Duty and Friendship (Sherlock, Casual) (FIN)

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

Sherlock, after a flurry of throwing any pillows he apparently didn't like out of the way, was now lying what look like quite comfortably on Lestrade's couch. It was very, very hard not to laugh.

"I want to stay here," Sherlock whined, though he sounded incredibly pleased with himself. And by god, did he look like a child. Sprawled over on his front and covering his head with his hands, as if not seeing Lestrade would make Lestrade not be able to see him. Lestrade did laugh, then. A long, happy laugh he'd not used in what seemed like a bit too long. Sherlock reminded him of Dolores when she was younger so much just now, that pretty soon Lestrade was almost in tears. He was sure Sherlock wouldn't appreciate it when he was giving such a good effort to act like a brat, but it was just downright hilarious.

Still chuckling, Lestrade reached down to get one of the blankets Sherlock had flung off onto the floor and spread it over Sherlock fairly evenly, even though the man was almost too long for it to cover the younger man's length. If the man was going to act like a child, then Lestrade thought it was perfectly fair for him to treat him as such. And so, he leaned down, and gently kissed Sherlock's forehead. Or rather, his hair, seeing as the man's hair was just as over grown as always. It wasn't meant to be strange, or romantic, it was just... them.

Straightening up and surprisingly not daunted at all by what he just did, he said, "Bathroom's down the hall," and walked down said hallways towards his bedroom. "Night," he yawned, suddenly quite tired, and a smile still playing on his lips.

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

It was most definitely fortunate that Sherlock had fallen asleep not very long after he had buried his face in the couch, because by being so he missed the fact that Lestrade had kissed his forehead. Kissed his forehead. As if Holmes was some sort of child!
Well. He was acting like one.
Being unconscious also meant that the sleeping consulting detective didn't hear Lestrade's last comment. Not that it mattered, as he was completely able to work out anything of importance for himself once he woke up.

In general, Sherlock Holmes rarely slept. And when he did it was never for very long, as the man was able to function perfectly well on just a few hours of rest every couple of days. And so, Lestrade's odd house guest only actually stayed on the sofa for a few hours - at most.

After that, he was roaming the house.

It wouldn't be much of a surprise if the consulting detective were to make himself feel completely at home in the Detective Inspector's house - which, in a way, he actually decided to do. So it was not unusual that Holmes found himself in the kitchen that night. Well, it was practically morning by then.
After rummaging around in every cupboard in sight, he managed to collect all that was necessary for a theory he had been intending to further investigate for a while. All that was left was...

"Ah!" Sherlock exclaimed as he caught sight of the microwave on the worktop. Just what he needed.

~~~

In all fairness, he couldn't have predicted that.
And equally as fairly, the detective was fairly sure that it was the microwave that had been faulty. He obviously hadn't done anything wrong, as it was probably just as likely to malfunction had he attempted to heat up the remainder of a Chinese takeaway, for example.

He didn't blow up the kitchen on purpose, after all.

When Sherlock decided to promptly leave the house, it certainly wasn't running away. After all, that would contradict his point that it definitely wasn't his fault!
Holmes just felt as though he had overstayed his welcome.
Indefinitely.