A/N: Thank you for the reviews guys! Please tell me what you think about this one, I'm dying to know.

He kept his eyes screwed shut. John was bumbling around the bedroom, changing for bed, blissfully unaware Sherlock was still awake. He would never sing to himself like that, fully aware Sherlock would desire to know where he had heard such a preposterous melody, aware he would be questioned his song choice desecrated until he was sick of hearing it over and over.

Yes, blissfully unaware and when he slipped between the sheets pausing for a moment, probably gazing down at his lover to check he was really asleep, the detective tensed only momentarily. Sherlock gave a half hearted throaty snore and John sighed pressing an all too gentle kiss to his brow. The detective waited, John nudged up beside him curling into his side and then uncurling restlessly.

Perhaps he would not alone again. Perhaps tonight John would join him in the early hours of blank staring, of endless chattering thoughts as his eyes wept from his gaze fixed on flickering orange lights.

But it was not to be and John fell into the arms of Morpheus, unencumbered, peaceful and Sherlock hated it, hated him.

How could John achieve something so simple, so basic and yet Sherlock was tortured by the images behind his eyelids, the flashes of dread and cold vice like fear that forced his eyes open, that made his mind scream and wail until he was doomed to lie for hour after hour. It seemed to him as though time was making a mockery, days passed and yet John didn't wake, the sun didn't rise and he didn't sleep. It did nothing to slow his mind, his at first piercing gaze fattening, sluggish and now dead, up at the ceiling.

He thought after a moment of quiet if he had already slept his brow creasing as he fought to remember that hour. Had he really? But as he rolled his tongue around his dry mouth, hands shaking and fragile in the moonlight he knew he hadn't. It was the wishful thinking of a sleep joshing mind. He slapped a hand to his face and took deep breaths, forcing his eyes closed, they stayed unexpectedly black and he relaxed for just mere seconds before the images flashed and he opened them again, eyes rolling in his head.

But his mind roared onwards taking in every heart beat of his lover, every shivery breath and the voices of drunken crowds stumbling to collapse in a heap somewhere, to pass out in rapture. It made his skin feel dry and his own body felt alien, holding him here, so unwilling to move and yet he was not comfortable, simply held in place by sand filled limbs and his desperate desire.

He thought to himself not to be afraid.

It was just a dream and dreams are nothing more than the random firing of neurons, a simple scientific observation that did nothing to sooth his mind. His head ached, his teeth clenched and yet he couldn't relax, couldn't stop the tensing of his arms as he fought with himself. He desperately desired sleep but it never came and the next morning when John awoke, again kissing him on the brow before slipping out quietly as though not to wake the detective, only made his chest ache more as he snapped his eyes open in time with the clicking of the door handle.

He was laid out arms splayed to the sides sheet spooled at his waist. He wrenched himself from the bed ignoring the desire to sink back into the warm spot John had left. To bury his face in the pillow in the hopes that something so longed for, so familiar would sooth him. It hadn't worked the day before it wouldn't work now.

He leapt from the bed, aching tired muscles protesting but he didn't let up, his usual springing steps and sleek movements not forfeited despite his agonising body. A weak shell that so wished to collapse to sleep. But there was no time for that, he was to get out, to find Irene, to solve the case and then perhaps if his mind would allow such a basic desire he would finally sleep.

Free of dreams free of the shadowy figure and echoing laugh.

John was perched in his chair when he finally made it downstairs after a bone numbing cold shower (He had to force his mind to focus. It had worked in the past. Not so much now.) He smiled up at his lover something dropping behind his eyes as Sherlock came properly in to view.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine."

"You sure...you look a little grey."

Sherlock said nothing he simply slumped onto his sofa, an arm resting over his eyes. The leather was cold against his back and it seeped slowly through the material of his shirt and pants comforting the tired pull of his muscles enough to clear his mind and he sighed. John was stood over him when he opened his eyes.

"Tea?" The doctor gestured with a tall elegant black mug he had picked out for Sherlock. It was designed to be unbreakable. (Sherlock had bought several after he had broken the first one. John hadn't noticed yet.)

He sighed again and flung his legs over so he was sitting up; elbows leant on his wide splayed legs. He took the steaming mug from his lover and held it close to his face, inhaling the fumes and the too sweet scent of John interpretation of what accounted to a good cup of tea. Too many spoons of sugar, hardly any milk, strong enough to stain the teeth for days.

