Prompt: Rainbow - Courtesy of Werewolf not a goldenretriever

Rating: M (For...uh...you'll see)

Genre: Pure and Utter Crack

Summary: Lestrade has a theory. No spoilers.

Anderson, Donovan, and Lestrade sat in a circle at one of the many desks scattered throughout the office, practically snoring as they desperately tried to stay awake. They'd all stayed after work to go over the details of one of the most confusing cases they'd ever come across and were well aware of the fact it was half past one in the morning.

Donovan sighed, shoving away the gory pictures of the crime scene in exhaustion and disgust. "Ughn, I can't take anymore of this!" she groaned, letting her head fall into her hands. "As much as I hate to say this, I think it would be a good idea to call the freak."

"I already did," Lestrade grumbled, leaning back in his chair. "He said he was busy before hanging up on me."

"Sherlock Holmes, passing up a chance to show off?" Anderson scoffed, crossing his arms. "Are you sure you heard him right?"

Lestrade frowned. "I don't know. When he answered he sounded angry, going on about he was busy doing important experiments or something of the like. He was all out of breath, it was hard to understand him."

"Out of breath?" Anderson echoed. Lestrade nodded in response.

Suddenly, Donovan let out a gasp, causing the two men to cast a tired glance in her direction. "You don't think...was he having a wank?"

Although they both look disgusted, Lestrade managed to shake his head and answer. "I heard someone else in the background. It wasn't porn, I swore I heard someone say his name. Couldn't really make it out. It was all muffled."

Donovan's jaw dropped. "Does the freak have a girlfriend!?" She paused. "Or a boyfriend? Hang on, is Sherlock straight or gay?"

Lestrade opened his mouth to answer but froze. He glanced at Anderson who shrugged. "I - I have absolutely no idea."

"How can we not know!?" she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. "All right, we need to figure this out. Let's conduct some research."

Lestrade glared. "Sally, we're in the middle of - "

"We're not getting anywhere without the freak," she admitted begrudgingly, "And I am seconds away from dying of boredom. Can't we take a break and do a quick search on how to tell if someone's gay? Please?"

Anderson shook his head in exasperation while Lestrade let out a sigh. "Fine," he grumbled, pulling out his laptop. "But I'm only doing this because I am drunk on exhaustion." He opened his laptop and quickly starting typing. A few mouse clicks and Google searches later, Lestrade closed his computer and looked at Sally in triumph. "I have found a foolproof way to figure out Sherlock's sexuality."

"Well?" she prompted impatiently.

"Apparently, homosexuals vomit rainbows. So..."

"We make him vomit and get our answer," Anderson finished slowly. "But how will we get the moron to throw up?"

Donovan grinned. "Oh, I can think of a few things. We'll start testing after the weekend. One way or another, we are going to make Sherlock Holmes puke."

"This may be the first time I've ever said this, but I'm looking forward to Monday," Lestrade said.

"Amen!" Donovan and Anderson echoed, thoughts of vomiting consulting detectives dancing in their heads.

This would be so much more entertaining than solving crimes.

Monday:

"How hard is that to figure out!?" Sherlock exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. He shook his head, shooting Anderson a glare. "Mrs Evans was having an affair and her husband found out, causing him to confide in one of his friends. A friend, I might add, who had a history of mental issues and was undoubtedly in love with Mr Evans himself. He then killed Mrs Evans and made it seem as if she committed suicide. How hard is that to understand!? A monkey could figure it out!" He paused, looking off into the distance, his brow furrowed. "Then again, most monkeys have a much higher intelligence level than you."

Before Anderson could make a retort, Lestrade stepped forward with a paper bag clutched in his right hand, trying to fight back a smug smile. All weekend, the trio had suggested plan after plan on how to get the arrogant consulting detective to throw up. They'd eventually decided a simple case of food poisoning would do the trick, prompting Lestrade to get a batch of doughnuts and inject one of them with ipecac. And, sure, maybe that wasn't the brightest idea, but Anderson and Donovan had insisted he do it for over three hours and he'd made sure to inject no more than was necessary. Still, he couldn't help feeling a little guilty that he was conducting the experiment just to see if Sherlock Holmes would blow colourful chunks.

