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some nights i call it a draw

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Greg Lestrade: I’ll trade you.

P. Burke: No.

Greg Lestrade: Cash options as well.

P. Burke: No.

Greg Lestrade: I think you’d get on quite well.

P. Burke: If I didn’t kill him, El would. Scratch that. El would kill him no matter what, no matter how much she loves him.

Greg Lestrade: I’m not too proud to beg.

P. Burke: I told you the first time you mentioned him to me that he was bad news. He’s yours, deal with the consequences.

Greg Lestrade: Hardly fair, is it? You get two brilliant lovers without an ounce of crazy between them and mine keeps decapitated heads in the refrigerator.

P. Burke: Not crazy? You’ve met them Greg. I have more than my share of crazy.

Greg Lestrade: Decapitated. Heads.

P. Burke: Your. Own. Fault.

Greg Lestrade: You have no sympathy. Why do I talk to you?

P. Burke: Because Donavan and Anderson hate Sherlock and beyond all sanity, I actually kind of like the guy?

Greg Lestrade: Anderson’s not speaking to me.

P. Burke: You had sex on his desk again, didn’t you?

Greg Lestrade: Not my fault. El’s fault. Sherlock was wearing that purple shirt she gave him for Christmas.

P. Burke: I’ll tell her you said thank you again.