Lestrade was glad he had finally arrived at Baker Street, and even more so to find Sherlock at home. He really needed his help, as the murdered kid in the attic of an abandoned house was quite haunting him. Well, figuratively then. He took the stairs with two steps at the time, and grabbed the door handle as soon as he had reached the landing. He pushed it open, and his eyes darted around the small living room, seeing John lying on the couch and Sherlock smoking in the kitchen with a delighted smile on his face.

"Sherlock, why are you smoking? I thought you were cold turkey!" Lestrade exclaimed, quite surprised.

"Well, Lestrade, ask him, not me!"

Lestrade blinked, and turned his head to look at the blogger who lay on the sofa.

"John, I did ask Sherlock, not you," the DI said confusedly.

"No, you did-" said the blogger, lifting his head. "Oh, yes, of course. You did," the blogger sighed frustatedly and sank back on the sofa, eyes closed.

Lestrade lifted his eyebrow and focussed on Sherlock again. Sherlock smiled and extinguised the cigaret. "Hello Greg, you're here for a reason?" the detective kindly asked the DI.

Greg's eyes darted over Sherlock's face, his jaw about to drop. "A-are you two okay?" he stammered.

"Oh, yes, we are, aren't we, Sher-John," the tall man asked, wrapping his too short dressing gown around him a little tighter.

"Are you wearing John's dressing gown, Sherlock?" Lestrade asked. "Oh, never mind, I don't even want to know!" He heard John sighing deeply, and turned towards the lazy blogger on the couch. "No, John, I really don't."

"Okay, Greg, we get it," Sherlock's voice vibrated in answer to Lestrade behind the DI's back, causing the poor man to turn again and face the man he needed help from.

"Sherlock, a dead kid, murdered, is found in the attic of an abandoned house. He was strangled and left after being knocked out. Will you help?" Lestrade looked at the detective, who slowly walked towards the sink to fill the kettle for tea.

"Well, don't ask…" Sherlock started, but then his eyes flickered towards John, and then the tall man continued: "don't ask John, ask… me. Yes, ask me."

Lestrade raised an eyebrow. "I was asking you, Sherlock. Will you help?"

Again Sherlock's eyes glance at John quickly, and then he nodded curtly.

Lestrade exhaled when Sherlock said a bit doubtfully: "but not in a police car. We will be right behind. Is that okay, Sh-John?"

The blogger nodded, and Lestrade left the flat. Wow, what had gotten in those two today?

In the flat, the two men sat down, facing each other in deep silence. "We have to be careful not to attract too much attention, John," the short man on the sofa said eventually.

The other nodded his head in agreement, the dark curls swinging around his head. Suddenly he grabs the curls with his hand, and looks at his friend. "Really, I want curls too. Are they like this naturally?"

Sherlock nodded proudly. "They are nice, aren't they? Not that short hair is bad, I suppose. It's easy."

The kettle started to sing, and John got up to make tea. When he put down the steaming cup in front of his friend, he sipped from his own and fixed his eyes on the man on the couch.

"Sherlock? We need to talk this over. When we go out there, and you start deducing all kinds of things, there certainly will be questions."

Sherlock nodded. "We can pretend I am trying to deduce stuff, and you will be watching and nodding all the time, because all I say will be correct. In that way, we should be able to behave normally. John, get dressed, we are leaving in fifteen minutes."

John was already on his way to the bathroom to shave, when Sherlock called after him: "please be careful with shaving, scars really don't look good on me."

"Shut up, Sherlock!"

Ten minutes later, John exited Sherlock's bedroom, impeccably dressed in black trousers, the purple shirt and a tight buttoned black jacket.

Sherlock was already dressed, simply in jeans and a blue, woolen jumper. "John?"

"Hmm?" was all he got as a reply, because John was focused on getting the buttons closed.

"This jumper of you... It's itchy."

"Of course," John answered absently, still arguing with the buttons of the dress shirt.

"Let me help you," Sherlock said, stepping closer to his friend, reaching his arms a little higher to fumble at John's buttons. John bit his lip, his eyes locked in his own, trying very hard to ignore the fiddling fingers near his stomach.

When Sherlock had closed the buttons, he took a step backwards and looked at his friend, locked in his own body.

"I really look good in that purple shirt. Why did you choose to wear that one today?" His eyes locked back in John's.

A shy, shy?, smile broke through on John's face. "I've always thought that shirt looked good on you. I think I'll enjoy wearing this. Well, I'd better, don't I?"

Sherlock nodded and smiled a little. "We have to go. Lestrade will be waiting. We have a killer to catch!"