"I bought doughnuts for all of us," Lestrade said, fishing one out of the bag, making sure it wasn't Sherlock's, and passing it to John. John gratefully accepted and he turned to Sherlock, pulling out the - erm - manipulated one and holding it out to him. Manipulated, Lestrade decided silently, sounded much better than poisoned.

"Not hungry," he said bleakly, before turning around to examine the body once again.

Lestrade's eyes flickered to the doughnut and back to the consulting detective, before clearing his throat. "But, Sherlock, I think - "

Sherlock made an impatient noise in the back of his throat before waving a dismissive hand. "I don't need your opinion, Lestrade. I came here for one reason only and that reason does not inclu - "

"Sherlock," John interrupted suddenly, glaring down at his flatmate. Sherlock stiffened as his eyes met John's glare, both of them completely still and silent. They simply stared at each other, as if having some weird psychic conversation, before Sherlock grumbled something unintelligible under his breath, sprang up, and snatched the doughnut from Lestrade's hand. "Thank you, Lestrade," he muttered begrudgingly. "That was very thoughtful." He bit into the pastry, swallowing audibly with a grimace, and dramatically turned around to shoot John a glare. "Happy?"

"It still isn't over," John murmured, causing Sherlock to shoot him a dirty look before leaning over the body and taking another bite.

Lestrade grinned and chose to ignore whatever weird exchange had happened between the two flatmates. He plucked a doughnut from the bag, before tossing the rest to Anderson and Donovan. He smirked, watching Sherlock intently. In all honesty, he never thought he'd be able to outwit Sherlock Holmes. Now all they had to do was wait.

And wait they did.

For ten minutes, actually. Ten minutes of Sherlock rambling on about every detail of the woman's life, while the trio pretended to act interested. John - the lucky bastard - had slipped out for a walk a few minutes ago, likely getting sick from the stench of rotting corpse.

Lestrade suddenly felt his stomach gurgle and bent over slightly, placing a hand over his lower abdomen. Was he getting sick from the stench? No, that was impossible. Years of examining dead bodies had practically made him immune. So what -

The pieces quickly fell into place as he glanced at the half eaten doughnut Sherlock had placed on the table. It was Jelly. But the one he'd poiso - manipulated was chocolate...Just like the one he'd had for himself.

Lestrade bent over, clutching his stomach tightly, choking back that unpleasant feeling of nausea and rushing release. Sherlock glanced at him, his eyes glazed over with concern. "Lestrade, are you - "

He was interrupted by Lestrade's sudden retching and then the overwhelming stench of...well...the gory details weren't really necessary.

"...All right?" Sherlock finished lamely, examining the DI in worry. He offered his hand, but Lestrade refused. He didn't trust himself not to fall down in a heap all over again. How had his employees even convinced him to go through with this stupid plan!?

"John will be back soon," he offered softly, bending down next to him. Lestrade felt a wave of guilt rush over him. Okay, so maybe giving him a product that was meant to completely empty out your stomach wasn't a great thing to do. Honestly, he wouldn't wish this upon anyone - no matter how annoying they could get. "He might be able to take you to a clinic or examine you himself. Are you sure you don't want to sit?"

Lestrade shook his head numbly before Sherlock stood up again, snapping at Anderson to get him some water and a towel. He muttered something about finding John before marching out of the flat and slamming the door behind him.

Anderson cleared his throat, causing Lestrade to see his two friends looking down at him with slight worry and - those bastards - amusement.

"So...I suppose it's time for Plan B?" Anderson offered with a shrug.

Lestrade let out a growl. He was going to kill those two.

Tuesday:

"Are you sure you're feeling all right?" John asked Lestrade softly, his eyes clouded with concern.

Lestrade nodded, smiling weakly. "Just a flu bug," he insisted lamely. "I'm fine now, good as new."

John gave a curt nod, although his face was still scrunched up in worry. "As long as you're sure. You know, it couldn't hurt - "

"John, take a look at this, would you?" Sherlock said suddenly, his impatient voice echoing throughout the room.

