Chapter Text
Doctor Sherlock Holmes stared at his laptop, mouth twisted into a frown and brow deeply furrowed. With a dramatic huff, he pushed his chair back from the desk and stormed from his office down the short hallway to Doctor Gregory Lestrade’s office. Sherlock began cursing the very cells that made-up Anderson’s person even before the door to Greg’s office had opened wide enough to see inside. The way in which the door swung wide to reveal an empty room cluttered with papers and books of all ages and lengths was nearly smug.
Sherlock’s face performed several acrobatic feats before he shoved a hand into his trench coat and pulled out his phone.
I am going to kill Anderson, chop them up, and mail each part of their body to you in small packages on a bi-weekly basis until you either go insane or I run out of body parts. – SH
Sending off the text Sherlock spun on his heel to stalk further down the office hallway to the lift set in the center of the building. Just as he stepped onto the lift and pressed the button for the first floor his phone buzzed in his pocket.
Got the email about the lecture? – GL
I hate you. – SH
You realize I had no say in this right? - GL
Sherlock rolled his eyes and shoved his phone back into its pocket just as the metal doors of the lift began to peel open. The front lobby of the staff office building was as empty and silent as it ever was. Really, it was more of a glorified hallway than a proper lobby. Off to the left of the lift was a secretarial desk where Anderson stood scrolling through their phone; on the right were two doors leading to the bathrooms and a few sofas. Shoved in the corner between the front doors and the first of the sofas was a small stand with cheap coffee set out.
“Anderson.” Sherlock hissed. Anderson glanced up at the professor and rolled their eyes before looking back at their phone.
“Professor, what can I do for you?” The muscles between Sherlock’s shoulder blades tensed and he lifted his chin a bit at the purposeful insult.
“You sent me a rather distasteful email this morning. I think you may have confused me with a different professor.” Anderson looked up at Sherlock as innocently as they could manage and after a short silence Sherlock huffed angrily and leaned towards the desk. “You can’t mean to tell me that in less than a month I am supposed to be boarding a plane to some conference in Ireland to give a lecture that I have absolutely no time to prepare for.”
“I wouldn’t say you have no time to prepare. The conference isn’t for a few weeks from now.” Anderson smirked up at the fuming professor and folded their hands on the counter in front of them, locking their fingers together over their phone, face down. “Besides, the University wanted Doctor Lestrade to do it. They only came to you after he turned them down. You should be talking to him.”
“Change it.” Sherlock snarled.
“I wouldn’t if I could.” Anderson grinned toothily. “It is simply too late to find another professor, besides I'm only the messenger.”
“I’m often convinced you are the devil himself in disguise. The only evidence against this conclusion is your utter incompetence and stupidity.” Sherlock turned on his heel and stomped back to the lift without another word.
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“If you keep making that face it’ll get stuck like that, you know.” Sunlight spread across the cheap outdoor tabletop, casting shadows beneath the paper lunch bags set up between Sherlock and Lestrade. All around them the crisp smell of fresh cut grass and the upbeat chatter of University students on lunch break drifted in and out with varying levels of intensity. Sherlock turned the glare he had trained on his food to the professor sitting opposite him.
“I have no one to watch my cat. Or to water my plants.”
“What about Mrs. Hudson?”
“She is out of town that week.” Sherlock replied flippantly, looking to the side to watch as two freshmen began to yell at one another. “Besides, I don’t want her to clean my house; she will mess up one of my experiments.” Sherlock’s nose scrunched up in distaste and the potential fight ended in a ruckus of laughter.
Lestrade bit into his sandwich and chewed for a second before swallowing and setting it down again. “Well, I may know someone… He is one of my graduate medical students. I can send you his email?”
Three days later Sherlock had a pet sitter that seemed desperate enough not to ask questions if he found mold cultures under the bed or a human eyeball in the freezer. Two days after that Sherlock realized there was absolutely no hope of getting their schedules to line up enough to set up a formal meeting of any kind. Although he would have preferred to meet the man in person and show him where everything was in the flat Sherlock settled for a mini essay disguised as an email. The fact that the man didn’t send back a complaint or call him a controlling asshole was promising.