Summary: Lestrade, Anderson and Donovan visit Sherlock's flat late at night to go over a big case. Little did they know, a sleepy Johnlock is a domestic Johnlock. Their behavior takes everyone by surprise.

Rated: T for sexual references

I thought of this while making an omelet. Because that makes total sense.

Detective Inspector Lestrade knew better than most in his department that Sherlock Holmes was, in many cases, an irreplaceable asset to Scotland Yard. Time and time again the strange man had proved it, and Lestrade always knew he could count on Sherlock to take on a difficult case. The addition of John Watson only made the detective even more valuable, as Watson kept him more level-headed than normal and provided his own help. That was the reason that he was taking (or dragging, if you asked them) Anderson and Donovan over to Sherlock's flat at a little passed midnight on a Friday.

Was it ideal? Most likely not, but the Inspector needed these men. Lives were at stake.

He knocked on the door timidly, trying not to wake Sherlock's landlady, and purposely ignored his grumbling colleagues. He heard quiet footsteps approach the door and it swung open. Without stopping to think, Lestrade strode into the room and waved his team in.

"Ah, Sherlock, I apologize for the late hour but I needed to see you as soon as possible." He nodded awkwardly when, for the first time, he really looked at the younger man.

Sherlock was standing in front of him in a pair of purple cotton pajama pants, the strings messily undone and one side of the pants pulled down to reveal a jagged hip bone. His chest was perfectly bare, the expanse of skin so pale that one would have to squint or stand up close to spot the definition of muscles on his abdomen. His curly hair was, for once, sticking in all different directions, wild and free.

He blinked rapidly, trying to push the sleep from his eyes.

"A case, of course. What's it about?" He folded his hands behind his back, seemingly unaware of the discomfort his shirtless state was causing.

"Ah, yes, well-"

A smaller figure appeared in the doorway to the bedroom, this one donning a robe. His hair was as disheveled as Sherlock's, and it became quickly obvious that he was wearing nothing under his robe.

"Oh my God," Sally muttered, turning away from John.

"I'm sorry, have we interrupted something?" Lestrade shifted on his feet, guilt overcoming him.

"Oh, nothing much. Just this thing called sleep that normal people-" (Sherlock grumbled next to him.) "-like to get every one in a blue moon."

"I'm really sorry-" John's laughter cut the inspector off and he smiled good-natured at him.

"Just teasing, Lestrade. How about I put a kettle on and we sit down and talk about this?" The others nodded. John turned to the kitchen but his actions were halted by Sherlock, who gave him a tiny smirk and tilted his head toward the bedroom. John laughed softly and disappeared into the room while Sherlock put a kettle on.

"This is so weird," Sally muttered, watching as John emerged from the room. His robe was now complimented with a nice pair of pajama pants.

"I think Sherlock just went to his mind place," John said suddenly, watching his partner with amused eyes.

"Why? Wait, no- How can you tell?" Anderson spat out. The man in question was behaving no different than he was a few minutes ago. He filled the kettle and set it on the stove, turned the stove on, and fetched a few cups.

"The look in his eyes. When you live with someone, you learn a few things about them."

"I suppose it helps if you're sleeping with them, too?" Sally said mockingly.

"Jealous?" John asked, eyebrow arched.

"Of that? No!"

"Then I'd appreciate it if you'd stay the hell out of my sex life." John was smiling, though his tone had turned biting. The three gaped at him; after all, they were used to the ever-polite and friendly doctor.

"I'm afraid John gets a bit nasty when he doesn't get enough sleep," Sherlock said with a smirk. He was clearly amused by John's reaction. The older man stalked into the kitchen and began filling cups with tea. "He can be a bit of a diva sometimes."

"Oh, blow me," John muttered from the kitchen. Sherlock's smirk grew into a full grin.

"Later, dear. We have company right now."

Anderson snorted and slumped onto the couch gracelessly. Sherlock stared at him, shook his head, then settled himself in his chair across from Lestrade and his team. Sally slowly sat down, examining the couch as if she expected to find a severed finger laying around. Lestrade was the last to sit, and John came out of the kitchen a few seconds later. He handed a cup of steaming tea over to Lestrade, who took it graciously. Sally also accepted a cup, though Anderson refused.

"Tell me about the case," Sherlock demanded. John slid down into the chair next to Sherlock. Lestrade watched, intrigued, as their legs pressed right up against each other and John placed his hand on Sherlock's upper thigh, caressing it, rubbing soft circles into the fabric of his pants. Sherlock seemed perfectly relaxed, his body angled toward John almost subconsciously.

Sherlock never much cared for physical contact. He hated it, actually. It was odd to see him so willingly be touched by another person. Lestrade might have objected in Sherlock's favor had he not looked so relaxed and peaceful.

So Lestrade filled them in on the case, watching with amusement as Sherlock perked up with each new detail. It was a tough case; three dead bodies, all the same wounds, no witnesses, no evidence whatsoever. Sherlock, naturally, loved it instantly.

That didn't stop his eyelids from drooping on occasion. He and John were both tired, and, apparently, when they were tired they became very domestic. John grabbed a cup of tea half-way through their discussion, took a sip, and held it out a little and off to the side. About a minute later Sherlock, without looking, took the cup from him and took a sip. He then held it out a little, as if inviting John to take it back. It was fascinating, to say the least. Even more fascinating was the fact that they clearly didn't do this often.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that John made the tea to Sherlock's liking. With every sip his face scrunched up a bit, as if it was too strong for him. Or perhaps too sweet; Lestrade couldn't deduce that from all the way across the room.

By the end of the conversation their tea cup was empty and John had leaned his head on Sherlock's shoulder. The younger man acted like he didn't notice, though the flicker of his eyes gave him away; every minute or so his eyes became trained on John's face for a second or two and his lips would pull and form an almost-smile. Both of them stood when the team was ready to leave, Sherlock in all of his shirtless glory.

"My apologies again for barging in so late," Lestrade said.

"Don't do it again," Sherlock said blankly. John poked him in the side, causing his face to break out into an uncharacteristic grin.

"Feel free to do it again if it's important, Greg. We'll see you in the morning." John smiled and nodded to the two others. They left quickly, Lestrade behind them as the door to the flat shut and they went out to the car.

"That was...weird." Anderson was first to bring up the topic.

"Yeah, seeing Sherlock Holmes act like such a, what's the word? Oh yes, human!" Sally chimed in. Lestrade laughed again, though he didn't find the night uncomfortable like the other two. He was intrigued.

"Come off it! You mean to tell me you weren't at least a little bit fascinated by the change in Sherlock's behavior?"

No one said anything in response, and he took it as a confirmation of what he already knew: Sleepy Johnlock was domestic Johnlock, and it would forever be a fascinating sight.

As you can tell, there was absolutely no point to this besides playful banter and cuteness :) Please review! Also, if you have a request, let me know and I'll see what I can do :D