Sunday, 1:03 AM

"Alright," concluded DCI Lestrade and marched toward the narrow door leading to the hidden passage. Let's see what our witnesses have to say about this. The man sighed inwardly. Sherlock would probably jump out of the closet and shout deductions at them, spinning webs of eloquent chains of reasoning around their heads. Lord help them. At least, this case was closed and in no time he would be able to go home. To the wife and kids.

Lestrade unlocked the door and fumbled for the light switch, ignoring a petulant "oy" from below. Looking back at the killer, he told Sherlock and John to come out before turning to them, his face falling into a bemused frown.

"What the hell?" the experienced officer looked from a flushed doctor in red underpants to a naked detective half-spreading his absurdly long legs in what could only be construed as an obscene manner.

Lestrade closed the door behind himself and tried not to panic, "What is this?"

"What does it look like?" Sherlock smirked. Oh no.

John buried his head in his hands, "Sherlock! No, this really isn't-"

Lestrade held the detective's predatory stare and tapped his foot.

"We got bored!" Sherlock complained, exasperated, "We've spent ages in this closet! So what did you expect us to do? Sit still? You know me!"

"So what did you do?" Lestrade dreaded the answer which was so obvious.

"Nothing," John said quickly, and from the corner of his eye, the DCI could see the shorter man redress.

"Sherlock?"

The young man rolled his eyes and pulled his legs into a more acceptable position, "Nothing."

"Nothing?" echoed Lestrade.

"That's what we said," Sherlock was losing his temper, "well obviously, we got drinking. And we kissed. Before taking each other's clothes off. To compare the lengths of-"

"Sherlock!" John interrupted.

"Yes, well. We argued about the necessity of 'soft spots,' and John spat in his hand and-"

"That's it, I'm done here. Thank you, gentlemen, but I really don't want to hear any more of this," Lestrade almost fled the room, and John kicked at Sherlock who was still lounging languidly on the floor.

"What?" the lanky man pouted, "It's the truth, John."

"Yeah," John sighed, it sort of was.