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The rain had been pounding relentlessly on the windows for most of the day.
At the Yard, Lestrade had found the sound aggressive, almost violent. He had wondered if it was that, or the tricky case they were working on, that had turned his whole team into a nervous mess, each one snapping viciously at the other. There is so much one can do to try to pacify things in such an explosive environment, and Lestrade, already far too tired to have the energy to act like a smooth-spoken diplomat, had given up quickly.
Now that he was at home, however, the pounding was quite soothing, lulling him insidiously into sleep.
The light knocking that came moments later was almost drowned out by the rain, but sent instantly Lestrade to his feet, making his way heavily towards the door.
A drenched silhouette, unsteady, was leaning against the frame. Lestrade sighed, the soft concern in his eyes contradicting his stern voice.
“I told you, Sherlock. Not until you’re clean. I won’t change my mind”
Only silence met his statement. Silence, and then, with a trembling intake of breath.
“I… tried…”
Lestrade waited.
“Can’t…”
Grabbing the huddled form by the shoulder, he pulled it inside, gently.
“You are staying here tonight. No discussion. Tomorrow, I’ll go by your flat and fetch your belongings.”