Sherlock barely glanced at the body before he turned to Lestrade and dismissively said, "Even you should have been able to recognize that this injury falls under Torchwood's area of expertise," before turning as if to leave.

"Torchwood?" John asked, his eyebrow quirked as the name rolled around on his tongue.

"Inspector Lestrade rather dislikes consulting Torchwood. I believe Captain Harkness intimidates him." If the statement was said slightly louder than necessary so that it was clearly audible to the others in the room, John was wise enough not to comment on it. A little teasing of Lestrade was to be expected if the case presented didn't meet Sherlock's standards.

"Jack Harkness does not intimidate me!" Lestrade shot back as he pulled out his mobile. "He's just difficult to work with."

"This Harkness fellow doesn't play well with others then?" John asked.

"Oh, no," Sherlock replied. "I think you'll find Jack does play well with others. Exceedingly well."

John couldn't help but grin when he saw the flush on Lestrade's face as the whispering into the phone took on a more intensive tone. He knew that Sherlock had seen it too when instead of leaving, Sherlock leaned against a section of wall, slightly away from the hustle and bustle of the murder scene, with the slightest of smiles on his face. It was a look John was very familiar with. It was the look that suggested something delightful was about to happen and Sherlock wanted a front row seat.

"So I take it we're not leaving?" he asked as he ambled over to Sherlock's impromptu post.

"Absolutely not. As Torchwood is based in Cardiff, neither Sergeants Anderson nor Donovan have had the privilege of meeting Captain Harkness, it is only happenstance that he is in London for a symposium. I believe it will be quite enlightening to see how they handle the impending encounter."

"You mean you think it'll be fun to watch them squirm." John knew he had failed to keep the humour out of his voice when Sherlock looked at him, eyes shining, and gave a slight nod.

Lestrade snapped his mobile shut with quite a bit more force than necessary, took a deep breath that did nothing to hide his frustration and brusquely said to the officers milling about, "We're turning the investigation over to Torchwood. They should be here within the hour. We're to stand guard until they arrive."

"Torchwood?" Donovan began to ask, "Who the bloody hell-"

"Just do as you're told," Lestrade snapped back. "They've got clearance. Apparently, we don't anymore." He was obviously quite annoyed by that fact, but neither John nor Sherlock were petty enough to comment on it.

Anderson, never the most observant of people, opened his mouth to protest, only to be cut off by a pre-emptive glare from Lestrade. Donovan, never one to show a modicum of tact, stalked over to Anderson and the two began whispering back and forth. Lestrade chose to ignore them and stood, hands clasped behind his back, staring down at the troublesome corpse with the odd hole that was burned through the centre of it. "Bloody Torchwood," John heard Lestrade mutter.

John turned to Sherlock. "So other than an obvious thorn in Lestrade's side, who, or what, is Torchwood?"

"Ah, a rather interesting organization commissioned by Queen Victoria in 1879 to, if you believe its charter, protect the Empire from attacks originating beyond this world."

"Attacks originating beyond this world," John parroted. "What, as in little green men?"

Sherlock looked at him. "It is my understanding they are neither little nor green." His forehead creased for a moment as he pondered his statement. "Although they may indeed be men." Sherlock shrugged. "Or at least some are purported to be anyway. I cannot comment definitively on the matter."

Not quite knowing how to respond to that, John decided silence was best and he merely pursed his lips, gave a noncommital grunt and leaned back against the wall next to Sherlock.

After waiting a few minutes Donovan and Anderson disappeared, returning some time later carrying cups of coffee for themselves, some of the other officers and Lestrade. John didn't need Sherlock to tell him that the two had done a bit more than just pick up coffee while they were gone; Anderson's shirt was tucked into his pants. Lestrade himself must have noticed since he took his coffee with a raised eyebrow and a huff.

It wasn't much longer before an American sounding voice rang out from the doorway, "Lucy, I'm home." Then, in a swish of coat and swirl of testosterone, the man that could only have been Jack Harkness swept into the room, calling out, "Never fear! Torchwood is here!"

John snickered to himself at Lestrade's reaction to Harkness' entrance: a grimace followed by a squaring of his shoulders, a deep breath and raising of his chin, ending with an almost pleading look he shot towards Sherlock.

