I am so sorry it took me so long to upload this! I've been neglecting my homework recently so had to catch up on that (ugh, reports). I did have this pre written ready to upload a couple days ago but didnt like it so rewrote it, didn't like that so rewrote it again. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! :D Warning for mild swearing.
Lestrade felt like shit. That seemed the best way of summarisng the way his limbs ached, his head pounded and his throat burned. If he looked on the brighter side he could say that he had least got time off work, but then the pessimistic side of him would cut in and remind him of the fact that he was too damn ill to appreciate it. His doctor was trying to convince him that he just had a common cold and refused to give him any decent medication. Lestrade tried convincing him that he had flu or something worse, but to no avail. He wanted nothing more than to just sleep until his body decided to kick out the offending bacteria and return to normal.
Alas, some higher power decided that Lestrade wasn't going to have a good day.
If he hadn't been so self absorbed in his misery and consequently unaware of his surroundings, he might have heard the clicks as the lock of his front door was picked. However he was just on the verge of drifting into a feverish sleep, so didn't notice his flat had been invaded until a tall dark figure was standing beside his bed.
"What the hell?" He exclaimed as he saw the stranger. As his bleary eyes focused he realised it was Sherlock.
"What the hell are you doing in my flat?" He asked angrily, his voice hoarse and croaky, and not as authoritive as he would have liked to sound. Sherlock started to speak but Lestrade cut in "How the hell did you get in here anyway?" He asked.
"I picked the lock, very easily I might add. You might want to update your security." Sherlock replied casually.
"And may I ask why you broke into my flat?" He retorted, pinching the bridge of his nose as he spoke. If there was one person who could make a headache worse, it was Sherlock. Sherlock sighed dramatically before answering.
"I happened to be on the site of a murder-" He was cut off by Lestrade's snort of disbelief. He frowned before continuing: "I happened to be on the site of a murder when the police showed up (incompetent idiots). I tried telling them how the victim had been killed but they seemed to think that I had something to do with the murder-"
"Oh God." Lestrade groaned. "I have a homeless junkie on the run from the police in my flat?"
"No." Sherlock snapped. "I'm not on the run from the police, I'm simply avoiding them." He smirked. "Anyway, they didn't exactly get a chance to arrest me, I ran off before they could get the handcuffs on me."
"What made you come here?" Lestrade asked annoyed. He had been more than hospitable to the strange kid, but this was crossing the line. Did he realise how much trouble he would be in if it was discovered he was hiding from the police in his flat?
Sherlock shuffled uneasily at the question, as if embarrassed. "I was wondering where you were." He admitted, his eyes trained on the window instead of Lestrade.
"Where I was?" Lestrade asked.
"You weren't at the crime scene or at the park today, and I was just…" He tailed off unsure how to finish the sentence.
"You were worried about me?" Lestrade asked, amused. He had never seen Sherlock show anything close to caring before.
Sherlock scowled at him. "Well if you were to disappear I would be substantially low on funds." He said. Lestrade saw past the cover up. Damn, Sherlock Holmes actually had a heart.
Lestrade smiled at him before announcing "I better go sort out this mess then." He got slowly out of the bed and went to the kitchen for his phone so he could call his boss and convince him to let Sherlock off the hook. His boss was not best pleased, but agreed not to arrest him unless they came across conclusive proof other than him being an arrogant prick at the crime scene. After croaking goodbye and putting down the phone he turned around to see Sherlock standing in front of him. "I seem to owe you quite a lot." He stated matter of factly. Lestrade took that as his way of saying thanks.
"Well, you did solve those two cases for me." He reminded him. It was true that those would have probably went wrongly concluded or cold case if Sherlock hadn't intervened. Sherlock just nodded and departed, leaving a sick Lestrade alone again. When he went into his room however there was a mug of tea sitting and a couple of pills on his bedside table. He drank the tea gratefully and let it sooth his throat, but decided to give the pills a miss considering he had no clue what they were and had been given to him by a junkie. All the same, he appreciated that Sherlock Holmes had actually tried to help someone. If only Sherlock could help himself Lestrade thought as he drifted once again into sleep.
If you can't already tell I'm a "Lestrade and Sherlock are friends" supporter. I just love writing about them together! Thanks to LinzPhantom, phanpiggy and IamthePhantomoftheOpera for reviewing. Am I sending out some sort of vibe that attracts phantom of the opera fans? Just curious :P Please review!