Lestrade stood in the doorway of Baker Street's kitchen with a lukewarm cup of tea, sipping occassionally for appearance's sake, but not tasting it, if the decidedly distant look in his eyes was anything to go by.

Knock, knock? Nobody's home!

He had the look of a tired parent who specifically told his children not to mess around in the kitchen only to come back five minutes later to find that, as usual, they hadn't listened. He had the look of a man who wanted to be anywhere but here.

He had the urge to beat his head on the wall... violently. It's a unique little thing-of-an-urge that simply won't leave him alone over extended periods of time. He supposed it would get to him at least twice a day, if not, more. He felt like he should ask John whether he should see a therapist about it. But he doesn't, because if he does, John would realize that it's actually a reasonable idea and they'd both get stuck in the therapist's waiting room every Wednesday or so... or, with his luck, Thursday. He hates Thursdays.

"Holy shit! Sherlock!" John yelled, running around in a panic. "Put it out, put it out!" 'It' being on fire at the moment. Whatever 'it' was.

Sherlock dashed by in pursuit of John. "No, John! You can't put the fire out yet!"

"Is the experiment measuring how long it takes for the flat to burn down?" John shouted back testily.


"Then put it the sodding Hell out!"

Lestrade rubbed the bridge of his nose, giving the brewing migrane some sort of relief. He liked being back, really, he did. He just forgot how insane everything and everybody was.

He turned and retreated into the kitchen only to walk face-first into a gigantic grizzly bear. A stuffed one, mercifully, but a bear nontheless.

"Oh my, God!" Lestrade shouted reproachfully. "Sherlock!"

He vaguely wondered why there was a bear in the middle of the kitchen and how Sherlock got it there. The bear's mass was quite decidedly greater than the size of the kitchen door.

Sherlock poked his head in. "What?"

"A bear." Lestrade said blankly.

"Astute observation." Sherlock remarked. "And?"

"A bear. In the kitchen. What the actual fuck?" John, who was crowding behind Sherlock, was nodding emphatically. Obviously, the fire crisis had been taken care of and they now had more important things to concentrate on.

"A few years ago, it was a severed head in the fridge." Sherlock said, deadpanned.

A beat, then Lestrade looked at John. "God help us, we actually think he has a valid point."

"I know, right?" John said incredulously. "I was thinking the same thing just now. Was living with Sherlock always this crazy?"

"I stored human body parts in the fridge, shot the walls, and skewered pigs with harpoons." Sherlock shrugged. "For science. You'll get used to it again in no time."

John looked at Lestrade. "That's what the Tube Incident was about?"

"I told you I didn't want to get involved." Lestrade grimaced back.

"And they didn't have a shower or a sink at the butcher's?" was John's next question.

"The killer would've gotten away." Sherlock shrugged. "I needed to inform Lestrade about my findings posthaste."

Lestrade just stared at him. "And you didn't have a phone to text me with?"

Sherlock stared at the Yarder with such condescension. "And get blood all over it?"

"Sherlock, if you took the time to think about it, it is the lesser of two evils." John grimaced at his boyfriend.

"Not to me." Sherlock shrugged apathetically.

Lestrade just sighed at John. "If we're seen on the street together," he pointed at Sherlock, "I don't know this guy."

John snorted. "I know the feeling."

"Anyway, what did you want?" Sherlock asked Lestrade irrately.

"I came to offer you a case, but I saw you were busy with your fire."

"I'm not busy now." Sherlock dusted off his hands on his familiar blue robe like a little boy hastily cleaning his dirty hands on trousered thighs.

"You are busy." John disagreed. "You're not going on cases unless you clean up this mess!"


"No 'but's. There's a mop in the kitchen, get it." John said sternly.

Sherlock turned up his nose, brushed by Lestrade to get into the kitchen, clambered around the bear, and returned with two halves of a mop. "Sorry." he said unapologetically. "The bear sat on it on his way in."

"What are you, five?" John groaned.

"I'm sure Mrs. Hudson has a mop." Lestrade threw in his two cents. Sherlock rolled his eyes and slunk away. Lestrade turned to John. "Well, I'll come back later sometime. Good luck, mate."

John just whimpered back.

