It was one of those days.
It was the sort of day when the bizarre occurred, and everyone around you acted as if it were all perfectly normal, as if you were the crazy one for thinking any of it was odd or unusual.
As if it were perfectly acceptable for dark haired women to pull Lestrade into a hug, kiss him on the cheek, and then pat him on the head.
As if it were only to be expected that a prostitute from one of the shabbier sections of the city would catch sight of young Hopkins and throw herself at him, or that he would put himself between her and the Constable who had brought her in and start cursing the man in lower class slang.
As if it were an everyday thing for Holmes and Gregson to be arguing over the fact that Bradstreet had arrested Dr. Watson the night before, both at the top of their lungs.
And it didn't help that Jones and Bradstreet were standing there calmly, betting on the outcomes of the goings on in the front room.
Bradstreet looked up and saw the man standing there, staring at the scene before him. "Good day, Superintendent." He said, as if nothing unusual were occurring in the room.
Superintendent Marshall shook his head and headed back to his office. He just couldn't deal with this sort of nonsense today.
Hopefully things would sort themselves out just fine on their own. These sorts of things usually did, with that bunch.
Disclaimer: Sherlock and the boys do not belong to me.
