Lestrade muses about the impact John's had on Sherlock. Also my realization that I can't write shit to do with cases. I will need to work on this.
Sherlock came barging in, his coat billowing out behind him. DI Lestrade let out a sigh but looked resigned. He'd already warned him that this situation was different. So far all they had to go on was witness testimony, and the witness was a terrified eight year old girl. Her parents had been abducted while she hid under the couch.
Lestrade stiffened as Sherlock walked up to her. He was expecting Sherlock to either shout abuse at her or overlook her entirely. Instead, he was treated to the sight of the consulting detective folding down into a squat, so that he was level with the girl. John walked up to them, resting a gentle, supportive hand on Sherlock's shoulder. Lestrade couldn't hear what was going on, but the girl didn't look apprehensive. She was still clearly upset, but she was talking and gesturing rapidly, Sherlock absorbed in every word. She finished rambling and he smiled at her, stood up, and patted her hair in a tender gesture that looked entirely alien to Lestrade.
"Find the wife's brother, and look into their insurance. John and I are heading home."
Lestrade turned his gaze from the man who was both his best resource and a thorn in his side to the doctor who'd obviously turned him around and shook his head, completely befuddled.