Summary: If you're waiting for someone to come home it's eminently sensible to break into their flat and get into their bed. Right?
AN: Someone (I forget who) on the sherlockbbc comm introduced the concept of the '221B' ficlet - 221 words with the last one having to begin with 'B'. I rather like the idea.
Sherlock opened his eyes and stretched. It was daylight, and the smell of freshly-brewing coffee was pervading the flat.
It wasn't his flat. It wasn't his bed.
He rather hoped it would be his coffee.
Sherlock wondered whether the owner of the flat was aware of his presence. He was sure he'd have woken if he'd been joined in the bed at any point since he'd broken in the previous evening. Which meant Lestrade had been out all night.
There was a movement in the doorway, and Lestrade appeared bearing two mugs of black coffee. He set one down on the table and took a sip from his own, before placing it alongside the first.
"Where have you been?" Sherlock demanded petulantly.
Lestrade snorted. "Working. Some of us have this thing called a job?" He smiled, and leaned over to deliver a kiss. "Although if I'd known you were waiting in my bed I'd have been tempted to bunk off," he murmured, kissing him again possessively.
Sherlock made a noise of discomfort, and pushed him off slightly. "You need a shave."
Lestrade yawned and scrubbed a hand through his hair. "I need a lot of things. Before I'm capable of any of them I need sleep though."
Sherlock wrapped his arms around Lestrade's neck and pulled him back down.