"That went well," Mycroft noted grimly.
Anthea didn't even look up from her phone. "Sir, you spit Skittles in Detective Inspector Lestrade's face and told him to taste the rainbow."
Mycroft frowned. "Yes, I fear he rather got the wrong impression." He grimaced.
Anthea smirked. "I rather think he did. Especially considering he blushed as red as the strawberry ones and stammered something about 'not his division'."
Mycroft slouched in the seat of the car. He was going to have some serious explaining to do later, not to mention serious recon work regarding why he was behaving as such.
Lestrade was sitting at his desk, still stunned, when Sherlock arrived.
When he'd finished his tirade about... gun powder residue or something of the sort, Lestrade asked him a question.
"Sherlock, would you deduce that I am gay?"
Sherlock glanced up at him. "Gay? No, why?"
"Just... something your brother said," he muttered.
"Hmm," Sherlock noted, checking his phone. "I believe he may have been under the influence of some mood altering drugs, given the text I just received from Anthea. Or whatever she's called today."
"It was Anthea again," Lestrade confirmed.
"Was it indeed?" Sherlock smirked. "She's developing a preference."
He turned to leave, but said one last thing to Lestrade on his way out.
"Gay, no, bisexual, yes. Afternoon!"