"Please Greg, Mr. Holmes, don't do this to me, not him, anyone but him." (Y/n) complained, looking up at the two men in front of her, Greg smirking as she groaned.

"Bring back Jack the Ripper and I'll work with him, anyone but Sherlock." (Y/n) said, placing her head in her hands, as she ignored Greg's reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"Well, you could always work with Anderson and Donovan." Greg told her, chuckling as (Y/n)'s head flew up, her eyes glaring at the senior detective.

"Ok, anyone but Anderson, Donovan and Sherlock." (Y/n) groaned, wishing she could punch Greg to stop him laughing.

"He's really not that bad (Y/n), I promise you'll be fine. I'm sure you two will get on like a house on fire." Greg said, trying to stifle any further sign of amusement at the current situation.

"I assure you Detective (Y/l/n) that there is no one more suitable to deal with my brother than you, that and I need Lestrade on another case." Mycroft told her, as (Y/n) looked up at the older Holmes, sighing heavily as she rubbed her temples with her fingers, trying to hold back the headache she knew was to come.

The case seemed pretty straightforward; the body of an up and coming actress had been found earlier that morning, but it was the fact that the young woman was the mistress of a very important political figure that made Mycroft want the case cleared up as quickly and as quietly as possible, the last thing that the British Government needed was a sex scandal, so (Y/n) was stuck with having to take the case, and deal with Sherlock, which was a headache that she usually happily left to Greg.

(Y/n) knew all about Sherlock, she had heard the horror stories from not only her boss, but also Anderson, Donovan, and she had even had the chance to meet the long suffering, yet delightful Doctor John Watson; but until now she had been able to avoid Sherlock, although it now appeared that she had little choice but to accept that she was going to have to put up with him, and in a strange way he was the lesser of the two evils, for she would rather work with the Devil himself than work with Anderson and Donovan.

"If it will help Detective, I know that the next round of promotions are coming up soon, and a word from the British Government would certainly help with your application." Mycroft said, as (Y/n) stood up, crossed her arms, and glared at the tall man before her.

"My work should speak for itself. I don't need your help to get a promotion, I'm an exceptional detective, and I work damn hard; I've dedicated my life to my job, and if that's not enough to get me a promotion, then  nothing will be." (Y/n) said defiantly, as she continued to glare at the uncharacteristically shocked looking Mycroft.

"You are right detective, I have read your file, I've seen your commendations and your arrest record, and it is quite impressive; but believe me, sometimes with these things its not what you know, its who you know." Mycroft told her as she looked at Greg, who nodded with and apologetic smile.

"Fine!" (Y/n) said, throwing her hands up in the air.

"But I warn you, one wrong word from that petulant child, and I swear he'll regret it." (Y/n) growled, before grabbing her coat and making her way out of the door.

"Well, what do you think Lestrade?" Mycroft asked Greg, who was shaking his head.

"I think that if Sherlock doesn't watch his p's and q's, then that crime scene might just turn into a double murder." Greg said, shrugging as he followed Mycroft out of the office.

"Yes, I know; and that is exactly why she's perfect." Mycroft told him with a wry smile, as the two men exited New Scotland Yard.

>>------------------------------<<

As (Y/n) got to the crime scene, she couldn't help but let out an exasperated sigh; the press had already got wind of the incident, and the whole of Fleet Street seemed to be camped out on the actresses door.

"Morning Detective (Y/l/n)." A voice called out, (Y/n) casting an eye on the outside of the building before she ducked under the police tape.

"Oh, morning Steve, how long have the parasites been here?" (Y/n) asked the Sargent, looking over at the photographers who were waiting to see if they could get any possible picture of the body.

"About 30 minutes, but its only gonna get worse." He told her, as he and (Y/n) went inside the expensive Mayfair home.

"Yeah, you're right there. Speaking of things getting worse, has that insufferable arse Holmes turned up yet?" She asked, feeling slightly better when Steve shook his head.

"Nope, but I'm sure he's on his way." Steve sighed, knowing what to expect when the consulting detective did make an appearance.

"Well then, lets see if we can solve this case before he gets here, shall we?" (Y/n) said, pulling out a pair of gloves from her pocket, and proceeding to look around the home.

As she studied the house and the body, (Y/n) could begin to see in her minds eye the crime play out; she had found a series of love letters that seemed to turn into threatening notes, footprints in soil on the otherwise clean carpet which must have been caused by the perpetrator climbing in through the unlocked window. The murder weapon was one of the victims stockings, which had been tightened around her throat until she had passed away; the whole scene reeked of being a murder that had been a spur of the moment thing, not some great long thought out process.

As (Y/n) continued to mentally gather the evidence, she suddenly heard a commotion as a flurry of sarcastic comments could be heard, followed by a tall curly haired man barging his way into her crime scene.

