Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Those things will kill you,” said a voice in the darkness.

Greg recognized the voice as that of his dead friend, and looked up having just lit his cigarette, to see Sherlock Holmes standing in front of him.

”Ooh, you bastard!” was the only thing that would come out of his mouth.

“It's time to come back. You’ve been letting things slide Graham.” Sherlock had the damn nerve to smile.

“Greg!!” he snarled.

“Greg.” Sherlock corrected with a small smile.

Astonished, Greg looked at him, this man that had been his friend. At least he considered himself Sherlock’s friend, even though some friend he had been, at the end. Sherlock looked too skinny, his eyes cautious as if he expected a blow. The man was being careful. Greg gave in to his emotions, pulled Sherlock to him, gave him a tight hearty hug, and heard Sherlock’s soft groan. He then took a good look at him, refraining from patting his back, and noticed his nose was swollen and his lip cut. 

“Hey mate, are you hurting? My God, you are alive! I can’t believe you’re here! Where have you been? And what have you been doing? Did you just come back today?” He asked, still shocked, giving Sherlock a once over.          

“Not really. I’ve been under Mycroft’s tender love and care for the two weeks I’ve been back from Serbia. Tonight was my first night in London.” Sherlock answered, not facing Lestrade.

“Shite! Then that was John Watson! Who would have thought that was the greeting he’d give ya.”

“Well, I may have interrupted an occasion. Apparently, he was about to propose.” he said, still not looking at Greg.

“What, that nurse lady? Really? Never liked her. To each their own though.” 

Sherlock looked up with a small, thankful smile. 

“So, seen Mrs H yet?” Greg asked.

“No. I can’t imagine it will be easy for her, I would rather not surprise her at night...”

“I’d say! She grieved you like a mother grieves a child.” Greg saw Sherlock’s shoulders hunch down, and the man looked defeated and done.

“Well even I can’t properly believe it, mate! You have actually come back! By God, Anderson was right, and I’m over the moon, mind you!” Greg said, still staring at the slim apparition in front of him. “Where have you been staying, at Highgate? I could give you a ride,” offered Greg. 

“I don’t particularly want to go to my brother’s if it could at all be avoided. Also, I haven’t eaten since I returned to the city. Take away might be good actually.” Sherlock said, hands in his pockets and eyes firmly at the ground. He wasn’t hungry at all, but his reunion with John could not have been worse, and the fact that he now was living with this new woman made chances of things going back to normal, slim to none. Mrs Hudson would probably be as upset as John had been. Lestrade’s hug had been painful, but truly affectionate. He was the only person who had been actually, genuinely happy to see him. There was Molly, of course, but she had been quick to inform him her fiancee was coming to take her home from work. 

Greg smiled, a bit disappointed with himself for not having asked before, but he’d had a shock, and he hurried to fix it, “Say, would you like to come over to mine? We could pass by a place, or order some grub, since John didn’t feed you after knocking your lights out.”

Sherlock responded, still looking to the ground, “Well, since you do ask so spontaneously.” 

Greg laughed, a loud, happy sound; Sherlock looked up and laughed with him. “Come on then, you prat,” teased Greg, and his smile was wide, as he carefully put a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder.

In his car, Greg made some light conversation about the cases he had solved in Sherlock’s absence and didn’t hold back on letting him know just how much harder he had found things without the Consulting Detective. He sneaked a look and Sherlock was listening, a smile on his face. He even asked about Donovan, and Anderson. Greg told him about the man’s wild theories, of him advancing through Europe solving crimes as he was on his way back to London. Sherlock took a moment to blink at this. 

“I wish that were how things worked out.” And he would say no more.

They got to Lestrade’s flat. It was in a nicer neighborhood and had furniture that matched. Greg noticed Sherlock looking around. “I was reinstated after they found your cases were sound. My boys spent time here while they were in uni. I didn’t want them to be too ashamed to bring their friends over, so yeah.” he said, as he went to the kitchen to put the kettle on. 

Sherlock hung his coat and looked around. Found the sofa and a familiar pillow. It was twin to the one with the British flag at Baker Street. He put it up to his nose. Lestrade still used it to rest his head while he pretended to watch bad telly. He felt an unexpected flare of affection for him.

“You still have this ratty thing?” he asked.

Lestrade poked his head out the kitchen to see, “Ah! Yeah sure, when Tara was in Reception she made me buy them. When Nora and I got divorced, I took one and Tara kept the other one at home. Somehow that one ended up here.” He put a cup of tea in front of Sherlock, loose leaf, sweet with some milk in it.

“The other one might still be at 221b, if Mrs Hudson hasn’t thrown my things out.” Sherlock sighed, taking a sip of the tea, smiling.

“Nah, it’s all there but dustless…” Lestrade said fondly. “She couldn’t throw your stuff out. Mycroft ended up paying her the rent. She took the pillow downstairs though. You loved that old thing, ever since you kipped at my old flat. I kept expecting it to disappear everytime you left.”

“Where would I have taken it? I couldn’t have it in the den or the streets. It would have been taken from me. Safer at your flat, giving you the illusion it was still yours.” He smiled.

“Well you used to scurry away with everything else, food, vests, socks, towels,” Lestrade said as he walked to the door to take the food.

“You left those things out for me! You even said so!” he jeered, nose scrunching.

Lestrade laughed. “I did, ya berk. Now come and eat your rice.”

Sherlock did, to his surprise, noticing it was the Spanish rice he had always liked. He refused Lestrade’s offer of sleeping in his bed. The pull out was comfortable enough. He was careful to stay on his side, enveloped in the comforter. He was surprised to find himself falling asleep. After the day he had, he had expected to lie awake for hours. Instead, he drifted off, the bed warm and soft.

OooOooO

Greg sat up in his bed, heart thumping hard and fast, a sense of terror invading him. He tried to finish waking up, needing a moment to place himself. He took some deep breaths and tried to remember what he had been dreaming about. Then there it was again...a ruffle, a desperate groan, a cry...Sherlock! Greg got out of his bed and went to the living room in a hurry to find Sherlock on the floor, fighting off the comforter that was trapping his right arm and his legs. He was groaning, his breathing way too fast, his face contorted. Greg crouched close to disentangle him from the cover. 

“Sherlock. Sherlock wake up, mate. You’re alright. You’re safe now, back in London.” Greg said in the calmest voice he could manage. Sherlock seemed terrified and was obviously in pain.

“Hey there. Wake up. There you go. You’re back home, in England. You’re with Lestrade, at my place…”

Sherlock had opened his eyes and sat up, looking desperately around, “John! Where is John??”

Greg felt so sad for him. “At his flat, probably sleeping, mate. You are here at mine’s though and you’re safe. You had a bad dream. You’re ok though.” He sat down next to Sherlock, his knees not liking the crouching. 

Sherlock looked up, still confused, his brow still scrunched, his face, almost translucent in the mostly dark flat. “Lestrade? You are actually here?”

“Yes. You stayed over at my flat.” he reminded him.

Sherlock reached out and touched Greg’s chest with two fingers, rubbed the fabric of his cotton vest. Then he looked into Greg’s eyes. “You are real…” he said, his voice full of wonder.

“Ta for that. Real, yeah.” Greg smiled.

“Well, Mind Palace Lestrade always has his ill fitting suit on. More hair too. You cut it too short, Gustav.” Sherlock said.

“Ah, you prick. Have half a mind to send Mind Palace Lestrade to make you a Mind Palace cuppa!” He said. “Are you hurting Sherlock? You seem like you could use some paracetamol.”

“Perhaps I can. But can you...stay a while. Things are still...fuzzy. You are real though?” Sherlock did in truth look confused. 

Greg reached out and put his hand at the bottom of Sherlock’s neck, cupping it, thumb gently touching his curls. “Yeah, real. I’m here, mate. I got you.”

Sherlock’s hand went to the bottom of Greg’s vest, grabbed the edge of it and held on.

The next morning, as Greg painfully straightened up from his horrid sitting position on the side of the pullout, he knew by the stillness Sherlock had left. 

OooOooO

“... just saying, if you are so worried why don’t you come over?...Of course I’m already here, he’s my friend…oh don’t you dare wave your money at me! I’m doing it for him. Not for you! And don’t you dare re-assign my cases to other people again, Mycroft!”

“Oh, thank goodness, Greg! He’s in but he’s not moving, not eating, not responding. I didn’t know what to do! My first instinct was to call John, but I’m afraid that John might actually be a part of his problem, if not the whole problem,” Mrs Hudson worried.

“Yeah, they had a scare last night. It seems like someone took John and put him in the Guy Fawkes Fire at some church. He’s getting checked out in hospital, his girlfriend is with him.” said Greg, wishing he could get past her.

“Oh, that is why she was here yesterday, pushing me out of the way to get to him! Go, go child.” Mrs Hudson actually gave him a little push. “I’ll be up with supper later!” She cooed. 

OooOooO

“Getoutgetoutgetout, Greg!” bellowed Sherlock.

Greg smiled. “Aww you got my name right! I’m flattered,” he said going to the kitchen, getting a glass of water and also wetting a flannel. 

“Go away and tell my brother I am fine. All is well peachy dory! That’s what he pays you for!”

“Hey! I have yet to take a pound from your stuffed up brother! Bad enough he has his nose in everything!” He came closer to Sherlock’s form on the sofa. “...he did tell me John left the hospital on his own devices. Mary took him home.”

“Hmmphhh” and a hunch of shoulders was all the response that he got. Apparently Sherlock had suffered from the separation as much as Watson had. Too bad he couldn’t have come back six months earlier. 

“Sit up and have this water before I throw it at you. I get that you're frustrated, but you really shouldn’t  scare Mrs H. Did she slap you that first time she saw you?” Greg asked as he handed him the glass water Sherlock reluctantly sat up to take.

“She screamed like a banshee and scolded me all day long. Then she compounded my injuries by hugging on to me.” Sherlock said after downing the water in two thirsty gulps.

Greg cringed. “I must’ve hurt you too, hugging you as I did. Didn’t even think. Sorry mate. How is your back feeling?” 

“Fine if I don’t lay on it. Stings a bit though,” confessed Sherlock. 

“Want me to take a look? I’m sure Mrs H has some ointment or something.”

“If you would, could you find me a vest? This one is uncomfortable. I believe Mycroft had his people bring my things from storage and replace them.”

So Greg went to the bedroom and found the older finer t-shirts that Sherlock preferred, and turned one inside out. He went to the toilet and found a tube of Savlon and one of Brulidine.

“Not one word about it Lestrade, or I promise I will kick you out and you will not see me again.”

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself! I’m a father of three, both boys played rugby first, then took on wrestling. Tara did free form dirt bikes and scraped her elbow and knees bloody all the time. Good luck trying to compete.” answered Lestrade.

When Sherlock turned around, however, Greg was not prepared for the bloody mess under the vest. He had to brace himself, invoke his poker face. 

“Some of them reopened, they’re bleeding a bit. Don’t pull off the vest. Let me help you.” He was happy that his voice sounded normal. He moistened the area with the mildly wet flannel until the shirt unstuck, then he let the skin dry and applied the lotion where it was needed, using firm strokes, remembering how Sherlock reacted to touch from when he had been in his teens. There had been a number of clean ups needed way before there was a doctor to perform them.

The vest off, there were angry red scars all over Sherlock’s back. The pain, and the loneliness drawn in those awful lines, the deep bruising hurt Greg’s heart. Keeping his breath steady was harder than he thought it would be. Good thing Sherlock couldn’t see his face. He applied a couple of plasters to prevent the cuts that were bleeding lightly from sticking to clothes, smoothed some salve on the others marks, and helped Sherlock get dressed in clean clothes. When he finished, Sherlock raised his narrowed eyes and studied his face. 

Satisfied, he gave a little nod and casually said moving his hand as if sweeping away his words, “Your company, in your flat the other night was, adequate. I wouldn’t be opposed if you wanted to stay. You could sleep in my bed. I sleep here,” he said, his face indifferent.

Greg thought about it. However oddly put, Sherlock had just asked him to stay. That was a first. Greg looked through his messages and there was nothing he couldn’t take care of by phone. His only response was “OK”, but he didn’t sleep in Sherlock’s bed. Instead he huddled in “John’s” chair, and if the genius rolled his eyes at that, he never minded. They both slept badly, Greg helped Sherlock wake up from his nightmares. The man couldn’t have rested much. He really shouldn’t be alone. 

So he did the best he could, and the following week had a tense conversation with John at the pub. The doctor had been very defensive. Gone were the declarations of Sherlock being his “best friend”. He would not talk about how distraught he had been and he did not want to talk with Sherlock about the man’s time away. When Lestrade suggested that after two years working to finish Moriarty’s web, Sherlock might actually need him, John had clearly been upset. “He left me here thinking I didn't do enough to stop him from jumping! I was grieving while he spent years traveling around the world having adventures at Mycroft’s expense! If he didn’t need me then, he can well do without me now! I have a life, Greg. A new job, a new place and a fiancee who doesn’t make me believe she is something she’s not! Sherlock can’t seriously think things are going to be what they were before. He needs to grow up.”  Then he had banged his pint on the table, put down money for the bill and left. 

OooOooO

So Greg spent time with Sherlock, when the consulting Detective was not on a case with John. The two of them were working cases again, after stopping a bomb from blowing up the Parliament, and for a while, the detective shined again, although briefly, as he worked with his partner. Never called John by the wrong name, as he had poor Molly. No wonder the girl had never come to cases again. When Sherlock was with John, no one else existed. No response to comments from anyone else. Greg understood.

When John disappeared into his work and the excitement of his upcoming wedding, things were different. Sherlock would come around the Yard, to look for cold cases or do his paperwork, as long as he could be in the same room with Greg, so he could complain to him about said paperwork, or about Donovan, or the stupidity of the witnesses. Sherlock would also be curious about what Greg was doing, standing behind him and looking over his shoulder to direct his search or comment on the information. 

Once when he left after a text from a witness to a case of a suspected homicide, Donovan sat in the seat across the desk from Greg. “How can you take it, guv? Does he ever stop talking? Or looming over you? The F…. um, the man truly has no idea about personal space! Doesn’t it bother you? He never spent so much time here before! It’s because Watson is getting married, isn’t it?”

“Well Sally, not that it really is any business of ours, but I think he missed his people when he was away fighting Moriarty’s associates. I for one, prefer to have him here, where he can feel appreciated, to having him alone at Baker Street or in the streets pining after...well, the past.” said Lestrade.

Donovan stayed quiet, while she gave her boss a careful once over. When Lestrade was leaving for home, after a long day of meetings and a consultation with a rather new inspector about how to maintain professionalism with different types of people, he got a text.

*-Your place or mine? Either way I would like Sushi for dinner. Maybe a documentary, or that game we played the other night. Should I bring pudding or wine? SH

Greg laughed. Sherlock definitely needed an instruction manual for friendship. No wonder John ended up so confused. He smiled. Sherlock had always been this awkward. Greg had never minded.

-“I’ll order the Sushi—yes from the place you like. Bring the pudding.” answered Greg, thinking it would help Sherlock eat more, he was still quite underweight.

These dinners or lunches happened various times a week. Lestrade had to admit, he liked spending time with Sherlock. He liked listening to the man talk; about the cases, about the chemical composition of various homemade poisons, about the nature and caring of bees. He liked the way Sherlock lit up. It showcased Sherlock’s deep curiosity, his interest in the workings of the world. 

Sherlock had changed in many ways. He was a good listener, now. He didn’t seem to mind hearing Greg talk about his kids, in fact he would ask about them by name, having met them a couple of times, long ago. He even listened when Greg described the cases they actually solved without him, though of course Sherlock had to add his comments, usually criticism, but also praise at times, and when the praise was directed at Greg personally, well it felt good. To impress a genius like that. 

Once, while they were sitting on a park bench, drinking coffee, having one of their conversations, Sherlock had slowly begun sharing what he had been doing while he was away. They had been talking about the first time he had been captured, and ‘interrogated,” when suddenly, a red rubber ball stopped  between their shoes. A black labrador puppy appeared shortly after, all wagging tail and happy smile and sniffing and letting himself be petted. Sherlock’s face lit up as he pet the dog and rubbed it behind the ears, speaking to it affectionately. Greg had always known Sherlock was attractive, he’d heard people comment throughout the years, and well, he had eyes. Now, Greg saw him away from his beloved work, and without the walls he usually held up. His smile, his body, the man could easily be a model, or an actor he looked that good. When Sherlock turned his eyes and happy smile towards Greg, well it was a bit breathtaking. The puppy’s owner, a young lady, curly hair up in a puff, jogging clothes came running towards them, apologetic, “Blaze! Oh don’t lick the nice man! So sorry! He gave me the slip as I looked for an address.” She said to Greg while Sherlock ignored her for teasing Blaze with the ball.

“Aww, it looks like you two could use a dog like him, he’s quite cuddly and gentle for all of his size. Active too, but that’s a good thing, I think.” She and Greg exchanged smiles and some pleasantries about life with dogs. “Come on Blaze, let’s move on. Say goodbye to the nice couple. Thank you!” She waved her hand as they left. Sherlock, however, had turned to stone next to him. Lestrade looked at him, alarmed. 

“Something up, mate?” he asked.

“I’m sorry, Greg. I don’t know what made her say that.”

“Say what?”

“She said we were a couple.” muttered Sherlock, playing with his fingers and not looking up.

Ah! The poor bloke must have been thinking Greg was about to pull a Watson—“I’m not gay!” However, Greg just laughed. “She probably saw how close we were sitting to play with the dog. Your hand was on my leg there for a minute.” Greg responded. 

“It was? When?” Sherlock asked, nose scrunched.

“When you reached under the bench to catch the ball. She and I were chatting, but you only thought of the dog. Anyway, no harm done.” Greg reassured him.

If there were some more little instances like that, little touches from Sherlock, a hand on his shoulder at the computer desk, or on his arm while talking, or if Greg put his hand on Sherlock’s back to ground him, or moved closer to him on the sofa or a bench, they barely noticed. They were friends

Chapter Text

On Greg’s phone

-Greg  SH

-... … ( Sherlock’s number)

Five minutes later 

-... … ( Sherlock’s number)

He waited, gave him ten minutes until he finished a call to text him.

Nothing.

-Hey Sherlock everything alright?

-No.   SH

-Are you ok?

-No.   SH

-Are you at Baker Street?

-Yes.   SH

-I’m on my way. It will take awhile with the traffic.

No more texts, no answers; so Greg decided to speed up and turn the siren on.

Mrs Hudson took her time coming to the door. She had her headphones around her neck and had been vacuuming. She knew nothing about Sherlock, so Greg went upstairs. The door was open and the flat was dark. He turned the light on. Heard a hiss. Turned it back off. Sherlock was on the sofa, curled up as tight as he could, his hands on his head. Greg approached carefully and crouched down next to the head side. 

“Hey...what’s going on Sherlock? How can I…”

Sherlock grouped around one armed, until he grabbed Lestrade’s arm, then hand. Sherlock placed Greg’s hand on his head.

“Oh headache. Shit.” Greg said. He had known Sherlock enough to remember his headaches could be bad. He had learned that Sherlock rarely wanted any pills, saying they didn’t work well for him. Greg walked to the bedroom and found the black out curtains, blocking what little light remained of the day. Going with what had worked for his children when they’d been ill, he prepared the bed, setting up the pillows, and wet some flannels, fetched the ice bag out of the freezer and went back to Sherlock.

“Sherlock, come, let’s get you in bed so you can stretch proper. I’ll help you. Slowly, mate.” It took Sherlock a while to get himself up. His face was a tight grimace and his hands were shaking.

They slowly made their way to the bedroom, but Sherlock’s breath was coming too fast, he pulled Greg further towards the toilet, and barely made it before being violently sick. He folded down next to the toilet. Greg was there to help him up and make him rinse his mouth. Then he half carried him to bed, and placed the wet flannels around his neck and the ice pack at the base of his cranium. He wet the last one in the coldest water he could and wrung it out to place on his forehead. At this, Sherlock let out a groan, and his hand reached out in the dark. Greg took it 

“Is this any better?” he whispered.

“Yes. ” Sherlock whispered back and squeezed Greg’s hand. “Stay?”

Greg had a new guy on a case and really should be close by. He made the decision to ask Donovan. She texted him back that she was on her way to the noobie. 

“Ok, I’m staying.” He worked on his phone for a while, then as Sherlock fell asleep went out to use Sherlock’s computer. Mrs Hudson came by to eat supper with Greg. She let him know John had been around and said hello to her. He had wanted to talk with Sherlock about the wedding. When Mrs H left, there was tea and cake for Sherlock. 

He found him waking up and shivering, “Oh no, mate so sorry! Mrs H distracted me! Let me get these off of you.” Took the wet towels off, replaced the wet pillow. Then he went to bring the tea. Sherlock’s hands were trembling as he drank his tea and ate his cake.

“The pain any better?” Greg asked, the man still looked pale.

“Lessened a bit. I think the ice helped.” he said, finishing up the cake.

Greg sat on the bed next to him. “Can I tell you about the noobie, Frank?” He talked for a while, as they sat next to each other. Eventually, he quieted, thinking Sherlock had fallen asleep again. “Are you staying? You should take off your shoes.” said Sherlock, and Greg did. Took off his jacket and stayed in his vest. 

“John came over earlier. He asked me to be his best man.” Sherlock said in a not quite steady voice.

‘Oh that idiot! What in hell is wrong with him!’ Greg thought to himself. Making Sherlock best man for his wedding was just cruel.

“...honoured, but they need help with the wedding and I’m not sure I can do that.” Sherlock was saying, in a despondent, sad voice. “I can’t help feeling I’ve lost a friend. I feel it would have been better to stay away from England, than to have to see John choose a life he always called safe and boring, rather than come back to me.”

Greg wondered if Sherlock had any idea just how transparent he was, “Sherlock, I get it has to be hard to come back and find everything arse over tit. I can’t imagine how you must have felt, thinking about home for so long and when you finally come back, people are mad at you or moving on. One thing I want you to remember. You do have more than one friend. You told me yourself there were snipers on Mrs Hudson and on my lovely person. Mrs Hudson came back to life when you returned. She wasn’t doing well when she thought she had lost you. How could you have stayed away, when she was turning into a boring old lady without you? I know I’m happy to have you back to make my life three times busier than it was! We’ve had some nice times already and there could be more to come. Yes, John found somebody and is getting married. He still works cases with you, they come by to visit, and you will be helping them plan the wedding. It’s not the end, Sherlock. John considers you his best friend. I also think you are a particularly good friend to have, so I’ll tell you what. If the wedding thing gets too heavy for you to handle alone, gimme a call, and if I can, I’ll join in. How about that?”

He found Sherlock staring at him. “We are, in fact, friends now?” he asked.

“You berk, we’ve been friends for years. Just you were being closer to John. Now, you can be close to both of us. See? Not all that bad.” said Lestrade, trying to cheer him up. They sat in companionable silence for a bit too long, and when Greg turned to look at Sherlock, he had sunk in the bed and his eyes were closing. Greg was about to move, to go prepare the sofa, when Sherlock reached out and grabbed his wrist.

“Stay here. Plenty of space.”

Greg saw no harm in it. He was already staying and they were friends. He went to the bathroom and brushed his teeth with a brand new brush, took off his trousers, and went into the bed, which smelled fresh and was so much more comfortable than the old sofa. Sherlock was right, plenty of space there. He didn’t sleep immediately. He thought about John. The doctor was making a big mistake. Even if the “not gay” thing were true, Greg had firmly believed John and Sherlock belonged together. Mary? Really? She seemed nice-ish, but compared to Sherlock she was inevitably boring. Who could compare to the genius, with his extensive knowledge about everything, his powers of deduction, his acerbic humour, his adventurous life? And Sherlock was funny, and endearing and looked like a model, look at those curls and… Sherlock turned around in his sleep. His nose scrunched, maybe still in some pain. He wondered how the hair would look in the morning. Fell asleep thinking about that. 

Greg felt so happy while waking up. Oh, his bed was soft and cozy and smelled like exotic fruit. Also, some parts of him were more awake than others, a nice long shower would be just the thing. He stretched, and heard a complaint, as the weight he hadn’t noticed replaced itself on his chest, a hand on his vest kept him in place. It was hard to see in the darkened room as Greg’s mind came fully awake. He was in Sherlock’s room, in the bed, with Himself in the flesh sleeping with  his arm and leg on Greg’s body. Sherlock’s hair smelled fruity. Not sweet like strawberries, or citrusy. This was a luxurious, extravagant smell, much like the man himself. Sherlock literally had a leg on his leg, an arm on his chest and his other arm tucked between their two bodies . Sherlock looked so young this way, almost like the boy he had met some fifteen years ago. Back then he had been ethereal, so trusting, so sarcastic and lost. The man was weathered, kinder, a survivor, a friend. He had come back to London with some definite changes in place.

Other things were the same, like how attractive Sherlock was. Goodness some friend he was, contemplating his mate’s hair, and the length of his fingers, and the smell of him all around Greg. He had to slip away and take care of the raging stiffy that was by now pointing to Sherlock’s trapped arm. Greg carefully peeled Sherlock’s hand off his vest, and sat up enough so he could move the leg. The man was pure wiry muscle, the skin of his chest and belly porcelain still. Reluctantly, he got up, taking one last fond look at his friend, and a bit later desperately thinking of everyone, anyone else to bring himself off. 

OooOooO

-Why in tarnation do I have to include a “table decoration” fee? The idiot here says they decorate the tables down to the “folded napkins”. Do they perform origami with them? Because I will do it better than they! SH

Greg sighed. He had known Sherlock would take him literally, but now he was a party to every single detail of the wedding preparation procedures. The texts were constant, though he was grateful that when they actually got together, mostly dinner now, mostly late night and at Greg’s place, Sherlock talked about anything but the preparations. 

OooOooO

-Lestrade, tell me your lackey was right and you are in Clapham. SH

-Hello to you, too sunshine! Where have you been?

-In wedding dress hell. Mary has horrid taste and wants dresses that make her look like a giant tuna. John is no help at all, looking like a collared dog all the time. SH

-That bad huh?

-Worse. I’m done. I can’t possibly take this anymore today. Come and get me out of here before I tell Mary what I think about her in any of these dresses that cost more than John makes in a year. SH

-I’m supposed to be going straight to court to oversee some proceedings with a couple of new officers. You would have to come with me and behave. I’ll say you’ve been called as a witness.

-Whatever, just come get me out.   SH

So Greg arrived in his official car, and his suit (ill fitting suit, the genius had said). As he entered the store John saw him, smiling instantly “Hi there Greg! What brings you here? New case?” he smiled hopefully.

“Hey mate! Big day getting closer?” Greg smiled back “No new case, sorry. I came for Himself, need him to come to the courts with me. Where is he?”

So John pointed to Sherlock, who was standing behind Mary, pulling at the fabric around her waist and talking with her, as his legs did that nervous dance they did whenever he had to listen to something boring. Sherlock saw him in the mirror and he let a breath out, his shoulders relaxed and his legs stilled. He said something to Mary, who turned around, annoyed.

Sherlock walked hurriedly towards Greg. “Let’s go Gavin.”

John muttered, “You guys are not leaving me alone here, come on!”

“Um, this isn’t a case you were on, mate. Sorry, but can’t get you into court. Next case, alright?” Greg answered.

Mary came hurrying over in a robe “Oh no no no, Inspector! You can’t take Sherlock now! We have other boutiques to go to! I have to pick my gown today!”

“Hello Mary. Sorry to intrude on such an important decision, but Sherlock here has to come with me. Unfortunately, it will probably be a long while til we are done. The Groom will have to step up!” Greg said, clapping John on the shoulder. John looked at him with the eyes of a kicked puppy. “You two have fun! Come on, Your Majesty.”

OooOooO

“Thank you Greg. I think it is not too much to say I believe you have saved if not my life, my sanity. I can not understand the thought process of a woman about to get married. Everything is of heightened importance and everything must be done as she says. Really! How can John tolerate this? I am thankful I will never have that problem!” Sherlock rubbed his temples, toed his shoes off and stretched his legs, moving the seat back and reclining.

“That bad, huh?” Greg asked, smiling affectionately.

“You have no idea! Her indecision alone is nerve wracking! Why couldn’t she make up her mind? And has she ever looked in the mirror to see what could look good on her? Insisted on the tuna dresses. She is middle aged, not a teenager playing mermaid  for goodness sake!!”

“You’re wound up. Need some food, or tea or something? I wasn’t lying when I said this could take long. Want me to drop you off at the tube station?”

Sherlock thought about it. “No I’ll be fine. If I go home, they’ll just find me there. I’ll go with you.”

“Ok, but the DA is a hardass. Don’t talk, don’t contradict me in front of my guys, or seriously I will not rescue you anymore.”

“I’ll be on my best behaviour mummy.” Sherlock replied with a smile.

Sherlock had to admit that being in court observing Lestrade go through procedures was a lot less boring than listening to Mary going on and on about her ideal dress, her ideal house, her ideal honeymoon. 

He followed Lestrade to a room, not the courtroom. His two new guys were already there as was the district attorney, all ready for the meeting. Greg excused himself and introduced Sherlock, who had helped with some aspects of the case that justified, barely, why he was there. True to his word, Sherlock remained quiet, even though the young men made some obvious mistakes presenting the evidence to the DA. Lestrade didn’t need the help though. Sherlock was pleased to see him act decisively, speak clearly and explain things for both parts until everyone could be on the same page. Sherlock saw how working outside standard procedure slowed things down, and couldn’t imagine how many hours Greg had spent tied up in negotiations because of his need to flee the scene when he was done with the action part of the case.

OooOooO

“Well, what did you think? Aside from it being “Boring!” Greg asked, rolling his eyes in perfect Sherlock imitation. 

“Quite frankly, I was impressed.” Sherlock said.

“Oh yeah? I guess the boys did a good job, considering they are both first years.” responded Lestrade.

“I meant I was impressed by you. You were commanding and very knowledgeable about the situation and you silenced the DA when he started talking out of his arse.” Sherlock said as he looked directly ahead.

Greg couldn’t contain a smile, “I aim to please.” he said. Sherlock turned to look at him, surprised, and they both burst out giggling. 

“Now I’m really hungry. Take away?” Greg asked.

“No. Angelo’s” Sherlock decided. “Have you ever?”

“Yeah actually. Once with Molly and some other times with some friends... from work.” Greg answered.

“Molly? Oh yes, you and her had a thing.”

“It wasn’t a thing, we went out for dinner a couple of times. Not a thing.” Greg parked the car.

