"There was a crime scene in the news this morning; I expect Greg will be driving this way as we speak..."
"So you do actually know that Greg is his name?"
"Of course," Sherlock said, taking a sip of his own coffee, "I only pretend I don't when he's being annoying."
"But you do it to him all the time."
"He's annoying all the time."
John shook his head and rolled his eyes.
Around about ten minutes later, when both Sherlock and John had finished drinking their coffee, they both heard the booming knock from downstairs, Sherlock smiled, happy to be proved right, "time to go grab my coat then."
John walked downstairs, Lestrade smiled, "morning John."
"Greg," he said, standing in front of the slightly taller man, "so, what's happened?"
"Oh, you know, just a very strange murder that happened at a very bad time; nothing more than the usual drama."
"Want to give me more details than that?" John asked.
"Wait until we get there..." Greg began to look peeved, "where the hell is Sherlock?"
"I'M COMING!"
Sherlock came down the stairs, two seconds later, wrapping his scarf around his neck and shoving his phone into his coat pocket.
"Is this what you call fashionably late?" Greg asked, looking bemused.
"Shut up Graham."
Three hours later, John and Sherlock had gone back home. Sherlock was sitting at the table on his laptop, pulling at his hair as he read the webpage in front of him. John was in the kitchen, making coffee for himself and Sherlock.
He heard a sigh of frustration from Sherlock; the man had his head in his hands.
"Are you alright?"
"I've got a headache."
John walked over, carrying Sherlock's coffee with him, leaving his own on the messy kitchen bench that hadn't been cleaned of old newspapers for weeks. He placed the coffee down beside Sherlock's hand, before moving his hand up to Sherlock's scalp again and pulling at the hair strands lightly, like he had last night. Sherlock sighed, feeling content again, and opened his eyes to continue reading the article about the case he was helping Lestrade with.
John was reading over Sherlock's shoulder. He frowned; he didn't quite understand what else Sherlock could get from a poorly written article. All the details they already knew were there, for everyone to see, minus the fact that the two bodies had been found on their beds, the female in full latex gear, handcuffed to the bed.
He was reading the article for the second time when he felt Sherlock stiffen underneath him and let out a tiny moan. John frowned and stopped massaging Sherlock's scalp.
"Sorry," John muttered, "I didn't mean to hurt you."
Sherlock shook his head, "you didn't..."
John shrugged and continued to massage the man's head, Sherlock opened a word document and began typing things down, when suddenly his fingers stilled and his hands began clenching into fists. The man sucked in a deep breath and in the reflection of the screen, John saw Sherlock bite his lip, in the attempt to stifle another moan.
John's eyes widened as it finally dawned on him; Sherlock was getting immensely turned on by this.
John moved his hand away for a second, Sherlock's fingers unclenched and went back to being splayed across the keys of the keyboard, he began to type slowly, and slowly sped up, getting caught up in his thoughts. John put his hand back down to his side, before returning back to the kitchen and grabbing his own mug of coffee, which had gone room temperature.