It was heaven and he smiled Johns answering grin hesitant at first. He sniffed and turned away pottering back into the kitchen, his voice carrying out strong and attention grabbing. (It was so helpful to have someone to help capture his mind; it was more focussed now but still less though than normal. He was running on half his power and yet it seemed okay. At least whilst John was talking.)

"So, any closer to finding Irene?"

"I have tracked her movements. I believe she will be at Madame Flashettes tonight."

There was a moment's pause and then John was back at the sliding doors to the kitchen, toes poking out from under his (Sherlocks actually since the detective had destroyed every one of Johns in an experiment judging whether they would hold sufficient weight to be used as a rope when tied together. They were insufficient.) pyjama bottoms, hair still sleep rumpled and cream t-shirt with a tea stain on the bottom seam. His skin was creamy in the cold light of day, eyes impossibly large and currently twitching as though Sherlock was making some sort of amusing comment.

"The strip club?"

"You know it?" (Well wasn't he a dark horse.)

John chuckled a slight blush rising up his neck. "Yeah."

"A stag night."

John tilted his head "Go on."

Sherlock smiled. "It was too simple. You are much too embarrassed by sexual situations in the company of others and much too private of your own predilections to choose a strip club yourself."

The doctor sighed and shrugged, taking a sip from his own mug. (A bright red regimental mug. He had several in different colours and although the perfect size to be used in an experiment Sherlock desperately wanted to conduct John had banned him from even as much as looking at them for too long. A blight on the progress of science.)

He opened his mouth as if to say something as Sherlock took a long draught of the still slightly too hot tea. It burned his throat and clung to his teeth and he relaxed a little, slumping into the cushions as it slipped streaking heat down to his stomach.

John frowned and crossed the room, setting his mug on the side table and bending over the side to rifle through his laptop bag. Sherlock admired the view raising his eyebrows when John spun on the spot holding the red sweater.

(He had been looking for that.)

The doctor jostled it in his hands for a moment before smiling and throwing it at the sofa. It landed over Sherlocks legs and he looked down at it and then up to see John was stood at is knees. He reached out a hand and slipped it around the detectives neck pulling his face up to press a kiss first to his lips and then to his forehead.

"Come on. Work to do."

They spent the day successfully avoiding any and all calls and texts from Lestrade. They had even managed to avoid Mycroft's slick black car by abruptly hurtling down an alleyway, clinging to the rooftops and skirting their way back to Nico's offices in a last ditch attempt to check for what he could've found. The receptionist was missing when they got to the desk and Sherlock simply went around and took the key from the cabinet.

John protested of course but it was irrelevant.

He led the way this time, unlocking the office door to find that not only had someone been there again but this time they had trashed the office. Paper was everywhere, the drawer pulled clean out of the wall desk up turned. John groaned behind him.

"Well of we were ever going to found anything, we won't now. It will take hours to look through all these papers."

Sherlock growled and slammed the door shut. He needed to talk to Irene. Now.

They made their way back downstairs and Sherlock grumbled under his breath. "Typical. Now the only way to solve this is to talk to that harpy again."

"Perhaps not."

John grinned at him and then took the keys from his hand, skirting around the corner to walk slowly towards the now manned desk. "Hey."

The woman jumped gain and John caught the falling stapler in one hand slowly coming up to stand a bit too close to her. "Hello."

"I'm sorry I didn't catch your name..."

"It's Claire..."

"John."

She smiled and he put the stapler on the desk. "Hello John, back again?"

"Yeah. Unfortunately we missed a part of the plans so..."

"What about your friend, the tall one with all the hair?"

"Ah he decided to stay at home this time."

"Home? You live together."

"Yeah, you know London prices..."

"Oh. So you don't live with a girlfriend or..."

John smiled warmly and leant against the desk. Sherlock snarled under his breath but stayed where he was hidden in the shadows of the staircase. "No, no girlfriend."

The phone rang and she blushed deeply, nodding to herself. "One minute."

She turned away and Sherlock quickly strode around the corner past the desk and out of the door. He had caught up to the doctor's plan straight away. He was going to charm information about Nico from her. Ingenious but irritating to watch.

He was thankful for the slightly too cold breeze that buffeted him as he leant against the brick wall, it calmed him down enough that he managed to stay there.(After all it would've been bad from to step from the shadows and punch a woman. Even if she kept looking at Johns lips.)

The doctor followed him out a few minutes later, still grinning. Sherlock walked with him towards the curb and flung out an arm hailing a cab without as much as an inch of effort. It smoothly drew up beside them and John hopped in ahead of him, the grin sliding off his face when he saw Sherlocks awkward bend to climb in.