“Yes a thing, as in you wanted her. Christmas, The Black Dress.” Sherlock smirked.

“Well maybe. That dress was something. But there was nothing there. Molly, she’s a sweetheart but I like people a bit...”

“Livelier? Bolder?”

“I don’t know Sherlock, maybe just people less infatuated with you.”

OooOooO

The men went into the restaurant and Angelo fussed about Sherlock, as always, then, without missing a beat, he hugged Lestrade and greeted him warmly.

“Inspetor! Good to see you! Come in, come in! Some Fritto Misto to start with?” He took them to a table and added the complementary candle, lit it. Neither man said a thing. They ate the appetizer. Greg had the Bucatini with Lemony Carbonara and Sherlock the Lasagna. Greg suggested Sherlock taste his pasta, and Sherlock had to admit it was good. Greg had no qualms about tasting Sherlock’s lasagna a couple of times.

Sherlock admired the easy companionship he had developed with this man. Looking back, he had really been his friend for a long time. Now, they were closer. They had conversations about their work and Lestrade’s family. They went to dinner and to each other’s flat. Lestrade listened to Sherlock share every detail of John’s wedding preparations, and he purposefully stepped back when John came to the crime scenes. This was being friends. Greg had said, correctly so, that Sherlock had been closer to John. John was his best friend, who was getting married. They had a friendship. Even if John had moved out, they still worked cases, they still talked and texted and laughed together, and at the end of the day, John went back to his fiancee. Sherlock sometimes looked for Greg, after parting ways with John. Friends. It felt good.

“...him! Even Donovan said ‘I’m suddenly wondering how Phillip is doing!” Greg said and smiled. Sherlock thought it was a nice smile, eyes luminous and smile wrinkles making his pleasant face look handsome. He noted Lestrade was letting his hair grow out, and he found he liked that. The silver hair complemented his eyes. 

“Who’s Philip?”  Sherlock asked to make him laugh, and he did.  

OooOooO

A couple of weeks went by. Greg had cases, boring cases that even mere mortals like him could solve. No need for geniuses to solve petty thefts, or even grand thefts, parental disputes, insurance frauds. Not really anything to entice a Consulting Detective. 

Not that the priss would have come, happily solving private cases with John, running about London, solving flashy cases about abducted zoo animals for goodness sakes! The texts they interchanged at night, likely when John had left, were short and about the cases. Greg was left feeling like a tit to ever having thought he was needed. His bad mood took him through the day, barking out commands and giving Frank a verbal lashing. Donovan brought him some tea, “Take it easy on the lad, Guv.”

Then, once the paperwork was taken care of and he finally was about to leave, who came strutting in as if he owned the place? Himself in the flesh. Looking gorgeous. Looking for him. And why would that make his heart pick up speed as if he had run up some stairs? Nope. Not allowed.

“Evening Greg.” His timid smile said more than his words.

“Do I know you? You’re going to have to come back during business hours, I’m going home.” He made a show of closing things up.

“A pity, I was going to take Greg to a concert at St Martin’s but if he’s not available…”

“Really? Weeks of no show, now a concert?”

“I was working. You were on cases. You didn’t come around to mine either, Greg. If anything, we’ve both been amiss.”

Greg took a good look at the man in front of him. He had not just come from working a case. He looked perfect, so he had been home, showered, done some curl control, and gotten ready. 

“When is this concert?” Greg wanted to know.

“In two hours. There’s time for you to grab a bite.”

He decided to give in. He had missed the berk; “Am I pretty enough for it?” he asked and Sherlock’s face lit up. He laughed a little.

“As a princess. Come on, let’s go.”

They had an excellent time—Greg flaunting his knowledge of classical music a bit; his father having been a great fan, and submitting the family to weekly ‘Sunday all classical, all day’ concerts at home. Greg had grown to love it. Sherlock was impressed. 

“It is refreshing to talk with someone that can recognise Shostakovich and Mendelsson for a change. Maybe next time you are over at Baker Street I could play for you.” Sherlock said, looking at Greg watch the musicians, with a happy smile on his face and moving his hand along with the conductor.

“I went with a girl who plays the cello you know, when I was in academy. She didn’t want to be a policeman’s wife, so we parted as friends. She plays with the Birmingham Symphony Orchestra these days. Usually sends me tickets for New Years. Excellent player.” said Greg, still looking at the orchestra.

“I believe I can do a decent job,” said Sherlock.

“I’ve heard you play, don’t you remember? You were a teenager the first time,” Greg turned to see the blue grey eyes staring at him.

“Oh, I can do much better now…” Now Sherlock was looking at the musicians. “...at most everything.”

Chapter Text

Things had been...better than he had expected at first. John did come with him on some cases and some he did solo. Those he would text Lestrade about most of the time, and Greg would text him almost everyday with an interesting aspect of a crime, juicy details about criminal procedures or gossip about the people in the yard or in his family. Sherlock kept him informed about the wedding preparations. On one occasion he had called him over again, so Greg could participate in the tasting of wedding cakes, since in Sherlock’s opinion, it was the only thing about the preparations that could be enjoyed. John had been surprised at seeing him arrive.

Mary had commented; “Here comes the Yard to whisk you away again, when you promised to help.” 

Sherlock had responded, as Greg shook hands with John, “Now Mary, I will need a ride home, Lestrade was in the area..,” which had not been true, “...so I thought we could share some of the fun with him,” reasoned Sherlock with a small smile as he looked at Greg.

John eyed them suspiciously, but in all, the cake eating had been satisfying, with John and Greg falling into their familiar banter, and Sherlock happily leaving the love birds behind, to ride in Lestrade’s car.

OooOooO

Tonight Sherlock was pacing outside Lestrade’s flat, uncertain about what to do. He wanted to talk something over with him, but was hesitant to bring it up. He made up his mind to go back home, but after a couple of steps turned around again. Finally, the door opened, and Greg came out in his pajamas.

“Hey! Oh, it’s you! What’s up? My neighbor came to my door to report a lurker. Why won’t you just come in?” he asked, walking towards him, and guiding him in, hand on his back. 

Once they were inside, tea made, Greg asked, “OK now, spill. What’s up?.”

“Lestrade there is a situation. You have — friends and I need to consult something with you. It might be of a rather delicate nature.” Sherlock admitted.

Greg hunched up his shoulders, “Alright, let’s have it.”

“John has asked me to teach him how to dance,” he explained.

“Dance the waltz?”

“Obviously, it’s a wedding, he can’t well break into the Macarena!” said Sherlock, a bit flustered.

“Well, then, just go for it. We don’t want the doctor embarrassing himself at his own wedding.” At Sherlock’s downward eyes and nervous hands, he asked, “What about this is making you second guess it? Sucky teacher?”

Sherlock's jaw dropped, his brow scrunched and his eyes looked opened wide. He had to catch his breath to say “Excuse me? I am an excellent teacher! It’s just … a rather intimate dance. You know John, the first thing out if his mouth would be ‘I’m not gay’ and it would interfere with his learning.” Sherlock said, moving his hands and arms.

Greg had been fooling around with his phone and now put a waltz on. He got up and took the lead position, pulling Sherlock hard towards his body, securing him with a hand tight on his lower back and started dancing, as the genius had a little blinking fit.

“Well, it would definitely be intimate if you danced like this.” Greg said into Sherlock’s ear, Greg’s cheek pressed to his, as he took Sherlock around the living room floor, stuck to his body. Once they completed two circles, Lestrade loosened his grasp on him, twirled him and stood back.

“Now if you try it like this...” he instructed, as he still held Sherlock’s back, but their hips were not mashed together. “You can teach him and still let him preserve his fragile sexual orientation.”

Sherlock laughed. Greg danced well. They danced a couple more numbers on the playlist. If only he felt as sure about dancing with John. He would have to be the lead, at least at the beginning. Greg was right, as good as it had felt to dance closer to his body, that would be unwise with John. 

It was a simple solution to his original dilemma of how to help John without risking any...misunderstandings. John had made his choices, forcing Sherlock into creating his own visions for his life without John living at Baker Street  again, ever. As he and Greg sat down flushed and laughing from dancing around the flat, he in work suit and Greg in pajamas, Sherlock recognized that the full of that vision would have been devastating, had Greg not become a closer friend.

Now, even with John being married, living away, Sherlock would not be completely alone. He had an accomplice who had proven he would come to rescue him, support him and laugh with him. And that felt good. The dancing had felt very good. The shock of Greg pulling him harshly and pinning him to his body had been akin to a bolt of lightning, Sherlock registering a flash of unexpected heat he refused to acknowledge. He was still not thinking about it when in the middle of the night, he woke up so painfully hard, he had to take himself in hand, his usual inspiration far from his mind for a change.

OooOooO

-Hey, you at Baker Street? Just got off a case. Need a beer. You got any?

-Yes. Do come in. I’m about out of my mind. SH

So, ten minutes later Greg went in to find Sherlock despondently trying to fold napkins into — igloos? He went straight to the refrigerator and found his beer.

“You want one?” he asked, but Sherlock just waved it away.

“What the high hell are you doing, mate?” he asked as he sat in the leather chair next to where Sherlock was on the floor. 

“I don’t even know anymore, Greg. Why must I fold these napkins into shapes anyway? Won’t people just use them to wipe their noses and mouths? I can’t imagine making all of them into — this!” He showed Greg the igloo.

“Sherlock, I don’t see why you would have to. You are doing plenty for them already! And weren’t you and John on a case?”

“Yes, it’s over. We finally caught the culprit, even though he almost caught us first and quite frankly, rarely have I seen a person so full of resentment and rage, even though in size, he was diminute. It really scared me.”

“Enough for you to decide to spend your afternoon with napkins?” smiled Lestrade.

“Ugh! This is for Mary. She must have napkins folded to look like the concert hall. I don’t know what John sees in her, Greg. She micromanages his time, and makes fun of him, she decides when John needs a case or not and what she says is what goes. Mary insists on an ever expanding list of guests, none of which even like her.” complained Sherlock, though without his usual strength.

Greg stood up and slapped his leg, “You know what? Enough! It’s beautiful out there, and you are in no condition of being in close proximity to all this cheap cloth for any longer! Let John Watson fold his own damn napkins, and make his bride chip in! We are going out. First though, let’s put these back in the box.”

“Mary will just get mad.” Sherlock commented, though he did not stop Greg from throwing the napkins back in the box.

“Good thing she is not our problem, then!” said Greg, pulling on Sherlock’s hand and taking him out. The napkins were left unfolded.

Soon they were walking around the park with some delicious ice cream cones, Sherlock with something lemon and Greg picked “the flavour of the week”. It was delicious. Passion fruit was bringing him a good memory of some kind, something small. Something associated with the genius next to him. His curls were getting in his face. Oh, the fruity scent from Sherlock’s hair was passion fruit. And he loved it. 

Wait...loved it? Nope. Down boy!’ He thought as he found himself liking the way Sherlock’s curls lost their battle with the wind and waved around. He also liked the fact that the man’s face was now interested and engaged, wrinkling up in smiles, instead of the sad, lost look he had sported at 221B. Any friend could admire that? Certainly, a friend would want the other to be happy. However, no matter what this confused ‘feeling’ was, it had to stop. Even if Sherlock went for any kind of uhm, association, and Greg had long thought Sherlock was mostly asexual, the genius had no interest in anybody not named John Watson.

OooOooO

Late in the afternoon, they went to Barts, Molly having texted them both about a body, an older single lady, whom she suspected might have been poisoned.

While Sherlock went directly to examine the body, Greg went to the lab and greeted Molly, who was looking a bit flustered. She was still wearing her engagement ring, so things seemed to be alright, even though she was not meeting his eyes. He heard another voice and moved towards it

“...assure you it will be no problem.” said a masculine voice on the phone. Once the call had ended, Molly went to them, “This is Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade. Inspector, this is Ben Allen, my new lab assistant.” 

The young man did a double take when he saw Greg, who now understood why Molly was wary. The assistant stood up to shake his hand and blatantly check Greg out. He was younger, maybe in his early to mid thirties, as tall as Greg, and had black wavy hair and light blue eyes. The nose was different, the cheekbones a bit less prominent and the lips not the same by a mile. The young man would never be Sherlock, but Greg could see why Molly was avoiding their looks, even though she most likely had no say in who was hired to be her assistant at all. Allen recounted his actions from when he came in contact with the body, his voice and manner professional, except for a few instances when his eyes skipped to Greg’s mouth, or further down.

Sherlock came over then, to ask the assistant if he had checked what the generic version of the victim’s medicine listed as contraindications, and matched that to her other medicines. Ben said he had a list to show him, so he looked at Greg, clearly reluctant to end the conversation. Then, as Sherlock peered at the eisenmeyer flasks, Ben took one of Molly’s cards, and wrote his name and number on the back, his fingers making contact with Greg’s as he handed it to him with a flirty little smile. Greg took the card and put it in his pocket.

OooOooO

HELP

BAKER ST

NOW

HELP ME

PLEASE

Greg hurried to Baker Street. Sherlock and John had no luck with their last case, a murder attempt with a suspect at large. Could the killer be holding Sherlock hostage?

He ran up the stairs at Baker Street gun drawn, the police, an ambulance and even a helicopter on their way. 

When he finally got there, the door was open. Greg peaked in and saw Sherlock sitting at his desk, pulling his hair. “What’s going on?” Greg asked, breathing heavily.

“This is hard.” Sherlock answered, rubbing his temples with his hands.

“What?” Greg asked again, voice fraught with anxiety.

“Hardest thing I’ve ever had to do,” Sherlock raised his book, ‘How To Write An Unforgettable Best Man Speech’, “I need funny anecdotes about John, Greg. Do you have any?” he asked, to be distracted immediately by chaos in the street. Police cars, an ambulance and a helicopter.

“You didn’t go through any trouble, did you?” Sherlock asked, looking at Greg with increasing alarm.

“SHERLOCK! I left a mission that took me two years to get me to the point where I could finally make an arrest! You sent me that bloody message and I thought you were fucking dying and came running to your rescue! You inconsiderate arse! You are mental! For fuck’s sake!” Greg screamed his fists shaking.

The emergency responders, the police officers and a firefighter all fumbled up the stairs and tried to get through the door at the same time. 

“Greg?”

Greg had a hand on his hip, the other covering his red face.

“Oooh just — shut up, alright? Be quiet a moment while I fix this mess I made.”

He went to the door and had to talk to the irate first responders. When they finally left, complaining, and muttering about wasted time and resources, Greg had to call his office and Donovan, who was ecstatic, having made the arrest, though under another DI. Greg had half a mind to tear Sherlock a new one, he had been frustrated with the man thousands of times, but he was positively furious now. 

Sherlock approached him, his gait subdued, looking mostly at the floor, beer in his hand. “Lestrade, I should have asked if you were busy. I should have been clear about what I needed instead of giving in to drama. I apologise. I mean it. It’s alright if you want to leave.” He handed him the beer and waited, fingers fidgeting, head down, waiting for the verdict.

Greg opened his mouth. Maybe to yell some more, and leave. A memory came back, of the Christmas of the Black Dress, when Molly had said Sherlock complained about John leaving. Later on, when Greg had teased him about it, Sherlock had said. “Oh, John does not only leave for Christmas, he leaves every time I make him truly angry. Quite frankly, I’m surprised he comes back.” Greg had felt for him then.

He found himself calming down a bit. He drank the beer, and looked at the book. “Maybe, if you get me that take away I like, I’ll look it over. After all, not like I have anything else to do right now.”

OooOooO

Once he read the speech, Greg struggled to get his wording right. He didn’t want to make Sherlock feel any more exposed than necessary, but he couldn’t let him do this,“I suggest you take another look at this, Sherlock. This speech sounds as if you have... romantic feelings for John. You have to remember you will be reading this at the man’s wedding.” 

At this Sherlock froze, stopped his pacing and sat down. Greg continued, “As your friend, l have to tell you, Sherlock, if that’s how you really feel, you should talk with John and soon. You love him...mate.” Greg said it and was surprised when it hurt. It was one thing to acknowledge the man was attractive, but Sherlock loved John and that was a fact. Greg had known that for a long time. No use pining over him.

“I do, I did — I must admit I’m confused — I thought about him constantly while I was away. Missed him so much. Dreamed of coming back, of the two of us being the way we used to be. Ever since we met he has been… ” Sherlock shook his head, “... but when I came back, he had indeed moved on. He hit me, Greg. Again and again in front of his girlfriend, when I expected him to be happy I wasn’t dead. I expected a ‘Welcome back’, a hug? Instead, he was so angry! I had to ask him to forgive me, when I jumped to keep him — the three of you, alive. He remained angry, I believe he still is, to an extent. When I think of letting him know what I’ve been feeling for so long, it's his fists I see. Lestrade. After the first night, he knew I was back. If he wanted me at all, he could have waited a bit before he proposed, talked with me, listened to what I went through, he could have come back to Baker Street. Instead, he chose her. The common, boring life he thinks will make him happy. I know exactly what he would say if I were to try to talk to him about—this.” he said, his body hunched his hands and head pointing downwards from the edge of his seat.

Greg felt such pain for him, “Then I recommend you change the speech a bit. You are saying too much. You are basically confessing to him. You’re saying that Mary and you are the two people that love him most in the world. As if you love him the same way Mary does, like a spouse…” 

Sherlock winced at that. Greg continued, “You shouldn’t say those things at his wedding. Meet with him, say it to him in person, tomorrow. Right now, it’s the best of a bad time, Sherlock. Like the saying goes ‘It’s now or never’.”

“As for this…” he pointed at the computer screen, which displayed Sherlock’s speech. "You asked me for help so I can’t let you use this speech. It’s too much.” he concluded.

Sherlock lifted his face. He looked angry in the half dark flat.

“What is it to you? I asked you for help with funny anecdotes. Why would you care what I say?” he barked.

“Because I care about you, you infuriating bastard. I don’t think you would want people to see your most private thoughts, when you don’t even want to talk about them with John. You say this and Mary, her guests, John’s friends, and a whole bunch of strangers will know your deepest feelings, the things you hold in your heart. Think about it, Sherlock.”

They sat in silence for a while. Greg turned on the telly. About an hour later, when he was getting up to leave, Sherlock stood up too, grabbed his sleeve and put his head on Greg’s shoulder briefly. “Show me what I should change.” he whispered. Greg did.

OooOooO

As the Watson wedding got closer and closer, Sherlock spent more and more time with them. Greg was resigned to texting, although once Sherlock had come to the Yard bringing him coffee and sandwiches, staying an hour before getting a call and hurrying off without a goodbye. 

Now Greg was sitting at a pub, with a couple of blokes he knew from academy, when Sherlock walked in his direction looking around, finding him unerringly. He sat in the space next to Greg without saying a word.  “Hey there.” Greg said. “Mates, this is Sherlock Holmes, the Consulting Detective that solves all our cases. Sherlock nodded towards the men, but said nothing. The men tried to start a conversation for a bit, but Sherlock remained mute and looked uncomfortable, so Lestrade continued talking as if all was well and soon the men let Sherlock be. He got closer to Greg by inches. When he stopped moving, his leg and his arm were touching Greg’s. Greg ordered a pint and some chips for him. The pint was ignored, the chips redistributed amongst the other men. When Sherlock tugged on Greg’s jacket the second time, Greg said his goodbyes.

“Want me to drop you off at Baker Street?"’ Greg asked.

Sherlock answered with a shake of his head; “No”. So Greg took him to his flat, where Sherlock headed straight to the sofa, hugged the pillow and rocked slightly. Greg took a shower, changed, and put some pajamas out for Sherlock, who changed right there in the living room. Greg sat next to him and Sherlock leaned slightly on him. 

“Is something hurting?” he asked. Sherlock shook his head.

“Something bothering you?” Sherlock nodded yes. 

“Mycroft?”head-shake by Sherlock.

“Mary?” Lestrade asked, and Sherlock lifted his head and stared at Greg. He nodded yes.

“You’ll tell me when you want to talk, alright? Want me to stay here?” he offered and as an answer Sherlock put his head on Lestrade’s shoulder and his fingers found the edge of his vest, rubbing it. Greg turned the telly on, but he had some pints before Sherlock even made it to the pub, so he fell asleep. He woke up to Sherlock making coffee

Chapter Text

“Your coffee and your coffee maker are subpar, Lestrade. You deserve something better.”

“Good Morning to you, sunshine! That’s nice, you making coffee.” he said as a greeting.

“I have to plan a ‘Stag Night’ for John. In the beginning, I was thinking to just go by ourselves, and time is running a bit short, it’s next weekend. Could you come?” Sherlock asked, looking him in the eye.

“I would have to change some shifts. You really want me there? Don’t want to intrude, in case you guys want some time alone.”

“Don’t be an idiot. We don’t need time alone. For your information, I did think about what you said. That it was the best of bad timing. I don’t feel the need to have a conversation with John about the feelings or the plans I had. He clearly made his choice and I respect it. So you can come with us to the stag night. You can only add to it, seeing as both of us tolerate you.”

“Tolerate me, huh?” Greg smiled. “You know, I’m happy you went looking for me, instead of being alone. You know you can do that any time.”

“Yes, I know. I was upset last night. Lucky for me Donovan knew what I needed. She told me where you were.”

“Yeah, she texted me this morning. She said you only got in her face and stared at her until she played 20 Questions and you finally heard the right one.” smiled Greg.

“That is a lie! She asked me four questions and only because she’s an idiot that couldn’t think of the one question I needed the answer to last night.’

“How did Mary upset you so much, huh?” Greg asked. “It’s not often you are left at a loss for words.”

Sherlock took a deep breath and looked at Greg. He sat down next to him and started, “This is between you and me, Greg. No chatting around.” Greg nodded. Sherlock continued. “When I met Mary, I knew she was not what she wanted people to think. She knows what a skip code is, she realised John was in danger, she knows about guns. Her accent is impossible to place. She is a liar. 

"Last weekend, we finally got into a row of sorts. We were at theirs. John had been sent off on some fool’s errand, and she was looking at 'accessories' for the dress, which she finally accepted my advice for and went to a vintage boutique, where the owner owes me a favor. Mary got a proper dress, in which she actually looks the part of John’s bride. When she got started about tiaras and crowns, I told her that details were unimportant, that John didn’t have the economic resources to satisfy her every whim. 

She turned around, furious and said ‘Don't mess with me Sherlock. You don’t know me. You have no idea what ‘resources’ I may have so fuck off! And don’t even try to turn John against me! It wouldn’t be good for any of us. At least as things stand I still allow him to play loyal sidekick to your little detective sketch’.

"At that point I turned around to leave and she followed me. Mary then said, 'What? Leaving now? Remember darling, in case you are tempted to blab, that even knowing you were back John. Still. Chose. Me.' 

"That night I did the tiniest bit of investigation on her and found no support to her claim of being a registered nurse, no record of attendance in any of the uni’s she claimed to have sat at, and the only birth certificate that matched her name and proclaimed date of birth was for a baby that died before it left hospital and is buried in Chiswick Cemetery,” stated Sherlock.

"On Tuesday she sought me out. Apologized, told me she was an orphan that had been abused as a child, so she sometimes loses control when someone tries to ‘manipulate’ her. She was sickenly sweet and full of smiles as if that would make me forget her total transformation. 

"I pretended to believe her. Yesterday, after wrapping up a small case about intellectual property theft, I talked to John about the spat, and about what I had found out. He said he wouldn’t have me investigating his fiancee. I was to understand this was his future wife and in order for us to get along well, I would stop all efforts. So I have." He concluded.

Greg got up and paced. 

“John insisted I’m being paranoid and ‘making a storm in a cup of tea.’ I think Mary told him I’m making up stories about her to separate them. I don’t trust her,” stated Sherlock.

“Talk to your brother. If he thinks the situation is not dangerous, it probably isn’t. You can’t intervene if John doesn’t see a problem. And, sorry, but they are a couple. You don’t know how much she might have told John about herself, I mean the man is not an idiot, he's not blind. She has to have told him something about herself. John called you off, Sherlock. So, maybe let it be? Help him when he asks you to?” Greg suggested.

Sherlock looked up at Greg. He looked sad—and done. “It doesn’t seem as if I have much of a choice, Lestrade.”

 OooOooO

Lestrade had almost not been able to join the men for stag night. The criminals du jour had killed their associate and tried to get rid of the corpse by placing it in a refrigerator and taking said refrigerator out of the flat in a hand truck at 7:00 pm, practically giving a show to the suspicious neighbour who had already called the police before. Lestrade had placed his people around the block and they had caught the suspects. He had felt like a jerk leaving Stewart and Donovan with the paperwork, but he really wanted to go out with Sherlock—and John of course, man of the hour!

His Highness had picked bars in the neighborhoods they had solved cases in. Sherlock had brought his test tubes to measure their perfect alcohol intake, but John, sneaky bastard that he was, started to pour shots into their drinks when he took the tubes for refilling. 

Sherlock’s last place for the night, happened to be a gay bar. Lestrade couldn’t help noticing just how many hopeful blokes came after Sherlock, with the man being completely oblivious, trying to have a successful conversation with John about the case of the Royal Guard, who had been stabbed by a photographer. 

They had all drunk quite a lot, and had fish and chips. There were attractive blokes everywhere, the lights just right and the music was modern. Lestrade felt like dancing. So he got up.

Greg extended his hand to John, “Come on groom, let’s dance!” but John smiled and waved his hand no, “Not the dancing type, mate!”

So he extended his hand to Sherlock, who started to say the same, the posh berk, but Greg wasn’t having it. Instead, he caught his hand and pulled him up, and said in full Detective Inspector voice, “I’m not asking you! I’m giving you a direct order!” He noticed Sherlock’s eyes open wide, and his lips rising in a small smile. The song, “Dancing” was a perfect piece, the right mix of upbeat and hot. Greg exaggerated some steps and made over the top faces, and got what he wanted. Sherlock burst out laughing. The position they were in let Greg see John’s reaction to it. The look he gave Greg was rather hostile. Greg moved slightly to the side, leading Sherlock away from the doctor’s direct view. Sherlock started dancing, with the rhythm, carefree, beautiful, and yes quite sensually. When the next song “Better Off Without You” started, they just kept at it. Greg noticed Sherlock looked him over, looked at his mouth. Once he licked his lips, and Sherlock looked up, caught and looked hurridly away. Interesting.

They danced well together, and when the song ended, Sherlock did a mock bow and started turning towards the table, but “I’m Ready” came on and Greg caught his arm, this time bringing him close up to his body. They were both tipsy and neither seemed to mind. They also weren’t the only couple slow dancing this song. 

Oh, Sherlock looked gorgeous, and all those lights in his dishevelled curls, and the slight colour on his cheeks from his alcohol intake just made him more human. Sherlock now had his arms around Greg, around his neck, and was incredibly close to him. Greg could feel the fast beat of Sherlock’s heart, the heat of his body. He wanted to kiss him, push Sherlock toward the wall and snog him, or take him to the loo and suck him off. It was only John’s continued hawk-like stare that stopped him, and the fact that Sherlock undoubtedly didn’t feel the same, not about him. Though Sherlock had kept his body flush against his and he moved his hips along with the music, increasing the heat of Greg’s thoroughly naughty ideas. God they were plastered. 

They came back to the table, Sherlock smiling, sitting next to John, who gave Greg a positively feral look. “Had fun you two, didn’t you?” John asked, his eyes on Greg. He was about to say something, but Sherlock spoke first. “Yes actually, John. If you must know, Lestrade is not too bad to be around.” And Sherlock winked at him, which made Greg laugh, and John turned around to look at Sherlock, having missed it.

They drank some more, test tubes forgotten, and it was a good thing that the doctor and the detective inspector could hold their liquor well, as Sherlock proved to be a lightweight and totally done in for. While they were getting their coats and trying to get Sherlock into his, he picked a fight with a bear of a man about ash, which the stranger initially thought referred to his boyfriend of that name. Greg’s id came in handy in diffusing the situation. 

In a bad move, John took the front seat of the cab, upset by Sherlock’s behaviour, but he then kept turning around to “check” on him and seemed even more upset by Sherlock making himself comfortable on Greg’s shoulder, breathing on his neck. Greg sat back and was falling asleep himself, until he felt a hand throw his arm back. “Ouch!” he protested, realizing they had arrived at Baker Street, and it had been John taking Greg’s arm off of Sherlock’s shoulder and trying to wake the man, with no success. Greg half picked him up, half pushed him into John’s arms, who managed to pull him out and stand him up, until Greg paid the cab and came around to help. Sherlock half woke up enough to complain, “What? Thereth too many handths!” Greg smiled and looked at John, but John was frowning. “Getting him upstairs is going to be a bitch.”

Greg looked at him. “Nah, you just grab his feet. I’ll go first. Come on, buddy.” he said, as he got his arms under Sherlock’s to pick him up. Sherlock opened his eyes, giggled and stretched his arm up and behind himself to touch Greg’s hair. “Lethtrade, Lethtrade we don’t do thith.” 

“Sherlock! Cut it out!” barked John. Sherlock fell asleep anyway. They went into the flat, and put Sherlock to bed. The two friends undressed him and put his pajamas on. Then they went to the living room. John poured a Scotch for them.

OooOooO

“So, you and Sherlock are now the best of friends, aren’t you?” asked John and the possessiveness in his voice was unmistakable.

“We’re closer, yeah. He needed someone when he came back. He had a lot to say,” answered Greg.

“Then, thank God you were there to listen,” sarcasm dripping from John’s voice, “He seems pretty comfortable around you, Greg.”

“John, what’s the point of all this? Why are you even jealous? The poor bloke has been in a sulk since he came back and there was no John Watson at Baker Street. He was so lonely, mate. He missed you, and you wouldn’t give him the time of day. God, the way you were when he was gone, I thought you would be happy and grateful to have him back! Instead you refuse to listen to him and you are angry about things when you should know better. You two should have a conversation about what you’ve been to each other ever since you met. John, you should look inside yourself and remember what you feel for him, before it’s too late.”

“Did he put you up to this Greg? Is this one of his manipulative games? Cause I’m not playing! He faked his death! He left me behind, and came back without a thought of how it might have affected me! I’ve changed, I have a new life, and I won’t let him interfere!” John’s bark was loud in the flat.

“Mate, you are making important decisions without knowing all the facts. What’s even worse, while you’re angry! Just talk to him, John! You still have a bit of time!”

John looked confused. “You’re right I’m angry. The bloody git jumped in front of me and left me to believe I didn’t do enough to stop him from taking his own life. Yes, I had a hell of a time, and yes it would have been nice if he hadn’t stayed away as long as he did, but it is what it is, Greg.”

