrs. Hudson and immediately stopped short, blinking at the sight of a man sitting in one of the armchairs in front of the fire-one who was certainly not Holmes.
Tan, gaunt, and worn-looking, this man looked up, brown eyes slightly unfocused and drowsy.
He stood up slowly and somewhat stiffly, looking more aware with every second that passed. He offered a polite smile and his hand went to the arm of his chair as if to steady himself.
"May I help you?" He asked a trifle uncertainly, albeit good-naturedly for someone whose sleep had just been interrupted.
"Um," Lestrade faltered. It had been a long week. "I am looking for Mr. Holmes. I was told this was his new address…"
"It is." The man assured Lestrade with another smile, this one every bit as genuine as the first. "However, Holmes went out this morning, and has not made it back yet."
Lestrade stifled a groan. There was no knowing when he might return, then. It could be anywhere from five minutes to two days before Holmes got back.
"Never mind," Lestrade said. "I'll call back tomorrow." And hope he was actually in. "Sorry to trouble you."
Another smile. "Not at all, my good man" He returned easily. "Can I tell Holmes you called?"
Lestrade was never given the opportunity to reply. Somewhere below a door was suddenly flung with a loud crash. Sherlock Holmes had returned.
Lestrade's conversational partner started, the blood all but draining from his face. The Inspector moved as if to reassure him, but the sitting room door suddenly opened in much the same manner as the previous door had and Sherlock Holmes himself entered the room. His entrance, surprisingly enough, seemed to reassure the other man, for it was accompanied by a small sigh of relief from the same.
If Sherlock noticed the effect his entrance had had on the other man, he didn't care. The amateur detective barely seemed to register his presence at all, in fact, as he darted over to a table absolutely covered in chemistry apparatus, and Lestrade himself was completely ignored.
"I say, Holmes?" The man called out after a moment, his voice still a bit shaky, and nearly flinched as the former spun around rather abruptly and impatiently to face him.
"What is it, Doctor?" The detective demanded.
The doctor seemed to be recovering from his fright; he didn't seem bothered by Sherlock's terse reply. He merely inclined his head in Lestrade's direction. "You have a visitor." The doctor informed him. Sherlock turned his head sharply to eye the Inspector.
"Oh," The detective said then, stepping away from the table. "I see."
"I suppose you would like to make use of the sitting room." The doctor offered, already beginning to retreat from the room.
"If it would not be too much an inconvenience, thank you, Doctor." Sherlock replied absently, waving Lestrade to the recently abandoned chair.
"Not at all." The doctor replied, pausing at the door. "Good evening, Mister-" He floundered for a name as both men realized it had never been given.
"Lestrade." Sherlock cut in. "Lestrade, my new flat-mate, Doctor John Watson." The Inspector nodded as the doctor excused himself. The door shut, and a few seconds later both detectives could hear the slow, uneven tread of footsteps of Holmes' new flat-mate on the stairs.
Lestrade could not help but wonder how long the arrangement would last.