"Inspector Lestrade," Harkness said cheerily.

"Harkness." Lestrade was brusque, and John thought he sounded even more annoyed and frustrated than he usually did after dealing with Sherlock during a case, which he wouldn't have thought possible. All in all it was rather remarkable since all the man had done so far was walk into the room.

"So what have you got for me?" Harkness began before noticing John and Sherlock up against the wall. "Sherlock! So good to see you!" Without any warning he swept over and encompassed Sherlock in what looked like an overly exuberant, bone crushing hug that had John skirting out of the way with a quickness he didn't realize he was capable of. "It's been too long!"

John watched, amazed, while Sherlock not only allowed himself to be hugged, but actually returned the gesture. "Jack, with you in London this week, I knew it would be you who responded to Lestrade's call for assistance. Anything to get out of the lecture hall, yes?"

"Absolutely!" Jack released Sherlock and turned his blindingly white smile on John. "And who is this?" he asked Sherlock. "Don't tell me this is your doctor friend? Another handsome war hero you've taken under your wing? You old dog, you." He elbowed Sherlock in the ribs and then offered John his hand. "Captain Jack Harkness."

"John Watson." Jack's grip was firm and oddly intimate. "Pleased to meet you."

"Oh no," Jack said. "The pleasure is all mine."

"Jack," Sherlock tutted, "now is neither the time nor place for that."

Jack sighed dramatically. "Unfortunately, Sherlock is right. Perhaps we'll have a chance to get better acquainted later." He stroked John's hand lightly with his thumb. "In fact," he added softly, "I think I must insist on it."

"Harkness," Lestrade huffed, pointing to the body on the floor. "The victim? Is this a Torchwood case or not?"

Jack lingered over John's hand for a moment longer before giving it one last stroke, dropping it with what appeared to be great reluctance. "To the business at hand then," he said, turning away. He walked toward Lestrade, but stopped a few steps short. "But first you must introduce me to your Sergeants here." He offered his hand to Sergeant Donovan. "Captain Jack Harkness." John felt oddly pleased to note that the smile Sergeant Donovan was offered was not on par with the one he had been given.

"Sergeant Sally Donovan," she replied, taking his hand.

"Charmed, I'm sure." Jack brushed a kiss against the back of her hand.

"Notice how she blushed in response," Sherlock whispered to John. "Anderson does not approve."

No, Anderson did not. He blustered over, an almost predatory sneer on his face, and practically forced himself between Jack and Donovan. "Anderson," he said gruffly and nodded as if that was all he needed to say. Which, in fact, it was. Donovan responded with a look of frustration and Jack with amusement.

"Yes, yes," Lestrade interrupted. "Harkness, the body. Sometime today please?"

Jack merely laughed in response, nodded to the two sergeants, and continued towards Lestrade.

Eyes bright with humour, Sherlock called out, "As you've got things well in hand, Captain, we'll be off. Lestrade, next time make sure there is actually something worthy of my consultation before calling me. Let's go, John." Without checking to see if John was actually following, he headed toward the door.

"Sherlock, when I'm done here?" Jack looked up from some sort of scanner he'd pulled from his pocket to address them before they left.

"Coffee will be waiting."


John had to almost jog to catch up with Sherlock. "So..."

"Captain Harkness will be calling on us within the hour. Come, John, we must make ready for him."

Sherlock and John walked for a few minutes before Sherlock abruptly said, "Alien tumour presenting as early onset Alzheimer's disease."

"Sorry, what?"

"How I met Jack Harkness. You were going to ask, were you not?"

"Well, yes, but-" John shook his head. "Never mind. So, a tumour?"

"And resulting toxic nerve gas. Nasty stuff."

"I can imagine. Well, not really, but anyway," John gave Sherlock a long look. "You and Jack? You..." he trailed off, clearing his throat.

"Have copulated many times, yes. Sex with Jack is never boring. Taxi!" Spotting a cab Sherlock hailed it. "I learned many things, as I am sure you will as well should you take him up on his offer." Sherlock opened the door and slid in.

John stood, dumbstruck on the kerb. "Offer? He made an offer? What? When?"

"It will be an enjoyable evening for all three of us, I am sure." Sherlock stuck his head out of the cab. "Now do get in, John, there is much to prepare for."