You were the top forensic blood spatter analyst in the UK and it kept you rather busy and alone most of the time. Honestly that was how you preferred it, the living were cruel and overly complex and the dead were quiet and, frankly, simple.
When your jazzy ringtone broke the silence in your lab, you scooted your chair to where it was with a kick of your legs and then answered it, “(F/n) (L/n), h-how may I help you?”
Lestrade’s voice rang out on the other end with the words that you both hated and loved to hear, “(L/n) You are needed at a crime scene Asap.” He gave you a location, y
You were soaked and shivering, as you trudged down the street towards the flat where John and Sherlock were waiting for you to come back from work. There hadn’t been any time for you to duck under an awning before you were drenched by the sudden down pour, the sky seemingly dumping a bucket of water on you, and what was little more water when you were already wet. Your teeth had just begun to chatter when the rain suddenly wasn’t hitting you anymore.
“You are going to catch a cold running about in weather like this my dear.” Came a familiar voice and you looked up to find Mycroft softly smiling down at you, holding his umbrella over your head.
Despite your current state,
"Shut up. I don't know what your talking about" Sherlock glared at the man, whose chuckle was dying down. Lestrade, even without Sherlock's deduction powers noticed a faint gleam of confusion in his eyes. He stared at Sherlock dumbfounded, "You do realize you like her, right". 'Tsk' was Sherlocks initial reply, "I don't have the emotional capability to 'like' anyone".
Just as Lestrade was about to speak up again, you walked back into the room. "Here are the copies you asked for sir" you smiled warmly at him. As you went to go leave, to continue with your own work, y