This story plays late in Season 3. There is a reference to the episode "Death and the Favored Few". It's on older gem of mine that's been kind of sitting on the back burner for the past couple of years. I just came across it again the other day and thought you might enjoy it.

"Here, let me have another bite."

Leaning over the large desk, Mike navigated his arm around several stacks of files waiting to be reviewed, as he reached for the open to-go container across from him.

"I thought you said you didn't like it with Green Goddess salad dressing…you're changing your mind, aren't you? I knew it Lieutenant, I just knew it."

Sporting his usual cheeky grin despite the stressful few days lying behind them; Steve took another bite of his tuna fish teriyaki wrap, before wiping the corners of his mouth with a nearby napkin.

The bullpen behind them had long fallen dark and silent, as the two detectives shared a hearty dinner close to midnight. Between the boxes of sandwiches, French fries, dressing and soda scattered around Mike's desk like tokens on a board game, laid a copy of the Telegraph, opened halfway through to display the sports page.

"Don't hold your breath. It still tastes like sauerkraut gone bad to me…but this late at night, it will do I guess…"

"Aw, come on now. Don't knock it. All this stuff here is pretty good for you. Turkey is far better than that prime rib sandwich. Beef is full of unsaturated fats. And those fries…oh, those fries…high sodium and all. Better leave those for me."

Steve rubbed his belly hiding below the black turtleneck sweater, before smiling deviously.

"You're just loving this, don't you?", Mike argued and ceremoniously held up a corner of his multi-layer turkey wrap, before warily dipping it in the loathed dressing, "Remember that the doctor said my cholesterol is only slightly elevated. And so is my blood pressure. That doesn't mean I am going to switch to any sort of crazy diet anytime soon."

"If you call 140 over 85 slightly…"

Chuckling, Steve shook his head before sipping on his coke and running a hand through his wavy brown hair, as he put his feet up on the neighboring office chair

"Well, it had to happen sooner or later. Jeanie's been cooking all this hearty food for you when she's here and that's all you've been living off of."

"Now you just wait a minute, Buddyboy. You've been inviting yourself over to join me for dinner how many times? How come your blood pressure is perfect?", Mike asked in feign irritation, before wiping his hands and reaching for his water.

"I've been telling you, it's the extra exercise I get when you make me do all the running."

"Do all the running, he says. I don't believe that for one second. But I think I know what it is…", Mike argued facetiously and smiled satisfied as he leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head, "It's your nightly exercises. You can't retain a single calorie with that work load of yours. Detective during the day, Romeo at night. It must be so difficult being you. But…I do hear it's good for the heart…"

"Now you get your mind out of the gutter.", Steve warned laughingly and raised his index finger, then hesitated when his eyes fell on the newspaper, "Did you see that Etta Morris Randolph died?"

"You gotta be kidding me. When?"

Following Steve's impatient gesture to pick up the newspaper, Mike scanned back a few pages until he reached the front-page obituary of the uppity rich widow, putting on his black rimmed reading glasses to go over it.

"Mhm. Says here that she's being fighting ovarian cancer for a while. Did you know that?"

Rolling his eyes, Steve finished his wrap, before shaking his head dejectedly.

"It's been all over the papers for months. How many times have I told you that you should read more than just the sports page every once in a while…"

"There's nothing in the world of the Favored Few of San Francisco that would interest me nearly as much as the 49'ers score. What worries me is your interest in it."

Deciding to take the bait his partner had put out that late in the evening, Steve shrugged, before clearing his throat.

"Well, admit it or not, that case wasn't the first one where knowing your way around this city's elite helped out tremendously. But beside that…look at what these players are making just for throwing a ball around. Mike, I mean, this has gone way beyond school sports and the positive effects it has on the mind and body. This is…you know how many homeless shelters could be taken care of for an entire year on one of these players' salaries?"

Across from him, Mike hesitated for a minute and crossed his arms in front of his chest, before smiling.

"I had no idea that I was working with the new Chairman of the Economic Injustice World Counsel."

"Aw, come on now. You know I raised a valid point."

Throwing his head back, Steve let out a frustrated grunt before anxiously playing with the straw of his coke.

"Valid…yes.", Mike admitted before scanning his partner warmly, "Realistic? Probably not. That's the unfortunate thing about these comparisons. You will always have rich and poor. Good and evil. Fair and unfair. So what are you going to do? Get worked up every time something happens that doesn't fit your framework of fairness…or what's right? You'd be wasting a lot of energy."

"What? So you're ok with this?"

"Easy now, Buddyboy, that's not what I said…It's been a long day and you're getting hot over something that's out of your control.", when Mike saw his partner get ready to protest, he raised a hand to silence him for the time being, "What is in your control is what you do in this job right here, every single day. The wrongs you right as a cop. Beyond that…what these people playing football should do with their salary, whether or not every homeless person in San Francisco gets fed tonight, whether every stray animal in a shelter ever finds a home…that's a far too big of an undertaking for one person. Even if it's one with a big ego and an even bigger heart."

Steve hesitated, digesting the kind and wise words being said before nodding slowly, struggling with an answer.

No two seconds later, their emotional conversation was disrupted by the phone ringing shortly after midnight.

"No. no. No…dear God, please not again…", the young Inspector begged, only to meet Mike's stern glance and raised eyebrows.

"I don't think a prayer is going to help us tonight, Buddyboy…", the Lieutenant said before lifting the receiver, "Homicide…Stone…"

Using the remaining precious moments to finish the last of his French fries, Steve kept his ears tuned to the conversation ahead.

"Down by Hunters Point, you said? Female…ok. Any witnesses? Alright. We'll be right there."

Hanging up the phone again, Mike ran a hand across his chin, his detective brain already in full gear as he adjusted the cuffs on his dress shirt and got up from behind his desk.

"We've got a floater on the southside. Victim is female. Looks like she was strangled."

Swallowing his last bite down with another sip of coke, Steve nodded and threw the wax paper and to-go box into the garbage.

"That break lasted all but one hour…"

"Yeah, I know…", Mike mumbled disappointedly as he reached for his gray fedora and black overcoat, before walking out of the office, shoving his partner along with him, "Hindsight, something tells me I will regret trading my prime rib sandwich for some dry turkey all night…Come on, let's go Buddyboy."