Greg Lestrade sat tucked away in the corner of Costa Coffee, a half empty mug of cappuccino in front of him. He must have looked a sorry state, he thought, given that he was apparently all alone around a table designed for four, and that he looked exceptionally bored. He glanced briefly at his watch to check the time and saw that it was a quarter past twelve; Sherlock and John were fifteen minutes late. He sighed heavily, momentarily wondering what on earth they were doing, and then hastily pushed the thought away at the memory of that morning. He contemplated the fact that Sherlock and John were finally together – an actual couple, and couldn't help but feel surprised at Sherlock showing any affection for anyone at all. But then again, it was John whom he cared for, and everyone could see that he was very dear to Sherlock. Lestrade made a mental note to wish them happiness in their future together as he looked up and saw them enter the café.
"You're late," he said, by way of greeting.
"Sorry," John apologised. "Sherlock got side-tracked by the grab-machines at the arcade." He pulled up a chair and sat down, shrugging his coat off as he did so.
"Thought you were in Torquay?" asked Sherlock, also taking a seat.
Lestrade took a sip of his cappuccino. "I was, but I got a bit bored and was just heading back when Rebecca called. She wanted to get out of the office and suggested we meet here." He threw his watch another glance. "She should be here soon."
They lapsed into a silence which was broken a few minutes later by John's announcement that he was going to buy a drink. "Do you want anything?" He directed his question at Sherlock.
"Medium flat white, no sugar, and can you get me something to eat, please? Not bothered what."
"Sure." John disappeared to wait in the queue, noticing Rebecca arriving as he did so and greeting her with a smile. "Do you want a drink?"
She returned the smile. "An Americano with milk would be much appreciated, thank you." She waited with him in the line.
"How was the meeting?" John enquired, more out of politeness than genuine interest, but she thankfully didn't pick up on that fact. Being around Sherlock all the time definitely had its benefits.
"Oh, dull. It didn't last too long but then I had to speak to my Superintendent about the case and go through some of the reports I'd written up…" She trailed off as John thanked the barista and picked up the tray with their food and drink on. She followed him over to the table and greeted Sherlock and Lestrade cheerfully.
John handed Sherlock and Rebecca their drinks and nudged a blueberry muffin across the table at Sherlock, who absently took it and began to pick at it.
"Sherlock, I need more proof than the photographs you took if I am to order the arrest of Jackie Chappell. How are you going to get it for me?" Rebecca asked.
"I'm going to break into the Harbour Light Restaurant."
Rebecca had been unimpressed with Sherlock's plan of breaking into the restaurant, but after a hushed conversation with Lestrade, she grudgingly agreed to let him do it. John sighed as they left Costa and walked down to the restaurant, idly wondering just how many more rules there were left for him and Sherlock to break. They reached the restaurant and Lestrade and Rebecca kept watch outside the door whilst Sherlock picked the lock on the employee-access door with terrifying accuracy.
"I'm coming in with you," said Rebecca, hearing the lock click open satisfyingly.
"No," Sherlock responded. "It would be better if you and Lestrade stayed outside. John and I will go in."
Rebecca flashed Lestrade a fleeting look, but he merely shook his head in response, and Rebecca resigned herself to knowing that, even though it was technically her investigation, Lestrade would keep favouring Sherlock over her.
John followed Sherlock through the doorway and found himself in the store room. Lestrade pulled the door back so that it looked closed, and the light quickly disappeared. Sherlock handed John a pair of rubber gloved and then moved over to the other side of the room, waving his hand to indicate that John should look around too. After one or two minutes, and finding nothing, Sherlock led the way upstairs, his footsteps echoing sharply on the wooden stairs.
Upon reaching the top of the stairs, they found themselves in the kitchen. John branched off from Sherlock to poke around the pantry, while the other man looked through the collection of stray bits of paper by the phone on the wall.
"Anything?" John asked, breaking the silence.
"Nothing, you?"
"Nothing."
John returned to Sherlock's side, joining him in sifting through the paper. "Hang on, Sherlock, look at this." Something had caught his eye. He picked up a yellow sticky note with a phone number scrawled on it and the name Graham Hills underneath.
Sherlock took the note out of his hand and brushed his fingers against the ink. "That's an Italian phone number, but I think it's highly unlikely that Mr Hills is Italian himself with a name like that..." He flipped the sticky note over and heaved a sigh at the blank back of it. Pulling out his phone, he texted Lestrade to get him to investigate Graham Hills and pocketed the sticky note. "Keep looking," he said to John.
Ten minutes later, and they re-appeared at the door. Rebecca was on the phone to a member of her team who was looking into Graham Hills for her. Sherlock tapped his foot impatiently whilst he waited for her to finish her call.
"Graham Hills, aged 53, lives in Italy, cousin of Jackie and Alexander Chappell who are co-owners of this restaurant. He runs a yachting club over in Italy and is rather well-off," Rebecca announced as she returned to the group.
"A yachting club," Sherlock murmured. "Oh, yes, it's all making sense now."
"Is it?" asked John, voicing the general feeling of Rebecca and Lestrade with his words.
"Of course it is." He sighed exasperatedly at the distinct look of understanding on his companions face. "The restaurant is struggling because they aren't getting enough customers, so they turn to their rich cousin who lives in Italy for help. He agrees to help them and gives them money, which they legalise by saying that they're getting more customers than they actually are. The question is, how is he so rich just from running a yachting club?"
"Hang on," said Lestrade, evidently still confused. "How do you the restaurant's struggling?"
Sherlock rooted around in his coat pocket and pulled out a page which had evidently been torn from an accounts book. "Look here," he passed it to Lestrade. "This is from a month ago, and you can clearly see that their expenditure is far higher than their income, but all of a sudden it balances out; they're getting more money from somewhere but it can't be from more customers-"
"Because it's after the summer season and it makes no sense," John finished for him.
Sherlock beamed.