(His vision lurched slowly as he bent and his muscles reminded him violently on the tense nights he spent wide awake.) He sank into the seat, melting into the background for a moment as John talked to the cabbie. When he settled back against his shoulder, face propped on the ice cold window. John leant over.

"So I got a date with Claire tonight."

That woke him up. He turned to face the doctor frowning. Was this allowed? Surely not.

"A date..."

"Yeah. She wasn't telling me much so I asked her out. She is more likely to tell me more if it seems natural...well I thought it's the sort of thing you'd do..."

"You are going on a date with some strange woman."

"I'm not going for fun Sherlock. It's work."

Sherlock frowned. All the false energy the work had given him seemed to drain from his bones at once and he put a hand to his face closing his eyes. He heard John suck in a breath and then warm fingers circled his wrist pulling his hand away.

"Sherlock. Listen to me."

He could hardly wrench his eyes open but he managed it, somehow. John was peering across at him, earnest and almost frantic as he licked his lips, Sherlocks eyes following the movement sluggishly. (After all, even in a sleep deprived state his body valiantly carried on lusting for John, needling for him.)

"I am only doing this to help you with this case okay? I can call her and we can look for leads somewhere else."

"No...But I am coming too."

John chuckled softly and patted him on the knee."I wouldn't expect anything less."

John was clearly embarrassed to be at the club, sticking close to his lover and blushing deeply when the doorman nodded them in with a knowing smirk. Sherlock focussed straight away on Irene from far across the too brightly lit room, the music was too loud and he could feel it reverberating in his chest as woman danced and gyrated around them. He walked forwards but John wasn't with him. He was staring as a woman slipped down the pole nearest to him, grinning and sliding a hand down herself.

Sherlock blinked then snorted and carried onwards, hands on hips as he came to stand still at the head of Irene's table. She looked up from her drink and sighed dramatically.

"I knew you'd find me eventually."

"I need to know who hired you."

"I'm sorry darling, but I can't help you."

Sherlock smirked and pulled out his phone waving it at her before holding it to his head. "You do realise I have the full force of the London police department on speed dial. I could just mention to Lestrade that-"

"You wouldn't."

"Really? You honestly think I wouldn't?"

Irene sighed again and her eyes drifted off for a moment. "I see you brought the doctor."

"Yes."

"I'd keep an eye on that adorable little pet of yours; after all he has been standing there a bit too long."

Sherlock glanced over to where John was stood nervously by a pillar, glancing his way and then at the woman and then back to him. "Irene. I am not playing games with you. I want a name."

She sighed and got to her feet, sliding up close to him to whisper in his ear. "Follow me outside, can't have them knowing this is anything but pleasure."

Sherlock turned his head away and glanced at John who was watching them now less nervous more intent. (See how he liked it.) She reached down and grabbed his hand, pulling him weaving through the crowds to the back door. Sherlock waggled his eyebrows at John in a move that meant wait for me outside. He didn't get a chance to see if he understood before he was through the velvet curtains and out the back door, Irene giggling and pulling on his arm.

The alleyway was freezing and she pulled a little further down glancing both ways before leaning in close. "His name is Noah."

"The mob boss?"

She hissed at him and Sherlock side stepped to avoid a well aimed heel. "Yes big mouth, the mob boss. Now, if this goes wrong you have to promise me you will get me out."

"Irene Adler, needing help?"

"He is a dangerous guy Sherlock, more dangerous than you know."

"If you need it I suppose I could help you out."

"It's not you I need. It's that brother of yours."

"Mycroft? What can Mycroft do that I can't." (He was sick of this. He was better than his stupid brother in every way.)

"He can make people disappear. Now don't be such a petulant child. Ah I see your doctor has arrived."

Sherlock glanced up at and Johns black outline filled the end of the alleyway, he grinned. She slapped him on the chest forcing his gaze back to her for a moment. A soft sigh and she shook her head, smirking up at him. "Boy, you have got it bad haven't you."

Sherlocks grin didn't even waver and she titled her head, turning away with a wave of her hand. "Good bye Sherlock."

John reached him just as the door closed behind her. "So?"

"Noah."

He was silent for a long time. John just stared up at him bewildered. "Am I supposed to know who that is?"

"He is a mob boss, and there is only one person who can help us now."

