Lestrade really didn't like press conferences of any kind, but some were more tolerable than others. But a press conference for the purpose of announcing a suicide linked to two previous ones… not so much. He was getting rather frustrated with how quickly it had disintegrated to the press obsession with serial killers, when his phone trilled a text alert, and he glanced down to see "Wrong!"

The corner of Lestrade's mouth quirked up, before he fought it back and continued on. At least he knew what Sherlock was up to at the moment. "….it's an unusual situation. We've got our best people investigating—"

Another text arrived on Lestrade's phone declaring his error. Clearing his throat, Lestrade ignored the text and finished out the press conference. As he stood up to leave another text arrived. "You know where to find me. SH"

"What was that all about, sir?" Donovan inquired as they walked out of the room.

"Oh, Himself was just offering his services," Lestrade answered casually.

With raised eyebrows, Sally replied, "I'll bet he was."

Lestrade strolled into Sherlock's new flat. "Well, Sunshine, I'm flattered to know that you listen to my press conferences."

"I was interested in the case, Lestrade. I'm not part of your fan club."

A pause. "Excuse me. Fan club?"

"The informal group of women—with an average age far past menopause—who cut your picture out of the newspaper to put up on their fridges."

A few seconds of silence. Well, that thought was mildly disturbing. Lestrade gave his head a quick shake, "Well moving along. Any progress on the case yet?"

"I'm pursuing some possibilities. I plan to take my riding crop into Bart's tomorrow during Molly's shift to test out a few theories, but there isn't much I can do until then. The suicides?"

"I brought copies of the paperwork over for you. Crime scenes have already been processed, but if there's another, I'll be sure to send for you right away. That's assuming, of course, that you can pull yourself away from your new digs, which I must say are a far sight better than Montague Street."

"Yes, this flat is more desirable for several reasons. The landlady owes me a favor. I helped her get her husband executed." A pause as Sherlock appreciated the look on Lestrade's face, "Oh, and I'm on the lookout for a flatmate, so if you know of someone you think would be suitable—What?"

Hastily, "Oh nothing. It's just—you don't seem to be the type to want a flatmate. Chances are slim that he'll meet your standards of intelligence and have the necessary… tolerance."

"Well, thanks to my brother, I don't have much choice about having a flatmate. But, I'm certainly not taking one of the twenty-four dossiers he sent my way."

"Twenty-four!" Lestrade gaped. "Well I guess that means you're hoping to find someone soon and stick it to Mycroft." A sound of agreement came from Sherlock's direction. "Well, I hope you can find a good fit. Maybe even make a friend."

"Friend? Why would I want a friend? I have no interest in having someone to go down to the pub with and watch… football matches!" the last said with a sneer.

Surprised, Lestrade let out a bark of laughter. "Friends don't have to enjoy a pint or football together. They can do other things together that they enjoy. Maybe you could find someone else to discuss cases with. You obviously enjoy that."

Drily, "I can't think of anything to say that doesn't violate your petty little rules."

"Ah, I'm guessing that's the one about not using "idiot" or any of its synonyms. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you were going to 'compliment' me by saying I'm less of an idiot than some people."

A snort came from the sofa. "It's questionable," Sherlock muttered.

"Do you want to speak a little louder, Sunshine?" Lestrade sing-songed.

"No! You've said what you came to say. You know where the door is." Sherlock turned his full attention back to his microscope.

"Sure. I'll let you know if I hear anything." Lestrade let himself out and then stopped on the landing and shook his head. He did his best to keep an eye on Sherlock, but could only do so much with his busy job and a wife with a right to demand most of his free hours. And while Mycroft certainly kept a close eye on Sherlock, the relationship was anything but friendly. Sherlock could use a friend living with him, someone who could deal with body parts in the fridge, mind palace trips, anti-social tendencies, and sheer genius. He sure hoped that Sherlock could find a mate like that.

Lestrade was the only who on his team who really liked Sherlock. Oh, they treated Sherlock politely. But, even though he was trying not to insult anyone, Sherlock was still abrupt. It was sometimes quite obvious when he had to explain his deductive leaps that he was desperately reining himself in, even if he did avoid the insults. There was no great love lost on either side, but they managed a civil working relationship. Some of Lestrade's team could also appreciate the contributions that Sherlock made, even if they did wish they could have been made by someone a bit friendlier and more socially adept.

Lestrade knew that Donovan had taken what he had said seriously. She made a deliberate effort to watch Sherlock and learn from his example, and her observation skills had improved as a result. She was impeccably polite to Sherlock. But, Lestrade knew that she still didn't really like him, had no interest in being his friend or spending time with him outside of the job.

Sherlock had obeyed Lestrade's rules and kept any deductions about the team to himself. But, you couldn't watch Sherlock gather all of that information, make all of those deductions, in a few minutes with a dead corpse, without realizing that he must know a good bit more about you. And Lestrade thought that was the real thing that made his team uncomfortable around Sherlock, his abilities and likely knowledge of them, not the fact that he hadn't heard of the words "please," "thank you," and "you're welcome."

After Sherlock had been coming to crime scenes for a while, Donovan and Anderson had started showing an interest in each other. Oh, they probably thought they were being discreet, and Lestrade didn't think anyone else on the team had noticed. But he had. He didn't know if they'd actually done anything yet, but he could certainly see in their glances and occasional hand brushes that they were thinking about it. It disappointed him, because he thought Sally was better than that, to go after a married man, but as long as it didn't affect their work or professional relationship, it was none of his business.

Lestrade would never forget the first scene that Sherlock came to after their mating dance had begun. As soon as Sherlock saw Donovan, his eyes ran over her rapidly and then jumped over to Anderson and repeated the procedure. He looked back at Donovan, took a deep breath, opened his mouth… and then stopped. He looked back and forth between them a couple more times, obviously struggling to contain himself, before he abruptly walked past them and up to Lestrade. It was obvious by Donovan's mortified expression that she knew Sherlock had deduced the truth of the matter. That was the end of any relationship with Anderson, and Sherlock never said a word. But, it isn't comfortable being around someone who can see all your secrets, though Lestrade thought that Donovan did have a grudging respect for Sherlock's silence.

And so no matter how civil he tried to be, Sherlock was too different to find a friend among any members of Lestrade's team. And as awkward as Sherlock was and as irritating as he could still be (because he did let loose on Lestrade in private at times), Lestrade thought that he was a pretty amazing young man and a very lonely one.

And a better flatmate than Lestrade could have hoped for would enter the picture very soon.