Disclaimer: don't own...

Shield

It was, Lestrade mused, a good thing, to be on the safe side of Sherlock's anger.

He had seen the man angry of course; yelling at well-meaning officers that were strangely unaware of the don't-even-ask policy that applied to Sherlock's barging in on crime scenes, or sending death-glares at John after the man had wisely disposed of one of Sherlock's more dubious experiments, and, obviously, the times he had gone too far himself.

This, however, was a whole new sight. The expression on the pale face had gone from teasing to angry to scarily blank in less than a second, too fast for the criminal to notice. Of course said criminal had been too busy shoving the lanky detective aside and waving his knife in front of Lestrade's face, to pay any attention to Sherlock.

Very unwise.

And a shame as well, Lestrade couldn't help but think, as he saw the detective's eyes light up to an electric kind of blue, a storm of barely controlled energy whirling behind them, sparks of what must be lightning flashing dangerously in the blue depths.

It took Sherlock two seconds to reclaim his position, right between Lestrade and the startled criminal. Another two seconds, a fierce flurry of movements and a flash of iron, and the criminal crashed to the floor, clutching his bloody and obviously broken nose.

Sherlock breathed heavily, still blocking Lestrade's view of the criminal, who seemed to have passed out by now. He swallowed and turned. "You all right?" Lestrade could understand why people were scared of the man. The look he send him was more fierce than anything he had ever seen, sending a shiver down his spine.

"Yeah," he said looking over at the detective. "You'll need to see a doctor for that," he gestured to Sherlock's left hand.

Sherlock merely shrugged, "John will take a look at it," and continued to look at Lestrade, checking for God-knows-what with that unsettling gaze of his.

Lestrade shook his head. "Typical," he muttered. He then refocused on the man on the pavement. "Just what did you do to him?"

Sherlock smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. "Broke his nose, obviously, cracked a few ribs, probably gave him a concussion as well."

Well, that didn't make it into the official report. After a very inventive creative writing session, Lestrade walked home, happy with his statement and the one he had come up with for Sherlock (of course the man couldn't be bothered to give his own, the experiment he had running had apparently reached a very critical state, and given the fact he had said experiment running in Lestrade's flat, the DI had been more than happy to let him go and save his kitchen table. Or kitchen, he'd rather not know the details).

Lestrade entered his flat, taking a moment to study the genius currently occupying the dining table, kitchen floor and the sink, with tubes, petri dishes and pipettes. Lestrade just couldn't bring himself to care.

He hummed, strolling through the living room and heading for the bathroom. He was still humming twenty minutes later, re-emerging into the living room and grabbing his coat again. "Takeaway?" He couldn't help but smile broadly.

Sherlock didn't even look up from his microscope and the whatever-it-was he seemed to be studying with it. "You're awfully sentimental today, do try to restrain some of it, Lestrade."

He couldn't help it, he just couldn't, he bit back a grin and ruffled the black curls when he passed the kitchen on his way to the stairs.

Just before he closed the door he could hear the detective mutter, "Impossible."

Thanks Sidney for betaing!

And thank you all for reading and/or reviewing! ^^

Oh how I loved writing this one...