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Sherlock and John were just waiting out the last couple of hours of Sherlock and Jilly’s inadvertent bodyswap. Sherlock thought he might know exactly what had gone wrong, and he was almost certain it wouldn’t happen again. John had spent a couple of hours in the flat playing catch with Jilly; it was a good thing that Mrs Hudson had gone out for the afternoon with Mr Chattergee from the café next door, as John didn’t relish the idea of explaining why Sherlock was playing ball naked on his hands and knees. It had been enough to tire her out, and she was currently curled up on Sherlock’s bed, safely out of the way.
A set of slow, heavy footsteps on the stairs outside heralded the arrival of Lestrade, after getting fed up with having to keep heading downstairs to answer the door, they had given him a key of his own – after all, if you couldn’t trust a policeman, who could you trust? Besides, John reasoned, it was a given that at some point he would be held hostage in the flat again, and it might be useful to have a Detective Inspector from Scotland Yard with access to maximum armed backup and his own key to the place. John jumped up quickly to check on Jilly; she was still deeply asleep, so he closed the bedroom door again.
Greg had been very respectful of their privacy, only using his key if there was a case he needed help on, or if he suspected the two might be in danger. There were drawbacks, of course, such as the time he came crashing through the door because neither John nor Sherlock had answered their phones, and Greg thought they were being held hostage. In reality, they were right in the middle of a very drunken game of strip Trivial Pursuit, and consequently John was down to his socks, underwear and a t-shirt, Sherlock was wearing his tight black trunks and a rather confused expression.
It turned out that while Sherlock could answer most questions on Science and Nature and on Geography, he was rubbish at Entertainment, Arts and Literature and Sports and Leisure. John wasn’t quite kicking his arse, but he was winning, hence Sherlock’s expression – he didn’t lose at things. Ever. It had taken a good fifteen minutes, what with all the giggling, to explain to Greg that no, the two of them were not an item, and yes, they were undressed, but that was not because they were about to undertake any kind of carnal activities. After that, he’d made a point of knocking at the door before he entered, unless he was certain they needed his help.
Today, Greg didn’t even need to knock before John called a friendly, “Hi Greg, come on in!” He pushed the door open, stepping inside the room.
“Alright, John? His majesty in? I’ve got an odd one here; burglary. It’s not urgent by any means, we’ve caught the bloke that did it, and we’ve got the all evidence we’ll need to convict him – CCTV, some of the stolen items both on his person and in his flat – but we can’t work out how the hell he got into the property. I was hoping Sherlock would come along to the scene and see if he could work it out.”
“No, sorry, he’s sleeping at the moment, and unless it’s life or death, I’m not waking him, you know what he’s like for not sleeping.”
Just then, Greg noticed what he thought was Jilly. “Hello girl,” he said, moving to scratch her behind the ears. Sherlock was not keen on the idea, but realised he had to act as Jilly did if he wasn’t to raise Greg’s suspicions. He moved over to Lestrade, and sniffed at his knees with Jilly’s infinitely superior nose. John happened to be looking at Sherlock when he took a good whiff of Lestrade, and saw the look cross his face.
“Err, Greg, I wouldn’t get too close if I were you, she’s not been right this weekend, hurling all over the place… And you don’t want to know what that experience is like, believe me!” Greg backed off a bit hurriedly, making for the door.
“Okay, well when he wakes up, can you let him know I was here, and I’ll pass on the details of the case?” John agreed, and Lestrade left, banging the street door loudly behind him.
“Right Sherlock, what’s going on? Why the face?” Sherlock made his way over to the coffee table and the heaps of Scrabble letters there. After he’d spend a little time nosing the letters about, John read LESTRADES BEEN TO THE MORGUE
“Oh, I suppose it must be an awful smell with a dog’s nose, so much more sensitive than ours, right?” Sherlock managed to convey a decisive shake of the head. “Not that? But you looked positively stricken, Sherlock!” John tidied the letters back into their proper piles as he spoke.
Sherlock worked a little more on the table. HE WAS WITH MOLLY
“Ah, that’s nice, I always thought those two would get on well, do you remember the way Greg looked at her in that dress the other Christmas?” Sherlock continued to move the letters around.
THEY WERE HAVING SEX JOHN
IN THE MORGUE
RIGHT BEFORE HE GOT HERE
John didn’t quite know what to say to that. He was pleased for his friends, they both deserved to find someone to be happy with, but he was equally happy that he didn’t have Sherlock’s method of finding out…