"Belarus," John explained when he opened the door and gestured Lestrade inside. Invited into Sherlock's Chamber of Horrors. That didn't happen often.
"Oh." Lestrade scratched the back of his head. Well, I'm out. You got any ideas? "He didn't say."
"I'm not surprised," John said over his shoulder on his way to the kitchen. "Nothing I can help with?"
"Nah. The victim's long past needing a doctor. Thanks anyway."
John leaned across to flick the kettle on. "How do you take your coffee?"
"Mainlined." Lestrade sank onto the sofa. Thank God Sherlock's flatmate understood that a sixteen-hour shift was hell.