“John, you bloody moron! Sherlock is here! He cares for you! He’s alive! And do you have the first idea how lucky you are? Yes he’s a lunatic, a madman, he’s insanely dangerous! But he…"

“He what?” asks John, his arms crossed, expression closed.

“He and you, mate, you two belong together. Do something while there’s still a chance, because that chance doesn’t last forever. Trust me John, It’s gone before you know it!”

John let out a breath. “This is bollocks, Greg. I forgave him, I’m going on cases with Sherlock. He is my best friend and my best man. Yes, we are incredibly close. We will continue to be. I don’t plan on things changing more than they have to. Greg, maybe you forgot I’m already in a relationship. With Mary. Whom I am getting married to. Sherlock made his choices. I made mine. There is no turning back now.”

With that, John turned around, grabbed his coat and left. Greg thought he should leave too, but he was tired, from the clubbing, but mostly from trying to talk some sense into John. He was so closed up, but that hadn’t stopped the fool from being flat out jealous. John had said Sherlock seemed pretty comfortable around him. Greg liked that, and wanted Sherlock to continue to feel that way. He had been surprised when John went in the front seat, and even more so when Sherlock practically curled into him to sleep in the cab. That led him to think about the time he slept in Sherlock’s bed, what would it be like to wake next to the man every day? He fell asleep thinking about it

OooOooO

Greg had ordered him to dance. It had been fun. The alcohol had gotten to him, he knew, but he was pleasantly tipsy, enough to never mind John being upset for reasons unknown, probably missing Mary. Anyway, the music was good, even if the lights were too much. Looking at a fixed point helped him handle the overwhelming surroundings. So he looked at Greg. Who looked younger in the colourful lights. His hair was shiny, his pupils dilated. The man could move to the rhythm. He was nicely dressed, blue jeans for goodness sake, and a crisp white shirt. His smile though. Men stared at him, rightfully so. Then the slower song had come on and Greg had held him close. It had not been a waltz though and there had been much more movement required. They had moved well, pressed together, the rhythmic dance practically making them grind their bodies. Sherlock had felt his heart hammer against Greg’s chest and the man had already caught him looking at his lips, dancing this close made him want the club and the people to disappear, so only that man was with him, those hands on his hips, what would those lips on his own actually feel like?

OooOooO

“Yooo-hooo! Good morning—Oh Greg, it’s you who stayed over! I thought it had been John. I brought some brunch over; chicken noodle soup, avocado toast, tea. Hopefully it helps with the hangover… Sherlock not up yet?”

“Morning Mrs H. No not yet.” said Greg, his head wanting to pound. Mrs Hudson reached up in a cabinet and got a bottle of paracetamol, bringing it over to Lestrade with a glass of water. “Ooh, you angel!” he said.

Sherlock tumbled out of the lavatory a bit later, walking unsteadily, holding his head. He went to Mrs H and gave her a peck on the cheek and a hug, while receiving his glass of water and paracetamol. “You are the absolute Queen of all things good.” He said, as he grabbed his cuppa and took a sip, then he looked up and saw Greg’s eyes on him and his cheeks gained some colour.

“Morning, Lestrade.” He used the surname to put some distance between them.

“Morning, Holmes.” Greg said without looking at him. “Hope you don’t mind, I fell asleep on your chair. Meant to leave after John, but it didn’t happen.” 

“Why would I? Though you should have picked the sofa, now your whole back will be sore.” Sherlock said as he studied the man.

“You feel guilty, as you are not looking at me, and it’s not because of the dancing.” At that, Mrs Hudson, who was pretending not to listen as she cleaned, turned her head to look at Greg, and a smile came on her face. 

“You had words with John. About me. You idiot. That’s why he went off, that’s why you meant to leave.” Sherlock’s voice was rising and now Mrs Hudson said “oh dear!” as she put down the rags and scampered away.

“Calm down! I didn’t say a word about anything in the speech or anything that you and I have talked about that is private! Yes, I told him the two of you should talk and that he is making a decision without all the information. That’s all Sherlock!” Greg said, standing up.

“And he told you what we knew he would. That he has made his choice! Did that make you happy? Are you content now?” Sherlock clamored, his anger threatening to escalate further.

“NO! Nothing about that makes me happy, Sherlock! I want you to be alright. That’s why I did it, it’s all. No agenda behind it, just your wellbeing, you big lug!”

“John is your friend. Why would you upset him for me? I upset him enough. You don’t have to. You don’t have to do anything for me!” Sherlock growled.

“Yes, I do! I do things because I care, Sherlock! I always have! You say you’ve never had any friends; John said all the time he was your only one; but it’s not true! I’ve always been your friend. I want you to be ok, I want you to solve crimes, I want you happy, like you were last night.” Greg said. 

“I was drunk last night, Lestrade. And I’m very hungover now. So, if you're done eating, I’m quite sure there is work you need to do. At the Yard.” Sherlock said, as he looked out the window. Greg got up, got his coat and left.

Greg had three very busy days, checking papers, going out to crime scenes appearing in court, and having just had dinner with Tara and her roommate. His girl showing off the scholarship she had gotten for her research. He had a very nice evening with them. So he hadn’t thought about posh, idiot, friendless geniuses at all. Not one bit. Even when John had called him the day before, rather sheepishly, to remind him he was in fact expected at the wedding, meaning all was well between them. He guessed he would see Sherlock at the wedding. As he got ready for bed, he looked at his phone for texts—from Donovan. There were none. So he went to bed. To sleep. With no dreams about silly men with silly curls.

OooOooO

Sherlock knew Greg would not be angry for long. Experience dictated it. He himself had been upset all Sunday, though that might have been the hangover. By Monday his fingers oscillated over the letters on his phone to text Lestrade, but he decided he would rather not. A text was too easily ignored. A visit would be better, more efficient. Plus, he had something to do he did not want to be alone for. So with some preparation the day before, he headed to Lestrade’s flat, and let himself in with his picks. He finished his morning task and he set out the croissants in a bowl on the table, when he heard the gentlest of footsteps, the slightest creak of the wood beneath Greg’s feet. Sherlock stood, his hands refusing to remain idle, though he did get his legs to collaborate and stay still. Lestrade jumped into the kitchen, professional stance and gun in hand, deflating once he saw him.

“For fuck’s sake, Sherlock! It’s bloody 5 o’clock in the morning! I could have shot you, you Ponce idiot!” he said, breathing hard, and putting the security back on the gun. “God, that coffee smells good!’

“You would not have shot me because you are a professional. You always assess the scene first. The smell of coffee cut through your subconscious as did the thought that someone out to cause you harm would not bring you good coffee.”

“You put a lot of faith in the fact that I would think like you, which I don’t. The coffee does smell good, even though you are a hell of early, Sherlock.” Greg said.

“Well, I remembered disliking your coffeemaker, and … I did not feel good about how we parted ways last time, so…”

“So you brought me some coffee! That’s great!” said Greg. 

Sherlock stepped aside and Greg saw a new coffee maker, a coffee bean grinder and three small bags of coffee beans on his counter, along with chocolate and almond croissants on the table.

“You! You numpty! You didn’t have to go buy all this? Are you daft?” he said, but he put an arm over his shoulders. Sherlock had his hands in his pockets and his eyes on the floor.

“You obviously benefit from good coffee. I thought you could have breakfast with your friend. Whom is I. I prefer to avoid mediocre coffee, so…” he stammered.

“So, it’s a present for you. I don’t want to think about how much this cost you…”

“Then don’t and invite me to breakfast.” said Sherlock, looking at Greg from the corner of his eye.

“Sherlock, grab a cup and stay for breakfast. Then show me how to handle these things.”

As the men ate, Sherlock asked Greg to come with him to the final fitting of his suit. They talked about the case Greg was finishing paperwork for. Then Greg had a thought.

“Sherlock, you know you didn’t have to buy me all this stuff because of the tiff we had, right?”

“I didn’t?” Sherlock asked.

“Of course not! I’m your friend! Friends have brawls all the time. Differences of opinion. Root for different teams. It’s all fine. I wasn’t about to stop being your friend just because you kicked me out of Baker Street.”

“Well, I would have given you the coffee maker anyway, seeing as I visit. However, I do appreciate the heads up.” Sherlock said with a smile.

They went to the Yard first, Lestrade had things to tend to and Sherlock reviewed some cold cases. Then they headed towards the tailor shop. Greg was happy he came, just to have a preview of Sherlock looking that gorgeous. God this man!

“So, what color is John wearing again?" asked Lestrade and Signor Lorenzio bought out John’s suit. Identical to the one Sherlock had on. The suits were exactly the same. Greg’s heart threatened to break and he felt his eyes moisten. Oh, Sherlock.

“Signor Lorenzio, may we have a moment?” asked Greg, trying to get his emotions under reign again.

“Greg? What happened? Are you ill? Should we leave?” Sherlock asked, coming towards him.

“No, I’m fine, it’s just. Remember how I told you, certain parts of your speech gave too much of your feelings away?”

“Yes, so? We changed them.”

“Sherlock, don’t do this. Don’t dress exactly like John. We’ve talked about this, about putting your feelings out there for everyone to see.”

Sherlock sat down, looking at the floor, “Not good?”

“Not good for you sweetheart. He’s getting married. To one person only. To Mary. You, you have to take care of yourself.” As he said this, he sat next to Sherlock, let his hand caress Sherlock’s back, then up to his neck, the curve of his head.

“What if…” he whispered, “...I don’t know how?”

Greg got off the settee to crouch in front of him. “Look at me, Sherlock. I will be there for you. If you can’t make it alone, then you have me, I’ll stand with you. I’ll be there, next to Molly and Mrs H. I will be looking out for you. You hear me? If you can’t do it, can’t stand it anymore, if you need to leave, you just have to look at me. Alright?” Greg didn’t care if he was letting his own feelings show, he would not let Sherlock be alone at the damned wedding. 

Sherlock spoke to Mr. Lorenzio, who assured him he could fit the new shirt and vest in time for the wedding. Greg agreed that the new color, silver gray waist coat and tie went well for the occasion. 

Chapter Text

Why was he doing this? Why couldn’t he have listened to Mycroft for once and taken that case in Greece? Greece, he could be there! Instead, he was in this horrid stuffy church full of horrid, stuffy flowers. John was standing next to him, pale and seemingly looking to him for reassurance, when his limbs wanted to fly away from his body, he was sure he was hyperventilating, and his clothes were chafing his neck, his arms, his socks were too loose, the bloody air stank of flowers. Now, here she came, she walked down the aisle, alone. 

John’s smile looked forced and Sherlock’s whole stomach and heart fell — How ambitious of him to think he could do this, when his body was a ball of pain, and all he wanted to do was find a way to score. People shouldn’t say they were going to be there for you, when they weren’t, and he should have known not to tru...

Hurrying along the outer aisle, was a slim, well dressed man. Where was bloody Lestrade? He had said…

The man waved. At Sherlock. He did a double take. It was Greg. In a charcoal suit slim cut and presenting a shape Sherlock had not thought he had. Lilac shirt and a tie that was the exact same one he was wearing. The man had returned to Sr. Lorenzio. He looked — good. He was smirking. Sherlock gave him a haughty look and an eyeroll for good measure and realized he had missed John’s vows. It was probably for the best. He turned around once more to check if Lestrade had sat next to Mrs Hudson, and found him next to Molly.

They exited the church, Sherlock holding Janine’s arm, and guiding her to the limo that awaited the bridal party. He excused himself and joined Lestrade and Mrs H in a taxi to the reception. 

“You did so well Sherlock! And it was so good of you to make it Greg, may I say you boys look so handsome!” Mrs Hudson kept up the chatter until they got to the reception hall. 

Once inside when the Bridal party took their seats in the hall, Sherlock found himself reluctant to take his place next to John.

“I can’t do this,” whispered Sherlock, nerves eating at his stomach, jitters threatening to take over again.

“You got this. We rehearsed this Thursday night. You’ll do fine. Remember, stick to the speech, no vowing undying love…” 

“Do shut up Lestrade!”

“I’m just saying — no vows to save his arse from doing the domestic work. Wives love when their husbands do the dishes. Just go with what you rehearsed, then the toast, and they’re on their own for pictures. I will be at the table with Mrs H cheering you on.”

So Sherlock went into battle, sitting next to John, who looked like a vision, so handsome, but so nervous, constantly looking up at him. Sherlock wanted to comfort him and give him strength, but he also wanted to grab his hand and run away with him somewhere they could just be them. Breathing was getting harder and harder and each one caught in his chest. His mask was going to crack any given minute, and the announcer called for the Best Man. He stood up in a daze and saw Molly put a hand to her forehead. He wanted the floor to open. He wanted to have never come back. He couldn’t do this…

...he saw Greg waving discreetly. He made a gesture, ‘calm down’. Greg sat up straighter, chin up and breathed deeply and slowly. Sherlock followed suit. Greg then took his water glass and drank. Sherlock did so too, and felt the knot in his throat give a little. They looked at each other once more. Greg gave a little nod, and Sherlock responded. He started his speech. He followed the notes so he did not revert to what he had written down initially. It must have been good enough, as people laughed and looked happy in appropriate places. John interrupted him at some point to give him their first ever hug. Sherlock had no time to process it, just went on to finish the speech and ended with a toast, where he remembered not to make vows as that was only appropriate for the people actually getting married. 

When the people started making a line to congratulate the couple and take pictures, Sherlock walked to where Mrs Hudson, Molly, Tom and Greg were. He sat next to him and downed his drink. The champagne from the toast. Mrs Hudson said, “You did so well, my boy! I’m very proud of you.” He nodded, but there was something in her voice that stopped him from looking up at her. She understood too much. 

He felt Greg’s hand on his back, and started to shake it off, he was scared of faltering. Greg leaned in a bit and raised the hand towards his neck, putting the water glass close to him. Sherlock drank it up and breathed. When he looked up he saw Mrs Hudson looking at Greg with those knowing eyes. Why? He turned and found Lestrade looking at him, “You alright?” he asked him, softly. 

“Yes, of course.” Sherlock answered. “Go get me some cake.”

As Greg walked towards the cake table, the Master of Ceremonies announced the Newlyweds dance. Sherlock’s waltz for John. He felt thankful to have let Lestrade convince him to record it and upload the file, give it to the DJ. He couldn’t imagine playing it now. John stood up, took Mary by the hand, and got in the leading position Sherlock had taught him, his hands low on her waist. Sherlock felt a strike of pain, and a door slammed shut in his Mind Palace. He needed to get away. He went around the table to tell Molly he was out for air. 

Greg found him outside smoking.  “Hey! Where’s mine?”  he asked. Sherlock took one out of the pack and lit it for him. 

“Thought you quit.”

“Thought you did too.” said Greg with a smile at the drag of the cigarette. 

“Pinched them from Tom’s jacket pocket.” replied Sherlock, and Greg laughed, “You’re doing fine.”

“No I’m not. And if you dare say it’s ‘the end of an era’  I will use you for a punching bag.” said Sherlock. 

“Just a bit more, Sherlock. You can’t leave just yet. John was already upset, looking for you.” Greg said and Sherlock looked away.

“The dancing is about to start and he’ll be looking for us to help fill the dance floor. Can’t leave the groom to dance alone! We wouldn’t do that? Would we — you and I?” Greg asked, extending his hand. 

“We would never do that to John Watson.” muttered Sherlock, eyes still down, face a bit pale, but reached for Greg’s hand, and let him pull Sherlock’s back off the wall. As they went back, Janine called him with her hands, maybe for a dance.

“Look Lestrade. You can dance with her. She is looking to pull tonight. Go get her, tiger.” said Sherlock. With Greg gone, he would leave, get rid of these lights, the stupid music, the stupid bride. He thought Greg had left, but he came back running. “She wanted us to know John is looking for you.” Sherlock sighed. There was John, relieved to see him.

“Where did you go you git? I wanted you to play the waltz, instead you disappeared! We’re all done with it now.” John barked, shiny eyes and slight smile, warm affection seeping through.

The DJ invited the guests to the dance floor and seeing John move away, ready to dance with his bride gave him a vicious pain in the gut. The chords of the song started, and Sherlock wished he had left a long time ago. He started to move through the crowd, thinking about his coat, when Greg grabbed his hand. “Oh no, you don’t, Your Highness! You are not robbing me of the pleasure of your company. We are dancing this!"

“No we are not!” sulked Sherlock, as he tried to free himself.

“I say, let’s make them talk. We can. And we will have fun doing it. Let’s go and be show-stopping!”

Sherlock liked dancing with Greg. They were well matched. There was no harm in a dance now. He let Greg pull him closer to the newlyweds. Music started. People poured onto the dance floor. “Oh What A Night” came on. Sherlock loved this song. His father used to sing it while little boy Sherlock followed him around on his walks. Greg was making exaggerated movements and faces at him. Sherlock gave in and started to dance. Someone hooted at the other side of the room. Greg twirled Sherlock around, pulled him close and kept him moving. His antics made Sherlock smile. He saw John then, staring at him, unhappy. What could he possibly be doing wrong? 

A couple of songs later, Sherlock found himself slow dancing again with Greg. “The Way You Look Tonight”. Greg had sang along with it. Sherlock took the time to really look at him. Greg’s suit was perfect, the shirt fitted well, his silver hair styled just so. His body compact, no extra softness there. Greg did in fact look lovely tonight. Thankfully, he did not look at him while singing. Sherlock looked up to see Mrs Hudson dancing with a stranger, looking at them with affection. Janine gave him a thumbs up. As they turned around, he saw the newlyweds, Mary smiling saying hello with the tip of her fingers, John looking into his eyes with his brow scrunched, his mouth in a frown, his chin up, eyes hurt? What had he done now? Sherlock had had enough. 

He had to talk into Greg’s ear to be heard, “I’m leaving. Enough.” and turned around and started walking.

OooOooO

He was outside on his phone when Greg caught up with him; “Hey! We were supposed to leave together!”

“You can go back and have some actual fun, Lestrade. I am quite tired of the whole thing already.” Sherlock looked at his phone. 

“I’m going with.” Greg stated chin up, arms crossed.

“Nope, the law not allowed.”

“Then come with me. Morgan is at my place.” said Lestrade.

“Morgan?”

“The Captain. Bought him special. Private stock and plenty of it. All the extras too! We can experiment.” offered Greg.

“No. This is not your problem, Lestrade.” The stupid cab did not come.

“You are my friend not my problem and I am not leaving you alone tonight. It’s my place or the holding cell, Holmes.”

“You think you can order me around now? Are you demented?” The cab finally arrived, and the annoying, idiotic detective inspector pushed in behind him, having the nerve to show his ID to the driver, and give him his address, in a loud, commanding voice.

“You can’t force me! I’ve committed no crime! I have the right to leave!”

“Go if you want to, Sherlock. I do want you with me, though. Just so you know.” Greg sat back and looked out the window. Sherlock turned and put his hand on the door. 

“Do you really have alcohol?” Sherlock found he would rather not be alone in a filthy skip after all.

“Plenty of. Went all out especially for the occasion. Even bought fresh limes.” Greg deadpanned.

“Can’t waste those.” Sherlock conceded, sitting back himself. They rode in comfortable silence. Made it to Greg’s flat.

OooOooO

Later there was a mess of bottles, empty, half full and limes, lime rinds, lime slices, littering the floor where two evidently drunk men were sitting, still talking about crime, and suspects and John, and the wedding, and Lestrade’s suit.

“The cut Greg… the cut of a thuit maketh a big differenth. Your usual thuith, they are too big for you. Make you look thofth. You. You are not thofth. You are fit!” said Sherlock pointing at him with a hand that held a glass with rum in it.

“Is that why you use every single piece of clothing so damn tight? So you don’t look ‘soft’? Believe me, you don’t have to worry. Fucking GQ model you are.”

“Lethtrade, I’m boneth and hair. A man should have thome tone! Thome shape! Like John. Like you!” slurred Sherlock.

“You’ve got muscle. Course you do! All that running around, jumping from one rooftop to another, has to pay off! Like, look at this…” Lestrade slapped Sherlock’s thigh. “Strong legs, and these!," he pinched Sherlock’s arms, “These guns are charged!”

“Of courth! Everybody thinks both you and John are thronger than me. I may not have all...that.” he said, waving a hand towards Greg, “...but I’m wiry, and thronger than either of you.” Sherlock said.

“You wish! Get up! Here now! Let’s see who is stronger, come on!” said Lestrade, taking his jacket and his shirt off, remaining in his vest. Sherlock did so too.

Greg wanted to go easy on him. The man was drunk, and had been through a lot today, but it was too easy. One little push sent him almost off balance. Then Greg pushed Sherlock’s shoulders, and he did offer some resistance and a bit more as Greg pushed a bit harder.

They were each holding the other’s forearms and then Sherlock looked up and gave him an evil smile. He dug into his arms and started pushing back with surprising ease. Sherlock smirked as he pushed him effortlessly, even while Greg started seriously resisting. 

Greg was soon against the wall, Sherlock smiling maniacally. Colour on his face, light sweat, heat. Oh no. Oh shit. Time stopped. Both men breathing hard. Fuck, both men getting hard. Greg looked up, to see Sherlock looking at his mouth. “Sherlock,” he said, breathless, meaning to follow up with, ‘Ok enough now’, or ‘we don’t do this mate’, or…

Sherlock moved his head forward and kissed him, hard, and Greg’s self-control went out the window. His body was pressed to the wall, Sherlock holding him back, and now his hands were in Greg’s hair, and Greg was holding on tight and wanted this to never stop. Sherlock was persistent, taking his lips off his, now sucking on his neck, his hands under Greg’s vest, grabbing at his sweaty body and groaning sinfully. It was so hard to think! He wanted more, so much more,  but this was his friend. And John just got married! Sherlock was drunk...did he even know who he was kissing?

He pushed Sherlock back a bit. “Sherlock….Sherlock wait, hey wait!” 

Sherlock pulled back a bit, his hands still on Greg’s body, his eyes dazed, his lips red from Greg’s mouth. “I’m Greg, Sherlock. You know that, right? Greg?” he said, trying to catch his breath.

Sherlock’s eyes squinted and he tilted his head, “Obviously. I’m Sherlock. Hello.” he lowered his voice on the last word and kissed him again. Greg pushed once more. “Sherlock, we’re drunk.”

Now Sherlock moved back again. “Excellent deduction. Is there a problem?” he asked, not moving away, not yet.

“We shouldn’t go on, not like this, Sherlock. We’ve both had too much to drink.” said Lestrade and felt like a tool when he saw Sherlock’s face turn pale and lose all expression. Sherlock put both hands up, stepped away, and said, 

“Apologies.”

“No! It’s not that...Sherlock it’s just...” Greg stammered regretting the distance between them already.

“We are friends, Sherlock…” at that, Sherlock’s head snapped back, as if he’d been slapped in the face,”...I don’t want our friendship to be ruined by…” Greg tried to explain. 

“No, I got it Lestrade, you are right, I am drunk.” Sherlock said. He took a bottle, drank directly from it, walked towards the entrance, took his coat and left, bottle in hand.

Greg took a minute too long to process what had just happened. By the time he hurried down the stairs, he saw a taxi leaving with Sherlock presumably in it.  Shit, shit, shit. Not what he wanted! At all. 

OooOooO

Sherlock stumbled not quietly into the house. Tripped on the stairs. He was careful not to spill the rum. Seemed important. 

“What on Earth?” Hudders picked tonight of all nights to not have her herbal soother. Bugger.

“Sherlock? Are you alright?” She asked turning on the light. Sherlock put up the hand not holding the bottle and hissed like a cat.

“Hudders, if you ever dithturb my stepth again, your life shall pay the forfeit of the peath...'' Sherlock slurred.

“Oh you silly man, if you are going to quote Shakesphere at me please find a better line and don’t misquote it. You are quite drunk dear.”

“Yes Hudthon, it appears I am.” he said, and she pushed him up the stairs. 

“Were you alone, love? In a pub?” She helped him take his coat off, sat him on the sofa.

“No. I was with a bloody copper. He was insistent in protecting my honour Hudthon — Mrs. I have thucth great friendth. One left me to get married, to a woman , and the other is the last knight of ...oh something detectivy…”

Mrs Hudson giggled. He had been with Greg. At least not alone, or in a skip. Home was better. She took the bottle from him, poured the meager remains down the drain, brought a pillow and a comforter and covered Sherlock who had taken his shoes off and was now asleep on the couch. His phone on the floor, lighting up with messages;  D.I.Lestrade, of course.

Mrs Hudson picked it up and put it to charge. Then she texted Greg, telling him Sherlock was home and asleep, then went back downstairs.

OooOooO

Next time Sherlock woke up it was to a spinning flat. He closed his eyes tight and tried to remember, then promptly wished he hadn’t. It had happened. John was now officially married. He groaned out loud. The need to use the toilet would get uncomfortable soon. There was something else...the room spinned slower now, but he didn’t like the way his stomach rolled. No! Why had he gone with Lestrade? Most importantly, why chose to drink with him?

He remembered with a start —he had kissed him. Lestrade. His friend. Oh god no! Even with John’s catastrophic wedding, Sherlock had enjoyed the parts of yesterday he had spent with Lestrade. The smoking, the dancing, the drinking. He had thought the snogging was good. Lestrade had definitely been participating enthusiastically. He had been looking at his mouth often enough. He had shown attraction, though Sherlock had proven to be mistaken about reading that kind of thing repeatedly. It hadn’t felt wrong. In fact, he had wanted more. He had liked the feel of Greg’s body under the shirt, remembered wanting to take those slim fitting trousers off. But due to his abhorrent penchant for selecting unavailable men as persons of interest, he had of course been mistaken once again. In mid action, Lestrade had reminded him they were drunk and that they should stop because physical involvement would negatively affect their friendship. Sherlock knew after living with John Watson that Greg calling him a friend meant No Touch! Greg wasn’t interested in anything other than being “mates”. 

Could he pretend he had forgotten it due to the alcohol? Perhaps. Would Greg believe it? Probably not but if he wanted to remain friends, maybe he would forgive Sherlock, and he needed Lestrade, as a friend. 

OooOooO

Greg was losing his mind. Sherlock had not communicated after he had had the great idea of interrupting what was probably The. Best. Snog. of his life, because he was insecure the man might have been confusing him with John. Then he had the brilliant idea to call it off because they were drunk! As if Sherlock was offering him a relationship instead of...well maybe sex. He had pushed Sherlock away! And he was supposed to be his friend!! On the other hand, how would he have been able to ever be friends with Sherlock, after having sex with him? No! Bad enough with the snogging! After a tussle and against a wall, like teenagers for fuck’s sake! But oh wow the kisses, the heat of Sherlock’s body, the drumming of his heart against his own chest, Sherlock’s hands exploring his body, turning on every muscle, every nerve! And he had called it off, not because he wanted it to stop, but because he had had to.

This was a mess of his own making. How would they be able to go on? He had pushed Sherlock away, and the man had left. With Sherlock that most likely meant game over. Had he been conscious enough to know he had been kissing him and not John? Because if he had, it must have been...the heat of the moment? Genius that he was, the man knew Greg was helplessly attracted — but the feeling wasn’t mutual. It couldn’t be. Either way, Greg feared that all these months of friendship, and of being there for him, were over. One night he let his guard down. Greg made a face, guard down? What was he hiding?

Chapter Text

Greg caved in first. He had to. He had been the one to push away. He sent the text, stupid as it was, and for the rest of the day he proceeded as if he didn’t care if Sherlock answered it or not.

-Have you heard from the honeymooners?

It was afternoon before Sherlock responded.

-Yes. They have arrived at the hotel safely, though apparently both have different ideas of how to use their time. Mary wants them to go snorkeling together, while John just wants to sit at the ocean side and read one of his silly books. SH

-Oh the joy. You ok? Want to come down to the yard? Nothing major, but we could grab a bite?

-Can’t. Have to go interview a recent widow about the blackmail her saintly departed husband was going through. Mycroft. SH

-Sounds not so interesting. Keep in touch?

…

…

-Yes, of course. SH

OooOooO

But he didn’t. As Greg knew he wouldn’t. And every day with no word, left him empty, and lonely, with the memory of those kisses and that body replaying in his mind. The third night with no contact, Lestrade looked through his wallet. Found the card. Made a call.

The next day, late afternoon, Greg had to admit, it hadn’t worked. Sherlock was still on his mind. Of course the man hadn’t texted or called since Greg texted. So he would try again.

-Hey! How is it going? The case?

-Ongoing. Waiting for the blackmailer to take notice of me. Bored. SH

-What, contact not imminent?

-Nope. I’ve been trying to get his attention. SH

-So come out for a bite, make yourself seen.

-Not at all peckish and in my pajamas. Don’t want to change now. Maybe some other time. SH

-Alright. TTYL then.

Greg would see Sherlock. He thought he knew what to do.

OooOooO

Stupid case, the blackmailer wouldn’t make a move. Stupid Mycroft, of course would not let him use his own plan, stupid John, sending him texts from his “sex holiday.” John complained that Mary wanted to do everything together, while he wanted some time to breathe. He complained about the room. About the food. Sherlock sent him text after text about the cases just to make him stop. John had chosen to be married. He had to work harder at enjoying it perhaps. 

Now there was Mrs Hudson cooing at someone. Not a client. One of his underground network teens? Rather early…oh Lestrade. He groaned. He did not want to talk about...the incident. Not now, not ever.

“I need your help! Get off your arse and come with me!" Lestrade said in lieu of a greeting.

Sherlock was caught off guard and did not like it. “What is this even about? I’m not aware of any case…” he said as he hurriedly got dressed.

“I don’t have time, Sherlock! Now if you're coming!” Greg hurried down the stairs and into his car. Sure enough, there came Sherlock trying to tame his hair. 

“Where are we going?” he started.

“To collect evidence. Now be quiet! I’m thinking.” Greg said, hands tight on the steering wheel face in a grimace of concentration. Sherlock sat quietly, and looked out the window, turning slightly to look at Greg every once in a while. He was muttering to himself and checking the navigation app. They got to an eclectic neighborhood and Greg got on the phone. They were let in by a charming young lady who smiled and welcomed them in. What was going on? Lestrade dropped the act and bore a big smile. “You’re going to like this!” he said.

Sherlock tried to remember whose birthday it was, or if it was a holiday of sorts. The lady took them through a small playground and led them to a garden. There was something behind a tall fence. And Lestrade was right. He loved it. There were beehives! In the city! He had seen others but this was gorgeous! So much colour! It smelled amazing and he liked the sound of the bees. 