The blond rolled his eyes, letting out an exasperated, yet slightly amused sigh. "Well, it appears his royal highness requires my assistance. Really, though, Greg, you should consider taking a few days off. Doctor's orders." He flashed him a kind smile and clapped a hand on his shoulder, before trudging off to help Sherlock with whatever he needed.

Lestrade felt a wave of guilt rush over him, watching John as he and Sherlock bickered like an old married couple. Feeling guilty was stupid, considering John wouldn't be the one vomiting - or not vomiting - rainbows on the waxed, tiled floor. That was Sherlock's job.

In all honesty, he wasn't quite sure how his two employees had managed to convince him to be the culprit again. They'd probably used some weird hypno crap on him. All he'd heard was some whining about how he was the only one who Sherlock trusted before he'd told them he'd do it and to please shut the fuck up, because he was still dealing with the side effects of the ipecac.

He just hoped to God this would work.

"Sherlock?" Lestrade asked suddenly, gathering his courage as he strode over to both men slouching over the square of light blasting from the computer screen. John looked up and raised an eyebrow, while Sherlock didn't even flinch.

"I'm busy," he said simply, eyes glued to the screen as his fingers flew across the keyboard. John shot Sherlock a glare, which, of course, went unnoticed.

"Right, yeah, thanks for - "

"Your appreciation is not needed - in fact, it is very distracting from my work. I assume you want this case finished before Friday so you can achieve your Christmas bonus. Therefore, I think it would be wise to keep quiet unless you want to spend your holidays with Tiny Tim."

Lestrade cleared his throat and nodded, fighting back the urge to kick the detective in the neck. "Yes, well, I just wanted to give you this," he said quickly, snatching the bottle of pills from his pocket and sliding it across the table.

Sherlock caught it, again, without looking up, his expression unreadable. "What's this?"

"It's from the drug store, it's - "

"I am aware that it is a medicine, I'm simply asking why you're giving it to me."

Lestrade scratched the back of his head, trying not to sound too nervous. "Well, I was severely ill yesterday, so I thought it would be a good idea for you to take one of those. You know, just in case you caught something from me."

"I don't need - "

"Actually, Sherlock, that's not a bad idea," John interrupted, picking up the bottle and examining it in his hands. "You were the one closest to him yesterday. It'll keep you from getting sick."

"I don't get ill, John, I don't have time for that."

"Exactly. You don't have time for it. And I don't want to deal with you complaining for a week because you caught Lestrade's cold."

Sherlock finally tore his eyes away from the computer screen, face pulled into a frown. John stared back, crossing his arms and cocking an eyebrow. Lestrade watched the flatmates stare at each other, his eyes darting between the two of them. What the hell was going on?

"Fine," Sherlock snapped suddenly, snatching the bottle off the table, twisting it open, and popping one of the pills into his mouth. He glared, swallowing audibly as his eyes bore into John's. "How long are you planning to continue with this?"

John let out a slight laugh, rolling his eyes. "For as long as we agreed; one week, Sherlock. You'll survive."

"What are you two going on about?" Lestrade asked, unable to help his curiosity.

John grinned. "The great Sherlock Holmes lost a bet and has to do whatever I ask for a week."

"It's quite exasperating," Sherlock grumbled, turning back to the computer screen with a scowl.

Lestrade grinned. With John on his side, this would be so much easier - even if he was helping unintentionally.

After a few hours of brainstorming once Lestrade had finished emptying his stomach into a toilet, the trio had decided pills would be the next step on getting the detective to throw up. It wasn't poison or anything dangerous like that. Really, the drugs were pretty harmless. Unless, of course, you forgot to take them with food - in which case, you would vomit them up and all would be well again. And, since Sherlock ate maybe once every two days, the pills would come right back up the minute he swallowed them.

Yup. Nothing could go wrong.

And since nothing could go wrong, Lestrade was more than a little confused when Sherlock didn't seem to be reacting in any way at all. His brow furrowed as he watched the detective study the computer as if his life depended on it.

"Sherlock, are you feeling all right?" Lestrade asked carefully, glancing at the bottle of pills and then at the focused detective's face.

"Fine," he answered smoothly, fingers flying across the keyboard. "Your concern is distracting."

"You just, uh...look a bit pale," Lestrade decided to say finally, hoping that would be a good excuse.