John sighed and turned away, hands on hips. Sherlock peeled himself from the grimy wall and started off back to the main street. (He decided not to mention that John didn't seem even a tiny bit jealous of Irene. It was unfair really.)

In the taxi he slumped sideways staring bleakly out at the passing streets. It was raining now, heavy and hard and the wind seemed unnaturally loud. In fact it seemed unearthly and he sat up, feeling for once as though he had slept the whole night through. He was alone in the cab and Sherlock cursed.

Yes he was asleep, but this was not a good dream. There was a rumble and he glanced up to the driver's seat, no driver, no John, nothing outside the walls of the cab expect pure white and the distant sound of rain. That is until a hand slammed against the rear window, long pale fingers, nail scratching against the glass as they dragged slowly around to the window opposite to be joined by another hand.

A giggle that made his blood run cold and-

"FUCK!"

He jolted awake. Mere minutes of sleep interrupted as the cabbie shifted his cab abruptly to the right to avoid a speeding black sedan at the intersection. Sherlock shuffled up in his seat just enough to peer out as it crashed in to a signpost at the side of the road, the door clunking open and just as they turned a corner he could've sworn he'd seen well toed heel drop to the floor, followed by a suited pant leg.

He sucked in a haggard breath and John chuckled breathlessly along with the driver who swore a sting of expletives under his breath. "That was close."

"Nutters these days...you know I bet he was-"

The cabbies inspired rant melted off into the distance as Sherlock clutched his face, sinking low in his seat. (He was sure it was no accident but then...had he simply imagined the foot, had it been inconsequential? Was it just his tired mind imagining wild theories to try and shock him into life. Perhaps.)

John was getting ready for his date. Sherlock was curled up in the doctors chair, red sweater sleeves pulled up and his face was buried in them. For a moment he dreamt he was slipping into sleep but then John called his name and he jolted his head upwards.

Well. That was just obscene.

John was dressed in a dark blue shirt, open a few buttons at the neck, a thin black tie, his hair slightly tousled and swept to the side. (It was getting too long and John ran his hands through it too much. But he would never mention that, he liked the longer hair on the doctor but his military training had engraved the brutal crop into John and he wasn't going to change that.) Slightly tighter than normal jeans and comfortable sensible shoes.

He had put aftershave on and Sherlock could smell it from his space on the armchair as the doctor walked towards him. Spicy, but not too strong.

He frowned. John was putting too much effort into this.

"You remember the plan."

Fuck the plan. "You are not going out dressed like that."

"You sound like my mother. What do you mean?"

Sherlock pouted and John walked right over to him, sliding a hand into the dark curls of his lover and cradling his head as he stared up at him. Sherlocks chest seized up and he sucked in a breath. John looked what most people would call beautiful, gentle smile, his warm welcoming eyes, his stomach soft and comforting as Sherlock leant his forehead against him, burying his face into the fresh clean fabric of his shirt. He breathed it in and Johns fingers tensed a little in his hair, stomach rumbling as he chuckled.

"You look too nice."

"Too nice?"

"Too sexy. It's not fair. You never dress up like that for me."

"We have never been on a date."

Sherlock opened his mouth to protest but John bent down and pressed a soft two second kiss to his lips, thumb rubbing against the back of his skull in a way that seemed almost insultingly nice. "No. Spending four hours in a restaurant while you don't eat, I eat way too much and we don't talk is not a date."

He sighed and John grinned at him. "Plan?"

He sighed. (They totally counted as dates. After all they had eaten in a restaurant together. Just them. Surely that was a date.)

"You take a taxi to her place pick her up. I wait here for half an hour before heading to the restaurant, get my table don't interfere. I am not to walk past you, call you, talk to you or make a scene elsewhere in the restaurant just to get your attention. If I notice something I should indicate I am going to the bathroom and you will follow as soon as possible."

"Brilliant. Good boy."

Sherlock batted the doctors hands away but they slid down to cup his face and he lifted the detectives chin. He kissed him softly again, slow and lingering and Mrs. Hudson appeared on the stairs, blushing and flapping her arms around.

"Tsk, boys!"

Sherlock sighed and the doctor glanced sideways. Mrs. Hudson put a hand over her eyes and waved behind herself. "John dear there is a taxi for you outside."

The doctor pulled away pecked Sherlocks forehead and was gone. Mrs Hudson patted him on the back as he strode out and stood in the doorway for a few moments in silence. "Sherlock, would you like a cup of tea?"

"Yes Mrs. Hudson."