“What? Why are we here?” asked Sherlock.

“Solved a case across the street. Saw this from above and came to say hi to Zaide here.”

The young woman was very enthusiastic about the bees. It was a community effort and she was friends with beekeepers around the world. She showed Sherlock around the small space and let him take a closer look at the hives. He was enchanted. She took him into the little store, where he sampled some honey from around the world. Avocado honey, Eucalyptus honey, coffee honey. He bought so much! He saw Lestrade buying things too.

Once they were done, sitting in Greg’s car, both eating honey biscuits in bee shape, Sherlock looked at Lestrade, smiling. 

“Is there an actual case, Lestrade?” he asked.

“There was.‘The Case Of The Missing Friend’. We can have John write it up when he comes back.”

“We solved it? Where was this friend?” Sherlock asked, biting  into another biscuit.

“Right there.” Greg said. As he pointed at Sherlock’s smile, he knew he was smiling, too.

OooOooO

So they were back to friends, Sherlock coming to the Yard, and taking over some cold cases. Then later going for fish and chips with Greg. Greg going by Baker Street, with take away and beer. Something was missing though. The looks, Sherlock rarely looked at him now. And the little touches, Sherlock sitting too close to him, or rubbing the edge of his jacket or his vest; those were gone without a trace. His name. Sherlock had gone back to calling him Lestrade. Greg missed Sherlock terribly, even when the man was right there.

“Guv, what’s going on?” Donovan asked one evening after coming back to the Yard one night after a case in which Sherlock had shined.

“With the suspect? Well he’ll be duly processed…”

“No boss...what’s with you and the…  and Holmes? Something is not right there,” she commented.

“What do you mean? He’s consulting as always.” Greg replied.

“Nope, not as always. For a while there you two were chummy, like very chummy. As in ‘the Guv’s got a boyfriend’ chummy. Now both of you are sad, and he stares at you when you aren’t looking. So is it over? Are you on good terms, or should I start a CBO chain for him?”

“Sally, I have known Sherlock since he was a teenager. That’s all. I don’t know, he’s probably missing Dr. Watson.” he said, looking intently at the file in front of him.

“It’s not Watson who he stares at here, Sir. I think you should give yourself a chance. You seemed to work together, and I’m not talking about the job. Holmes really isn’t much of a freak since he came back and it’s in large part due to you.”

“Sally, you don’t even like Sherlock and Sherlock doesn’t like me like that. Pretty much a one track mind that one. Thanks for the concern, but it’s all fine.”

OooOooO

That look. That totally happy, conspiratorial look. As if the two of them knew something the others didn’t. That was the one that killed him. The one Sherlock was giving him now. 

The case was solved, of course, Sherlock had known the nephew was responsible for the lawsuits against the client’s luxury car shop. The young man had been very clever, starting by buying falsified replacement pieces, to fixing up old motors himself, then billing as if they had been new, original pieces. Had the man applied his smarts, he could have actually made himself quite a career as a mechanical engineer. As it was the young man had led the arresting officers and Sherlock on a merry chase. Of course, Sherlock had figured out where the suspect was running to and Lestrade and his people had been waiting close by. Now here he was, next to Greg telling him all about the chase and the grapple they had, the eventual arrest. Sherlock was still breathing heavy, his shirt pulled out of his trousers, buttons missing on the top, sweaty. So fucking sexy. And smiling with him. Now came the little nose scrunch. Greg was supposed to say something, then. 

“You were absolutely incredible Sherlock, well done you.” he said, and Sherlock smiled again. 

“Hmm. Peckish now...Din- would you like to eat? We can go to the chinese place.” suggested Sherlock, looking away.

“Yeah, sure. First the Yard though. Paperwork.”

“Ughh. When are you retiring again?” whinged Sherlock.

“Oooh boy. You’ll wait a long time for me!” answered Greg and heard a murmured “I hope not” as a response.

It had been a good dinner, good food, a pint each, animated conversation. When Greg left Sherlock at Baker Street, he patted his arm as goodbye, and Sherlock moved away quickly. Once he got home, Lestrade called that number again.

OooOooO

“So how is Toby?” Sherlock asked, feeling awkward, it wasn’t often he had lunch with Molly. He’d called about some samples and they’d both been close to the restaurant.

She laughed, “Toby the cat is fine! Tom, my fiance, is alright too.” Molly answered goodnaturedly. “Have you heard from John? Shouldn’t he be back by now?”

“He texts. Frequently. Told me he got badly sunburned falling asleep on the sand. Told me he had a bad stomach because of the food. Mary has been in scuba diving classes. They’re due back next week.”

Molly had been examining him critically. “You look well. You’re working cases with the Yard right? With Greg.”

“Mostly working with Mycroft on a case where the suspect is very careful. It is really not showing much progress. When there is something of interest from the Yard, then yes, I help out. The samples I gave you yesterday are to prove the suspect they arrested did not in fact poison his mother-in-law.”

“I see. Well it’s good to see you doing well. I was a bit worried about you working cases alone.” she said.

Sherlock took a deep breath. “Molly, were you ever in love before Tom?” he asked, and when she looked up, she gave him a look he could not understand.

“Yes. Yes, I was. Why?” Molly answered carefully.

“I wanted to ask. It’s a different scenario, but what is the best thing to do, if a person has feelings for someone that leaves, and someone else comes along? Someone that makes the person feel things, makes them feel alive again, but the person still feels loyal? Still has...feelings?... for the one that left?” Sherlock sighed. “This doesn’t even make sense, Molly, you don’t have to…”

“No, I got this. Believe me, you can move on. A person can find another that loves them. Even if the person spent a long time loving someone. Maybe that someone was important to them, but didn’t exactly return the person’s feelings. Maybe they couldn’t. Maybe they did, but the timing wasn’t good. So now the new someone should have a chance. Even if the person thinks they can’t ever forget the first love, if the new someone returns their love, treats them well and makes them happy, it’s worth a shot. The person could be surprised. Then the first “someone” can even become a friend.” Molly said smiling. She got up and said “Let’s go see about those samples, my friend.” 

Sherlock made sure he kept Molly’s advice safe for further consideration later. He still wanted to think about that look. He placed a different coloured folder with Molly’s name, on her desk in the lab of his Mind Palace.

 OooOooO

At the morgue, Molly told Sherlock to wait for her to run to the lab for the samples he needed. Her assistant—  Benjamin? — came up to him.

“Hello, Mr Holmes. How have you been?” he asked, and when Sherlock looked at him he saw an odd expression on the man’s face. 

“Working. How’s the job going for you?” Sherlock asked to see what this was about.

“Oh, it’s fine. Dr. Hooper is a very good boss. The work is entertaining enough. In fact, life is quite good at the moment.” said Ben, that sly look still on his face. “Where’s your — friend , Mr. Holmes?” he asked. 

Sherlock could not understand why the man was using that tone. It wasn’t flirty, though. What was it?

“DI Lestrade is most probably working at the Yard now,” he said. Right then Molly came back with the results, and Ben seemed to change his mind about what he was going to say. 

“Dr Hooper, I’m taking my break now, if that’s alright? Take care Mr Holmes, and say hello to Greg for me, please.” he said.

OooOooO

“Mycroft, we got to stop meeting like this! Next time no need to kidnap me, just drop a call. To what do you owe the pleasure of my company?” Greg asked, in lieu of actually greeting Sherlock’s brother.

“Detective Inspector Lestrade. It seems you and my brother have developed a closer...friendship now that Dr Watson decided to marry the scintillating Miss Morstan. As his involvement in Sherlock’s cases is at the moment, uncertain, I wanted to ‘touch base’ with you, so to speak.”

“Alright, how can I help you?” Greg asked, looking at Mycroft and sprawling in the offered armchair.

Mycroft looked at the man. Cheeky and pretentious where the doctor was angry and direct. Lestrade knew Sherlock well, had worked with him for a long time and had intervened in favour of Sherlock on multiple occasions. Not bad.

“Inspector, I have asked my brother for help in a case against a media mogul. While I can’t disclose the details of the case right now, please be advised this person attracts other very dangerous elements. Some of them know us personally and in this case, that is not a good thing. I brought you here to ask you, if you have any influence at all over Sherlock, to advise him to not get involved beyond the scope of his current investigation and to exercise extreme caution while working this case.” Greg had sat up, worried. 

“I will do what I can, Mycroft, but shouldn’t you be talking to John? He’s Sherlock’s partner,” he said

“I doubt he will be involved in this case, Inspector. However, even if he is, my brother’s well being might not be his number one priority. It’s my brother’s life I’m concerned about. I dare not trust it to a man whose bride must be his top concern. You are a clever member of the Yard. You are in a unique position to help keep those you care about safe. Please tell me you will help protect my brother.” Mycroft asked, and he was completely sincere. Ideally he would have counted on John Watson, but with the man married, his relationship with Sherlock was badly fractured. The Detective Inspector was his only other hope. He was counting on his deduction skills and the security reports he had been reviewing. They told him both the Inspector’s and his brother’s feelings were taking root deeper than either man was aware of. 

“Yes, I will Mycroft. I will do everything in my power to keep him safe. You help me by calling or texting if you know of anything significant.”

“I will, Greg. Thank you.” With that, the meeting was over.

OooOooO

How was he supposed to keep a tornado safe? The man was a complete no show. Greg had tried texting Sherlock and gotten “-Case” and “-later” as answers and the laters never came. He did not care. Grown up consulting detectives who forgot life changing moments could well take care of themselves.

OooOooO

Sherlock had long conversations with both Lady Smallwood and Mycroft. His brother's involvement in the lady’s case seemed to have attracted the blackmailer, a journalist, Charles Agustus Magnussen. Even though Mycroft was being secretive, Sherlock had seen the blackmailer probably had something on his big brother. Not something personal, which would explain the cloak and dagger that seemed needed to work this case. 

Sherlock had called Magnussen and not gotten a return call, no response at all. Rude. He had various theories about that. He also thought the media mogul needed some bait, but none of Sherlock’s friends or family would like what he had in mind. He was convinced he had to let the man see a weakness, something Magnussen could use against him, for him to be willing to talk to Sherlock and therefore, allow him into his office, or if lucky, his house where he probably hid all blackmail related “proof”.

*He arrived at Greg’s a bit later than usual, having been lost in the Mind Palace for a while replaying a recent incident...and found the door locked. So, out working late. 

He used his picks to let himself in, he could order take away from inside, or see if there were the makings for tea and sandwiches. He heard movement, and a sound that stopped him in his tracks. A groan. Was Greg hurt? A muttered voice. What? He stepped quietly closer to the sounds. His heart started beating fast and he felt his stomach drop. He tiptoed close to the slightly open door of Greg’s bedroom. Sherlock watched as Greg got up from between another man’s legs. A man who moaned in protest. Sherlock’s eyes went directly to Greg’s body, so much fitter than his everyday appearance let on, golden skin, hairy chest, muscled arms. He was also, of course fully erect. Sherlock could have appreciated the view if he hadn’t been reeling with...hurt? The man on the bed rose up to kiss him. “Yes, yes, boy, I’m going to be so good to you.” said Greg. The man kissed Greg’s chest and Sherlock had to stifle a noise himself. How dare he!

“Now Greg, Now!” said the man and Sherlock recognized the voice, and the memory of that cocky smile made hot rage erupt inside him, and made him want to go to that bed and pull Ben off by his stupid hair. Now Greg pulled Ben closer to him, and applied lube to both himself and Ben. Sherlock should leave, should run away, or throw himself on Lestrade and beat him bloody. Instead, he stood there, frozen in place, hyperventilating, eyes glued to Greg, who had one hand on Ben’s leg, placing it over his shoulder, and the other hand on his own cock. Stroking himself. When Lestrade entered the man on the bed and he shouted, Sherlock had various emotions fighting inside him, the intensity of which scared him badly, rage, lust, jealousy and betrayal, threatening to tear him apart. 

Then Greg started fucking the man and Sherlock’s brain stopped. He raised his fist to his mouth, biting hard to keep quiet. As Ben yelled “yes, yes, Oh God!” Greg thrusted hard, almost brutally. He moved his hands over Ben’s body attentively, playing with his nipples, then caressing  his arms, his belly and finally taking Ben’s cock in his hand and stroking it as he fucked him faster. Ben came first while Greg pulled Ben’s hips closer to him and thrust hard for a while and came with a grunt. Ben once more got up, this time kissing Greg’s mouth and it was a close thing, but Sherlock was able to stop himself from going after Ben for kissing the lips Sherlock had kissed first. 

All of this, it should have been with him! Sherlock had thought Greg had wanted him. He had felt it against his own body. Mistaken. Of course he hadn’t wanted Sherlock. He was never enough. Not enough for Lestrade, not enough for John. Obviously neither of them would ever choose him. He turned around, in a disgusting state of arousal, heading for the door cursing himself for dropping by, for looking into Greg’s room, for staying and watching the whole thing like a bloody pervert. Now as he walked towards the door, dazed, he forgot to be quiet, he forgot to pay attention and tripped over a moronic fold on the rug. Of course Lestrade, ministrations concluded, came out of the room, slipping on a vest and already in pajama bottoms. When he saw him, his face fell.

“Sherlock…” he started

“I … just... was going to leave… I won’t bother you again…” he stammered.

“Sherlock, shit, this, you weren’t supposed to... I’m so sorry.” Greg said, raising his hand to hold his arm.

“Don’t you dare touch me!” Sherlock hissed. “I wasn’t supposed to know about it? Do you think I was alarmed by the sex? Do you think I give a damn who you FUCK? Why would I when you will obviously do it with anyone but...”

Sherlock regained control of himself. He hurried out of the flat then ran down the street, into the tube station. Almost took the wrong train, stupid eyes were blurry. Moisture on his face, sniffles, people looking at him. The lighting hideous, the noises mocking him, his brain showing him Lestrade fucking Ben, while that bastard laughed at him. He got off at the station. Instead of following the people that were heading towards the street, and towards home, he hurried to the opposite side of the platform, went down the blackened steps and disappeared.

Chapter Text

Five days. No show for five days. Ok, so Sherlock wasn’t going to answer his calls, his texts, but Mrs Hudson didn’t know anything about him either, and Molly actually asked him about The Consulting Detective before Greg could work a question in.  Even John had texted him asking if he had sent Sherlock on a case that had him so absorbed so as to not answer. Of course he hadn’t. Greg even went as far as to ask Dimmock and Harris to call on him, see if he answered them, but no such luck. Worry had him jumping out of his skin. Calling Mycroft was looking like a possibility after all. He knew what such a disappearance used to mean years ago. But Sherlock had been clean for such a long time. Fuck! 

He kept seeing Sherlock’s expression when he first saw him. He had been hurt. And Greg felt stupid. Stupid for not considering the possibility… but how could he, when Sherlock and John had always been inseparable. How could Greg know there could be a place for him? And that is what it meant, that pain on his face, the anger. Accusing him of “doing it” the way he said it “with anyone but…” The knowledge of that next word twisted his guts with guilt, because had he known that he had a chance, however small, with Sherlock, he would have never looked for a substitute. Now there was no chance in hell, but he had to at least find the man. His shoulders slumping and his face sullen, he admitted he had to start looking in the dens. 

OooOooO

Oh the exhilaration! He had missed it. Golden lightning pulsing through his veins. The clarity of thought. So easy to understand Magnussen, his process, his actions. Lady Smallwood was in deep shite. Mycroft’s boyfriend Harry, and his Royal employers most probably were too. That and John Watson had been back for a couple of days now, and not one text. He who should not be thought about was probably looking for him. Served him right for being a literal fucking idiot. 

This place, this filthy den looked beautiful in the sunrise light. So much lost humanity, himself included. The smell of their bodies, and the old, makeshift beddings, the creaking of floors and doors and windows. It was all good, all beautiful indeed. So Sherlock let his mind process all these sensations. His transport and his brain both agreed they were enjoying this trip. He let himself relax and drift away…

OooOooO

He woke up to a familiar voice. Greg? No. Oh no.

“Where am I?” asked his neighbor.

“The arse-end of the universe with the scum of the Earth. Look at me.” and wasn’t that the one and only Doctor Captain John Watson. Sherlock smiled and closed his eyes. John would address him now.

“Have you come for me?” the boy next to him asked. Of course not, John was here for him. Only, how had he known where he was? And why was he engaging in conversation with the waif on the mattress next to his?

“Do you think I know a lot of people here?”  Surely, John was playing with him. Even if he had truly come for this other junkie, he had certainly recognized him by now? Granted he looked different with his jogging bottoms and his hooded jacket, but John would know him. Wouldn’t he? He would know John anywhere.

“Hey, all right?” John inquired of the boy.

Sherlock gave up waiting and turned around on the bed, looking at them. “Ah, hello John.” John’s look of outraged surprise told him the doctor had no idea he had been mere steps from him.

“Didn’t expect to see you here.” Sherlock confessed, and smiled at John’s astonished face. “Did you come for me, too?”

There were exclamations of disbelief and horror, and a dramatic sweeping him up, and dragging him out. John went on and on. They got to the door and Sherlock had had it, “For God’s sake, John, I’m on a case!”

John spouted out some nonsense about having only been away for a month. As if he were here because of that. Jumping over the side of the fire escape and off the bins in an stellar performance wasn’t enough to shut him up. Sherlock realized John had not been looking for him at all. His ex-flatmate had not even recognized him when right next to him. Sherlock regretted speaking up. He should have stayed quiet on his mattress. 

“Sherlock Holmes in a drug den! How’s that gonna look!’” John barked.

“I’m undercover,” retorted Sherlock.

“No you are not!” John had the audacity to say.

“Well, I’m not now!!” Sherlock exaggerated, aware that his response looked like a two year old’s tantrum, but still too high to care. 

A surprised Mary collected John, Sherlock, Issac and Billy, dropping Issac off with his mother, and taking everyone else to Barts, so Sherlock could pee in a jar at John’s command. At least the last part of the ride was silent. John was busy texting Molly, presumably and probably Mycroft. Oh the joys.

OooOooO

When a text finally came through, it wasn’t Sherlock’s, but John’s. 

-Did you send Sherlock on an undercover mission? Because if so we need to have some words. 

-Wait, you actually found him? I’ve been looking for him for days! Is he alright?

-So no case. I thought so. The idiot is as high as a kite. Found him in a drug den when I went to look for a neighbor’s kid. I’m taking the wanker to Barts. Can you call Mycroft and check Baker Street? Kind of busy now.

-I’ll see you there.

While driving, Greg caught a look of himself in the mirror. Dark bags under his eyes, his expression screaming out his feelings. He fixed his face, and loosened his grip on the steering wheel. Days looking in the skips Sherlock had used to crash at all those years ago. Close to Baker Street, at the river’s edge, under the bridge, the underground. All that worry, the remorse, the uncertainty of how to find Sherlock, all solved by John. Of course. 

As he had hurried to the lab John had certainly taken him to, he thought that at least Sherlock had been found and was now amongst friends.

OooOooO

As he got closer to the lab, though, what was going on made him see red.

Molly had obviously just obtained the results of Sherlock’s urine test. John asked “Well, is he clean?”

Molly’s face had transformed into a mask of anger, “Clean?” She snarled, and she slapped Sherlock with her right hand. Greg stopped in his tracks, five steps from the entrance. Molly slapped him again, then raised her left hand as Greg yelled, in his sternest Detective Inspector voice, “Molly! Stop that this instant!”

Sherlock’s lips raised in a smirk the berk didn’t seem to be able to contain, even as he gave Greg an eye roll deluxe. Various voices called out and protested at once. 

John to Sherlock, “If you were anywhere near this kind of thing again, you could have called, you could have talked to me.”

Wiggins was telling Mary how the creases in John’s shirt meant he kept his shirts folded and ready to pack at a moment’s notice, and Molly went on about Sherlock betraying the love of his friends. 

Greg was getting angry, “Enough.” He barked. “Molly..,” he said, pointing his finger at her, “...from now on keep your hands to yourself.”

Mary laughed and said, “Oooh Sherlock, looks like someone is on your side. You got yourself a bodyguard.” 

John shot her a look at that, and Sherlock’s eyes met Greg’s.

“It would be about time, from the looks of this!” Greg continued, “His so called friends here aren’t all that considerate, are you?” 

Molly was quick to respond. “He is Using, Greg! Decided it was a great idea to throw his sobriety, his life, and genius away, never minding what it does to him or to the people who care for him,” she ranted.

“Ok, so he fucked up and you saw it fit to clout him for it. But if you made a hash out of something Molly, and Sherlock slapped you to show you just how much he bloody cares, he would end up in jail for assault. You gave yourself the right to hit a man under the influence, and humiliate him in front of his friends. Not even a spouse has that right, and last time I checked...”

“Greg!” John cautioned, a bit taken aback.

Greg turned to John at that and let him have it, too, “And you, John, did you really expect him to call you while you were away? You had the right to go on holiday, of course, but it’s not as if the two of you were on the best of terms even before that, right, Mr Happy Homecoming? Some friends he has. He fails, as us humans all do, and instead of getting his friends’ support, he gets their slaps, their fists,” he glared at John, “and a shitload of misunderstandings.” 

Sherlock was quiet and completely focused on him. 

“If you want to, Sherlock, you can come with me. I know I owe you an apology…”

“Shut up, Lestrade. Fine then, the ambiance here is quite hostile. Your offer is the better one at the moment,” said Sherlock, heading towards Greg.

“Sherlock Holmes, we are not done here!” yelled John.

“Yes we are, doctor. I am working a case. I was undercover, and yes I did spend a week in that skip and yes I did use. We. are. done. here.” Sherlock had reached Greg.

John looked at them outraged “Sherlock, get your arse back here. We are nowhere near done. Where do you think you are going?” John asked, hands on hips, legs military stiff.

“Obviously I’m leaving with my knight in shining armour. Who knows, there might even be a horse out there.” Sherlock retorted. He smiled and winked to those staying behind.

As they got into Greg’s car, Greg tried, “Sherlock, I needed to say…” but Sherlock raised his hand and interrupted, “You better have a plan Lestrade. John will get himself to Baker Street and Mycroft will know all about this in a minute. If you can’t offer me a better choice, I’m back to the den in 5,4,3,…”

“I’m taking you with me to my place in Brockenhurst, to detox. Let’s swing by Baker Street so you can get a weekend bag.”

At that, Sherlock was rendered mute.

So Greg continued, “You can come with me, or detox under the tender mercies of John Watson, or try to go back underground, this time with Mycroft on your tail.”

“Why would you do this for me. You have...other interests, ” Sherlock said, looking straight ahead of him.

“Yeah well, last month the SI reminded me if I don’t take my holidays they will disappear, and I haven’t been at the cabin in a long time. It’s cozy, it’s peaceful, and nobody really knows about it. Mycroft might be able to find us, John or your clients, won’t. It was my grand pere’s. He left it to me. We used to spend the summer time together fishing, me listening to his stories. I found out when he passed away, that time I went to France and you tortured Dimmock for a change.”

“That was a most inopportune time for you to leave me. Dimmock was obnoxious and not half as clever as you.”

Greg laughed. “Clever? All I’ve ever done is let you do what you felt like and clean up after you!” 

“Exactly! He wasn’t smart enough to even do that much!” 

OooOooO

In the end it took them quite a while to get where they were going. They stopped at Baker Street, where Greg talked with Mrs Hudson as Sherlock showered and changed and got a weekend bag ready. Then they stopped by Greg’s place so he could take some things and call the Yard. Greg put on an oldies rock station, and they stopped midway at a Tesco for food, tummy medicine, paracetamol and digestives. In all they arrived at the cabin late in the afternoon. Sherlock was grumpy, exhausted and in the first stage of withdrawal. 

Sherlock’s twitchy limbs and aching head were pleasantly surprised when they arrived at a little niche in the forest, away from the houses at the edge of the trees, to a location further in. The air was incredibly crisp and fresh. Even in his uncomfortable state, he liked Greg’s cabin. Warm wood, cozy furniture. There was a fireplace in the living room. A full kitchen with a little table and a second floor lavatory and bedroom with a wood burner stove.

“I’ll get a fire going. Then some veggie soup for you and the astronaut chicken for me.”

“Your veggie soup. Just like old times, Lestrade.” Sherlock said, laying down on the sofa and putting his arm over his eyes.

“Believe me, I would rather be reminiscing about anything else, Sherlock. Just what are you detoxing from? Horse? Crack? Speedball?”

“For goodness sake, Lestrade! I was on a case. A case! Cocaine only. Just a 7% solution.” He whined. 

“Ok. How many times did you have your 7% solution? And no lies, Sherlock.”

“I might have binged, last night. Before that, it was only a couple of times a day It was mostly boring.” Sherlock admitted.

“You’re going to stay here, aren’t you. You won’t make me wake up to an empty house, Sherlock. You are here voluntarily, right?” Greg insisted.

“Yes, Lestrade. I won’t run away. I’ll probably not be able to in a couple of hours anyway. It won’t be too bad. It wasn’t cut with anything iffy. Billy was taking care of it. He wants out by the way.”

“Nice way to show it, by enabling you.” said Greg as the soup boiled and he prepared some toast and made himself a sandwich with the chicken. 

“Charles Augustus Magnussen needs to see me at my worst. He needs to identify my triggers, know what my weaknesses are. He needs to have secrets he can exploit, or he will not approach me. He is a clever monster. A shark who preys on the ones who are different, on the people who love those who made mistakes. Mycroft should have not interfered with him. But of course, it wasn’t Lady Smallwood who convinced him. Now we are all in this.”

“We?” asked Greg. 

“Mycroft kidnapped you, you brought me to your secret lair. You are in this now. As is John, maybe even Hudders. Do you have any secrets, Lestrade?” he asked, looking the man in the eyes.

“Yeah, I do. Only one though. Pretty obvious by now. Come eat some soup.”

“You know, this is pretty good soup. Beats the cans.” complimented Sherlock.

Though Greg knew what was coming, it was harder this time around. They were both older. Sherlock had been clean for a long time, the physical symptoms were bad; headache, dizziness, nausea, running fever, sensory distress. Greg made Sherlock sleep in the bedroom, which was closer to the lavatory. He guarded from the sofa bed downstairs, close to the exit, instead of in the guest room,  checking in on Sherlock when the man had a fever the second night, or when he took too long in the lavatory. Made sure Sherlock was hydrated and offered him paracetamol to help with aches. Greg would have stayed in the room had he been asked, but Sherlock was apparently unable to tolerate another presence in his space.

The location seemed to help. Sherlock sat outside on the porch, breathing in fresh air and nature noises while Greg read or tried to answer emails. When he was up to it, they would walk around a bit and observe insects or plants. Sherlock’s volatile moods had an outlet here also. Throwing rocks at the bushes, or the trees, pulling up wild weeds with his hands. Yelling abuse at the badgers, deer and owls that ventured too close to the property. On one occasion Sherlock went out barefoot in his pajama bottoms and ratty old vest during a downpour, arms open, hair curling, eyes shut, and a smile, facing up to the sky. To Greg’s eyes, he achieved maximum beauty right there, otherworldly, ethereal, incomparable. He took pictures of everything of course, but that one, he never showed to anyone else.

OooOooO

While Sherlock napped, that afternoon, Greg was making chicken ramen soup, as Sherlock’s stomach seemed to be getting better. A call came in through the shaky signal. John.

“Finally you big jerk! Why in bloody hell won’t you answer your phone! Please tell me you are with Sherlock and he’s not somewhere out there alone!” he yelled.

“Poor signal here, mate. He left with me John, what did you think? I was gonna open the car door and set him free at the edge of the highway? Of course he’s with me!" Greg answered, just a little less loudly.

“How is he doing, Greg?” John asked, calmer now.

“He’s detoxing. It’s been rough, but no complications. He’s coming out of it now. He doesn’t seem to be too down.”

“Where are you? I could go get him. Bring him back home. Get him out of your hair.”

“He’s not a bother. It looks like this is good for  him. I’ll ask him, John. If he wants to go home. I’ll take him myself.”

OooOooO

Sherlock did not want to. There was nothing waiting for him at Baker Street that he had to hurry back to. Greg told him John had offered to come take him home. Sherlock scoffed. “Not as if he could stay with me. He has his wife and child to take care of.”

“Child?” repeated Greg.

“Mary is pregnant. John knows now. She is starting to show. I knew it at the wedding, When she stood up for the pictures. I couldn’t tell him without telling him everything, so I kept it to myself.”

“That must have cost you an arm and a leg! No wonder we got drunk.” Greg said, and at that, Sherlock’s walls went up up up, and he got up and walked out to the porch, away from him. 

“Hey Sherlock, we should talk—about that.” Greg said walking towards him. 

“Nothing to say. We got drunk. Did drunk things. I deleted things. Don’t remember leaving your flat or getting home.” grumbled Sherlock, arms leaning on the rail, looking out at the trees. He had really hoped this particular topic could be deleted. 

“Well, I can’t forget what happened. I was an idiot. I thought you were too drunk to know who you were with. I never thought you could…” stammered Greg.

“I could? Have feelings? I thought you knew I’m not a machine, Lestrade.” Still not looking at him.

Greg walked towards Sherlock, stood next to him, leaned in a bit so their shoulders touched. “I’ve always known you have feelings, even if sometimes I didn’t show it.” he started. “What I meant is, I didn’t think you could have those feelings, or even want to be with someone in an intimate way, if it wasn’t, well...John.”

Hearing that was no surprise. Sherlock had, however, surprised himself. That after John’s wedding he had not gone looking for Wiggins and instead went over to Lestrade’s and kissed him spoke volumes about just how close he felt to the man. “John made his choice. He’s a married man with a child on the way. The possibility for anything other than friendship is long gone. I, however, find I’m still here, still working, still standing.” Sherlock said.

Greg turned and looked at Sherlock, put his hand on his arm, holding it. “And I am so happy that you are, and lucky that we spend time together. I didn’t want to mess up what we have, if the next day, you felt that kiss or that possibility was a mistake.” explained Greg.

“So, instead of coming to me and asking me, you decided to engage in carnal relations with the idiot that works with Molly. You must have realised I would have found out anyway. He was already mocking me when I last went to the morgue, though I only knew why when I... I thought it was a deliberate choice meant to let me see you would have sex with anyone except me.”

“Bloody hell no, Sherlock…” Greg had to take a breath. “...I—had feelings for you I thought you didn’t want. So I found a friend. With benefits. It gets difficult to function normally, when you’re wanting your best mate but he just ignores you. Besides, you were planning your other best friend’s wedding.” Greg explained.