"He's fine," John insisted happily, a smug grin plastered on his face. "I've been making sure of it."

Sherlock groaned and shook his head, eyes still glued to the screen. "In other words, he's been forcing me to perform tedious tasks that interfere with my work. He likes to torture me."

"Yes, because forcing you to get proper rest and eat at least twice a day is torture. He takes all the fun out of winning, you know that?"

Lestrade blinked. "Eating?" Oh, come on!

"Yup," John answered proudly, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "At least twice a day. I wouldn't have let him take the pills if he hadn't; they make you sick if you haven't eaten."

How the hell had Lestrade forgotten John was a damn doctor!? "Oh," he said simply, resisting the urge to bang his head into the wall. "Sorry, I didn't know."

John shrugged. "No harm done."

Lestrade internally groaned. Why was making grown men vomit so difficult!?

Wednesday:

"Why me!?" Anderson demanded for what had to be the fifth time today.

"Because I've done it twice already!" Lestrade hissed. How had he gotten himself into this mess?

"Why not Sally?"

"Because she's a little too busy handling a murder case to try to make a sociopath vomit rainbows!" Lestrade snapped, trying not to raise his voice above a whisper.

"But - but - "

"This was your idea. Either you do it or it doesn't happen."

Anderson let out a huff of breath before shooting Lestrade a glare. "Fine," he said. "But I'm holding you responsible if anything happens to me."

Lestrade rolled his eyes as he watched Anderson make his way to the sleeping detective's side. John had been helpful without knowing it, forcing Sherlock to take a nap after he'd let out a simple yawn. It was almost sweet, seeing how much John cared for him, and hilarious watching Sherlock curse him with everything he had. And thus came the perfect opportunity to try to make Sherlock vomit.

Anderson glanced back at Lestrade, his eyes drowning in worry. Lestrade simply shrugged and motioned with his hand for him to get on with it. Anderson took a deep breath before slowly sticking two gloved fingers down Sherlock's throat.

Okay, admittedly, it was a pretty weird and creepy thing to do. But Anderson had been the one to think of it and they were running out of options.

Lestrade watched as Anderson's fingers snuck further into his mouth, waiting anxiously to see -

Sherlock's eyes flew open suddenly, his fisted hand shooting out into the air. It connected with Anderson's jaw and he fell backwards, letting out a loud groan. Lestrade looked at Sherlock's furious expression to Anderson's position on the floor. His eyes darted to the other side of the room where a box of doughnuts lay. Hmm...

He let out an innocent whistle as he shoved his hands in his pockets and strolled away, leaving his employee to fend for himself.

He smiled as he bit into a well-deserved doughnut. It was Anderson's stupid idea anyway.

Thursday:

"It's your turn because I narrowly escaped having the life beat out of me, you prat!" Anderson practically screamed, his hands curled into fists by his side. He had come into work with a large bruise on his jaw, pepper spray tucked into one pocket, and an expression that looked like someone had force-fed him a bottle of lemon juice - but, then again, he looked like that most days.

"You're the one who wanted to use his gag reflex!" Lestrade protested. "It's not my fault Sherlock has enough sense to wake up when someone has their fingers jammed down his throat! I think Sally should have a go."

"I'm not ruining a pair of 150 pound shoes because of something as stupid as this," she said defiantly, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Then what do you suggest we do?" Anderson said, his face drawn into a sneer.

She paused, her brow scrunching slightly as she looked off into the distance. After a moment of silence, she shrugged, turning her attention back to her colleagues. "We could pay an intern."

Lestrade and Anderson exchanged looks. Anderson simply shrugged while Lestrade let out a sigh. "Why am I doing this?"

"Because you're just as curious as we are," she said pointedly, a slight smirk decorating her face. "Don't deny it; you're dying to know."

He let out an exasperated sigh, burying his face in his hands. "Fine. Fine! But you two will have to recruit someone yourselves. As far as anyone's concerned, I was never involved." And with that, he strode away, trying to ignore the part of his brain that was asking what the bloody hell was wrong with him.

(*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#* #*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*)

"Are you all set?" Donovan asked nervously, looking towards the consulting detective who sat at the opposite side of the room.

