Huch, I really needed some time with this chapter...anyway, read, enjoy, review!

Chapter 7: Falling

John knew they were being ridiculous. Sherlock knew they were being ridiculous. They both knew that the other knew that they knew they were being ridiculous. But the two men just couldn't help themselves. It felt this freeing to scream all their frustration to the world, they really didn't care who listened or watched. John's heartbeat was rising with every word as was his voice. The doctor wasn't even able to remember how it all had started, but he thought he could remember Sargent Donovan's voice shortly before his mind went blank and all he could do was shout, stamp with his feet and wave hectically around with his hands. And. It. Felt. So. Good.

Lestrade was a calm man, always patient and good-natured. He loved his job, stood up for his friends, tried desperately to save his marriage, he even recycled. Very few people knew, that he also claimed himself as a pacifist. Greg detested every from of violence, which was one of the reasons why he became inspector, so he could imprison the ones who harmed others. But right now, he wanted nothing more than to kill both men who stood in front of his desk and shouted senseless things to each other. As Sherlock started to throw Lestrade's mug against the wall, the detective inspector buried his face in his hands.

"… THIS STUPID HEAD IN THE FRIDGE AND…"

"…THREW OUT MY LAST FINGERTIPS WHICH WHERE MAJOR TO…"

"Guys", Lestrade tried to interrupt the fourth time but was completely ignored. The DI sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. One stupid comment of Sargent Donovan, that was all it had taken. Of course Greg had known since at least a week that there was something wrong between the two men, regardless what Sherlock said he wasn't a complete idiot, thank you very much.

The moment he'd stepped into the flat at Baker Street 7 days ago to ask the world's only Consulting Detective and his loyal blogger for help, he'd realised the change of atmosphere in an instant. For example, there hadn't been any noises. No cluttering in the kitchen, no boiling kettle, no violin, no bubbling experiments, no gun shots, no complains of boredom, no laughers, no voices. Sherlock had sat in his armchair, hands pressed flat together with his fingertips brushing against his lips and a deep frown on his face. John had been nowhere in sight. But the last and definitely shocking confirmation for the DI's suspicion that there was something terribly wrong, came in form of Sherlock's answer to the case Greg had needed him for help. "No" That was all. At first Lestrade had thought he'd misheard him, because really, it was a triple murder after all, but the scientist repeated his negation and asked him politely if he could leave him alone to his thoughts. He even said please and wished him good luck for solving the murder.

That was when the inspector had known it. Something was HORRIBLY off.

"THESE FINGERTIPS WERE IN MY UNDERWEAR!"

"I COULDN'T PUT THEM UNDER YOUR BED, THE EXPERIMENT WOULD BE RUINED IF THEY'D COME INTO CONTACT WITH THE EARS I'VE DUMPED THERE!"

"WHAT?!"

"Sherlock, John, could you two please calm down and behave like grown-ups…?"

"NO!" they snapped at him and continued with their shouting like nothing had happened.

"Fine", Lestrade muttered, pulled out his mobile phone and dialled the number of Mycroft. If he wouldn't be able to stop this madness, nobody would. And they wanted to meet for dinner anyway. He hadn't to wait long for an answer.

"Evening Gregory"

"Mycroft, if you don't show up here in the next two seconds I think I might kill your little br…OOHF"

The air was knocked out of the inspector's lungs and his phone clattered to the ground as John all of a sudden jumped at Sherlock, threw them both over the desk and directly onto Lestrade, whose chair toppled over under the weight of three full grown men of which two of them were fighting for dominance and the other one tried desperately to catch back his breath. For a short time the world tipped side wards and then they all hit the floor in a mess of clothing and various body parts.

"Get off of me!"

"Ouch!"

"You're sitting on my ankle!"

"Stop moving!"

"Damn it!"

Struggling and cursing, Greg tried to get back to his feet but as soon as he stood and made a move forward he stumbled over Sherlock's seemingly endless legs and keeled over again, causing the detective under him to let out a muffled groan and John, whose right arm vanished under Lestrade's upper body, to cry out in pain. After a bit of more struggling, Sherlock lay flat on his stomach, John was sprawled over his back with his head buried somewhere between the cold floor and a pale upper arm and the inspector's legs where hopelessly entangled with the other two figures while he was desperate to put as less as possible weight on the doctors arm which was still awkwardly stuck under his abdomen. Unnecessary to mention, it wasn't very comfortable.

