2. Facing the Facts

Rating : PG

Prompt : Physiognonomy

"Oh, is this a belated version of Spring cleaning?" Sherlock huffed, closing the office door behind him with a perfunctory glance at the floor. He stooped to pick up the nearest piece of evidence, a garish-looking magazine, holding it between thumb and finger.

"Hmm. Unless you've undergone a recent conversion of the heart, Lestrade, my data need upgrading. Married nymphet hookers, really?" His tone was light, but Lestrade's ear quickened to the touch of resentment.

"Don't be daft." Lestrade snatched up the magazine and threw it on the increasingly shapeless heap on his desk. "Some people around here have taken to using the Property Room as a not-so-private stash and it's no use issuing a caution. Or two, or twenty. Might as well be pissing into a violin, as Mémé Lestrade used to say." Sherlock's horrified gasp went unheeded. "So I'm taking some strong action. Here, make yourself useful and check these books, they need to be sorted. Charities, libraries, the bin – your call. And keep your gloves on, sunshine, some of them have gone undercover with the dust."

"Your consultant, dear, not your housekeeper." Sherlock drew himself up, five feet eight of scorching dismissal - then spotted an ancient leather binding among the pile and underwent instant deflation. The next fifteen minutes were spent in something oddly akin to domestic peace, or so Lestrade thought as he sorted out the junk, muttering about cleanliness and godliness and wait a sec, was that his name on the sodding Ken doll, while Sherlock, sitting cross-legged on the floor, skimmed through the books in thoughtful silence.

"Was one of your predecessors into physiognomy?" he asked after a while.

"Eh?" Lestrade was staring wistfully at a half empty pack of Silk Cuts. He girded his lungs and tossed it into the bin.

"Physiognomy, the science of facial interpretation." Sherlock flipped through a few pages and began to read. "When the nose is long and of a clear color, the person is gifted with powers of the mind and a capacity to enjoy that power. Hmm. That's a tautology – who wouldn't enjoy having a powerful mind? Apart from Anderson, who'd probably mistake it for a breakfast cereal gift. When it is very long, he is shameless. If it is small and slightly rounded, he is religious-minded and kind hearted."

Lestrade found himself squinting down his nose. "Oh, bosh. Nosy is as nosy does - you'd be just the same busybody with a smaller conk."

"And they're pointers to the specimen's degree of sexual vigour, it seems. Fascinating."

"Rubbish," Lestrade repeated with accrued warmth, rubbing his nose absently.

"Ah, here's the entry on chins and mouths. Let's see... Thin lips are indicative of a repressed nature, one that is either prone to meanness of heart or misanthropic defiance. A thin-lipped man will often show excessive bashfulness, sensual timidity, reduced empathy with —"

The open book took a belly-flop to the floor as Lestrade grabbed Sherlock's elbows, hauled him upon his knees and sealed his own mouth to his consultant's lips. They parted, perhaps for a Sherlockian retort, so Lestrade pressed his advantage recklessly, adding warmth and a firm show of tongue until he had Sherlock wheezing for breath and clutching at his cheeks simultaneously.

Lestrade pushed him away, retrieved the book, tossed it into the large bin bag lying at their foot and pinned the bag down with a glare.

Sherlock's throat-rasping pulled him down from his revengeful high. "Ah. Erm. The author may well have been... overly deterministic in his assumptions."

"Right you are. In English, now?"

Sherlock sighed. "You, Detective Inspector Lestrade, are a mean kisser. Though scientific hypotheses should always, hmm. Be double-tested for safety."

Lestrade raised an eyebrow.

"Oh? Then you'd better get back to work double-quick, sweetheart. The faster we're done here, the faster I can drive us home to check that nosey malarkey in context."

He waited to see if Sherlock would comment on his mangled grammar. Instead, the younger man grabbed a handful of books and began to flip through the pages hastily. Lestrade chuckled and, turning back to his desk, flicked the Ken doll's cute pink nose for good measure before he lifted the pile of magazines and made for the door.