"You don't look well...is everything alright?"

"Everything is fine."

"Alright dear, no need to snap. I'll put that kettle on."

He entered the restaurant, his eyes scanning over the table. Ah there they were, ordering drinks it seemed. Johns eyes flickered from the list to the waiter and then to him his grin not fading as he looked away.

There, he had seen him. Good.

Sherlocks seat was in a booth across the room from John's table and he was half hidden in the shadow of a large planter, he ordered a barley water and a small starter to ensure he was allowed to keep his table. He wouldn't be eating much.

From his position he could see her in perfect profile, she was chatting animatedly and John was laughing and nodding in all the right places. Sherlock was forced to look away from his burning gaze of hatred as the waiter arrived and placed his starter down, along with his drink.

"Anything else sir?"

"What? No nothing else."

The man swayed away from him and Sherlock took a sip of his drink. This was going to be a long night.

After almost forty minutes of watching John chatter and flirt with the woman he snapped. John's eyes hadn't flickered up to him in ages and when they finally did Sherlock nodded towards the bathrooms insistently before getting to his feet and slipping into the mercifully empty and cool men's room to wait. (He wasn't quite sure what he was going to do, but to get John alone and away from that woman for five minutes would relieved some of the burning jealousy in his gut that made his frown and snarl into his food.).

As soon as John was through the door Sherlock gripped him by the arms, pushing him back until he hit the wall, crowding his space. He pushed in kissing him fiercely all teeth and tongue. John grunted in surprise but kissed him back and when he pulled them apart, panting onto the doctors shoulder for a moment the doctor gasped.

"What was-"

"Just reminding you that you are already in a relationship."

John sighed and Sherlock caught his lips again hands moving from Johns arms to splay out on the wall on either side of his head. The doctor sucked on his tongue and Sherlock moaned this distracting him from the fact the shorter mans hands had moved from Sherlocks waist, sliding up his arms to link fingers with him as they braced against the wall.

It was too late to stop him when John bit down on his bottom lip eliciting a rather loud groan and he flipped them right over, at once holding Sherlocks hands together above his head, and then pressing forwards to pin his hips against the wall with his own. Sherlock swallowed a whimper and John pulled back calmly. His eyes were glowing, his lips kiss bruised, shirt rumpled and he was breathing heavily but he was in total control.

Sherlock leant forwards desperate to attach himself to the pulse point on Johns neck but the doctor rolled his hips forwards to keep him against the wall as he moved his own head back away from his lovers reach.

"This has got to stop. It's becoming insulting."

"John..."

"I told you this a hundred times if I've told you once; I am not interested in her. I am here to work Sherlock, to get data as you so relish in telling me you can't work miracles without facts and that is what I am trying to do."

Sherlock was only half listening, he licked his lips and strained forwards but Johns fingers tensed on his wrist and his hips rolled upwards again, slow and deliberate and Sherlock bit back on a moan.

"Listen to me."

He forced himself to make eye contact. John's pupils were blown, he was flushed but he looked obscenely cold. Focussed calm, in complete control of the situation and the detective whimpered for real this time. John had always been slightly more dominant than him in their relationship, but his dominant nature had never revealed itself in such an intimate way before. He had been calm and measured about his approach of sex yes, of course, but not like this.

"I love you. I want you. Only you."

Sherlock nodded randomly, his head bobbing up and down and John sighed, leaning in enough to allow the detective to suck and nip at his neck like a starving vampire. Allowing him to.

The door suddenly burst open and a man trotted in, he stopped in his tracks catching sight of the two men entwined against the wall. John turned to face him, expression completely blank and raised an eyebrow.

The man flushed almost purple and turned back around closing the door behind him.

The doctor turned back and sighed releasing Sherlocks arms to pull him in closer for an angry biting kiss, the detective clutched at him hungrily but John gave one final roll of his hips and pulled away, striding to the sink. The detective was left with quaking knees, hands bracing against the wall as he tried to remain upright, winded and woefully unsatisfied.

John carefully smoothed his shirt, straightening his tie and running a hand through his hair.

"John!" His voice was hoarse, pleading and the doctor glanced to him, licked his lips and looked away again. "John..."

The doctor glanced back to him and finally cracked a smile.

"Sherlock I said I was going to the toilet because of an urgent work call, it would seem a bit strange if I came back with a raging hard on wouldn't it."

He had a point. Bastard.

He watched John swipe a hand over his lips, taking deep breaths and glancing self consciously at his reflection.