“You are confusing me, Lestrade. I promised John I would help plan the wedding. I couldn’t fail him. John calls me his best friend. A friend is someone you do not have lustful feelings towards.” Sherlock said and his leg had started to move, his face tensing up.

Greg had to make this quick. “Well, we have been friends for a long time. Only after you came back and we started spending more time together did that start changing. I’ve had ‘lustful feelings’ for you for a while, Sherlock. I’ve just been an idiot. I should have let you know. The worst thing that could happen would be you telling me ‘no, thank you’. Even then we would have remained friends.” 

Sherlock turned and looked at him and the emotion in Greg’s eyes made the response Sherlock had been ready to give disappear. Anxiety and hope mingled and made his heart speed up, his belly drop, but he couldn’t move his arms to reach out, and his ability to find any meaningful words was lost. He could only trust Greg would know what to say.

Greg said nothing, but stepped forwards urgently, took Sherlock's face in his hands and kissed him. The burst of rightness, and clarity, and just plain joy Sherlock felt told him it had been the right course of action. Greg’s lips were sure of themselves, conquering, claiming his mouth. Greg hugged him, holding him tight against his body, an arm around his back, a hand in his hair. Sherlock felt he was lagging to respond in kind, such was the wave of emotion and sensation that compromised his motor skills. That, or the overtaking of arousal blazing up.

Greg’s one hand under his shirt, the other holding the nape of his neck moved back a minute, “Is this alright? Say my name, Sherlock.”

“Yes Greg, Greg, don’t…”

Greg started to move back

“...don’t stop

Chapter Text

In the bedroom, Greg opened the buttons of Sherlock’s shirt, as Sherlock tried to open the buttons of Greg’s checkered one, and did not find a vest underneath. He got a bit lost exploring the spattering of fuzzy salt and pepper chest hair, that contrasted with the golden body, he trembled, a bit light-headed. Greg gently pushed him onto the bed, and he stayed on his knees, as Sherlock had seen him...before. Like Ben, he got up and kissed Greg, pulled him down on top of him.

“How do you want this, sweetheart?" Greg asked him, as he combed his fingers through Sherlock’s hair as if he were something precious.

“Don’t call me ‘boy’,” he asked, his words coming out in a rush. Greg looked at him not understanding. “That's what you called the idiot.”

“No Sherlock, you could never be just ‘boy’,” Greg said smiling. “Sunshine, or maybe sweetheart.”

“Ridiculous, juvenile.” retorted Sherlock with a small smile of his own.

Greg unzipped Sherlock’s trousers, and took them off him with an expert move, winking at him. He disposed of his own, then lowered himself and licked a stripe from Sherlock’s tummy to his neck, nipped his ear. One of his hands went to Sherlock’s cock and fondled it over his pants. 

That set Sherlock blinking, and he heard sounds he had never previously made, coming out of his mouth, as he thrust into the touch. He reached around Greg’s body and grabbed on to him. Wanting that heat, that closeness on his body.

“You ok, Sherlock?” Greg asked, and his voice was faltering.

Sherlock nodded yes and raised his hips. Greg took off the pants, and his own. 

“Goodness, you should have been a model. Look at you.”

He reached to the night stand, took a minute to slick his hand, warmed them up, put his hand around Sherlock’s cock, and as he stroke it, firm, fast strokes, there were more sounds, needy, wanton ones, coming from him. Greg had this cheeky smile on his face and Sherlock loved it. He reached out for anything of Greg he could grab and pulled him close for kisses. When Greg was on top of him again, Sherlock’s hand reached for Greg’s erection and found it rock hard. His mind went white for a second, his heart at full speed and his eyes couldn’t get enough of the man on top of him. How was he still smiling, those warm, kind eyes like the sweet cocoa that he and Mycroft drank as kids. “Please…” he said “please, Greg.”

“Ooh sweetheart…” answered Greg, “I’ll give you anything if you ask nicely.” He lay on his side and pulled Sherlock closer with his leg. Sherlock felt that hard, muscled chest, the strong arms and wanted for this never to end. Greg held Sherlock’s hand so they could stroke both their cocks together, and the sensation was dizzying. That Greg could do this with him, make him feel this, make him… he gasped as his body tensed, and come painted their bellies. Greg took it and used it to slick himself, and Sherlock kissed him as he brought himself off. 

They lay together, breathless and smiling like idiots, and Sherlock was happy he had decided not to go back to Baker Street just yet. Were it up to him, they could just stay here. 

OooOooO

The past two days had been glorious. Greg would have never expected any of it. He was, infact, grateful to God, or the universe, or whatever force out there that felt a washed up (though apparently not totally done for) Detective Inspector should be given a chance with the statuesque genius that solved the most intriguing crimes of his division. He had always been in awe of Sherlock. When they met, and he was just a boy on the streets, Greg had felt so protective of him. Yeah, he had done this, well the detox part, before. If the boy Sherlock had broken into his house to stay the night, or stolen Greg’s vests to wear, or stood or sat too close to him, arms or legs touching, the boy’s hand bunched in Greg’s clothes and his eyes constantly looking at Lestrade, Greg had firmly ignored it, the difference in ages and in situations making anything other than platonic collaboration, not an option. 

When John Watson had appeared and Greg had seen the spark in Sherlock’s eyes, he had tucked the discomfort deep down. Kept an eye on them. Rooted for them. He had looked out for John when Sherlock had—well —disappeared. That had ended when John had slammed the door of 221b after the stag night. John’s chance, as Sherlock had said, was done as far as Greg was concerned. It was their time now.

OooOooO

Sherlock, much better physically, and having shown no signs of depression or anxiety, was now splitting logs. Right outside, in his vest and jeans. Not looking like a lumberjack, just his typical male demigod self. Greg started breakfast. Eggs, rashers, toast and coffee.

Sherlock had been so tender in bed. He didn’t have to say for Greg to know he didn’t really have much experience, if any. So Greg had been gentler and kept things simple. Which was not to say it hadn’t been fucking fantastic. For Sherlock, not being experienced at something meant he would be an eager learner, and he showed it, the willingness to try things he hadn’t known, the eagerness to master them. Sherlock invariably fell asleep in his arms afterwards, those bloody curls tickling his nose; a man got used to that texture. Having Sherlock in his arms, in his bed, was simply the best. He was now happy he had given Ben his marching orders the same night Sherlock had caught them. Ben had laughed, thinking Greg and Sherlock were a couple already, and that was the reason Sherlock had been upset. Greg had some not nice words with him. The tool had actually been surprised Greg gave him his marching papers right then and there.

In came the man who had overtaken his thoughts, and feelings, and...well, Sherlock did nothing by halves ever. So it fit that Greg was totally consumed by him.

Sherlock, taking the vest off as he came in, raised his eyebrows at breakfast. Walked to Greg, pushing him against the wall with his chest, proceeded to kiss him, hungrily.

“You are all sweaty and stinky, you berk!” Greg complained, holding on to his jeans.

Sherlock grinded in to him, “You love it, you want me bad.” he rumbled.

“Yes I do,” Greg said and kissed him back.

Before things could heat up to more, though, “Mamma Mia”  started playing on Sherlock’s phone. He sighed, stepped back, “Hudson”, he muttered, taking the call.

“We have to go back, Lestrade.” he said, unknowingly hurting him. “Mrs Hudson has had some visitors around, asking about me. Twice. She did not like what she saw, otherwise she wouldn't call. Don’t pack...we could come back. When the case is solved.”

OooOooO

Once at 221b, they had time to have tea with a knowing Mrs Hudson, who was apparently thrilled about whom Sherlock had spent his time with. 

“That was so good for both of you. Why just look at you! All bright eyed and colour on your faces. So happy.” She cooed as she served each another cup of tea. “A holiday with nature and fresh air, instead of sulking on the sofa, waiting for someone to murder a fellow human, isn’t that right Greg?” Greg had no doubt she would have returned to the more personal questions she had been asking him while Sherlock took his shower, but for the moment, he was saved by the bell. Mrs Hudson went down to open it and called out, “Sherlock, the gentlemen I told you about!!”

In, without waiting to be invited, came two bodyguards, who positioned themselves at each side of the fireplace, a thin, tall, shark like man and two body guards behind him. The man, which Greg knew to be Charles Augustus  Magnussen, thanks to Mycroft’s information, had his eyebrows furrowed and his nose scrunched. Greg felt as if he were going through a body scanner. 

Magnussen managed to sound cloyingly sweet when he spoke with a smile, “You have played hard to get, Mr Holmes. Not even a forwarding contact. You certainly like to keep people...waiting for you.” 

To Greg, it seemed as if Sherlock and Magnussen were having a staring contest.

“Unfortunately, I had prior engagements. They were impossible to hurry along. However, I don’t recall having an appointment with you, not for the past couple of weeks and certainly not today.”

“Oh but you did. Because I penned you in. Here you are. Sherlock Holmes,  five o’clock. I must confess, I knew you would have company, but Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade is not who I was expecting, and I am not often misinformed.” Magnussen complained.

“Surprise! Consider me an early Christmas present, with Interpol wrapping paper and tied up with a Commonwealth bow. Oh, and the tiny ‘Happy Christmas’ card is from the head of MI5.” Smiled Greg, and Sherlock muffled a laugh.

Magnussen narrowed his eyes and looked back at Sherlock.

“Where is your partner, your mate, your damsel in distress, Mr Holmes?”

Greg saw Sherlock tilt his head to the side and raise an eyebrow. Waiting.

“Dr John Watson. Doesn’t he accompany you in your... little endeavours?” Magnussen asked in clipped tones. “He is back from his marital holidays.”

“Oh! John! Yes. As he is now a married man, one can’t rely on him to be on time for our ‘little endeavours’. We may have to re-organize our work timetable...” Sherlock exaggerated a sigh “...marital bliss.”

“Have you come to hand me over the pictures with which you are blackmailing Elizabeth Smallwood?” asked Sherlock.

“Most definitely not. As I do not have them.” Magnussen stated as his fingers played with the front of his jacket, revealing the outline of an inside pocket, presumably containing said pictures. “I came to warn you to stop harassing me and my employees about this matter. Lady Smallwood has no proof that I am blackmailing her. Why would I do that, when I have money, and power? So stay away Mr Holmes or you and your loved ones might experience first hand how it feels like to get your most hidden secrets pulled out into the open…” he said. 

“Will you print something about me? What’s the juiciest? Maybe that I’m bisexual?” asked Greg, beating his eyelashes. “Or maybe that I drink non-English beer when I go to the pub with John. How about, I vouched for Sherlock Holmes and got fired! That’s a good one! Oh wait—I got reinstated, up for a promotion in a couple of months. Hard to get any dirt when I’ve kept a clean house.” 

Magnussen had left shortly after, letting Sherlock know, effortlessly that while he blackmailed no one, he happened to have extensive information on many people, which included one Mycroft Holmes. Sherlock was pretty sure, John was on that list, after all, the man had mentioned him by name. If John was there, so was...

OooOooO

Greg was wary of Magnussen’s reaction. Not of the man’s snark, but of his surprise at not finding John at Sherlock’s side. The man had made some more insinuations about having information about very important people., However, he hadn’t made an overt threat. After the man and his entourage had left, Sherlock had sat down to go over his missed calls.

“He said I harassed his employees...his employees. Who? Who can it be?”

“You think they could have contacted you? How would that be harassing them?” asked Greg.

“Calls. No, texts. Nope, nope, aha! “-Call me, we should talk.” “ -Let’s have some coffee, Sherlock,” “-Can I come over to yours? Janine!” Sherlock exclaimed.

“Janine, Mary’s bridesmaid? The one you danced with? She could just be coming on to you, you know.” Greg said.

“Well, since it appears that I’ve been taken, too bad for her. However, I am going to call her back. She tried too many times for it to be a hookup.”

“Just make sure she knows you are off the market.” Teased Greg, with a warm smile. 

Sherlock looked up at him, somewhat defiantly. “So, can I tell her you are my boyfriend?” he asked, his tone mocking, but his expression guarded.

“Boyfriend? Nah, don’t call me your boyfriend…” Greg said, pulling Sherlock up and into his arms. “...I’m more your Sugar Daddy, don’t you think? Or your Silver Fox.” And when Sherlock gasped and his cheeks and neck turned red, Greg took his face between his hands and kissed him. 'Lovingly' was a good word for how. He liked the way Sherlock had looked after that, trusting and hopeful, and also a little bit happy.

OooOooO

He must have been showing something too. Everyone seemed to be looking at him more, smiling at him. Sally busted into the office, with some papers from court for him to sign, and as he did, she came around his desk, and uncharacteristically threw her arms around his shoulders. 

“Ooooh he better make you happy guv. Cause if not, I’m gonna get him good.” she warned. Greg laughed out loud. This was his life.

OooOooO

Once Greg had gone off to the Yard and Sherlock had the obligatory conversation with Mycroft about the visit, Sherlock sat down to call Janine. She wanted to meet, and named a restaurant for the following evening. He was in his Mind Palace analysing the different scenarios that could result from visiting either Magnussen’s office or his residence, though the latter could prove more of a challenge.

“There you are! You absolute...prick! Did you ever even look at your phone? I must have called and texted a hundred times!” John stormed into the flat.

“Well, that would truly be a record. You didn’t have to strain yourself so, John. I was perfectly fine. Believe me.” Sherlock answered, looking up to him.

“Care to tell me why you weren’t bothered to answer? Too much of a strain to push the answer button?”

“We were in the middle of the forest, John. Not the most stable phone signal nor wifi service. Besides, that first week I was  frankly miserable,” he mumbled that last sentence.

“Exactly! You run off by yourself, to god knows where alone! You could have needed Naloxone! I could have helped you,” John barked.

“While your concern is undoubtedly touching, John, I was miserable, but felt much better on the third day. Naloxone would not have helped me as I used cocaine exclusively and I didn’t overdose. And I was not alone. I was with Greg.” Sherlock explained.

“And what of after those three days? I could have brought you home. You could have let Greg enjoy his holiday.”

“Well, we most definitely enjoyed it. It was a lovely holiday. I see now why people like them.” said Sherlock.

John looked at him, a little smile coming on his face. “He said something about a forest? I thought you must have been going crazy. Wait? You enjoyed it?”

“Yes John, that is what I said. Greg and I enjoyed being in the cabin. Out in the woods there were deer and rabbits and racoons and all sorts of animals. There were logs to split and plants to explore. Back in the cabin, it was warm and comfortable…” Sherlock took a deep breath, “... and we could just be there.” Sherlock said looking at him.

“It’s just—you know you are making it sound as if there were something between the two of you.” John said, one finger pointing towards Sherlock’s chest, one eye half closed.

Sherlock cleared his throat, and forced himself to look John in the eyes, tried to get his rebellious body to stop fidgeting. “There obviously is something between us, John. We are not hiding it. Greg and I became closer ever since I came back—from being dead. Quite frankly he was of great support. Had you observed our behaviour, you would have found that this progression into a romantic, sexual relationship, was in fact, a bit overdue if anything. He had developed an unpleasant agreement with someone else.” Sherlock said. He spared a thought to how future interactions between him and Molly’s assistant would play out, now that Greg had dumped him.

Now John appeared frozen in place. He had an unbelieving look, that rubbed Sherlock the wrong way. “Problem?”

“Uhm no. No, it’s just. I thought you didn’t do that. Relationships. You never even remembered his name. Now you are ...lovers? Greg Lestrade is your lover ?”

“That is what I said. I have always known his name, John. I did, after all, jump off the roof for him, and Mrs Hudson and you. Our friendship developed into something else, the attraction was mutual. It has been truly something I’ve never expected to experience.”

“All this was happening while you were planning my wedding, this ‘development’ in your friendship?" John asked, his eyes as big as saucers, his body language tense, stiff. His discomfort was clear for Sherlock to see. Sherlock was torn between not wanting to explain to John what was just beginning to grow with Greg, and the feeling that he must stand up for it.

“Frankly, the twenty questions are tiring John, but to make it clear. I came back, and he was truly happy and grateful to see me alive. You were understandably angry and remained so. When I worked cases alone, he was there to talk them over with. When I missed—my former life, he was there to comfort me. When planning your wedding got too intense, Greg was there to rescue me. He likes dancing, and classical music, and now has a decent coffee maker. His idea of a date is to take me out to discover urban beehives. All of that was happening while you were living your romance with the lovely fiancee you chose to join your life with. I helped you plan your wedding—You will be supportive of my relationship with my—Greg. He has no problem with us continuing to work on cases, though I must say, you missed an important meeting just today. Charles Augustus Magnussen came to threaten us into stopping our investigation.” 

Though John seemed to be suffering one of his long ago regular PTSD attacks, shocked eyes, open mouth, rapid respiration and light perspiration along his hairline, Sherlock started explaining his and Janine’s plan to meet the next day. John agreed to come along, though Sherlock thought he might not have understood anything he had said. John’s marriage was destroying alarming numbers of functioning brain cells. 

OooOooO

The next afternoon, Janine, John and Sherlock were in effect talking amicably. They had gone over the niceties, John commenting about their holidays, and Janine had started talking about the abusive hours she had to keep as Magnussen’s PA, and the scrutiny she was continuously submitted to. He had found out that she had some debt to her name she really wanted to keep from her parents. She had foolishly helped an ex love interest by co-signing a business venture that had turned out to be a flop. While the person had claimed bankruptcy, Janine’s name was still on the documents. Magnussen held that against her and would torture her by naming all the things she could have done to avoid her current financial situation and having her stand still so he could flick her face, while he enumerated the ways he could use that and some other “little sins” to prevent her from finding employment anywhere else.

Her eyes were about to brim with tears, “That something so small could be the drop that spilled the cup seems so ridiculous, but it’s just so humiliating. I was thinking the other day—if he did that to someone I loved, I would kill him. But he does it to me, and there is nothing I can do." 

Sherlock felt a warm hand on his neck. Greg had just arrived, as promised, and took a seat at his left. Sherlock asked, “So what would you like us to do for you, Janine?”

“Oh I want revenge. I want you to come inside the flat above his office and find something, anything on me, so I can destroy it, and anything that can incriminate him. He sees so many people. He knows so much. He has his fingers in so many nasty pies, I’m sure there is dirt there everywhere up there! Next week he has a conference he is booked into. If you dress as some kind of management personnel, I can let you in.”

OooOooO

They talked about it some more and decided on a date and time. Sherlock accompanied her to her car, so they could create a simple cover story. Greg and John sat together. Greg had his tea and scones while John stared at him.

“Anything on your mind mate?” Greg asked.

“So you and Sherlock? That was quite unexpected.” he said, and to Greg, the emotion on his face was badly concealed. 

“Hmm...Maybe to you, John, seeing as to how you were busy with your wedding. The Yard, and  Mrs H, weren’t so surprised. In fact, Donovan thought we took too long.” Greg commented, still working on his scones.

John had his arms crossed and his brows low. “So, what was all that fuss you made on stag night, that I should talk about feelings with Sherlock? All that went out the window fast, hmm?”

“Wait a minute here, John. I am your friend. I’ve been a friend to you since we met. I was there for you when he jumped and you were in a bad way. I understood why you were angry when he came back, I did. I had a more casual friendship with him for a long time, very different from the beginning when we just met. It was easier for us, his return. But when he came back, John, I was truly expecting you to end your relationship and go back to Baker Street. Truth is, I thought you two had been a couple, and if you hadn’t, with all that you went through you would be a couple then for sure. When he just came back, we were friends. He needed a friend.”

“How altruistic of you Greg! Shagging him while he was detoxing was very considerate!”

“Whoa! Listen mate. Sherlock and I went through a lot together. It wasn’t easy for him to be alone after being away for so long to save our arses. He had danger nights, fuck, he was in danger most of the time. So don’t you judge him for looking for company and comfort. There were plenty of opportunities for life changing decisions to be made, by all of us, and for new relationships to form and grow.”

“So, when did you decide to go for it Greg, huh? When was it ok?”

“Frankly, I ‘decided to go for it’ after the damn stag night, John. After I tried my best to talk sense into you! Nothing happened between us before your wedding. Now, I know you are just asking all of this at this point on a ‘want to know basis’ cause though you are married now and have a baby on the way, you are still Sherlock’s best friend. John, I am only doing all this explaining because we are mates. All of us are grown men here. You and I each chose our places in his life. And I’m done with this talk. I hope you feel happy for Sherlock, because he has someone who cares about him, and for me too. I am your mate, John and I’m over the moon right now. That’s all there is to say.” Greg had crossed his arms too at this point and the men were staring at each other.

“To say about what?” Sherlock asked, coming back to stand between them. “Janine asked me why Mary doesn’t answer her calls or texts, John. I told her in all truth I don’t know. We are done here. Greg, are you going back to the Yard?”

“Yeah, have a couple of things to take care of before I can call it a day. Want to come with?

“Could we go by Baker Street so I can get my bag?" They said goodbye to John, who, Sherlock noticed, had a rather stunned look on his face.

Chapter Text

“Is this alright, Greg? I don’t know how to do these things. Is there a timeline to follow? Do we take turns, do new couples even spend the night with each other? Also, I couldn’t help myself and told John about us. He was being bossy. However, I completely forgot to consult with you if you were comfortable with that. Apologies. I told you I would talk with Janine beforehand, you did not have to come check on me. There will be times when I must take on a character, to entice a witness or a suspect, and that can include feigning interest, pretending to seduce. You know this, though I assume it could be a bit more challenging as my new, significant other.” 

Sherlock’s speech increased in speed as he went on, and he was shifting his weight from side to side. Greg had been looking at him with such a kind and gentle expression. Now he took his hand, that had been nervously slapping on his thigh as he talked.

“Sherlock, breathe. There is no reason for you to be in a state. Let’s see. It’s perfectly alright for you to tell John. He is your best friend. He asked me about us and we talked for a bit. I didn’t tell anyone, but Donovan knew anyway.” He smiled as Sherlock groaned. “Next, I was checking in on you, but mostly because of Magnussen’s visit. It left me – a bit unsettled. And yeah, I know about your acting for cases. I’ve seen you do it enough, and you weren’t acting with Janine and it’s fine. Last but not least, there are no timelines to follow when you are in a relationship with Lestrade.” he said, and Sherlock looked up, surprised, then smiled at him. 

“I think we should do what makes us both the most comfortable. In every sense of the word. It’s the early days. It’s normal for you to not ever get enough of me…” he said, smiling, and Sherlock gasped as his cheeks gained a shade of pink.

Greg came closer and took him into his arms, his hand to the nape of his neck and into the curls. Sherlock tensed up at first, slowly melting into the embrace.

“...I was teasing. I shouldn’t have. We have so much to learn about each other. I want to be with you all the time too, god help me. We can take turns at each other’s places. I know you like your own place and your own things. You can bring some stuff over, so you don’t have to pack a bag. If you want, I can do that too and we will split our stay overs like that.”

“Does a relationship mean we spend every night together? Eat together? See each other every day? When I’m on a case I don’t worry about sleeping…” fussed Sherlock.

“Don’t I know it! I’ve seen you just about to pass out, once you solve cases! Sherlock. We will see what works. I’ve had casual relationships, where the person and I have some dates during the week and no contact the rest of the time and we are both fine. That’s not our case. Even as friends we managed to see each other almost everyday regardless. I want to see you as much as I can. If that means you could hang out at the Yard, and you want to, that’s fine. If you want to come home to me, or for me to go to you, that’s great too. Let’s see how we work out, all right?”

Sherlock’s arms were still around Greg’s body, firmly holding on to his back. His nose was in his neck, the idea of coming home to him made him feel all warm inside. Secure, as if he had a place to belong to. He had felt it in bed with Greg at the cabin, and had lost the feeling for the couple of days they had been back to London. He would definitely prefer not to lose it again.

“Is there a set of rules about cuddling or kissing one’s Lestrade? Because I would have to familiarise myself with it, but would really appreciate both at the moment.”

Greg chuckled, took both his and Sherlock’s jackets off and led him to the sofa. He kissed Sherlock tenderly, lovingly, as he deserved to be kissed. Greg saw through this conversation. His detective was scared of this burning out before it caught on properly. Greg wanted to show him how important Sherlock was for him too. He was also trying not to be scared about this new flame. Because it burned too bright, too intense to be as new as it was. It was as if Greg had these feelings from when he first met Sherlock, and that wasn’t the case. Anyway, he already knew that there would be no getting over him. Sherlock had inched into his life, and now had invaded every aspect of it, changing it drastically. There had been nobody that had made him feel like this before Sherlock, there would be nobody after him. Whether Sherlock stayed with him or not, he would be Greg’s last lover. 

Now for instance, they were in bed. Sherlock was in his bed. He had difficulty believing that this was not one of the many dreams he had about his new lover, when they were old friends. That he had told John they were more than friends now, that made Greg feel special. He had not expected Sherlock to be willing to tell anyone so soon. That he could see Sherlock like this, undressed, down to his pants, spread out on his comforter like an erotic dream. His handsome face, free of any masks. Just looking at him, expectant, nervous, his hands on his tummy, not giving him any orders. So Greg lay next to him, head on his hand, smiling. “I missed you.” he said.

“Did you really? It’s only been three nights since the cabin.” Sherlock commented, and Greg noticed he looked only at his lips. So Greg rubbed noses with him, and laughed when Sherlock’s brow furrowed. Before he could ask him what he was doing, Greg rubbed his lips to Sherlock’s and answered, “Three nights too long, sunshine.”

“It’s nighttime, Greg, there is no reason for you to…”

“Ok, sweetheart. I did miss you. I wanted to go see you, but you were working, and I felt like I would interrupt.” 

When Sherlock looked as if he were getting ready to respond, Greg kissed him again, licking his lips, finding Sherlock’s tongue and sucking at it, making him groan. Greg put half his body, his weight on him, and heard him gasp, felt his heart beat, his hands reach, one for his neck, his hair and pull, the other hand found his back and held on. He left Sherlock’s mouth and teased his nipple, licking at it first, feeling it harden, then taking it in his mouth and sucking hard. Sherlock yelped, his body arching into Greg’s. Greg rose to kiss that neck and lick at it, as his hand continued stroking and caressing Sherlock’s body, harder and faster as Sherlock’s breath sped up and his body continued to arch, looking for contact, friction. 

Sherlock was steadily losing his mind. Greg’s hands burned small flames where they touched. His lips kissed and sucked and ravished his mouth, his neck, his chest. Sherlock could barely respond by holding on. Then Greg shifted, and licked a line from his chest to his stomach and Sherlock was reduced to mindless noise.

“Hey, sweetheart. Open your eyes. I want you happy, OK? I want this to feel good.” said Greg, and when Sherlock looked, it was to see him disappear between his legs, to lick the very base of his cock. He continued to lick and the expression of mischief and happiness on his face made Sherlock smile along. Greg played with the frenulum, lapping up the precome at the head and kissing the tip. He took the head in his mouth and his tongue made Sherlock harder than he thought possible. The man obviously knew how to do this. The next second he could not think anymore, as Greg had swallowed him whole, and was slowly raising his head, sucking strong as he did. Sherlock tried to explain he was close to orgasm, and if he continued in this pursuit Greg would surely end up with a mouthful of ejaculate, but Greg grabbed his hips and moved Sherlock’s cock in and out of his mouth, and way too soon, Sherlock felt himself explode, Greg moving away at the last possible second, causing Sherlock to make a mess on his tummy, and the sheets. 

Greg scooped up some of the come and added it to the slick he was using. He lay next to Sherlock and got him facing away from him, pulling his back to his chest. “Is this alright?" he asked, and Sherlock’s response was to nod his head and reach back to pull Greg closer still, so Greg thrusted between Sherlock’s thighs, the feeling so tight, so hot, it made him imagine what fucking his arse would be like. Greg’s tongue swirled on the back of Sherlock’s neck and his hand held his tummy, then reached up to his nipple. Sherlock groaned and backed into Greg. It looked and felt so sexy, it made Greg lose his rhythm and he came hard; he stayed where he was for a while to catch his breath.

“That was amazing,” Sherlock said to Greg, after he had gotten him wet flannels to clean his thighs, his arse, his belly. “Yeah I know,” teased Greg and he hugged Sherlock to his chest. 

“I’m so happy, Sherlock. I hope you are too, sweetheart.”

Sherlock moved back to look into Greg’s eyes. They were kind, and affectionate and warm. He kissed him, and held on to him. “Greg, I’m happier than I thought I could ever be. I don’t know how to show… but I don’t want to leave.”

“That’s what’s great about us. We want the same thing. Stay, love.” Greg said, and Sherlock pressed against him breathing steadily in an attempt to settle the storm of emotions within him.

OooOooO

(Barts- Molly Hooper)

-Sherlock, I have some interesting kidneys from a suspected poison victim. I’ll be holding on to them for a couple of days. Want to see?

-John said you were back. I would love to see you. I owe you an apology. 

-Hello Molly. Yes I would like to see them. Unfortunately, I’m working on a case and can’t promise you a time until it is solved. Your apology is accepted. I understand what it is like to give in to impulsive behaviour. Might have done so myself at times. SH

-Are you really with Greg now? John hardly believed it.

-Yes, we have recently changed our relationship. We are now intimate. SH

-Yaay!! I’m so happy for both of you! I could see it coming. You were always together. I think you are good for each other. 

-I dare to hope so Molly. He has been a constant source of support and friendship. SH

-Friendship? Greg makes you happy Sherlock. When you told me about him taking you to see the beehives you were practically shining with happiness!

-Shining? It must have been an excess of hair product Molly. I will call you before going to Bart’s. SH

-Give Greg a hug for me!

OooOooO

“It wasn’t a lover’s request, Holmes you posh brat! It is a direct order from your Detective Inspector. You will put this on under a shirt that covers it!” Greg was tussling with Sherlock.

“You are not my superior Lestrade! I refuse to wear that contraption and it will most certainly not fit under my shirt!” Sherlock squirmed away from the offending item.

“I am Your Detective Inspector and you will wear this! Sherlock, if you think for a minute that Magnussen will not know something is out of place, you are wrong! The last thing we need is him shooting you or John for trespassing! Put the damn vest on or I will arrest you!”

Sherlock stopped squirming, “Is that a promise?”

“Sherlock Holmes, stop playing with me. I am saving you from yourself. We have just started and I am not willing to lose you to a paper mogul! Please.”

“Lend me your white shirt. It will fit over this torture devise, and it looks like a uniform with the kahki trousers. I might consider using the handcuffs on you after we’re done with the case,” he smirked. Greg’s brain whiplashed from their current situation, to himself handcuffed to the bed, and at Sherlock’s mercy,  and then back to the task at hand. When he was finally dressed, Greg got ready also.

