"Sherlock? You up yet?" John asked, knocking at his door the next morning.
A low groan came from behind the door. John smiled slightly. Sherlock was never a morning person, and it was rare for him to be up before 8:30. As much as John wanted to let Sherlock sleep, Lestrade would be there in fourty-five minutes, and Sherlock only had two speeds in the mornings: slow and sluggish.
"Sherlock?" John knocked again and then unlocked the door, easing it open and poking his head into the room.
Sherlock was laying on the twin bed, covers flung off and legs sprawled over the edge of the bed, his feet gently brushing the floor. He rolled over slightly and buried his head in the pillow.
"Sherlock," John shook Sherlock's shoulder, and Sherlock shrugged it off, groaning once more.
"John," He mumbled bitterly, "Five minutes,"
"No Sherlock, Lestrade coming in 45 minutes, you need to get up and start getting ready."
"Well five more minutes won't matter much then…" His sentence trailed off, and Sherlock was still and quiet once more. John sighed and shook Sherlock's shoulder more forcefully, causing Sherlock to lift his head. John seized the opportunity, and lifted Sherlock into a sitting position. Sherlock blinked a few times, then slowly turned to John.
"What time is it?" he asked, his voice blurry from sleep.
"8:15, But Lestr- oh no no no no no Sherlock," John said quickly, as Sherlock had groaned and flopped back down on the bed, "No, we have to get ready because you have a case today, remember? Lestrade told you about it yesterday."
"Ah, yes. The William Scott case, I remember." This seemed to cheer up Sherlock a bit, and he sat back up, running his hands through his hair and ruffling it. Damn, he's sexy when he does that, John thought before he could stop himself. Coughing slightly, John sat up straighter and sighed. "Yes that's the case, so you need to get ready." He gently reminded him. Sherlock stood up and huffed loudly, causing John to crack a smile as he watched Sherlock cross the room to the sink.
45 Minutes Later
Sherlock and John left his room at 9:10, met by a Lestrade and a squad of officers and a few members of the forensic team. About eight people were present, including John and Sherlock. Lestrade's right hand woman named Sally Donovan, with dark skin and curly hair, shook John's hand and eyed Sherlock suspiciously.
"So that's the freak then? The brilliant psyco-maniac?" She muttered when they started walking down the hall, Sherlock taking long strides in front of them.
"What did you just call him?" John felt his hands clenching into fists, and slowly focused on calming down.
"A freak. That's what he is, isn't he? Completely insane, goes crazy if anyone tries to get close to him, think's you're a miracle worker? He's a nut-job, a total freak. Honestly, I can't understand why you'd want to deal with him. Lestrade told me everything."
"So Lestrade told you that Sherlock's a freak?" John spat out the last word like it was bitter in his mouth.
"Nah, Lestrade seems to think he's alright." They passed through the main doors and out into the sunlight, "Don't know how he got that impression, but Anderson and I have been talking and we both agreed that we're safer to keep one hand on our mobiles, just in case we need to send him back to his cell, you know? Call for a straight jacket. Better safe than sorry when we're dealing with a nutter like him, if you know what I mean."
John was practically seething at the mouth, and managed to swallow down a fair amount of swearing that threatened to pour out of his mouth.
"And, ah, which one is Anderson?" He tried to ask nonchalantly. Donovan pointed to a man to the right and up about ten paces.
"Phillip Anderson. Head of the forensics team. He and I make up the best of Lestrade's team. He can always count on us." Donovan smiled as she said this, clearly proud of her prized position in Lestrade's force.
"What, count on you to insult everyone within eyesight?" John snapped back, and without waiting for a reply from Donovan, took an extra few steps and caught up to Sherlock.
"Ah, good I was wondering when you'd stop talking to her." Sherlock said as John joined his side.
"Did you- did you hear what we were talking about?" John asked, still struggling to regain his calm demeanor.
"A bit."
"Well she's a bitch," He said vehemently. "I don't agree with her at all Sherlock, I just want you to know tha-"
"I'm not upset, John." Sherlock interupted abruptly. Curiously, John looked up at him.
"You're not?"
"Of course not." Sherlock raised his voice slightly as he continued, "She has every right to call me a freak, just as I have every right to say that I certainly hope she and Anderson had a good time last night while Anderson's wife was out of town. I'm sure the sex was excellent, plus the adrenaline rush they surely got from cheating made the whole of last night very pleasurable for them both."
The man Donovan had pointed out turned around very suddenly and locked eyes with Sherlock, and John looked behind to see Donovan staring at Sherlock like he was from another planet. John smirked slightly and turned back to Sherlock.
"How did you-"
"Both wearing the same deodorant. Men's deodorant. Anderson has a wedding ring, I just heard him talking to Lestrade saying his wife was in Glasglow visiting her sister, Donovan's knees have been shaking quite a lot, and when Anderson checked his phone the first screen was a screen of texts between him and Donovan, one from her this morning which clearly read, 'I loved last night, lets do it again sometime.' Doesn't take a genius to connect the dots."
"That's incredible." John said, half to himself. He saw Sherlock's face grow slightly red, and a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. John patted Sherlock's shoulder twice before sliding into a cab after Lestrade. Donovan, Anderson and a member of the forensics team got into the next cab, and the final two people, both security officers, got into the final cab.
"Hackney Road, please," Lestrade said, and the cabbie nodded and began to drive.