"So, you must be the infamous Sherlock Holmes." (Y/n) said, stopping Sherlock dead in his tracks.

"And whom might you be?" Sherlock enquired, as he looked her up and down, attempting to deduce her.

"Oh, hello (Y/n), I'm sorry about Sherlock." An embarrassed John said apologetically, as he came up behind his friend, watching as he and (Y/n) glared at one another.

"So, you're Grants little prodigy. I've heard all about you." Sherlock told her, the two continuing to stand toe to toe.

"Well, if you already know all about me, then you'll know that I don't need your help." (Y/n) said sternly, as Sherlock looked down his nose at her.

"Nonsense, I will be able to tell you exactly what happened if you just let me get to my crime scene." Sherlock announced, as he tried to get passed (Y/n).

"Your crime scene? Why you narcissistic, pig headed, ego maniacal, sociopath; this is my crime scene, and I already know what happened, so you can just scoot off home." (Y/n) growled, as she made herself as big as possible, determined not to let Sherlock get in her way.

"Very well then detective, why don't you tell the lesser mortals and myself what you have deduced." Sherlock said sarcastically, as he waited for (Y/n) to make a fool of herself.

"The murder was committed by a stalker that Miss King has been having problems with for a while, my guess is that we will probably find a series of complaints down on file back at the Yard about this man. Last night he was watching her from outside for some time, there are deep footprints in the dirt outside the window, and the two dirty prints on the otherwise pristine carpet would suggest that that was his way into the home. The killer probably surprised the victim, who threatened to call the police, ignoring his declarations of love, which angered him a great deal; I believe he smacked her phone from her hand, her mobile is under the table over there. It was then that Miss King made a run for it, unfortunately choosing to run upstairs instead of outside, a choice that cost her, her life. The killer followed her to her bedroom where he bust down the door, and grabbing the first thing that came to hand, in this case one of a pair of very expensive silk stockings, he proceeded to strangle our victim with it. Once he'd realised he'd killed her, he bolted, leaving all the evidence behind. So, I suggest that I quickly return to Scotland Yard and do a little digging so that I can find a name; I expect to have the man in custody by the end of the day. Now if you will excuse me, some of us around here have real jobs to do." (Y/n) said, nodding to John as she left behind a rather exacerbated and intrigued Sherlock.

"Oh, I like her." John chuckled, as he left the crime scene with Sherlock in tow.

"Interesting." Was all Sherlock said, as he and John got back in the black cab.

>>------------------------------<<

"You are going to have to say something to (Y/n), if those two keep butting heads, god only knows what will happen." John groaned to Greg as the pair sat in the detectives office.

"I know, I thought Sherlock was bad enough before, but now with (Y/n) in the mix its making my head spin." Greg said, lamenting the day that he ever let the two meet.

Since their first interaction on the King case, Sherlock and (Y/n) had done their very best to out deduce one another at every step, and the ensuing arguments had already become the stuff of legend.

"I tell you what, you go and speak to Sherlock, and I'll speak to (Y/n) when she comes into work tomorrow; we can at least try and get them to be civil to one another." Greg said, as John nodded in agreement.

"I'll go and have a word with him now, he's probably nearly blown up the kitchen already this morning, so hopefully he's in a good mood." John said with a chuckle as he stood up and shook Greg's hand.

>>--------------------------------<<

Getting to his old flat, John pulled out his keys from his pocket, finding the one that had been the key to the home he had once shared with his friend.

"Sherlock." John called out, as he pushed his way inside, his eyes growing wide as he heard a squeal and giggles coming from Sherlock's bedroom, his eyes growing wider still as (Y/n) suddenly appeared in the living room wearing nothing but her underwear, and Sherlock's purple shirt, followed closely by Sherlock in a dressing gown.

"(Y/n), its my favourite, give it back." Sherlock said, almost playfully, as he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her to him.

"I know, and that's exactly why I'm wearing it. Anyway, it looks better on me." (Y/n) giggled, as Sherlock squeezed her tightly, his long fingers combing through her hair, neither of them noticing that the amazed John was staring at them in disbelief.

"No, I think you'll find that it looks better on my bedroom floor." Sherlock said, a hint of seduction in his voice.

"Sorry to interrupt." John managed to say with an uncomfortable cough, as Sherlock and (Y/n) spun around to find John staring at them, the two knowing their secret was out.

"Oh, you two have some explaining to do." John snickered, finally regaining his composure as (Y/n) hid behind Sherlock.

"It would appear so, but first tea." Sherlock said, clapping his hands and making his way to the kitchen, kissing (Y/n) before he left.

"You're right you know that shirt does look better on you." John sniggered, as (Y/n) blushed and rushed off to the bedroom to find some more suitable attire.

John shook his head and smiled as he made his way to join his friend in the kitchen, happy that the great Sherlock Holmes seemed to have finally found the love he needed.