“No, you can’t come. You work for the Yard.”

“No! You can’t go. I work for the Yard!” Greg retorted “Look. I won’t interrupt. I’m not expecting to go into the office with you guys. If everything goes well, you won’t ever see me. I’ll only go in if there is a problem, alright?”

OooOooO 

Greg and Sherlock arrived separately to Magnussen’s building. John was there, similarly dressed, white shirt, khaki trousers, khaki cap and black shoes, waiting for him. John saw Sherlock call Janine and she gave them an apprehensive look before mimicking texting on the phone.

-I was able to collect a good amount of documents. most I made copies of. I found Lady Smallwood's originals. The bad news is that he is here. He said the conference was boring. I told him people would come to check the ventilation systems and he didn’t comment or mention it.

Sherlock and John got in the elevator and Sherlock texted Greg as he had promised to update him. 

“What will we do now?” asked John.

“We get the folder Janine prepared and assess the situation. If further searching is possible, then we do it, but it seems we might have to retreat and prepare another occasion.” his phone announced an incoming text.

“Magnussen’s office is on the top floor, just below his private flat. He is upstairs, allowing us to retrieve Janine’s papers and leave.” Sherlock said. 

When they reached the office, it was quiet and Janine nowhere in sight. “So where is she?" John asked. 

“It is a bit odd, as she just let us in.” whispered Sherlock. 

John found her across the room, close to the window. “She has had a blow to the head… Janine? Can you hear me?”

As he looked around, Sherlock found a security guard also knocked unconscious. “John, this one will also be needing you.”

Sherlock’s voice had turned into a whisper; “This happened just as we were coming up. They must still be in the building. Upstairs!”

“I’m texting Greg.” John told him, but Sherlock had already ran up the stairs, quiet as a mouse.

OooOooO

He had recognized Lady Smallwood’s perfume, Claire de la Lune, and hoped he wasn’t too late to stop her. He entered quietly, and followed the sound of Magnussen’s begging to the bedroom. 

“Surely there are many things I can do for you. Your family will never be a target. You will get into so much unnecessary trouble for this, dear.” said the man, kneeling on the floor, his hands on his head, a gash on his forehead. “He… your lovely husband, upright, honourable… So English. What—what would he say to you now?”

Sherlock noticed the woman holding the gun, wore all black with a cap and gloves, and handled the gun perfectly, fitting the silencer on with ease. 

Magnussen whimpered, “No, no! You’re—you are doing this to protect him from the truth… but is this protection he would want?”

Sherlock entered the room quietly. “Lady Smallwood.”

The woman stayed where she was, still pointing at Magnussen.

“That’s...not...Lady Smallwood, Mr Holmes.” he said.

Sherlock felt time slow down as the person turned around. Never moving the gun away from Magnussen. It was Mary.

“Is John with you?” she asked, as the word ‘Liar’ screamed in Sherlock’s brain, her face transformed by the lack of expression and of blonde hair.

“He’s downstairs. Mary, why didn’t you come to me in the first place?” Sherlock pleaded.

“Because John can’t ever know that I lied to him. It would break him and I would lose him forever, and Sherlock...understand, there is nothing in this world that I would not do to stop that from happening.” Mary said, her speech low and menacing.

“I won’t tell him, Mary, I will help you! Stop this.” he pleaded, hating the coldness in her eyes, the total absence of who he knew to be Mary.

“So what do you do now? Kill us both?” Magnussen asked, still immobile on his place on the floor, 

Mary smiled, “Great idea”, pointed the gun and took the shot. The center of Magnussen’s chest bloomed up with blood. Her aim returned to Sherlock. 

“I’m sorry Sherlock, I really am.” she said, her face immobile, her eyes dead. She pointed at his chest.

At that moment the door burst open; “Oooh put that gun down you bitch, or you’ll be dead before him.” snarled Greg, his arm steady, his gaze intense and murderous. “And don’t think for a second I give a damn. I will shoot it out of your hand in 3, 2, …”

Mary stared at Greg with her lips in a grimace, still pointing at Sherlock, when John rushed into the room. 

“Sherlock! What happened?” he rushed in to find Magnessun dead on the floor, Greg pointing at the killer and the killer pointing at Sherlock. He pointed the security’s gun at the person too. “Give it up mate, you are outnumbered!”

At his voice, the gun went down, and the shooter fell to the floor. The sound of sobbing filled the air. Sherlock bent down and grabbed the gun. 

“What? Who is that? Lady Smallwood?" asked John, not getting closer.

Sherlock was silent, holding the gun, but not pointing it at the crying person on the floor. It was Greg who answered.

“Not lady Smallwood, mate. That is Mary Morstan. She killed Magnussen, and was pointing her gun at Sherlock here, when I came in. I would have killed her first.” Greg spat the words out. Sherlock walked towards him, “Greg, it didn’t happen. I’m fine. Put the gun down, Greg. Please.” 

Greg did, but did not take his eyes off Mary. John put his gun away, and called to her from where he stood. “Mary? Is that really you?" he asked. In answer, she took her cap off and looked up. Her face now the perfect mask of desperation and grief. “I had to John! I had to! He knew too much, everything about my life before! The special ops, the MI5, the… private contracts. He was going to alert certain people about the baby, about us.”

“Special ops? Private contracts?” John asked, and again it was Greg who spoke. “Mycroft’s people recruited her from the American Special Operations group. She was only in MI5 for seven months, then she deserted, 5 years ago. Morstan has been a paid assassin. Private contractor my arse. She worked for Moriarity, as a plant, to spy on Sherlock’s friends and make sure he really was dead.”

“The fuck is all this Mary? Moriarty? I am married to Moriarty’s fucking minion? You are having my baby!!" he yelled at her. Then he turned around and went towards Sherlock “You knew about this? Did you Sherlock?" 

Sherlock’s face was pale, and contrite, “No John. I knew she wasn’t who she said she was, I knew she didn’t like me, but you asked me to stop investigating her, and I did.” he assured John.

“I was briefed right after we went our separate ways today. Mycroft didn’t stop the investigation. He was able to make the necessary contacts and gather the information after Sherlock asked him to stop. He let Mary be with surveillance, in case she appeared to be a danger to Sherlock. And now, she is.” Greg exclaimed.

“You killed Magnussen because he was a danger to you. Why were you pointing at Sherlock? What danger was he to you? Hmm? Why would you want to kill my best friend Mary? Answer me!” John barked as Mary gasped for breath between sobs.

“She needed a distraction so she could escape.” said Sherlock. “She is MI5 and special ops. She knows a bullet proof vest when she sees one.” he assured John. Mary looked up at him, drying her tears. Greg spat out “Utter bull! She was going for the kill, Sherlock! If she wasn’t looking to kill you, then she would have been better off talking to you, talking to us!”

“Had she really intended to kill me, she would have aimed at my head, not my chest, Greg.” Sherlock said. “John, whatever domestic you think you must have will have to wait. Mycroft’s men will get us out of here and we have to listen for their call after the fire alarm.” Sherlock instructed.

“Fire alarm?” asked Greg as the building exploded in sirens and flashing lights. “Janine!” said Sherlock and ran downstairs to find her. 

“I hope you don’t believe that crap he said mate, cause I saw her face, and that was intent of murder on it. Any chance she can over take your gun, John?” Greg asked.

“Hell no.” answered John, and got Mary to her feet. He patted her down, checking her clothing thoroughly. “She’s clean now.” John took the handcuffs Greg gave him and used them on Mary. The three of them went down, and found Janine on her feet, slippers on. The guard was running through the office door. She handed a thick file to Sherlock, walked determinately towards Mary and slapped her hard. “That is for braining me with that paperweight! Where is the boss?” she asked.

“We can’t help him now, Janine. There is the text, where are the fire stairs? Up to the roof we go,”  directed Sherlock. They went to the roof, where helicopters were already landing. 

One took Greg and Mary, the other John, Sherlock and Janine, who held onto Sherlock’s arm and cried, “It’s not what I wanted to happen Sherl…” she said. ”I wanted to give you the files so he could go to jail. I never thought he would have been killed, and by Mary!” 

Sherlock looked at John’s stricken face. Pale, lost. “John, I didn’t even know that Mary knew Magnussen, much less that he was holding information against her.”

“It wouldn’t have made a difference.” said John, his voice flat. “She wouldn't have let you help her. I don’t believe you, by the way. I saw the way she was pointing the gun at you. She meant to kill you.” he said despondently.

“Remember John, she is pregnant. She is going to have your child.”

“I know that, God help me.” he mumbled

Chapter Text

Once they landed in a government facility, Mary and Janine were taken separately to the infirmary, while Greg walked towards Sherlock. The three of them were called by an agent, and walked side by side in absolute silence, to the room where Mycroft was.

“Gentlemen, this operative did not run according to any of the outcomes we could have anticipated. Detective Inspector, I must thank you for getting the situation under control and for securing the lives of all involved. Dr. Watson, apologies for acting without all the necessary information.” Mycroft confessed.

“You knew about Mary. You knew what she was and kept that information to yourself! She is now pregnant with my child!” John yelled.

“I am aware, John. I also know for a fact that you did not want to know your bride’s past. You specifically asked my brother to refrain from investigating it. He did. My people kept surveillance on her and all signs pointed to her being inactive during the time of her wedding planning and up to now.”

“During the wedding planning? What about before our engagement?”

“She was still working back then. Unfortunately, I only learned that recently.” Mycroft said.

John got up and grabbed on to the back of his chair. “Is everyone I know a fucking psychopath?”

Mycroft answered, “She has no recorded diagnosis, though she could go through a psych eval if that is what you prefer. Mary Morstan, as we know her, is a professional, who chose to stop working after she started planning her wedding. She has not accepted any clients after the wedding. She killed Magnussen and my team is currently in the building. The government can use this, although it would never condone the way Mrs Watson disposed of him, the man did have many government officials in his pocket and they will be content to be free of that particular annoyance. I may be able to use Mrs Watson, letting her go and tracking her associates, or her old connections. That would give time for your baby to be born, John and for you to decide your future. I must say that had she made the shot against my brother, such leniency would have not been awarded. 

John took a deep breath. “What is going to happen now, Mycroft?"

“Now, John, you are going to have to participate in a meeting where we will present some options for Mrs Watson, while she is still pregnant, that can ensure your child’s safety. I especially recommend beginning with a paternity test, to confirm your continued vigilance is required. You can stay in the facility, as will I, in order to tend to these issues as soon as possible. There will also be the question of where the woman will be detained.”

Greg spoke up. “Am I supposed to be a participant in any of this from here on? Because I would love to get the hell out of this place right about now.”

“No Detective Inspector, your further participation is not required. As we had discussed beforehand, this never happened, and you can go back to your own schedule after your holiday.” Mycroft said.

                            OooOooO

“John, mate, best of luck. Mycroft, I’m out.” Greg was already walking out, and Sherlock had to get up and hurry after him. 

“Greg.”

Greg walked quickly through the corridors, as if he had visited often. Sherlock kept up.

“Greg!” he pleaded.

The agents at the front desk gave him his weapon, his phone, keys and wallet. He walked to his car, long, fast steps, no looking back. Sherlock had to run after him, as Greg got in his car.

“Greg, please! Don’t, don’t leave me here!” his hand was on the door handle. “Greg!”

Greg gave in. He opened the door. “Sit down and shut up, or I swear I will kick you out.” So Sherlock sat in the passenger’s seat, shoved his hands beneath his thighs to stop himself from reaching out for him, and stared at Greg all the way, but said nothing. 

Once they got to Baker Street, Greg said, “Good night, Sherlock.”

“No, come with me.” he asked.

“Good night.”

“Take me with you then." Sherlock hated the tone of his own voice.

“Sherlock.”

“Is this it? You are ending us? Because of the case?"

“The ‘case’, Sherlock? You go upstairs unarmed, walk into a crime in progress, and then lie to protect the assassin? You stupid motherfucker, you almost got yourself killed. And I would have been there to see it!!”

“I had a vest on, Greg…”

“Fat good it would have done if that bitch decided to shoot your brains out, Sherlock! And then you lied about it! What the fuck is the matter with you? Do you have a death wish? Why in hell would you lie for Mary?" Greg was shouting at the top of his lungs.

“She is pregnant! That is John’s baby!” Sherlock tried to explain.

“And that is supposed to be a consolation for me if she decides ‘That is Lestrade’s ‘partner’ wasn’t enough reason not to kill you! I refuse to watch you endanger yourself and then be left alone when...” Greg hit the steering wheel and turned his head away.

Sherlock got closer, pushed onto his seat and hugged him as best he could. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Greg. Don’t go. Please come home with me.” He grabbed Greg’s hand and pulled on it. Finally, he whispered, “Don’t end this.”

When Greg turned his face to look at him his eyes were red rimmed and moist. He whispered, “Stop that. Sherlock stop. I’m not ending this. God help me, I couldn’t. I am fucking pissed. So it’s better I just go home. That’s all, alright?”

“No it’s not alright...” Sherlock said just as quietly. “...because at your place, alone, you will think about all of the reasons we are a bad idea. When you wake up, your mind will be made that I am not worth it. Stay or take me, but we work this out together.” And just how was Greg supposed to resist his pale, worried face, those earnest, alien eyes?”

As an answer he turned the car on again to find a space to leave it. Then, they walked together towards 221. Greg immediately regretted his decision. The air in the flat was charged, he was still fuming and Sherlock still in shock, as if he could ever be right with him that Sherlock would risk his life voluntarily. He seemed not to understand, and not consider this an issue. Greg wanted hard liquor, but knew it was a bad idea. Coffee would be welcome, but it was late for it. Tea it was. Sherlock had been standing by, staring at him with his alien eyes, uncertain as to what to do. Finally, he just went to shower, stayed long enough for Greg to decide to have his tea before it got cold. He found some scones that Mrs Hudson apparently had left there a not so long ago. 

When he finished, he cleaned up and went to the couch to think things over. He considered leaving, as Sherlock hadn’t come out of his room. Remorseful, maybe? Greg closed his eyes for a bit. He was woken up by Bach’s Adagio. He saw Sherlock, old pyjamas, one of Greg’s vests and his favorite blue dressing gown, posture straight, eyes closed. Oooh he played flawlessly, and full of emotion. Tears burst out of Greg’s eyes. This man, this crazily talented new lover of his, so smart, yet so far from recognizing how much he meant to him and to his friends. 

The second piece he played, Greg couldn’t recognize. It started out sorrowful, the notes gathering in a forlorn, lonely tone, then it lightened a bit, tentatively at first, hopeful. Small bursts of happy energy made their appearance then in crescendo, then settling a bit, arriving at a happy calmer pace and tone, that was joyous. Sherlock had obviously practiced the piece and honed his rendition to a beautiful, emotional melody. It brought a smile to Greg’s face and soothed his frayed emotions. 

When Sherlock was done, he turned towards Greg and scanned him from top to bottom, apparently deducing his mood. Greg stood as Sherlock put the violin away. 

“Thank you, Sherlock. That was just what I needed.” he said, as his hands pushed Sherlock’s hair off his face. "The Adagio was lovely. What was that other piece? I don’t think I’ve heard it before?" Greg asked. 

“Did you like it? It’s called “Following the Fox” Sherlock answered, looking away from Greg. 

“It’s stunning, truly breathtaking.” said Greg, as he ran his hand up and down Sherlock’s back.

“You think so? It is not a classical piece.” Sherlock mumbled.

Greg smiled, “It’s as if it saw right into me, my pains and my joys...and our finding each other. A masterpiece.” 

Sherlock stepped towards him and hugged him. “I’m happy you like it. You liked my playing.”

“Felt like a mini concert, just for me. Thank you sunshine.” Greg gave Sherlock a light kiss. He felt Sherlock relax into it.

They went to Sherlock’s bed and slept together, exhausted and sullen. At some point, Sherlock got closer and wrapped around him. When Greg woke up out of force of habit, at 6:00 am, he took a minute to realize where he was. Once he saw the man in his arms, his smile was wide and happy. God he was done for, but how could he have avoided falling so hard when he could wake up to this. Greg admitted Sherlock was not the only one bad at self preservation. 

Greg held him and stared at his lover, somehow still asleep. He got up, took care of the morning ablutions and made a breakfast of tea and left over scones. He took it back to the bedroom, where Sherlock now also sported pyjamas and a fresh vest. They ate in silence and Greg put the tray away. As he sat in bed, he reached for Sherlock’s hands.

“You were right in insisting we stay together, Sherlock. It took me a while, your violin helped and I’m better today. Still I feel like I have to say something before we move on from this.” started Greg.

“I’ll be more careful, Greg. I won’t go into different rooms or floors alone…” Sherlock stated.

“It’s not even that, Sherlock, though it is a part of it. I know I can’t stop you from working cases, I can’t wrap you in protective bubbles. But what happened was more than that. You were reckless. You went up without backup and didn’t call me. John did. Then you walked into a crime in progress and not only went right in, you engaged the murderer in conversation.”

“But Greg, it was Mary Watson! John’s wife! She would not have killed me! There was no reason to!” Sherlock tried to explain.

“If I hadn’t interfered I’m afraid she would have proved you wrong. She’s known to be ruthless, Sherlock. She has killed innocent people for money. She didn’t want John to know and she knows you can’t lie to him! She would have shot you, and easily!”

“Greg, Mary loves John. I planned their wedding, I gave them a sex holiday. I would have helped her, she knew it. I decided to take a calculated risk…” Sherlock tried to rationalize.

“No…” Greg continued and his voice was wrecked. “You were risking your life! Don’t you get it? You're not the one who will miss it. Your own death is something that would happen to the people who love you! Your brother, Mrs H, your friends, me ! We have already been through it once! None of us want to live that again! Sherlock the people you care about, care about you! We are together now, we are partners and you can’t …” he stopped to collect himself a bit. Sherlock got as close as he could and hugged him. 

“Greg, I didn’t think she...I didn’t believe I was in danger.” Sherlock was overwhelmed by Greg’s words.

“No. Your life is not just your own. You’re not single anymore. You hear me? If it is the two of us together, then from now on you remember that and you keep yourself alive. You keep talking about John’s wife and John’s baby, but you are my partner, I am the one who loves you, and if I have to choose between you or John’s wife, or baby, or John himself, it’s you I need to come home to me. We are in this together, Sherlock and I need to know you would choose to come back to me!”

Sherlock blinked and tried to catch up. He had protected their lives for so long, jumping off Barts, making sure the assassins—those assigned to Mrs Hudson, the ones who would follow John, and those meant for Greg—would never reach them. Then his mission had been to atone for the pain he had caused John and protect his happiness, in the form of Mary and the baby. The idea of Greg's happiness depending on Sherlock taking care of himself was shocking. He knew Greg was attracted to him, but Greg had said he was the one who loved him. Loved Sherlock. That changed things didn’t it? That Greg would consider Sherlock’s life to be shared with him. 

Greg noticed Sherlock’s lost look. “Would it be alright, if my ex wife’s husband was in danger, had a burglar aiming at his head, and I stepped in and pushed him away, so Nora could have the man she loves? Would that be alright with you?” he asked.

“Greg, you are a detective inspector, you would have police back up and the local authorities supporting you and upholding the law. If necessary…”

“Not what I meant, Sherlock. Would you accept me sacrificing my safety instead of Robert so Nora is happy? Is that my duty as someone who loved her?”

“No! You can’t! You are a detective inspector of a certain intelligence. You are a father, a friend and...and my… partner. You can’t be in danger! I was dead for two years so you could be safe!” Sherlock thought he now was beginning to understand what Greg meant.

Greg saw earnestness in Sherlock’s eyes, so there was a chance for them. There was just so much history with John there, that anyone less… besotted, would probably not be up to the challenge. For Lestrade, however, the game was on. He had to gently turn that page in Sherlock’s heart. The only way he could do it was by continuing to add to their story, make it better than what Sherlock had experienced until now. Inspiration struck. He placed the breakfast stuff on the coffee table, quickly went back to bed, and reached out to Sherlock. Brought him close and kissed him, Sherlock responding immediately. 

Greg kissed his neck, got his hands on that slim, firm body, and caressed it firmly, putting some of his weight on Sherlock’s body, exploring with his hands and his lips, grinding his hips a bit against his lover. 

“Take these off…” he told Sherlock, pulling off his pyjama bottoms. Sherlock obeyed quickly and Greg saw he already looked a bit undone. Greg took his clothes off and heard Sherlock gasp. He loved that he could make the genius do that. He sat up on his legs a bit, to let Sherlock look his fill. He was happy to see him flush deeply and blink as if he were resetting. “Oh!” he said reverently. Greg thanked the strict exercise regimen he kept, and got to work, teasing and kissing Sherlock’s neck, his chest, then paid lip service to his cock, before turning Sherlock on his tummy and positioned him properly. 

“Greg?” his voice higher than usual.

“Oh, don’t worry love. I think you’ll like this bit.” Greg said, his hands massaging the arse he had been waiting to get his hands on for a long time. Sherlock was quiet until Greg nibbled on his buttocks, placing his face between them and expertly rimmed him. 

The noises Sherlock made, a man could come from those alone, but Greg knew what he was doing, and paced himself. 

“First time, love?” he smiled, but Sherlock was beyond answering. Greg was rewarded with a high pitched yell when his tongue plunged through the thick tissue ring, and he had to hold Sherlock steady so they didn’t fall off the bed from his involuntary bucking about. When Sherlock’s noises got desperate, he moved back, lubed his hands and substituted his tongue with a finger, and reached for Sherlock’s cock. Seeing him fall apart was almost too much but Greg found the prostate and rubbed oh so gently at the very edge of it. He stroked Sherlock hard and fast, and he came with a shout, making a mess of the bed. Greg took himself in hand, fast and desperate looking at that body and that rumpled hair, the quick rise and fall of Sherlock’s breath and came, adding to the mess. 

When Greg was able to, he got up and cleaned himself, brushed his teeth and brought flannels to clean Sherlock with. He was curled on his side, and let Greg clean him up. He was trembling a bit, and Greg saw tears in his eyes. 

“Hey, are you alright?" he asked as he hugged him.

Sherlock opened his eyes, turned to see him and smiled. “God yes. That was...quite a lot.”

“A lot 'good', or too much?” Greg asked, thinking he really should have checked more often.

“Almost too much...but it was...It was incredible. How? You did that to me?” Sherlock still seemed a bit unfocused.

Greg lay down and took him in his arms. “Nora was my highschool sweetheart Sherlock. We were together for almost 25 years. I was well in my forties when we divorced. I dated every man I could for a long time after that. Experience suits me.” he said, and Sherlock could hear the smirk on him.

“Well, I believe thanks are in order for Nora, who was stupid enough to let you go, and the queue of men you dated for the experience they provided.” said Sherlock as his face rested over Greg’s chest.

“Sweetheart, there is so much more we can share. You’ll see.” Greg kissed the curls, and they napped for a while

Chapter Text

This was what a relationship was. No wonder they were the most vicious motivators. As the next couple of weeks rolled by, Sherlock felt... happy. Greg called him in the mornings and last thing in the evening. They got together for at least a meal a day. They had slept over at the other’s place a couple of times, but Greg was busy this week with briefings and paperwork and press meetings for the official version of the fire at Magnussen’s building. Even so, Greg was constantly in touch, texting and calling him.

John communicated with Sherlock in the evenings to vent his frustration with Mycroft’s processing of the case. He was trying to reach a solution that could keep Mary in London, as the paternity test had revealed John was in fact the father of the baby girl Mary was carrying. John was also incensed about the fact Mary was unapologetic about her past, her work, killing Magnussen and pointing her gun at Sherlock.

Finally, a couple of weeks later, John and Mary went back to their little house. Mrs Watson with a new anklet that would confine her to it. They would also have a live-in “nurse” ready to tend to Mary’s “high risk pregnancy”. Though a registered nurse, Francine was also MI5. She made herself at home, helping with the housework and keeping a close eye on Mary. John  hated the presence of the necessary stranger, and the fact that, according to the plan set up with Mycroft, he was to remain married until his child’s birth. He took refuge in the cases with Sherlock, which, for the time being, had to go through Mycroft’s scrutiny until the powers to be checked out Mycroft’s fabricated evidence that showed the fire had been electrical in nature, nobody’s fault and Magnussen had been overcome by the smoke and flames while opening the fire escape for Janine. 

While John had been accepting of Sherlock and Greg’s relationship in theory, Sherlock could still see him struggling with the concept at times, such as now. They were coming back from a private case, talking excitedly and laughing, just like old times, when climbing the stairs the open door could be seen. Greg was there, take away on the table. He was watching a makeover show, shoes off, shirt untucked, eating Mrs Hudson’s biscuits.

“Greg! You should have seen it! The suspect was wearing a cape! A cape like that doctor that did magic in that ridiculous movie you made me watch!” As Sherlock talked he went towards him, and Greg hugged him and smiled at him. 

“Hey sunshine. Hi there John! Everything alright?” Greg asked, smiling with his arm around Sherlock.

John took a moment to answer, looking at Sherlock, who turned to face Greg and kissed him, a slight hello kiss, and returned the hug, staying in Greg’s arms. After a silence when the two men exchanged looks, John shook his head a bit and responded, “Yeah, yes everything is alright Greg. This one has saved my life again, taking me out to cases. Life at home is, well, complicated to say the least.”

“She’s alright though, your baby?” Greg had yet to even mention Mary, not having forgiven her in the least.

“Yes, I have a sonogram. Want to see it?” Three men oohed and awwwed over the tiny collection of cells. Sherlock asked for a picture and compared it to images of fetuses online, while Greg talked about the differences with boys and girls (different ways of cleaning them up mostly).

When it was late, and John still hadn’t left, Greg asked Sherlock, “Is it alright for me to stay tonight, Sherlock?”

“Of course it is. It’s on the planner. Why would you ask?” Sherlock looked surprised.

“Just wondering if plans had changed. Which would be alright.” he said, pointing his head towards John.

Sherlock asked plainly, “John, are you staying tonight? Your old room is still furnished, there might be a bit of stuff on the bed at the moment, but if you need a place to stay for the night…”

John shook his head, seeming to wake up to the situation. “Goodness, I didn’t see the time. I — I should really go back. Francine is good, but she can’t be awake 24 hours a day. I’ll leave you two to...I’ll show myself out.” he said, staring at them for a while, as he got his coat.  Sherlock got up from his leather chair and moved to the sofa next to Greg, who put his arm around him as he turned on the telly on some documentary. They looked like they belonged there. Sherlock’s nose was scrunching already to complain about something, and Greg was already smiling and answering him, but not looking at the telly, no. Greg looked at Sherlock, as if he were the screen, as if he were the only thing worth watching. John did not feel a pang in his chest. His stomach was not flipping.There was no knot in his throat. He was happy for his friends. He turned around and forced his legs down the stairs to take the line to the house where an agent and a liar waited for him. The life he had chosen. 

OooOooO

So Greg proceeded carefully. He was happy with how Sherlock was opening up to this relationship with him. The trickiest part were the cases. John. Greg didn’t have it in him to begrudge them this. This friendship. Sherlock was relaxed, calmer. He and John still worked well together, had that connection, but there were definite changes. Sherlock came to the sites alone, most of the time, and John came usually a bit later. They interacted, they worked and John did look appropriately impressed, but Sherlock looked for Greg on the sites when he was there. No more Sherlock and John going off together. Sherlock would see John out, or not, and come back to him. Greg would congratulate, or make a joke, put his hand on Sherlock’s neck or his back, squeeze his hand. He didn’t care what people said. Donovan had been behaving. Called Sherlock “Holmes” now and Greg was happy the three of them could work together in relative peace. He was thinking of maybe suggesting some time back in the log cabin. Sherlock had liked it before. Then Greg read a notification on his phone. Oh, he had forgotten! Time to take his new partner to where his children lived.

OooOooO

Sherlock found being with Greg satisfactory. He had to admit to himself he had never expected to be part of a couple. When he had fantasized about it, it had never been with Lestrade. But when he had come back from Serbia, he had been grateful that Greg welcomed him. John’s detachment, his refusal to listen to Sherlock and his engagement, had hurt Sherlock profoundly. Only Greg’s friendship had stopped him from asking Mycroft to send him away again, on any mission, or station him in France or Germany. Knowing he could talk to Greg, that they could go out, or to the morgue, or to the Yard had helped him resist the chemical temptations his body insisted on remembering every time he had to go with John and Mary and confront yet another wedding vendor.

He knew John was struggling to accept “Mary”s past. It did at least seem she had tried to stop once she was engaged. Still, John said he was waiting for the baby to be born, so he could divorce her or have the wedding annulled. Donovan had confessed to Sherlock that Greg had talked to her about it, and that he had sounded a bit insecure about what would happen to them if and when John Watson was single once more. Sherlock did not like that Greg had sounded like that. He did not want John to suffer either. These thoughts had made Sherlock ignore the cold, and the time as he walked around Regent’s Park.

“Oooh Sunshine, what are you doing walking around out here, huh?” Greg had found him. That meant it was after 7:00 pm. 7:18 precisely. “You are late, Greg.”

“And you are freezing, not so friendly neighborhood genius.” Greg said, an expectant smile on his face.

“That is from one of your silly superhero movies, Greg, no. I’m not in the mood.” he whinged.

“You know what you have to do...which one? Come on now…” Greg teased. Sherlock hated most of the Marvel movies, loudly protesting Greg’s insistence on watching them every single time it was his turn to choose what they saw.

“The one with the Batman….” he answered.

“Come on Sherlock, you are not even trying!” 

“Fine...Captain America. He had a neighborhood.”

“Nope. Try again.”

“You do realize we are middle aged men? Well I am, you are well on your way to your Golden Years…”

“Sherlock.” Greg was folding his arms.

“Fine. Not the one with the robot, not the one with the monster, not the one with the wizard and not the one with the woman. Not the ones with the family of gods which had that gorgeous Heimdall, not the space travelers, not the one with the panthers or the ridiculous one with the man that turns into an ant—Yes! It’s the one where that skinny lad turns into the SpiderHero.”

“SpiderMan, Sherlock. And for someone who complains so much about watching them you remember them well enough. Excuse me, but Heimdall is ‘gorgeous’?”

“Yes he is. Absolutely. Do not pretend to be offended as it is clear you think the same of the wizard with the magic cape and the necklace,” Sherlock said, and Greg blushed lightly.

“Well, at least you remember the movies,” he said.

“I only remember them for the one redeeming quality they all have in common.” he said, seriously.

