Sherlock X Reader One Shots || 𝐹𝐿𝑈𝐹𝐹 + 𝑆𝑀𝑈𝑇

"Good Morning" ((Final) Part 6)

They found Lestrade wearing an expression that consisted entirely of lines. His mouth was a line, his forehead was lined, his eyebrows were two fuzzy lines above his eyes half drawn with drooping eyelids. He looked utterly and absolutely bored, so bored he was sort of melting on the spot, his body sagging in his uniform, the hand holding a mug of what appeared to be black coffee (that wasn't helping at all) threatening to drop it on the floor.

The reason for his obvious lack of interest from absolutely everything around him became apparent when Y/N and Sherlock rounded a corner enough to see what 'everything around him' consisted of. Ms Levine was standing beside him, as motionless and unnaturally thin as the statues flanking the lobby entrance. Well, apart from her lips that were rapidly firing words in the detective inspector's direction. He was saying nothing, just nodding every now and again in a poor attempt at being polite.

He cut her off, though, as soon as he saw Sherlock approach, positively speed-walking over to him and looking genuinely grateful for the interruption. No doubt Ms Levine spent the entire time they'd been together listing the ways in which he'd been doing his job wrong.

"Please tell me you realised I was right when I said the tapes had no leads, so you've spent the last hour searching the hotel for real clues," his tone was pleading but his eyes gave away that he knew they hadn't.

"I could tell you that, but I'd be lying," Sherlock quipped smoothly, then regretted it as the rest of Greg's face turned the same dull colour his eyes had been. Whilst Sherlock had been heatedly kissed by the love of his life, this poor man had to put up with---

"Ah, you're back."

Sherlock felt Y/N bump into his side as she jumped, startled by the hotel manager's silent (what he could only guess had been) teleportation to their little group.

Lestrade ignored her (which he'd become very good at after all the practise he's recently had) and turned back to confront Sherlock with an attitude close to frustration. "So you've just been watching security tapes this whole time? They were useless---"

"No, they weren't, I've solved it." Sherlock turned his pale eyes, that had been molten steel a few minutes ago and were now hardened back into colourless, cold disks, to Ms Levine. "It was you."

Obviously, she was outraged. "Me?!" Her immaculate sheet of hair split in a few places as she did a theatrical double-take. "Why would I rob my own guests?"

"For the money. Isn't that why people usually steal things?" Proving people wrong, winding people up, and watching people try to deny what they assumed no one would ever uncover is fun. But do you know what is more fun? Sex. "Anyway Lestrade, I'm sure you can handle it from here---" Sherlock took Y/N's hand and turned to leave.

"Wait, wait, wait." Lestrade hurried after the detective, a firm hand catching his arm and swiftly putting an end to his attempted escape.

A hot flush freckled Sherlock's cheekbones as he realised Greg had probably noticed his blatant (and frankly accidental) public display of affection towards Y/N, who, as far as Lestrade knew, was merely his friend and flatmate. Now he'd have to explain---

"You can't just accuse someone of theft and then leave."

"But I just did." Discreetly letting go of Y/N's palm, Sherlock turned back to Greg, who was almost glaring up at him. He had to stuff a giggle back down into his chest at the sight of him; a full head shorter, mouth turned down at the corners in a grumpy frown. He reminded Sherlock of one of those bobble-head bulldogs some people have staring out the rear window of their car. "Or at least, I'm trying to."