Lestrade balanced three beers as he walked the length of the bar toward John Watson, a picture of barely contained anger to go along with the ten stitches in his head. The doctor nodded his thanks when the Greg placed a pint before him.

Greg veered toward a table, taking a hefty swallow out of his glass before plopping the other in front of the sulky Consulting Detective, who blatantly ignored it. Sherlock rose to go to the bar, but Lestrade put a restraining hand on his arm.

"Leave him in peace. He almost got his head cleaved open with an alabaster statue–"

"It's too soft."

"Oi!" Greg punched Sherlock in the arm.

"Not John's head, you idiot. The alabaster."

"But he didn't know it was alabaster, did he?"

"Obvious. It was painted to look like marble."

"Drink your beer."

Sherlock continued to ignore it and Lestrade, until, finally…

"At least that's one less criminal out there… Universal law, innit? When Sherlock Holmes brings the crime rate down, John Watson's injuries go up."

"I was being reckless. Again. And John paid the price."

"Yeah, you're a real arse. But John'll come 'round. Always does." Lestrade flashed a broad grin. "Beats the hell out of me why."

That got a smile from Sherlock.

"Now, just leave the man to his beer."