“They’re all ‘gorgeous’ superheroes, being fantastic, saving the day.” said Greg.

“No. The only thing I like about those movies is we see them on your couch, and you cuddle with me and feed me strawberries while I complain. And if I’m particularly vocal, we have sex.” Sherlock said.

“Oi! We usually do anyway. The movie doesn’t matter.”

“So, how about we go home and skip it today.” 

“First you have some soup though. I bought it from home.”

“Vegetable?"

“Yeah.”

“Fine.”

So they had the soup, and they settled in with a cup of tea, in front of the fireplace. Sherlock soon abandoned his cup, settling his head on Greg’s lap. He thought Greg wouldn’t resist getting his hand into his hair and was right. That look though. 

“You have been wanting to say something to me” Sherlock said, coaxing Greg.

“Sherlock. Fine. You remember Mack?”

“Tall, big boy, who needed to lay off the chips to get rid of his acne. Your older son.”

“Yeah, brilliant. No more acne, tall and broad man. He is now a Graduate in Security Engineering. His Graduation Ceremony is coming up, and with all this CAM business I had forgotten to mention it to you. He lives in Edinburgh, remember?”

“Of course I remember. So how long will you be away? And will it be this weekend? Most inconvenient, I must say, as we already have a schedule.” Sherlock feigned disinterest.

“It’s actually next weekend. I was thinking of making it a holiday, since all the kids will be there.”

“So will you be staying at Nora’s? Is she still married to Robert? She does not have a good record in long term relationships.”

“I’m not staying at Nora’s for goodness sake. Yes, they are still married. I think his boring job is attractive to her. We were married for 20 years, Sherlock that is pretty long term. Anyway, I was not thinking of going there alone. I was hoping that you would want to come with me. We could go for the Dark History tour, or go Whisky tasting, Greg asked, looking at Sherlock hopefully.

“Seriously? I could probably be the guide on the Dark History tour and surely know 10 times more than whatever guide is being paid bollocks to do it. Tasting Whisky with you might lead to drunken activities later on. However, I’m not the kind of person who is pleasant to present as one’s ‘pal’ during a major family event to unsuspecting family members.” Sherlock responded, and looked for Greg’s reaction.

“Oi, Mr Holmes! What was that for? Since when are we pals? We are partners, significant others, lovers, but not pals, or are you not satisfied with our amorous relationship?” asked Greg in a French accent, while wiggling his eyebrows, and got what he wanted, a giggle from Sherlock.

“Maybe partners. Are you sure it’s alright I go with you? I wouldn’t like to bring strain to a family reunion.” Sherlock stated.

“I’m absolutely sure. Nora doesn’t care who I’m with. The kids know that I’m bisexual. I never hid it from them. There was a friend, Todd met once. I went on holiday with him.”

Sherlock sat up on the sofa and looked at him open mouthed; “Baskerville! You were…Did my brother interrupt your holiday? Seriously Greg?” he asked, amused.

“It was for the best, really. Nothing to go on, except the sex.” Greg answered.

“We have more to go on, you think?” Sherlock asked, going towards him and nuzzling against his neck.

“Oh yeah, most definitely,” answered Greg smiling.

“Sex most certainly included,” stated Sherlock, lowering his baritone further.

OooOooO

The case had been a mere three at most. Their client noticed things of value missing from home, collector’s items, jewelry, first edition books. The client long suspected his wife had a lover. Sherlock and John had staked out the house, caught the intruder red handed and given pursuit. In effect the woman had been the wife’s long time lover, waiting for the client’s wife to make good on her promise of divorcing him once the ten years stipulated on the prenup had passed. Inside the house, the husband had his own stake out on the thief as well, both scaring each other when she showed up and entered with her own keys. The woman ran, Sherlock had tackled her down, John had talked to her and convinced her to collaborate with the Yard. Sherlock called the client's wife and tricked her into coming to pick up her husband, who was supposedly reporting an assault. She had come to the station to be confronted by both her angry husband and her angry lover. “That is one ugly cat you left out the bag.” John said. 

“What? What cat? Did she let a cat escape?” Sherlock asked, confused.

They ended up in Baker Street, ordering take-away. 

“Greg coming?” asked John.

“Nope. On a case of his own, they are tracking a suspect and he was conducting an interrogation on an accomplice arrested earlier.” Sherlock responded.

“So you and him…” started John.

“You and he…” corrected Sherlock. “...was that supposed to be a question?” he checked.

“It’s been more than three months. How are you getting along? Any problems?”

“None at all. Greg is funny, and caring and makes good soup.” Sherlock said, taking some of the food, and sitting in his armchair. 

John stared at him. “But you two are a couple. You have feelings for him. For Greg.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes at him, “Yes John. I am and have always been capable of feelings. I believed you, of all people, would have known that. However, to make it clear, spending time with Greg for extended periods, stimulated my hypothalamus. This prompted testosterone production, resulting in the feeling of attraction. Further closeness triggered the production of Phenylethylamine, which released dopamine, that is the chemical you are concerned about, the one that makes your heart beat like a drum, your hands sweat and your brain forget it’s train of thought.”

“Sherlock…” John tried.

“When the closeness is physical, meaning touches, hugs, kisses, sexual contact, the dopamine releases oxytocin which is the bonding chemical, making you feel as if you belong together. As Greg and I have been best friends since my return and intimate partners for three months, our relationship has been properly simmered in these chemicals. Lately an incredible amount of cuddling and sexual contact has occurred. So we have effectively bonded as a couple. Clear?”

“Yes Sherlock. I am a doctor, I do know these things, ta. I just wanted to know if you...” John stammered.

Sherlock looked at him, his hands laced, his legs crossed. His eyebrow arched. John looked down.

“I just wanted to congratulate you both.” he concluded.

OooOooO

Sherlock found himself alone for a moment, Greg stepping aside to greet yet another acquaintance. There were at the Edinburgh Napier University’s Graduation Ceremony, at the Usher Hall on the Craiglockhart campus, where Maxwell Lestrade was graduating from his program of Cybersecurity and Forensics. Sherlock stood alone, uncomfortable, in the back of the salon, not really wanting to sit by himself amongst Greg’s family. 

They had arrived the day before, in the afternoon. Greg had arranged for them to stay at the Bonham Hotel, for a four day weekend. Sherlock, who had been expecting some kind of economy arrangement,  had been very surprised. 

“Greg? You didn’t have to...we will barely be in the hotel, and this…” Sherlock looked around.

“Aww, come on. It’s not like it’s a luxury place. What, were you thinking I was going to bring my gorgeous partner on a holiday with me and stick him in a Best Western?” He said, looking at Sherlock, grinning and holding his hand. They got to the reception desk. Greg looked at the young woman smiling at them. “Doesn’t he belong in a posh Hotel? Can you see him in a Best Western?” smiled Greg.

“Absolutely not! Neither of you belong there! So happy you decided to come to us,” she said, her smile bright and her eyes kind. 

The room had been reminiscent of a cleaner, newer 221B, with its antique styled furniture and the big comfortable bed and draped windows and two gorgeous blue armchairs. They had dinner with Tara and Todd, Greg’s youngest, as Mack had to rehearse and tend to his girlfriend’s parents, who had also come for the occasion. 

The dinner had been pleasant, as both the younger Lestrades seemed to have inherited their father’s easy temperament. Tara was a bit shy at first, but made it clear, she accepted her father’s choice, as long as it made him happy. Todd was downright enthusiastic.

“We’ve met, don’t you remember Sherlock? At Dad’s, when I was a lad. You came in one night and I was crying because I couldn’t find a toy. A dinosaur it was, I couldn’t sleep without it. You ordered me to stop crying, because making a racket wouldn’t help find Dino. Then you sat with me, while Dad ordered take away, and made me deduce I’d left him in the car. You went and got it for me. Dad was mad with you about it I think.”

“Your father was mad, because I was...not well that night. Also because I picked into his car,” admitted Sherlock.

“You bastard, you ruined the door!" Greg protested.

“Well, it taught you to buy a car that wasn’t last century’s. You should be thankful.”

They had a good meal, and some good wine, and after they left, Greg had been happy and a bit tipsy.

Now they were gathered waiting for the ceremony to start, and the number of people that were attending to see Mack graduate seemed unnecessary. Especially since it meant an inordinate number of women came looking for Greg’s attention. Away from the pressures of his job, Greg was carefree and friendly, smiling and winking at people. Boring. 

Once Greg came back to guide him to their seats and the ceremony began, Sherlock distracted himself by imagining what crime each of the happy acquaintances were capable of. It was a surprisingly effective pastime. Thankfully, he was able to hear the usher call out Maxwell’s name, so he was able to stand when Greg did and applaud as the young man took his diploma and threw his cap in the air. 

There was a horde of people at the celebration party. Family on Greg’s part, his brother and his sister, their kids, an aunt and uncle. Greg’s parents were in France and could not make it back. Greg, who seemed to be enjoying himself immensely, walked around the salon, with Sherlock by the hand, and happily introduced him, as “my partner”. 

Then they got to the table where Nora and Robert were. His ex-wife stood up as they approached, and when she saw Sherlock, her mouth fell open. Robert greeted them first. Sherlock quietly deduced the man. Boring, predictable. Was at least doing a modicum of exercise, as he was not fat, but nowhere near as fit as Greg. Friendly, and a good family man. 

Nora looked...astounded? Outraged? Sherlock couldn’t understand what about his presence could cause either reaction as his relationship with Greg had started more than a decade after she had ended her relationship with him. 

“Oi, Nora! You OK, hun? I wanted to introduce you to my partner…” Greg started.

Nora seemed to get a hold of herself. “Sherlock?!” she asked, still sounding surprised. “Sherlock Holmes is your partner?” 

“Yeah, it’s not a secret, Nory, the kids all knew beforehand…”

“I knew it! I knew it, Greg! That time he sneaked into our house. And you said there was nothing going on!" she said.

“Excuse me, I am right here,” interrupted Sherlock, “ I was 20 at the time and the only thing going on was that there were two men after me, trying to break my nose after I cheated at poker. I broke into your house looking for shelter, nothing more,” he said, rather harshly.

It seemed to bring Nora back to reality. She laughed. “Goodness, you are right. That was so long ago. Water under the bridge,” she conceded and was starting to smile.

“No, not water under the bridge. You meant Greg and I had an affair while he was married. He never did! You on the other hand...” he started.

Greg hugged him close. “That’s alright, love, I think Nora understands now. It’s all fine, OK?” Greg said quickly and turned around. “Look, Mack is calling us for pictures, let’s go get our’s taken with him. I want to put on his cap and gown for a photo!” Greg and Mack ended up taking multiple pictures, insisting Sherlock join them, then they went to have a drink at the bar, which turned into several drinks. Sherlock held on to his, deciding it was best to remain sober. 

So the night rolled on, and when Nora came around again, she apologized, and complimented him on the cases he had solved with the NSY since coming back. There seemed to be friendly communication between her and Greg, and she admitted being happy he had someone now. Sherlock felt better about her and they talked for a bit.

There was a buffet style dinner, which Sherlock avoided, eating some of the appetizers instead, and sneaking a cigarette, only to be caught by Greg, who had finished catching up with one of his interminable acquaintances, and had come looking for him to dance with. 

When hours later, they got back to their hotel room, Greg was more than a bit tipsy and happy. Sherlock helped him take his clothes off. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry love. I got a bit emotional with the boy. He made it! He did it, and I’m proud of him. So I’m a bit drunk and it’s not fair to you…”

“What are you on about? It’s fine. It’s a special occasion. Mack and the others were so happy to see you,” Sherlock reassured him fondly.

“Yes but now I’m good for nothing! That is, I will be good for sleeping. We can’t have sex. I’ve wasted one of your nights… that is sad,” complained Greg with a maudlin sounding voice. 

Sherlock smiled and shook his head, “It’s alright, Greg. This was Mack’s night. We have time. It’s fine.” Sherlock assured him.

“It’s not that I don't want to, because I always do. I always did, Sherlock, ever since I saw you play with that dog. Remember the dog? You looked like a bloody model when you smiled at the pupper. Like a bloody actor. You are gorgeous. But I’m just too sleepy...” he pouted.

Since the day in the park. One of their first times out with no purpose other than to spend time together. The dog’s owner had thought they were a couple, and Greg had not hurried to correct her, had not been disgusted by the idea. Sherlock thought of so many things they had gone through since then, so many confessions Sherlock had made, while Greg had feelings for him. 

The warm thing in his chest threatened to expand, and at the same time, he felt a profound sadness for Lestrade, still helping him teach John to dance, being there for him at John’s wedding, thinking that Sherlock couldn’t possibly really want to kiss him that night. He was also thankful that Greg had persevered throughout, and given him a chance to wake up and be with him as he was now.

Greg was still complaining about himself. Sherlock smiled, and when he could get a word in, he asked, “Can we still cuddle? Because that is what I would like to do right now. To sleep with you and cuddle.” Greg was happy with that option and promptly fell asleep. 

Sherlock stayed awake a long time, thinking the party over. Other than Greg’s elderly aunt and uncle, who looked at him as if he were still a junkie fresh off the street, Greg’s family had been warm to him.

Chapter Text

Mack had been cordial at the beginning, repeating “Wow, my dad has a boyfriend! It blows my mind!” every once in a while as they drank together, but Tara seemed to have no such problems accepting it, neither did Todd, who seemed the happiest to see Sherlock there. Well, the happiest after Greg himself. 

Even before he drank a bit too much, Greg had held his hand, and took him around, introducing him to his relatives and friends. He talked to them as he put his hand on the small of Sherlock’s back or his arm around his shoulders. He had managed to look so handsome throughout the night. Sherlock saw both women and men looking at him hopefully in the few moments when they were not together. It didn’t matter, because Greg was his. It was… exhilarating to be free to hold his hand, or have Greg slow dance with him. He had loved every time he had heard Greg say “this is my partner, my significant other, Sherlock Holmes.” 

Sherlock was amazed by Greg’s behaviour. That his man, whom he had known for so long, was so open about them and kind to him still surprised him. Sherlock felt happy, even after a night of forced socialization. He was now in bed, with his sleeping lover. He fell asleep in Greg’s arms, feeling like he belonged there.

The next morning they had “brunch” just with the family; Tara and her friend, Todd, Mack and his girlfriend. Nora and Robert, of course, and Greg’s brother and his wife, Justin and Pearl, and his sister and her husband, Bernice and Joe. When they were finished there was talk about getting together at a meeting point for an excursion...to the Palace of Holyroodhouse. Sherlock immediately turned to Greg, shaking his head and repeating a silent “nononononono”.

Greg laughed and hugged him. They went to meet the group and Greg excused them, “Listen, both Sherlock and I have been already and we have other plans. Maybe we could meet some other time?” he asked.

“Maybe…?” asked Justin, “What do you mean, maybe? We are going to the Darkside Tour together, right? Because we will end up in a pub! We have to have a pint with your….partner,  Greg, I’ve barely even met him,” Justin said.

Once they were alone, Sherlock was surprised when their cab went in the opposite direction to their hotel. “Greg?”

“Oh, I knew the ladies were going to want to visit either the stores or one of the castles, so I booked something different. Only now, I’m not so sure about it. It might seem rather childish to you.” Gred said, his cheeks blushing a bit. 

“What have you done, Greg? Please tell me it is not a haunted house live experience! The ‘ghosts’ will not survive me!”

“No, none of that. It’s actually The Chocolatorium. It’s close to the Royal Mile. I’ve been before once and I liked it. Thought maybe given your sweet tooth... but we can cancel it, if you don’t want to,” Greg backtracked.

“No, don’t. It could be interesting. I gather it is a guided tour? There must be some kind of shop,” he said.

Greg smiled, “Yeah, not only that, but you can make your own chocolate bar, you can put in any mix ins you want to.” Greg responded and he smiled as Sherlock laced their fingers on Greg’s lap and gave a little contented smile too. 

They had a great time. Greg could see that Sherlock was happy, whether it was about the tour (Greg suspected Sherlock knew just as much about chocolate as the owners) or about going through it as a couple, which truthfully, was the best part for Greg. When the guide talked about the growth of the cacao bean and the process of turning it into chocolate, Sherlock asked some questions. Greg was happy that the woman guiding the tour seemed to have gone above and beyond, and was able to hold her own against his genius. 

Then they went to the Factory Kitchen, and oh did Sherlock’s eyes light up! It was just wonderful to see. Greg, who preferred his milk chocolate plain, let Sherlock add things to his bar also. Sherlock was very happy to find honey comb among the mix in ingredients. He also used pomegranate to counter the sweet. On Greg’s bar, he used orange rinds and chilli, fussing over the exact amount of each ingredient and the darkness necessary to make the combination work. Greg just took a step back and looked at Sherlock work. Listening to him describing the process, and just letting himself be nearly overwhelmed with emotion. Sherlock, his Sherlock, looked just as concentrated on the chocolate, and on being with him, as he was when he was on a case. It was flattering and bewildering, at the same time. 

The tasting room was next and that was a fantastic experience, as Sherlock joined samples with Greg and they shared, Sherlock feeding him pieces. Greg favored the Gin and Tonic ones, Sherlock could not decide, as much as he liked the Japanese melt in your mouth Dark Rum and the Strawberry pieces, he also liked the Ecuadorian Cacao with Roasted Coffee Beans, and the Ginger and Salt, while Greg liked the Cacao with Chili and Cinnamon. When the tasting was over, Greg had eaten enough sugar for a month and Sherlock had a joyous smile on his face. 

They visited the shop and Sherlock must have bought the most chocolate and Cacao Tea of all the visitors. Greg had to help him carry the bags. On the way to the hotel, Sherlock talked animatedly about the other people on the tour with them, mainly criticizing their choices as favorite chocolates, he also went off on how much the guide knew about chocolate. In all, Greg  had a good idea of how he wanted to spend the next couple of hours, but when they got to their hotel, Tara and Jessie were waiting for them. They had gotten tired of walking around old castles and modern malls, and Tara had come looking for her father. So they went up to the room, and Sherlock had the ladies taste some of the chocolates. Sherlock went to take a rather long shower, and the girls ordered room service at Greg’s insistence. 

When he came out, Tara and Greg were deep in reminiscing favorite childhood moments. Sherlock got to listen to stories that showed a Greg as he knew him, but as a father, kind, yet authoritative, protective and forgiving and funny. Time flew by as they listened and shared stories, and soon, Mack, Todd and Joe came looking for them to start the Dark Side tour. The ladies excused themselves as they were to return to Cardiff the next day. 

OooOooO

The tour really was just a pretext for the men to get together, as none of them listened to the guide, or paid any real attention to the places featured. Sherlock tried to contain his annoyance at their loud laughter and the fact that Joe’s son, Marcus, kept slipping away to buy pints for the men. Sherlock, having filled up on chocolate, did not want beer, or any other form of alcohol. The tour was predictable, though he did enjoy walking through the Canongate burial site. He knew more about the realities of the witch burnings, the body snatching and the “real-life cannibals” than the guide could ever hope to.

In all, by the time the men picked a pub to escape to, Sherlock had had enough of the whole experience. Pub it was though, and he looked at Greg, pint in hand, with some resentment, as it probably meant, they were in for another long night. He hoped Lestrade would realise this filled up his socialization quota for the foreseeable future. He hung around for as long as he could, he even tried to answer questions about cases, but started feeling techty and thought it was best to take a walk. Looking around, he decided to play some darts, as there appeared to be no one else interested. He used to play with Mycroft when they were young. His insufferable brother had unfailable aim, but he wasn’t around now.

It took him a while to get a grip on the “hitting the bullseye ” part of the activity, so he was grateful the men in his group were too busy talking to see him throw the darts way off the center. Once he got into the swing of it, though, a man came up and asked to play. About as tall as Sherlock, and closer to Greg’s age, Ralph Sinclair introduced himself and started to talk. He was Captain of the 51M1 Company, Intelligence, Surveillance and Reconnaissance Brigade. Definitely interested in more than just playing a game, as he gave Sherlock a once over and stared at his mouth. Captain Sinclair and his men had a night off, after a formal ceremony. The two men talked and Ralph was happy to give Sherlock tips as to how to better throw his dart. The Captain might have been out of his uniform, but his army life was present in his crisp appearance, his posture and his tone of voice. He was tall, red headed and very attractive. His laughter could be heard across the salon. It was heard by one Greg Lestrade, who had noticed Sherlock had company. Sherlock saw him watching, and decided to flirt. Captain Sinclair wanted to show Sherlock how to better his aim, and pulled him closer, positioning his arm just so, and Sherlock let him. The Captain put his hands on Sherlock’s shoulders to fix his posture and Sherlock smiled, hearing some decidedly familiar footsteps ending right behind him. 

Sherlock, pretended to be surprised by Greg’s appearance behind him, looked over his shoulder and gave him his best guilty look, then remaining quiet as Greg said, “Good evening,” cheerily.

“Want a turn mate?” Ralph asked, while managing to convey he would really prefer Greg say no.

Greg took the dart out of the Captain’s hand and promptly threw it, hitting the bullseye. Sherlock stared at him open mouthed for a minute and then laughed, a deep resonating laughter.

Greg smiled at him. “If you wanted to play, you pratt, you should have come to the MVP.”

“I didn’t think you were up for a game, busy as you were with your family,” Sherlock said, his voice smoky and lustful.

Greg grabbed his hand and pulled him away, “Captain? It’s been your pleasure to meet us. Sorry, but I’m taking my man home for a game of a more private nature.” Greg winked saucily at the poor man.

They left the somewhat befuddled man standing alone. Greg said a hurried goodbye to his family, and once outside, they caught a cab to the hotel.

OooOooO

“I can’t believe you would flirt like that! How dare you?” said Greg, but his smile said the outrage was an act.

“I merely thought you would not mind. The conversation with your family had already been repetitive for a while and you showed no signs of wanting to finish it. I simply looked for alternate ways of entertaining myself,” responded Sherlock, feigning indifference.

Greg looked at him smiling, “Oh, so let the first tall, handsome soldier just come around and seduce you with his excellent aim in darts?”

“While he did have a passable aim, and he was rather attractive, seeing as he was not in uniform, there was one person whose aim was more impressive and who looked absolutely ravishing tonight,” said Sherlock.

“Oh yeah? And who would that be?” asked Greg.

“The bartender of course!” Sherlock deadpanned and both men burst into laughter, as Greg poked him hard on the ribs, tickling him.

Sherlock then turned towards Greg, grabbed his face and passionately kissed him. 

“Oi! Stop that you two, we are minutes away from your hotel.” the cab driver called out.

They didn’t stop until the taxi stopped and Sherlock overpaid the driver. 

Once in their room, there was no more stopping. Greg had abstained from drinking to avoid what had happened last night. Sherlock was all over him, trying to continue kissing him passionately and take his clothes off at the same time. Since Greg was wearing a coat, and a cardigan and a button down shirt, it was quite a challenge to open all of the zippers and buttons and catches. 

“Sweetheart, we better go to bed, and take all of these clothes off. Get comfortable.”

“Yes! Great idea, you are truly a genius, dearest, let’s go!” Sherlock took off the cardigan that Greg insisted he wear, his own shirt, and was then tried to open his belt as he took off his shoes, while Greg opened his own shirt, looking at him and smiling.

“Take it easy love, I’m not going anywhere, and no one is going to drop by now.” Greg said, taking his own trousers off.

“We don’t know that! Who haven’t you seen today; your aunt and uncle, your cousins, your neighbors from 15 years ago that are just dying to catch up? Your Uni sweethearts…”

“Oh shush you brat, come here.” He took the semi naked Sherlock in his arms and kissed him. 

“Nope, no take it all off, Greg, or someone is going to call or come through that door!” Sherlock said, taking a step back and finally taking his socks off. When he raised his eyes again, Greg stood looking at him, in all his naked glory. Sherlock stared appreciatively and gasped “Oh!”

“You were considering changing all this for that army Captain?” Greg asked, passing his hands over his own body, making sure Sherlock was looking. “I’m sure he could never beat this.” Greg said, swaying his hips exaggeratedly.

“Oh, army Captains have nothing on you.” Sherlock said, as he got closer and kissed him again.  He moved back a bit to lick Greg’s lips open and intrude his mouth with his tongue. Greg responded happily, wondering if Sherlock even realised what he had just said. Now that he could finally put his hands all over his genius, he was not about to bring it up. 

They rolled around in the enormous bed, hands all over each other, touching, caressing, fondling, scratching. Sherlock had read about this, had heard that sex could be fun, and playful, not just the sweaty, lurid race to intermingle bodily emissions. He loved the way sex with Greg made him feel — wanted, cared for, joyous. There was just one bothersome thing, something he needed to fix. 

“What should we do tonight, sunshine?” Greg asked and he caressed Sherlock’s leg and placed kisses on his belly. 

“What you did with him. I want...you,” he could feel himself blushing, and his voice did not want to raise.

“What did I do with…? Oh! Mouth?”

“No, I want you to...to fuck me,” Sherlock said quietly. He disliked the term, but the more formal words sounded forced and ridiculous.

“Sherlock, we haven’t even talked about that, and we have great sex without it. I don’t need to do it to enjoy being with you, love.” Greg reassured him.

“I would like to try, Greg. I want to have every part of you. I want to feel you inside of me,” Sherlock could not confess that the images of Greg with Ben haunted him, and he badly wanted to erase them, with his own experience.

Greg kissed him, and found the lube, on the bedside drawer, slathered his hands and took Sherlock’s cock in his mouth, just wetting it thoroughly, while the fingers of his other hand played with Sherlock’s rim. “We will do this first, alright?” he said, and introduced a finger through the rim, back and forth, back and forth, as his other hand caressed Sherlock’s chest and tummy and legs. 

Seeing him turned on and not in any discomfort, he added another finger. Sherlock moaned and covered his face with his arm. “You ok?” Greg asked.

 “Yes,” Sherlock answered in a hitching voice, “I did prepare earlier, in the shower…”

Greg had to push away the image of Sherlock preparing himself, in order to not finish their encounter right then and there. Instead, he found the little ridge he was looking for rubbing it tenderly first and more firmly as he saw his lover’s reaction.

“Aaagh,” gasped Sherlock. “Mon Dieu, Greg please!”

So Greg made sure all bits were well lubed. Took a deep breath and pushed the tip of his cock through. He heard Sherlock gasp and go still, his erection flagging quite a bit. “Ok?”

“Go all in, come on!” Sherlock ordered.

“Alright bossy,” he said, and pushed in slowly, heard a whimper from Sherlock and stopped. 

Sherlock had closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing. Was it supposed to feel like this? In his preparations he had known a cock would feel different to his fingers but he had not expected the pain. It was a cold spike where there had been heat. He had needed a moment to catch his breath, and as he opened his eyes he saw Greg looking back at him with concern. The cock inside him, however, had not flagged one bit, so taking a deep breath, he dared thrust up. He heard Greg gasp now. Sherlock did it again, and once more and the pain receded a bit, and it started to feel different. Hot, yes, oh yes. 

“Move, you can move now, please oh…”

Greg did, keeping a rhythm until Sherlock was hard again. Greg slowed down to rub on his prostate, and Sherlock made the loudest noises, no words, just sounds. He heard Greg say, “I can feel you all around me...Sherlock I’m going….”

Sherlock thrust upwards as he felt his body burn with the last bit of the pain and pure incandescent pleasure. He focused his eyes on Greg’s body, so beautiful and strong, his face, also reflecting pleasure. Sherlock took himself in hand, felt the throbbing and the hard thrusts within and heard Greg say, “God….” and lost himself to the petit mort.

When Greg’s heart returned to normal speed and he could breathe again, he kissed his lover’s shoulder, carefully got up and went to the loo, to clean himself and bring a moist rag for Sherlock. He could not stop smiling, and could hardly believe his life. That he had imagined he could ‘make do’ with anybody else. There was no one else. Not for him. He looked in the mirror, and saw what he had been hearing all weekend. He looked years younger than he was. He looked like an idiot in love. Laughing at himself quietly, he went back to the bed. Oh no.

Sherlock was curled up on his side. Was he hurt? What had gone wrong?

“Hey sweetheart, are you hurt? What happened?”

“No, I’m not hurt,” Sherlock answered, taking the flannel and cleaning himself, but he would not meet Greg’s eyes. Instead, he put the cloth down and covered his own eyes with the palms of his hands.

“Well, something’s gone wrong. Was I too harsh? Did it hurt too much?”

“No! No, it was fine, it was perfect! It’s nothing really...” he whispered.

“Tell me, love. Come on.”

Sherlock turned the roll that was his body to face Greg, tucking himself into Greg’s side as the man put his hand through his hair. Sherlock’s voice was a bit muffled, “I don’t want this to be just chemistry, Greg. I know why the brain leads the body to react. I know how desire and attraction work. I was just talking it over with… I just want this to be more than a physical reaction to prolonged proximity.” Sherlock said, and he looked distraught.

“Oh sweetheart. OK, yeah, the brain puts the body to work and the chemicals are there and we are flesh and bone. It’s also true that we were friends and enjoyed each other’s company way before all of that started taking place, right? I cared for you for a long time before you ever kissed me. This isn’t just the hormones doing their thing. This is us. This is me loving you. Science can’t account for the entirety and the intensity of human emotion, Sherlock. This will last as long as you want it to. I love you, and I’m not leaving. We can do this again, or never again and just cuddle, and I will love you just the same.” Greg said, as he caressed Sherlock’s face, and put an errant curl back behind his ear.

Sherlock still looked a bit not good, surprised maybe or a bit overwhelmed, “I - I love you, Greg..,” he said, as if testing the words for truthfulness, “...I never thought we could be this, that you would want to continue like this...and are you daft? Of course we are doing this again! Maybe in a couple of days, though. Do you think there is any chance of room service?”

Fortunately, room service did deliver and both men enjoyed a full meal.

The remaining day had been alright, if only to see Greg interact with his children and tease them. Sherlock found he didn’t mind Nora and Robert. Nora seemed to have developed a warm affection for Greg, and talked about her own behavior quite realistically. Robert was shy, and seemed to cringe at Greg’s teasing, but in all everyone got on well. However, even though Sherlock was able to admit he had enjoyed his time away, he was happy to return to Baker Street.

Chapter Text

John was stumped. They had been having a good month long run, filled with private and Yard cases. It had been fantastic to work with Sherlock again, and document the Work. It allowed him to forget his choices, to forget the woman confined to the little house that might as well be a jail. Thank goodness for Franny, who found all kinds of projects to keep Mary entertained. They even did exercises together. This way, John got to spend time with Sherlock. 

