"Dear Lord, John, if you can't get your head around this basic concept then I despair of you, I really do."

"Well, if your Royal Highness could explain it to us mere peasants, we would be indebted, I'm sure."

"There's nothing to explain, it's all there in front of you!"

Greg Lestrade sighed from where he was standing, leaning against the wall of a dead woman's garage, where the body of Hannah Baker was sprawled on the floor and Sherlock and John were snapping at each other above her.

In fact, they had done nothing but snap at each other ever since they'd arrived twenty minutes ago, and now that Greg thought about it, every time he'd seen the pair in the month since Sherlock had returned they were butting heads over something or other. It was completely unlike them, and though Greg knew Sherlock's reappearance was going to cause some turbulence between the two of them, he hadn't expected it to take this long for them to readjust.

Now, he didn't become a DI because of his good looks, and if there was one thing he knew about Sherlock and John, it was that they didn't do feelings. They certainly didn't talk about feelings. It was this knowledge that caused Greg to surmise that there were a lot of pent up emotions between Sherlock and John; hurt on John's side and... well, he wasn't entirely sure what Sherlock was feeling but he was certain that his stoic, aloof demeanour he was showcasing now was merely a facade. And this was causing the two of them to take out their frustrations on each other.

Greg didn't want to interfere, because normally if you left the pair to themselves they'd work out whatever they needed to work out in their own time, but he was sure that if they continued to argue, they'd end up losing contact with each other for good.

Turning to the PC beside him, who was watching the doctor and detective with some confusion, Greg tapped her on the shoulder.

John, meanwhile, was contemplating the idea of throttling Sherlock where he stood, and wondering if he had enough friends on the force to get away with it.

He sighed, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Just explain what the bloody goose has to do with all of this."

"It's obvious, John, why can't you see?!" Sherlock exclaimed raising his hands in frustration as he gestured around the garage.

"Because I'm stupid, clearly." John retorted acerbically. "Explain it to me." he enunciated.

"No, I'll leave you to work it out. It's blindingly obvious, it should take you no more than two days." Sherlock turned away, beginning to walk out. "Meanwhile, I need to go to–"

"Hey, Sherlock, solved it yet?" Greg interrupted with false cheer in his voice, clapping Sherlock and John on the shoulders as he peered down at the dead body and incidentally prevented them from leaving. He had felt now was a good time to interfere; he had worried that the murderous look on John's face could have resulted in two dead bodies, and he wasn't convinced he had enough friends in this room to cover it up.

The detective snorted. "Of course I've solved it and I'm appalled that you needed me to come in to aid you, Lestrade." he said.

"Well, John mentioned you wanted to get out of the flat, and this was the only case that looked interesting – by your standards – so I thought you'd want to come along."

"And I'm so glad you permitted me to 'come along', Inspector, this case has been riveting, really." Sherlock said sardonically. "Perhaps you'll call me next time you need to find a missing shoe, or you can't locate your keys."

"Sherlock, there's no need to be rude–" John reprimanded.

"Oh, don't start, John. Maybe the next time you speak it could be something intelligent for once."

"Alright, that's enough." Greg said loudly before John could reply with an acidic comment.

"Forget it, I'm going home." the doctor muttered, turning to leave.

"And I need to go to Bart's." Sherlock replied, also moving to go.

"Nope." Greg responded, and before John or Sherlock knew what was happening, he had gripped the doctor's right arm and the detective's left one, there was a quiet snick, and John felt cool metal enclose around his right wrist.

"What the hell?" he asked, glancing down at one half of a handcuff and then across at Sherlock, who was attached to the other half. "What are you doing?"

Greg stepped back from the pair, holding up a small key. "You two are not being released until you sort out whatever the hell's going on between you."

"Lestrade–" Sherlock began icily.

"No, don't bother. You're not getting free until I'm convinced."

"We're fine. There's nothing wrong." John said, trying to cross his arms before realising he couldn't without aggravating Sherlock. The detective yanked his arm back to where it was.

"Nice try." Greg said, smiling as the pair glared at him. "Now then, if you've solved it, Sherlock, perhaps you'd like to tell me what happened?"

Sherlock continued to glower at him, and without a word began to sweep dramatically out of the room... only to be halted by John, who had remained where he was and was watching the detective with a raised eyebrow.

Sherlock was forced to stop suddenly, his arm being tugged back, and he turned to face John.

"Come, John, we're leaving." he said, moving his arm towards him as if to prompt John into leaving.

"Not until you tell us what happened." John said stubbornly.

Sherlock looked like he wanted to protest, and it was clear that he was thinking of something to say. After a moment, he said, "I'm stronger than you. I'll be able to pull you along."

"I'd like to see you try." John responded.

He didn't try.

"I could dislocate your wrist and then get free."

John narrowed his eyes. "I dare you." he challenged quietly.

Sherlock heaved a sigh and looked away, admitting defeat. "The goose." he said sulkily.

"What about the goose?" Greg asked before John could interrupt.

"She was killed because of it."

"How come?" he asked.

"Because it's been displaced."

Everyone turned their heads to the frozen goose that, still packaged, rested upside down a few meters away from Hannah Baker's body."

"So, what, she and her killer fought over it?" Greg asked.

"Yes. For whatever reason, Hannah Baker was determined to defend this goose – look at the scratch marks on her wrists – and the killer was just as determined to get it. The question is, why?"

Greg moved over to the goose and picked it up, twisting it this way and that as he examined it. "I don't see anything unusual. John?" He held it out to the doctor, who reached for it with his un-cuffed hand. Sherlock, though, snatched it with both hands and subsequently forcing John's wrist to chafe against the metal cuff.

"Watch it." he muttered as the detective held the goose up to his eyes, John's arm raised to alleviate the pressure. Sherlock ignored him and ripped open the plastic, throwing it to the floor. Then, he stuck his arm inside the goose and appeared to rummage around for something. Greg and John exchanged a glance but didn't say anything.

After a few seconds the detective began to extract his arm, and when it was fully removed, Greg was shocked to see that Sherlock was holding something in his hand.

John, too, seemed to be unable to comprehend what he was seeing. "That's... a necklace." he stuttered.

"Yes, it's a necklace." Sherlock said with a slight eye-roll as he passed the goose to John.

The doctor noticed it. "Oh, like you knew there was going to be a necklace in there." he said sceptically, one-handedly putting the goose on a nearby table.

"There was obviously something in it, it just happened to be Lady Morcar's sapphire necklace." Sherlock said in an off-hand manner.

"Lady... this is her necklace?" Greg asked, peering closer at the jewellery. "How the hell did it get to be in this woman's goose?"

A/N: Hell yeah, I'm doing the Blue Carbuncle. Should only be a couple of chapters (I'm still writing it) and any reviews/favs/follows are greatly appreciated :)