John could do nothing except stare at Sherlock, mouth slightly agape, as he led the way upstairs to the room which they would be sharing. Sherlock opened the door and propped it open with his elbow whilst he waited for John to catch up.

"Sherlock," John said, lingering in the doorway, "Why did you say we'd share a room? I'm sure there were other places we could have tried."

"You know as well as I that it took us long enough to find a place with any vacancies at all. We really can't afford to waste time with such trivial things as accommodation, so I made a decision in the interests of the case." A pause. "You don't mind, do you?"

"It's not really you though, is it?" Sherlock raised a questioning eyebrow at him and John elaborated. "I mean that you're always so private at home; I thought you would want separate rooms here."

"As I said before: trivial." Sherlock nudged him into the room and chucked his bag onto the bed nearest the door. "When they said 'twin' room I assumed that both beds would be singles." His eyes flickered around the room, taking in the double bed over by the window, the single bed in front of him, the pale blue wallpaper and darker blue carpet, the small bathroom… "You can take the double," he said to John. "It's not like I sleep much anyway."

John thought it best not to argue and so began to unpack his clothes, hanging up his shirts, jumpers and trousers in the wardrobe provided, and placing his socks and underwear in one of the drawers. After a while of John telling Sherlock that he really should do the same, he eventually gave in, and soon Sherlock's perpetually immaculate suits hung alongside John's checked shirts and woollen jumpers.

Someone knocked on the door to their room and John went over to open it. Lestrade walked in with a comment of "Nice room."

Sherlock was sitting on his bed, hands folded in his lap. "I assume the reason you're here is because we're about to go somewhere. Presumably to see the body."

Lestrade nodded. "My, err, friend is waiting outside ready to collect us. Are we good to go?"

"Of course," said Sherlock, while John pocketed his wallet, phone and the room key.

They left the room and made their way downstairs.

"Is everything alright?" The man at reception asked.

"Yes, perfect," replied Lestrade. "We have to head out, but there's a chance that we could be returning late. I don't suppose you have a spare key or something for the front door? We wouldn't want to disturb you by ringing the bell."

For a brief moment, the man looked startled, but then he began to rummage around in the drawers in his desk. "Normally we request that our guests return to the B&B by 11pm, but as you've already said that it's police business, I'll make an exception." He handed Lestrade a key attached to a gold chain.

"How do you know that we're not just pretending to be with the police?" John asked uncertainly.

The man smiled. "Because I saw DI Lestrade's ID card when he opened his wallet earlier."

Sherlock smirked.

As they made their way outside to the waiting police car, John's eyes landed on a woman standing next to it. She was tall, slender, and with long, toned legs. Her hair was dark blonde, shoulder length and straight, and she had piercing blue eyes. She was dressed smartly in a black pencil skirt and matching suit jacket and a pale blue shirt teemed with black heels.

As they approached her, she moved towards Lestrade, and greeted him with a kiss on the cheek.

"Greg, so good to see you again," she said.

She was younger than John had expected her to be, given that she had supposedly trained with Lestrade.

"Rebecca, this is Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. You two, this is Rebecca Brown." Lestrade introduced them, and they shook each other's hands.

Sherlock noticed John staring at her and felt an unfamiliar feeling twinge in his stomach. It wasn't hunger and it wasn't nausea, so what was it? Guilt? No… Sadness? Nope… Jealousy. Yes, that was it. But why? Hmm. Sherlock observed John again, the tightness in his stomach increasing as he saw him and Rebecca laughing about something. Then he turned around, and his eyes found Sherlock's. He moved away from Rebecca to stand next to him.

"Is everything okay?" He asked.

Sherlock gave a non-committal nod. "The reason why she's so much younger than Lestrade is because he joined the force and did his training quite late."

John ran a hand through his short, light brown hair. "And how did you know that? Was it the colour of her shoes, or the way Greg does his tie?" His voice dripped with sarcasm.

"No, actually," Sherlock replied, and John braced himself for the usual rapid string of deductions, but it never came. "It was one of the first things Lestrade ever told me about himself."

They looked at each other for a moment, John wandering if Sherlock was actually telling the truth or not, and Sherlock wondering why he always felt so much calmer when John was in close proximity to him. The moment was ruined when an impatient Lestrade dragged them over to the police car by their arms and shoved them into the back.