A mobile beeped, showing a new message. The owner looked at it carelessly before realising what it meant, and grinning.

Sherlock jumped from the sofa for the first time in days, the sudden action from the Consulting Detective surprising the good Doctor.

"John! We have a case!" He called, shrugging into his coat faster than John had ever seen and looping his scarf round his neck, the thrill of getting a new case evident in his cold blue eyes. Not that John completely agreed that they were 'cold', but it was the only good explanation of the colour.

"Okay." John put down his paper, pulling his own coat over his beige Cable-knit sweater, glad he'd thought to keep on his shoes from his earlier food expedition.

Sherlock near pulled him out of the flat, and pushed him into a car, eager to get some cases solved and get out of the bored stupor he'd been forced into for the past 72 hours. John had taken his scull, his gun, and made him promise to stay away from recreational substances.

"So, who died and what do we know this time?" John asked casually, quietly thinking about how it's probably not a good thing to be able to ask such questions in the same tone that you ask your flatmate to explain the human thumb in the sink.

Actually, neither of those were really 'normal' things. John sighed; he really should start making rules. The thought was shunned quickly; Sherlock would probably just break the rules anyway.

"Well, boyfriend dead in flat, girlfriend out of town. There was a domestic argument with raised voices and contact in the form of pushing three days ago. Might be linked. But this is Anderson, so…no promises that's everything." Sherlock smirked at John, eyes shining in that scary way that only this sort of puzzle would create.

John smiled back, glad that Sherlock was at least out of the house and away from the couch. He'd not moved for a frighteningly long time, and John had begun to worry for his flatmates health.

The address was in Soho, not very far from Baker Street, and within minutes they were outside the house.

Sherlock did as usual, wandered around the garden for a little while, noticing the strange things no one else things of searching for.

John waited patiently, noticing how bored Sherlock looked when he came back. "Well, it's stupidly obvious, but I should go inside and check anyway."

He walked past John, into the house and waited for John to follow the orders even if he didn't and climb into those ridiculous blue suits and stupid white covers to go over shoes.

As soon as John was ready, Sherlock ran of through the house to the murder area.

John followed calmly, unsure why Sherlock always ran. The body wasn't going anywhere. It was dead. What was the point in rushing? Was it going to get up and walk away or something?

When he arrived, Sherlock was already there, looking at the body. He stood up as John approached, followed closely by Lestrade, who had been waiting outside the door.

"Domestic Murder. The girlfriend did it. Open and shut case. You know guys; you really should try and find better cases. This one was easy!"

"Sherlock." Lestrade rolled his eyes. "You do know we're not actually here just to keep you occupied? Someone is dead, actually dead, and you're just talking like it's a medium-hard Sudoku."

Sherlock looked at John next to him.

"Sudoku?"

"Never mind." John shook his head slightly, and Sherlock nodded, already deleting the subject.

"Well, he wasn't paying his half of the rent, and he was having an affair, the woman got angry and killed him last night before run of across the lawn in high heeled boots." Sherlock sounded bored as he explain. "You lot are really slacking." He turned on the spot, to leave the room, and John found himself vaguely transfixed by the way his coat swerved and splayed out in the movement, almost on it's own.

John came out of his strange trance and looked at Lestrade apologetically for his friend.

"Oh, don't worry. I'm used to it. Go on." Lestrade smiled, gesturing out of the door.

He watched John leave, and felt himself smirk.

Sooner or later these two would realise what they needed in their lives were right in front of their eyes.

He's seen the way John looked in awe at Sherlock when the consulting Detective was ranting out his deduction, and he's caught Sherlock staring at John for next to any reason.

John would simply yawn from not enough sleep, followed but a stretch, and Sherlock by the good doctors' actions.

That was, until he realised, and then he'd look at the floor or direct his attention to making a snide comment at Anderson.

Oh yes, Lestrade definitely knew that John and Sherlock were together, even if they hadn't noticed yet.

XxXxXxX

A/N: I know this didn't quite flow as easily as it should, but I promise the next one will! Abrupt ending, stupidly cheesy. Stupidly short. Sorry guys and gals! (Don't worry; I don't really talk like that.)

Obvious thanks to OperaGoose, Glittery-excuse-for-a-fae and Wallhaditcoming (Sorry if you're names are wrong, I'm tired, it's early, I haven't drunk my coffee yet.) who got sneak previews via twitter.

And of course to Pikeru's Angel and Toxicjade. Just because.

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