The intern nodded, his blond hair falling into his eyes as he did so. "Yup." He opened up his jacket, smiling slightly. "Got it all ready."

She grinned. "Great. And, uh, sorry about...before. We hadn't really thought about using...a prop."

He shrugged. "No worries. The money's worth it." He grinned. "Now get ready for a show!" He turned then, stumbling towards an unsuspecting Sherlock.

"I can't believe we tried to pay an intern to throw up when we could have used fake vomit," Lestrade groaned, finally coming out from his hiding spot behind a pillar. Like he said, he hadn't wanted to be involved in this. Especially when they could have used a combination of soup, carrots, and apple sauce instead of forcing someone to get sick.

"It wasn't my idea!" Anderson said, his voice just below a scream. "She's the one who's convinced Sherlock's a sympathy vomiter." He turned around to face the Sargent. "Why in God's name do you think this will make him sick to his stomach? The man keeps eyeballs in his microwave, for Christ's sake!"

Donovan shrugged, her face pulled into a frown. "I figure if it went all over his stuff, he'll be so upset, he'll end up vomiting himself."

"Well, why don't we see how your brilliant plan plays out, shall we?" Anderson sneered, turning back to face the scene before him.

The intern stumbled over to Sherlock, his face pale. He seemed to be panting, beads of sweat running down the sides of his face. Sherlock cocked an eyebrow, looking at the man in suspicion. He muttered something before his cheeks puffed and he spilled the contents in his bag all over Sherlock's equipment. Lestrade had to admit - the kid was a fantastic actor.

However, Sherlock barely even flinched. He shrugged, brushing off the few specks that had managed to get on his clothes, and said something to the intern with a frown, patting him on the back. Then he pushed himself up from the chair and walked to the bathroom, likely to check if anymore of the substance remained on his clothes.

The intern trudged back to the trio, a look of slight concern on his face. "Um...I don't think he had the reaction you were expecting."

"Obviously not," Anderson replied, shooting a glare at Donovan who frowned. He turned back to the intern, cocking an eyebrow. "Did he say anything?"

"Uh...yeah. He said he wants four hundred pounds for all the equipment I wrecked."

Lestrade let out a groan before banging his head against a pillar. This week couldn't get any worse even if he started vomiting rainbows himself.

Friday:

"I got nothing," Donovan admitted, lounging back in the chair she was sitting in. "What about you, sir?"

"I'm done with this whole thing," Lestrade sighed, shaking his head. "How many ways are there to make a man vomit!?"

"I'm not sure," Anderson said suddenly, rolling up the sleeve on his right arm. "But I have one more. Follow me." The two remaining members of the trio pushed themselves out of their chairs to follow Anderson as he weaved his way through the countless workers crowding the office. Finally, he came to the door where Sherlock was working and sucked in a deep breath. Then he pushed it open and walked in, his stance radiating determination.

Sherlock was standing alone in the middle of the room, looking at a few pieces of paper he'd hung up regarding the case. He'd told Lestrade when he arrived that John had gone to work and he'd be alone for the day. He'd asked him not to be disturbed before slamming the door shut and refusing to leave.

...Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

Before Lestrade could voice his opinion, Anderson walked up to him, threw his fist back, and punched him in the gut. Sherlock doubled over, clutching his stomach as he drew in staggered breaths, choking slightly.

"What - the bloody hell - was that?" he wheezed, tears gathering in his eyes as he tried to breathe. Why had Lestrade gotten himself into this?

"For God's sake, will you just throw up already!?" Anderson cried, throwing his hands in the air. "How is it this hard to make one annoying little prat puke?"

"Excuse me?" he choked out, pushing himself up from the floor. "What in God's name are you talking about?"

"We - we were trying to see if you would vomit rainbows," Lestrade admitted guiltily. Before Sherlock could say another word, he continued with an anxious, "THEY MADE ME RESEARCH IT!"

"You were - what?"

Donovan sighed. "We were trying to see if you would vomit rainbows because we wanted to know if you were gay."

"You - " Sherlock's face turned a light shade of red, but clearly not from embarrassment. "Have you been trying to make me throw up this entire week!? Lestrade getting food poisoning, the pills, Anderson 'pranking' me, and the intern - that was all you!?"