"Hey." Lestrade looked up to see Dimmock poking his head through the door. "You busy?"

"Staving off a Holmes-induced headache, but I think I'll live." Lestrade grunted. "Sherlock has a bear in his kitchen, did you hear?"

Dimmock nodded. "Donovan told me after one of her friends from dispatch responded to a fire threat."

"And then there was that." Lestrade sighed, rolling his eyes Heavenward. "How is this my life?"

"Maybe you were a horrible person in your past life." Dimmock shrugged.

"Well, something had to have caused it." Lestrade groaned back. "Anyway, did you need something?"

"Um..." Dimmock trailed off. "I have a problem."

"What kind?" Lestrade asked him.

"The kind I wouldn't be able to trust anybody else with." Dimmock procrastinated.

"Just spit it out." Lestrade growled, already reaching over and grabbing his pen and a report that needed to be written.

"Well, it's a girl problem." Dimmock finally blurted out.

Lestrade dropped his pen, staring at his long time friend. "You do know that I'm divorced and haven't dated in years."

"I'm not asking for advice." Dimmock persisted.

"Then get out!" Lestrade rolled his eyes, getting out of his seat and physically turning Dimmock around by the shoulders and pushing him out of his office.

"No, I-..." The office door slammed in his face. " Molly Hooper?"

There was a crash of something being accidentally dropped, it sounded like Lestrade's coffee mug. The door opened again. "Say what?"

"I. Like. Molly. Hooper." Dimmock enunciated slowly. "Alot."

Lestrade looked like he wanted to slam the door in his face again. "And?"

"And, well, I-..." Dimmock flushed suddenly. "Actually, forget it, this was a bad idea."

Lestrade dropped his head into his hands. Molly was a sweet girl, and Dimmock was a decent man. There was really no reason for this not to happen. "Dimmock, just get it out. Come on, get it out of your system."

"I was kind of hoping to get your... blessing?" Dimmock grimaced at the unreadable look Lestrade was sending him.

"What?" He just wanted to understand. And he was trying. Hard.

"Blessing." Dimmock said again.

"Sorry, why would you need my blessing?" Lestrade asked, rubbing his temple with a thumb, his headache coming back twofold.

"Well," Dimmock fidgeted again, scuffing his foot on the floor. "you're like an unrelated older brother to her, I think. And I know she doesn't have a Dad to get blessings from." He stopped and grimaced. "I've always done things on tradition."

"I-... You-... That-..." Lestrade gave up and sighed heavily. "This is 'Make Lestrade Lose His Sanity' week, isn't it?"

"I'll have you know, that my affections for Molly are pure!" Dimmock managed to say before Lestrade's office door slammed in his face once again.

Donovan walked in five minutes later. "So, Dimmock and Hooper." were her opening words.

Lestrade whimpered into his crossed arms on his desk.

"Oh, don't be like that. You should be acting like a proud father." Donovan smirked.

Lestrade raised his head. "Die, Donovan." he croaked. "Die in a fire."

"If it makes you feel any better, I broke up with Anderson." Donovan said nonchalantly.

"Good for you. I was wondering why I haven't seen him around." Lestrade smiled weakly.

"I may have kneed him in the crotch, too." Donovan continued. "Twice."

"Ow," Lestrade winced. "as a man, I can only forgive you for that because you're one of my best mates."

"He was being rude about it." Donovan shrugged. "I think it was justified."

"I trust your judgment."

"He may have filed an assault charge on me." Lestrade's head jumped up.

"Did it get anywhere?"

"Not at all." Donovan smiled smugly.

Lestrade grinned back. "Now I'm feeling like a proud father." he joked.

"I learned from the best." Donovan smiled back.

This life and these people were crazy. Lestrade realized fondly as he walked out of the NSY. They were the craziest, stupidest bunch in the whole bloody circus, but he was a part of it.

A car pulled up on the street beside him and power, insanity, and charm personified powered down the window. "Coffee, Inspector?"

Lestrade shrugged. "Sure, where'd you have in mind?"

He did absently think that any other man, faced with such a proposition, would run down the street screaming bloody murder. But, one man's insanity, is another man's... well, whatever this was.

Lestrade just smiled to himself. He could live with it, it wasn't such an insane notion.