"Well done John", Sherlock muttered, grinding his teeth because of the weight which pressed him hard on the cold floor.

"Oh, so this is my fault?" the man in question replied, his voice dangerously low.

"I wasn't the one who brought us in this situation!"

"It certainly wasn't me alone who…"

And there was the shouting again. Lestrade didn't know if he should laugh hysterically or start to cry. Both choices seemed very appealing at the moment.

"Good evening brother mine, always a pleasure to see you working"

Three heads lifted from their positions on the ground and looked directly in the face of Mycroft Holmes who stood, leaning casually on his umbrella, in the doorway of Greg's office and survived them with a raised eye brow.

"Piss off", Sherlock hissed and quickly shoved John and Lestrade off himself so he could get to his feet, the other two men cursing as they were roughly pushed around on the floor.

"You really do not have any manners", the British Government sighed and stepped forward so he could help a completely dishevelled DI up who thanked him quietly, drawing a hand through his messy hair. The younger man narrowed his eyes at his brother but his gaze flickered automatically down to linger on a certain Ex-army doctor, who currently sat groggily on the ground and looked like he had been run over by a bus. Twice.

Fighting with himself, the proclaimed Sociopath eventually offered the other man his hand and the blond just hesitated for a few seconds until he gently laid his slightly darker hand into the delicate, pale one. Greg and Mycroft watched with a knowing smile on both of their faces as the detective pulled his blogger up, the two men now standing merely a few inches away. Lestrade snorted and shook his head disbelievingly.

"4 minutes ago they were about to strangle each other and now they are stuck in the most soppy eye locking scene I have ever witnessed. What the hell is wrong with them?" he whispered exasperated, looking at Mycroft for help.

"This, my dear Gregory", the other one sighed "is called falling in love" The inspector and the Government looked back to the flatmates who still stood far closer together than friends would do, their cheeks slightly more red then they should be.

"And hard they have fallen", Lestrade muttered, receiving an agreeing nod from the elder Holmes.

Sherlock and John stared at each other for a while until they realised what they were doing and quickly stepped away to bring more distance between them. Their hands which still had been locked fell limply to their sides. After a couple of minutes filled with awkward silence, the detective shook his head to get himself back to focus and just then realised that Lestrade and Mycroft were looking at them with smug smiles on their faces.

"What?", Sherlock spat, making John aware of their observers which caused a delicate blush to form on his already slightly red cheeks.

"You know exactly what, my dear brother, don't you?"

"No, I don't Mycroft, so stop being even more of an annoying smartass than usual and speak your mind"

Lestrade frowned a bit at the detective's growling, but the elder Holmes seemed to be amusing himself greatly.

"Well, you'll figure it out eventually. Maybe you two should leave before more of Gregory's cups find their way to the floor"

Before Sherlock could say something to that matter, John nodded firmly, grabbed the Consulting Detective's elbow and dragged the protesting man along the floor to the elevator.

"Have fun you two!" ,Lestrade shouted after them, snickering silently to himself. The pale violinist narrowed his eyes and was going to turn around again as the doors of the cabin slided open and a certain ex-army doctor pushed him forward. The last thing he saw was the amused expression on his brother's face.

While Sherlock stared straight ahead with a murderous glitter in his eyes, John counted to hundred. Sometimes it helped to calm his nerves down. It didn't. Suddenly there was a loud screeching and the whole elevator started rattling, causing both men to stumble around and lose their balance. A second time this day they both fell on the floor, pressed against each other because of the little place they had. The shaking grew stronger and stronger until it finally stopped, the dim emergency lighting went on and with a final protesting noise the lift stopped dead in his tracks. John swallowed and turned his head around so his eyes locked with light grey ones, in which he detected a hint of panic. "You have got to be kidding me", the doctor thought to himself while pinching the bridge of his nose. The universe could be cruel.

The two of them stuck in an elevator...this is going to be fun ;)

If you have any ideas what possibly could happen I would be glad to hear them! But one thing is sure, I'll release the tension next chapter.

So, hopefully I managed to entertain you for a few minutes. Review, review, review :D

And I'm sorry for every mistake I made.