"Well - "

"Oh, for Christ's sake!" Sherlock practically screamed, throwing his hands in the air. "I don't know what the hell I am, I was asexual before I met John! I do not need a label. John and I have been dating for months now, it's not exactly a secret. You could have just asked instead OF TRYING TO MAKE ME VOMIT RAINBOWS, YOU INSUFFERABLE PLONKERS!"

Lestrade knew Anderson couldn't resist. Even if Sherlock practically had steam coming out of his ears, he couldn't, for the life of him, resist the urge to mock the freak. "We were trying to make you vomit for a week. You just figured it out now? I thought a genius like yourself would realize what we were trying to do days ago."

Sherlock blinked, his look of anger slowly diminishing as a devious smile spread across his face. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry, Anderson. I've been a little distracted this week. For one thing, John and I ran out of lube after almost two hours of aggressive sex yesterday, so I need to stop by the shop on the way home. And, on another note, I can't stop thinking about how amazing it feels when John's pulsing erection slides into my warm, slicked up heat, leaving me helpless and moaning for more."

Lestrade paled, his stomach churning. He let out a squeak, looking at Sherlock in shock. Had he just said what he thought he said!?

Sherlock grinned, his eyes lighting up in mischief. "Did you ever figure out what the bet was about?" He paused, his expression cheerful. "Of course you didn't. I imagine you're still curious. Well, if you must know, I promised to be John's slave for a week if he could get me to come within a single minute." He shrugged. "Of course, we'd already broken a few beds and soaked the sofa in semen, but I was sure he wouldn't be able to do that. But I was wrong. Oh God, was I wrong.

"Do you want to know what he did to me? He didn't even prepare me, he just slammed deep into my ass before I could say a word. Of course, I was still loose from the day before - still had his cum dripping down my thighs. He pounded into me relentlessly, jerking me off while he hit my prostate at every thrust. And if that wasn't enough, the things he said! I bet you want to know about that too."

Before Lestrade could even let out a squeak, he continued. "He whispered in my ear the whole time. Things along the line of, 'Mmm, Sherlock, so ready for me. Always willing to take my cock, aren't you? Of course you are, always begging for me, screaming my name until your throat's raw. You know what that does to me? How hard I get for you, even when we're surrounded by other people? Of course you do. You know that I'll bend you over and fuck you no matter where we are, just like that time I fucked you on Lestrade's desk. Such a good little slut.'" Sherlock paused, smiling innocently. "Say, did I ever mention John and I had sex on your desk? No? Hmm, must have slipped my mind. Anyway, I was coming within seconds, painting the couch with white strips of my seed. Obviously, he won.

"And when I promised to be his slave, it wasn't just about tedious things like sleeping and eating. No, it was about walking around all day with a butt plug shoved up my ass. In fact, I have one in me right now. Of course, it's nothing compared to John's throbbing cock, but it still makes me hard and wanton for him all day. Quite inconvenient when I'm trying to do work. Ah, well. The endless fucking is worth it, I guess." He beamed then, his eyes lighting up with endless delight. "I hope you enjoy those images for the rest of your life." And with that, he grabbed his jacket and strolled out of the room, humming some tune that Lestrade swore he'd heard in a porno.

"Where are you going?" Donovan asked, looking at Anderson who had turned a light shade of green. Honestly, Lestrade was sure he had as well.

"I'm going to go vomit," he answered simply before bolting to the bathroom.

Donovan blinked. "Think Anderson vomits rainbows?"

Lestrade sighed, collapsing into a chair and propping his feet up on the desk. He shook his head, looking exasperated. "I don't know. Not my division."

Ta da! :D This took much longer than I expected, but hey! I finished it! Anyway, thank you SO much for reading! Just a little reminder that if you don't leave me a one-word prompt, I can't write anymore. And reviews are like sweet little kittens :3 Oh, feel free to request genres as well! Oh and before I forget, I'd like to thank

DaviesInTheMaking

a-lazy-timelord

Guest

Cantanti

Dr.

RoseyMulvey

Werewolf not a goldenretriever

TheOneWhoStoleYourCheese

so much for reviewing! Hope you liked it! :D Bye for now!

- Gallifrey101