"There must be a way to mark you."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"To stop this happening, so everyone knows you are mine and I am yours...Well, mostly so strange woman will stop flirting with you."

John blinked at him shaking his head. His hands clenched the sink and he stared at himself in the mirror with an odd look on his face. (Sherlock wasn't sure but it seemed like the doctor was almost fearful. Odd.)

"How much longer."

John sighed and stepped back turning to face him, expression indecipherable. The detective got the distinct feeling he had said something wrong or in the very least, unsettling.

"Go back to baker street...get some sleep. I will be back before ten I promise."

Sherlock nodded and trotted over to him like an obedient dog. John leant up and licked the taller mans lips, kissing him firmly and with promise, a kiss he broke reluctantly.

"Go on."

Sherlock grinned and tugged on his shirt making only minimal effort to tidy himself up before leaving the doctor alone again.

His cab ride was uneventful and he spent most of it staring suspiciously at every black sedan around them. The driver didn't speak, probably too frightened. It always seemed that way. When he did get back to Baker Street he slumped on the sofa upstairs. Perhaps here in the silence and soothing cool of the flat he could get some sleep.

Regardless of nightmares he would take anything now.

There was a soft knock at the door and he glanced up from his position on the sofa, lifting his hands free of his face, skin aching from the kneading of his fingers as he tried to force himself to relax enough to sleep.

"Sherlock dear, there is a parcel for you at the door."

He sighed and swept to his feet, plodding past his landlady and down the stairs. She pottered after him and when he spotted the large square parcel wrapping in brittle brown paper and tied with twine he froze. Something was off about this.

"Mrs Hudson, did you bring it inside?"

"No the delivery man did."

Sherlock stood in the hallway and Mrs. Hudson moved to get past him. "No. Go back to your rooms."

She looked up at him with raised eyebrows. After a moment she turned away and headed for her door muttering under her breath about boys these days, so dramatic. Sherlock waited until she had closed the door before lurching forwards, dropping onto his hands in front of the parcel.

It was perfectly square and when he sniffed it smelt of glue, paper and an underlying scent that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He crouched on his heels lifting it slowly, careful to keep it level as he flew back up the stairs to his flat. He scuttled into the kitchen and used his foot to kick a cupboard open.

Inside he had hidden his antique safe. It was cast iron and would be capable of sustaining a bomb of this size, or should be. It depended on the exact formula really. (He considered calling John, saying something to him but there was always a danger it was on a timer and he shouldn't waste time on pointless platitudes.)

He placed it carefully on the lip and shunted it forwards millimetre by millimetre. When it was finally in he gave it another once over, just to make sure there was no note, no marking. None. He sighed and reached for the drawer above his head, scrabbling blindly for the small firecracker he was sure was in there.

Aha, pulling it down he lit it and quickly slid it in next to the box, closing and locking the safe and running into the other room, crouched behind Johns armchair. There was a booming bang from inside but no other noise and Sherlock slowly peered over the back of the armchair. Nothing seemed to have changed and he sighed slumping in relief for a moment before leaping out of the chair with a surprised yell.

Lestrade had somehow gotten in and was now looking at him like he was mad. Sherlock coughed and straightened himself from where he had leapt back, clinging to his chair in shock. "Lestrade."

"You look bloody awful."

"Why thank you."

"Why haven't you been answering me?"

"Busy."

"Where is John?"

"On a date."

"A date!"

"Yes." He put his hands on his hips and blinked at the spluttering detective.

"And you are okay with that?"

"Relax. It is a work thing." (Lestrade had thankfully either not noticed Sherlocks embarrassing scream or had chosen to ignore it.)

"Sherlock, I have a missing informant and I needed-"

"Gustav Nico."

"Wha- yes, yeah that's the guy."

"He has been informing you about money laundering. Mob business."

"Yes. Yes he has. Well, he was going to at least."

"He never got to tell you what he knew."

"No. He disappeared after missing the meeting with our officer."

Sherlock sighed, if rest would not tend to him then perhaps work would. "You have come to ask me to, what, take a look around his house?"

"Yes actually."

"Alright."

He made for the door but Lestrade caught his arm on his way past. "John is on a date?"

"He is getting information."

"Right. Just making sure..."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. Yet again he was acting like the detective was incapable of looking after himself. Lestrade sighed and let him go stuffing his hands into his pockets, lifting his chin as he surveyed the taller mans face.

"You going to tell me why you look like shit then?"

"No."