Although if John looked too closely, he could see the changes. They didn’t often end up at Baker Street, most of the time they parted ways at the scene. The occasions when John and Sherlock had been together and had take-away, the men each sat in their own chairs, never sharing the sofa, even if they did watch a movie. Gone were the little touches, arm against arm, or their calves against each other’s under the restaurant table. Sherlock’s way of looking at John had changed too, less intense. His conversation was more cordial, more abundant, but less intimate. 

Their friendship was now really what John had always insisted it had been from the beginning, platonic. He now finally, and too late, admitted it had never been that for either of them before Sherlock jumped. It had not been platonic when he came back either. The wedding had been the turning point. This new relationship, which was a bad copy of the former one, felt to him as if something were wrong, not quite natural. John knew that everything could have been very different if not for his hurried proposal to Mary.

He had been tempted to say something at some point when Sherlock had just come back from Edinburg. He and Sherlock were alone, and laughing. John thought he could test the waters, and he was gathering up his courage, but then Lestrade had texted, and Sherlock’s face had just lit up, and John knew he had to let him have this, let Sherlock be happy for a change. 

So he soldiered on, having no right to complain. He had been given every chance to speak up. If he had just spoken to Sherlock, after the stag night, as Greg had begged him to, he would be the one able to comfort Sherlock now.

The case had been a mess from the start. The client was a father, trying to find his 16 year old boy. There was a long and mean custody battle going on over him.,  Dad stating the only reason the mother wanted custody was revenge, to hurt him. The boy was diagnosed as being developmentally delayed, and the mother had refused to have him further tested. That resulted in him attending regular school. The father was sure the boy was on the spectrum and had other issues. He wanted sole custody to follow the recommendations of a therapist he had been collaborating with. 

The boy, Nadir, had reacted to the fighting by hiding, first in his room, then going out on the roof of the house.  A couple of hours later, dad noticed Nadir had disappeared. The mother called the Yard, dad called Sherlock. Dad lived in Glasgow, and as Nadir did poorly on long train rides, they traveled by aeroplane, which Nadir was fascinated with. While John interviewed the father, Sherlock found the boy walking around the aeroport, having sneaked into the terminal by an outside passage. 

Sherlock had calmed the boy down by talking about and looking at the aero planes as they were serviced and filled with luggage. Nadir had then started to talk and stated the different forms of abuse he unknowingly suffered with his mother. Sherlock maintained the conversation, speaking only to repeat a bit of what Nadir said. He had recorded everything the boy said and would not let John hear it.

Now, the father was with the boy, and the mother had arrived, making a scene about finally being reunited with her son. For a moment, John had been scared Sherlock would lose his control with her. As the authorities came and the mother put on an ever suffering parent persona to speak with the lady detective, John could see Sherlock getting more and more upset. He had tried talking to him, but to no avail. Sherlock would not listen, not go back to Baker Street with him, not let John touch him. John did what he had to do, even though it hurt him to accept what it meant.

Twenty minutes later, after screaming at the social workers, at the sargents and having been pulled away from the mother by John, Sherlock now sat on the sidewalk in defeat, hands in his hair, rocking slightly.

“What did the boy tell you, Sherlock? Hm?" John sat next to him. Sherlock didn’t say a thing.

“Did he talk to you about his mother? Because you would have to testify…" he tried.

Sherlock didn’t say a word, put his head down and pulled on his hair. John looked up and sighed. Greg was looking for them. “Hey…” John said, and bumped Sherlock’s arm with his. “Look who’s here.” There was no response. Sherlock continued to rock softly. John put his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder, but Sherlock shook it away. “I called Greg. He’s right there, looking for you.”

Finally, Sherlock looked up, not looking at John at all. He saw Greg, standing behind the police line, illuminated by the ambulance and other vehicle lights in the otherwise dark night. Sherlock got up and walked towards him. John sat there watching. Greg saw Sherlock and went to him, his face turning soft. He approached as Sherlock stopped, standing there as if unsure of himself, his hands folded into fists. Greg took Sherlock’s face in his hands, said something, and pulled a little. Sherlock fell into his arms, his head on Greg’s shoulder, hands to his sides. Greg hugged him tight, seemed to be talking to him, one hand gently up and down his back, until Sherlock relaxed and hugged back. Eventually Sherlock raised his head and nodded yes. Greg had an arm around Sherlock’s back, supporting him, and they walked away, Greg turning to find John and raised a hand in goodbye. 

John raised his own and stayed where he was seated, looking at them until they disappeared, until the rest of the officers, and the clients and the first responders left. It was no good to think about the ragged little hole that the frankly loving scene had made in his chest, seeing Sherlock look up immediately once he heard Greg’s name, walk directly towards him and cling to Greg for comfort, while Greg opened his arms and hugged him and kissed his hair with no concern at all about people talking, then the two of them leaving, Sherlock without even looking back. Well, that was John Watson, put in his place. He got up, dusted himself off and called Francine, to tell her he would bring over take-away. Back to his chosen life.

OooOooO

“Well, when we knew we were having Tara, we were both over the moon! Even Mack was chuffed! At the time, we thought we were done, and we would only have the pair. I have to tell you, we had so much fun going out and buying stuff for her! Ridiculous, some of it, but they have so many cute little things for girls! Even back in the day! Have you bought things yet, mate?” Greg asked, happily drinking, taking a gulp from his pint. He and John finally had a chance to be out and relax, just like old times and it still was good, they still got along.

“It’s not as if Mary can go shopping and man is she pissed about that. Mycroft says she can shop online, and Greg, I think he does it just to irk her. I won’t deny that it is still fun to go out shopping for the baby, and that it is nice to be having a girl. I’ve taken Molly and Mrs Hudson with me to get some things. Mrs. H knit her blankets and booties and a cardigan!” John said, and his eyes were shiny at the thought of his baby.

“Have you started the nursery?” Greg wanted to know.

John made a face, “Not really. You see I’m thinking I won’t be there with her for long. We are going to need a bigger place. So starting the decorating seems unnecessary.”

“What does…your...wife say about that?” Greg still hated Mary with passion, and Sherlock was careful not to talk about her, if he wanted his lover in his bed with him.

“Well, thanks to Mycroft, she doesn’t really have a say. She has been on her best behavior, trying to get me to reconsider my decision about her and our marriage. I won’t. Once she gives birth, she will go from the hospital to a holding cell and after that, I don’t know where.”

Lestrade leaned forwards, “So you have decided to not restart things with her?” He asked.

“That’s right. I look at her and I see her shooting Magnussen and aiming at Sherlock. I’ve thought about it, and tried to find ways to gloss over it, to see it from her perspective, but I can’t. It’s too serious. I can’t let her raise my child. I can’t Greg. I don’t even want her to have any rights to her. I already told Mycroft. Looks like I will be a single dad. Out of all things I could have imagined, this was not one of them. I will be alone and I don’t know the first thing about any of this.” said John, starting to look anxious.

“You won’t be alone, and we will help you,” declared Sherlock, swooping onto the bench next to Greg with a great big smile. “Greg’s grown children all seem very fond of him, so he will prove an invaluable resource to you. John. You have my permission to use him as such, though only in the area of experience with children.”

Greg ruffled the hair at the back of Sherlock’s neck, smiling widely. “Did Sherlock tell you he is baby proofing Baker Street so that he can babysit when you have to work? I think I heard something about seeing how many languages a child can have if she has been exposed to them since birth,” he said fondly.

“Well that seems like an experiment I could actually support,” John agreed.

Sherlock took out his phone. “John, on my way here I was looking it up, and your child at 30 weeks should be the size of a head of lettuce, and Ma…” he shot a quick look at Greg, who was glaring at him “...her mother must be having back pains and a recurrent need to urinate, although she still has a ways to go,” he concluded.

“Yeah, she is pretty tired all the time, and complains about the bathroom thing. The baby has grown, she is weighing 2.9 pounds and she can close her hands now! Want to see a picture?” he asked.

Sherlock was impressed with just how clear the 3D sonogram showed the baby’s features. “She has the Watson nose. Your brow, and the form of your face. Her mother’s chin,” he commented.

“Well at least her nose will be functional!” laughed John, and they talked some more, about naming the girl after some obscure lady scientist, or perhaps an artist who dressed up as a man so she could show her art, or maybe the first woman astronaut.

OooOooO

“Don’t pack too much. It will only encourage them to ask us to stay longer. Believe me, two days will be long enough!” Sherlock said, as he paced nervously back and forth in Greg’s living room.

“Relax sunshine. We’ll stay for Christmas and Boxing Day. After that, we’ll see how it goes. I kind of want to get to know your parents, always wondered about them, you see.” Greg said, remembering all those times long ago, when he wondered what kind of people had produced men like Sherlock and Mycroft, and where were they when Sherlock obviously needed help and love. 

Sherlock turned around and glared at him, “Don’t you dare look at them now and be taken in by their infirmities and their elderly ‘cuteness’, Lestrade. I promise you they are different people than the ones that raised us. Mother likes to pretend she has always been a good parent and wife, when in reality, she was more of a drill Sargent than a loving mum. Father, on the other hand, has finally stopped working, and therefore tries to act as if he had always been present in our lives, when he always sided with mummy and never knew anything about me,” this was said with much hand flapping and pacing  and loud voice.

“Sherlock, stop. We have talked about this. I love you. I am going with you to be there for you. If there are any sides to be taken, I will be firmly on your side. We will be there only as long as you want, after Christmas, and then we can come back here or to 221B. No need to be anxious or upset, sweetheart. I’m going only so I can spend Christmas with you.”

Chapter Text

When they got to the house, in one of Mycroft’s official cars (and hadn’t that been a nice spat to listen to on Christmas Eve morning), Greg tried hard to not look surprised. Sherlock had told him this was not the house they had grown up in. Instead it was their parents ‘smaller retirement house’.  Greg couldn’t imagine, if this was the smaller one, the size of the house Sherlock grew up in. 

The air was fresh and fragrant— the crisp, cold air of the countryside. The red house stood out in the winter foliage, and he could see Sherlock’s breath as he jumped out of the car and made to reach for their suitcase as Mrs Holmes hurried out to envelope him in a hug. Greg got out of the car and put on his best smile, thinking that he had seen Sherlock hug Mrs Hudson out of his own free will and accepted her hugs affectionately or at least with patience, but he could not be any stiffer or look any more unhappy as his mother hugged him. There were deep waters here. 

The inside of the house looked like a Christmas card; warm throws on the sofa, fire in the fireplace, tasteful vintage decorations and fairy lights strewn around the house and a beautiful Christmas tree in the living room. It smelled glorious, and Greg had to stifle a laugh when Sherlock whispered that Mummy probably had the meal catered, and then put it in the oven to keep it warm, otherwise the turkey and the ham would be dry.

Greg had liked Mr Holmes, despite what Sherlock had said. He had sat next to him and made conversation. Daddy was the first to admit how into his work he had been when the boys had been growing up and how difficult it had been to try to be in touch with them now, especially with Sherlock. Greg wondered what it must feel like for him to have two grown up sons, each as dedicated to their own careers as he had been to his, with little time for family. The old man did not seem to mind, nor did he mind the lack of potential grandchildren caring only that the partners love his sons. 

Harry, Mycroft’s partner, certainly seemed to care for the eldest brother. Sherlock had explained they had been on again, off again boyfriends, stopping for over a decade when Harry had married a woman. Sherlock believed that had been in large part attributable to Mycroft’s failure to commit to a stable relationship, due to his never ending obligations. The relationship had resumed after Harry divorced, on the condition that their relationship be one of committed partners, and that they be out to their loved ones. For a man who worked as an “assistant” in Buckingham Palace, he was pretty down to earth, enjoyed a good pint and could talk footie with Greg. 

Mummy Holmes’ smile did not reach her eyes, and Greg noticed she was not thrilled that Sherlock had a Detective Inspector from the NSY as a partner, even insinuating that if he had just chosen ‘that nice lady doctor John writes about in his blog’ (Molly, he assumed), she might have had some nice grandkids to fuss over. She had listened with that not quite right smile as Greg told her about the early celebration party they had hosted at Baker Street. Molly and Mike, Mrs Hudson and John had been there, the first two with their partners, and John by himself. Mycroft did grant permission for Mary to go out for appointments and occasional visits to her friends, but John had chosen not bring her to Sherlock’s. 

Mrs Holmes had pretended to care when he told her John’s sister had fortunately received news of a promotion that entailed moving to London with her wife, Meghan. The ladies had reached out to John, and they were in the process of finding a house where the three of them could live once the baby was born. John was over the moon with this prospect and Sherlock had been very pleased, though after everyone had gone, he had confessed to Greg he smelled Mycroft’s presence all over the whole affair. 

Now Mr. Holmes had taken both brothers and Harry to show them the latest developments in his greenhouse, where he now grew Marigolds, Zinnias, Cornflowers. Greg had not really felt comfortable leaving Mrs Holmes in mid conversation, but he was regretting it now. Once the men had left, she zoned in on Greg, bringing out a bottle and giving him a whisky neat. 

“Detective Inspector. How did you meet William?" She asked, coyly. 

“Ah! Well you see, Sherlock and I were old friends already, and when he came back from being… from his mission, well, we became closer. We were actually friends for quite a while before we became a couple,” answered Greg, polite smile on his face.

“No, no. I don’t mean that. I know you met my son years ago. You are one of the reasons my son can indulge in this… obsession of his, playing policeman,” the last word carried her feelings about that well. 

Greg looked at her. He suspected Mummy knew the whole story. He was not saying anything she might quote later to use against Sherlock.  

“Met him at a crime scene, actually. There among the lookers. You know some people even want to take pictures. Instead of that, he came forward to point out evidence that I would have overlooked.” That was the partial truth. No reason for Greg to include that Sherlock had been high as a kite, not dressed for the weather, dirty and painfully underweight.

“Now, Inspector. I know well how my son chose to live his life in his youth. No need to soften the truth here. I guess I wonder if you believe he is now cured from the temptations that life of squalor presents him. He has fallen ‘off the wagon’ multiple times. I can’t say I’m surprised. He never listened to his doctors or teachers or to me. His life could be so much more productive and safer had he followed the path I suggested for him,” she sighed.

Feeling uncomfortable and quickly losing the good will he had built up for her, Greg answered,  “We all make mistakes in our youth, don’t we. Well, at least I did. I know I have a past, three children, a smoking habit that I try hard to quit, and very low tolerance for meddlers. As to the rest of it, Mrs Holmes, with all due respect, I don’t find the topic fitting to Christmas Eve. Tonight should be all about forgiveness, understanding and love.” 

Mummy looked at him with half shut eyes and was about to respond, when an angry baritone barked, “Mother! What have you told him? Did you invite us here to inform my partner of every mistake I have made, and the multiple ways I have failed you? I knew I shouldn’t have left him here with you!” Sherlock snarled.

“Oh do spare us the drama, at least for once, William. There are so many things one’s partner must be aware of, especially if he once had a normal family. You might consider being honest, maybe then this one will stay,” Mommy snarked. 

“Violet! Where are your manners?  This is not why I invited my boys for Christmas! They are meant to feel at home. Appreciated. Accepted!” Mr Holmes’ raised voice left Mrs Holmes quiet at last. 

Unfortunately, too late. By the time Greg looked for Sherlock, he had disappeared.  He went out the kitchen door, about to call out, when Mycroft reached him. “Give him some space, Greg. He and Mummy have always bumped heads. He will come back when he calms down. Pray tell him she did the same to me yesterday, drilling Harry on why he had gotten married. He didn’t tell me until it was too late. I am not the kind to yell at her. More the kind to bring some laxative with me, and hand it to Sherlock at the appropriate time,” Mycroft said, with a sad smile, but Greg did not feel like smiling.

Big brother was right though, and Sherlock did come into their room, though very late at night, glancing around the room, and letting his breath out when he saw him in the armchair. Greg went to him, pulled him close, his hair and his face freezing, and smelling of cigarettes. Sherlock slowly melted into his arms, and he put his cold face in the crook of Greg’s neck.

“You’re staying.” he wondered.

“If you are, yeah, of course I am,” Greg answered and kissed his cheek.

“I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to sleep.” Sherlock stated.

Greg took Sherlock’s coat off of him, directed him to the bathroom and passed him his pajamas. Once they were in bed, Sherlock turned away from him, curled up tight into a ball. Greg never minded, and proceeded to get into “big spoon” position, kissing his shoulder and his hair, and moving his hand up and down Sherlock’s arm until the younger man relaxed. Eventually, he turned around, hid his face under Greg’s and hugged him.

“Whatever she said, she doesn’t know me now. She doesn’t know me with you. Give me a chance to prove her wrong, Greg. Stay with me."

Greg did not like him feeling insecure and upset.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me, Sherlock. I already love you. I said it. Who cares what she says. I don’t. Your dad came to talk to me after I left, and apologized for the bad moment. He asked me to consider staying for Christmas tomorrow. I’m on board, if you still want to. Kind of want to see the tree lit up, and hear you play Christmas Carols.”

“I didn’t buy you a present, though I do have something for you,” muttered Sherlock, without moving from where he was.

“See? We think the same way. I didn’t buy you anything either, but I have something for you, too!”

“What is it? Tell!”

“Nope, Mr Impatient, have to wait for Santa to come down the chimney!” smiled Greg.

“I never believed in a grossly overweight fictional being who magically fits down chimneys, Greg. Furthermore, I believe I feel something ‘up’, not down,” he said, his hand reaching for the proof.

“Ho ho ho…” said Greg and kissed him. As he let Sherlock inside him, the younger man was extra loud, on purpose. Not that he complained, nor stopped doing things that drove the genius to make the most delightful noises. 

OooOooO

The next morning the bed was deliciously warm and Greg had draped himself over Sherlock, who lay awake observing Greg and thinking. There were many things they had known about each other long before becoming a couple. The things Mummy might have revealed would not have been a surprise to Greg, as they would have been to another partner. Greg had seen him at his worst, literally picking him up and taking him out of dens and to his flat to avoid Sherlock being taken to hospital by Mycroft. 

Greg had been a friend even then, when Sherlock had no one else, and he hadn’t even been able to recognize it. He initially thought Lestrade wanted to be rewarded with sex, and had been confused and a bit hurt, when the Detective Inspector turned him away gently, saying he was married and Sherlock was a teenager. However, even when Sherlock distanced himself, and ended up in rehab anyway, Greg had welcomed him back with cases once he had dared show up again. 

Now they were together, after years of Greg being mostly a friend to both, him and John. The way he had befriended Sherlock once again after he came back from his fall, was simply unbelievable. Now this gorgeous, kind man was here with him, in his arms. Sherlock was a bit not good, because he was not as happy as he could be. There was something missing in this relationship. He intended to clear that up for Greg, as he appreciated when Sherlock was sincere. 

Now, the silver fox began to stir. Sherlock thought perhaps the smell of pastries, and bacon, and coffee had something to do with it. As Greg opened his eyes and smiled, Sherlock put a hand on his face and kissed his cheek. “Good morning Dearest, ready for some coffee?”

“Mmmh.Can’t deny it’s tempting me, sunshine. Guess we should get dressed first though.” said Greg and Sherlock let him shower first. When Sherlock had finished his, he found Greg dressed and waiting for him and the man took his breath away. There stood the Detective Inspector, dressed in gray slacks, with a checkered red shirt and a gray merino open cardigan. He had gotten his now longer hair into a bit of a swoop in the front and oh so touchable, and left some scruff on his face. Whatever Greg said about Sherlock looking like a model, didn’t hold up to this moment. What Sherlock really wanted, was to not have to go anywhere, and mess him up again. 

He could feel the looks of appreciation at the breakfast table, from both Harry and Mycroft, both of whom Sherlock would have loved to give a good kick in the arse too. The brunch was very good, despite everyone being in a festive mood and going from one person to the other wishing everyone a Happy Christmas (tedious) and taking the opportunity to get their hands on his partner. Sherlock popped a strawberry in his mouth and planned revenge on Mycroft, for being handsy. It didn’t help his anger that Mycroft had that little knowing grin on him as their eyes met over the table. Only realizing that Greg had been talking to him stopped him from throwing a scone to the obnoxious Queen’s head. 

The Holmes volunteered every year at the Community Home, providing lunch and helping serve, bringing presents along for the people who were sheltered there. The whole family participated. Sherlock observed Greg blend right in, talking to the people as they served the food. He even went to the table and offered an older man his card, to help him find his relatives. Sherlock helped give out the presents, and then looked desperate to leave, while Mummy and Daddy talked with the administrators. At least Greg looked like he had had a good time. 

Mummy liked to make a big show of Christmas. After their dinner, she got them together in the living room with the fairy lights on and the fireplace warming it up. There was the smell of cinnamon in the air and they were all cozily dressed. 

Everyone received a ridiculous number of smaller gifts, from vouchers for cleaning services, to memberships for gyms, to shaving kits, robes, socks, or any other boring, practical thing that crossed her mind. Greg received several of these, including a grooming set, which Sherlock took offense to. The smell of the products were totally wrong for Greg. He would make sure to replace them before the man used it out of some sense of misguided obligation. 

Mycroft gave Sherlock the gift of an open ended summer stay in France for two, at a safe house in the city of Colmar, where Greg’s grandfather came from. Sherlock had to look at his big brother and nod his approval. Sherlock passed him a memory stick with information relevant to a certain Secretary of State, who had been working as a double agent, selling information to various interested parties. He had deduced Mycroft was going to take the opportunity of getting together to ask him to work on the case. Sherlock also handed Harry a voucher for intimate products from the “Clonezone” in Soho. He was rewarded by Mycroft blushing bright red and stammering, while Harry took it, read the name and smiled. “Well thank you, Sherlock. I was wondering about this store, so good to have your recommendation.”

Daddy Holmes had decided to give both couples the gift of good liquor, 1978 Auchentoshan. He invited Greg and Sherlock to assist him at making mulled wine. Mr Holmes provided Greg with many funny and sweet memories of both Holmes brothers. Greg loved Sherlock’s face when his father demonstrated he had paid attention to his younger son, and had in fact eased his way on several occasions, taking him for trips to the library, getting him out of the house and into his greenhouse when Mummy had people over, hiding Sherlock’s favorite book and toys away from Mummy when she searched for ‘donations’ for her charities. When the wine was ready they carried the mugs to the living room, where Harry and Mycroft were alone, Mummy coming in a bit later, having been on the phone with her family.

As they sat to the light of the fireplace and the luxurious Christmas Tree, Mycroft signaled to Sherlock and took his place at the piano while Sherlock stood next to him, violin in place, to Greg’s total delight. The Christmas Show began with “Angels We Have Heard on High”. It continued with “Deck The Halls”, and “Silent Night”. Also “I’ll be Home For Christmas” and surprisingly “Santa Claus is Coming to Town”, “Baby it’s Cold Out There” and for the finale, Sherlock nodded at Mycroft, winked at Greg and outdid himself with a fun, yet at times emotive and all around outstanding rendition of “All I Want For Christmas Is You,” that made Greg’s eyes fill with tears and make a fool of himself, looking for a napkin and barely waiting for Sherlock to put the violin down before standing up and going to hug him, which made Sherlock smile. Soon after the last toast, the other couples retired to their bedrooms, with Greg and Sherlock staying to admire the tree.

Chapter Text

Sherlock couldn’t stay still much longer, even though he was so nervous he almost did not want to go through with his plan. The evening had been so beautiful, Greg looked so handsome, he had been torn between enjoying seeing him interact with his family, and wanting to take him to their room, to their bed and be the sole object of his attention. Which is why he took a deep breath, got up, and went to one of the shelves, bringing a small velvet pouch back.

“I told you I didn’t have a present. These, well, they’re rightfully yours, so I’m technically giving them back,” Sherlock said, as he handed Greg the pouch.

Greg took the pouch, opened it and gasped, “What? You complete nutter, are these my ID cards?”

“Obviously, really Greg, you should be able to plainly see them unless you are starting to lose your vision as pertains to your age.” prattled Sherlock, ready to go on.

“Oh shush it you! How many do you have here? No wonder Human Resources went nuts with me! Did you really use these? There has to be dozens here!” Greg marveled.

“There are 13 in the pouch. It was not my intention to create hostility between you and the office of Human Resources. Yes, of course I used them, quite often I must add, they have gotten me into cases and out of trouble.” Sherlock explained.

“Thirteen? That’s how long we’ve known each other! You took one every year?”

“Yes, one every year on the same day I took the first one, August 16. Since you never noticed when I stole the first one, I was curious as to when you would catch up. You never did,” Sherlock said, cocky look on his face.

“Ha! Joke is on you, because I very well did notice the first time you took it. We were on the case right after you came back from rehab, and you coolly slipped your hand under my jacket and took the card,” Lestrade said, returning the look.

“Wrong! That was the third time I took one. You see, I could put my hands all over you and you never even noticed!” Sherlock was laughing now.

“I always noticed, sunshine. But it was just a thing that you did sometimes, I thought you were just, well, kind of confirming our connection, our friendship, you know?” Greg said thoughtfully.

Sherlock took one last one out from his jacket pocket. It was in a slip of plastic and looked pristine. Greg’s face had a small smile on and looked very young. Sherlock handed it over to him. “When I took this one, you were asleep in your bed, and you had let me have the couch. You met me in the street, me deducing the suspect and telling you who the murderer was. You gave me your card and told me to call you when I was sober. Instead I went to your place. You took me in, listened to me and fed me, and let me sleep on your couch. I stole your card then, not to pass as an officer myself, but as a reminder that I knew the address of a striking Scotland Yard Sergeant.” 

Greg looked astonished, “You kept that? All this time?”

“It turned into a good luck charm. I always had it on me during a case. I missed it while I was away. I did think about you. I even talked some of my missions over with you, to cross out what not to do,” confessed Sherlock, looking at his shoes.

“This, this means a lot, sunshine. All of this…” Greg stopped talking and kissed Sherlock, pulling him closer, but Sherlock stepped back. 

“I’m not done. I have one more thing for you, if you want it. I know, when we first met after I returned to London, I was not at my best. I was lost and confused, but you befriended me anyway. You made me realise I could have more than just loving someone from afar. Now, you are the first person I think of when I wake up, the last voice I want to hear at night. I want you to be happy, and I want to be happy with you. I know that I’m not the partner you expected or that you deserve. What I used to feel for… that has changed drastically. You have to know that what I feel for you now is much more intense and important, I can not fully concentrate on days we don’t see each other. So I would like you to consider —moving to Baker Street with me...” Sherlock presented Greg with a key, “if you find that acceptable. I will understand if you can’t or if you need your privacy, or if it is too soon for us, given my complete inexperience with interpersonal relationships. I’m unaware if the timing is good, so if you want to take some time, to think that is alright. If you think about my past though, please consider that so much of it is irrelevant now. I would really like to look at the future with you.” Sherlock could just not stop talking, his nerves singed through his body and the whole thing was seeming like a very bad idea right now. 

Greg had been listening with growing alarm, as Sherlock seemed to be convincing himself the two of them were doomed to fail, as if Greg would ever let that happen, or worse, lose interest in Sherlock. Now he took Sherlock’s hands in his and pulled him closer, to get his attention, maybe derail that train of thought he was on.

“Hey. I thought you meant to give me something? Can you give it to me, maybe?” When Sherlock did not move, Greg went on, “Sherlock, I was the happiest bloke in London when you came back and it was an honour to give you a place to crash, to be your sometimes dinner partner, to listen to everything you went through to save us and to be able to come home. I didn’t even know I had feelings for you until you kissed me after John’s wedding. Maybe because I never thought I had a chance with you. But when things cleared up for us, sunshine, I never looked back. Not once have I regretted this, us. 

As to this nonsense about not ‘ deserving’ me, who deserves anybody? Who deserves you ? I know you had some dark times when you were younger. I also saw you then pour yourself into good work, catch criminals, love people so much you would die for them,  you came back and found everything changed and did you go back to that darkness? No, you kept being loyal and kept working and kept remaking yourself, making a new life for yourself. What man deserves a partner as genius as that? Not me, a middle aged yarder, long time divorcee, and commoner. You are so out of my league I should be the one all insecure. 

As to having been in love with someone, look at me Sherlock. I was married for a long time and obsessed with saving my marriage. I have three grown kids and a dating past that had me kind of scared for my health for a while. So you loved another bloke, that just shows you never were the sociopath you claimed to be. I loved another person too, but as long as they don’t come into our bed, or try to take back what was theirs before, I have no problem with it. The bottom line is that the problems of your past are your past. You have made it through them. It will be a privilege to share your troubles, mysteries, messes or come what may in your future. Our future. I love you, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, and I intend to show that off at every chance I get and in every way I can.”

Finally, Sherlock looked into Greg’s eyes and hugged him tight. Then he reached into his pocket and handed him a key ring with miniature coffee cup on it and the key to the Baker Street flat. Greg took it, never looking away from Sherlock’s eyes, and kissed him. He then started laughing, making the genius wrinkle his brow,

“What?”

“Great minds must think alike,” Greg chuckled and out of his pocket came a key ring with a picture of a log cabin. “There is now a jacuzzi, accommodated in what was the back porch,” declared Greg and it was Sherlock’s turn to giggle. 

“That shall be our next holiday,” Sherlock said, happiness evident in his voice.

“Maybe we could manage a short trip before that,” Greg said, handing Sherlock a pair of tickets to the New Year’s Concert of the Birmington Symphony Orchestra, on his birthday. 

“Greg!”marveled Sherlock, “this is fantastic! Those seats!”he exclaimed, happy.

“Only the best for my man,” growled Greg, though Sherlock was not distracted.

He crossed his arms, and looked at Greg through half closed eyes, “I know who gave you those tickets! That ex-girlfriend of yours! She gives them to you every year. She. Wants. You. Back!” protested the genius, punctuating each last word by kissing Greg as he held on to the lapels of his grey cardigan. 

“Well, let me show you why she will never get me back,” he said as he pulled him away by the hand, “enough of Christmas trees, I think there was some mistletoe over our bed.”

OooOooO

“You could have stopped Simon! He is one of your sergeants, you know. If it hadn’t been for him misplacing the evidence like a moron, we would have gotten home hours ago! None of this is remotely my fault, so you have no right to be angry with me,” shouted Sherlock as they shut the door of their flat. It had been a long, complicated case, and an extremely nerve wracking day.

Greg shouted back, “No, of course it wasn’t your fault Your Highness. Not as if you were even trying to help me wrap things up so I could babysit bloody Simon. No, Prince Posh was oh so fucking busy flirting with the witness!”

Sherlock looked at him, hurt and open mouthed, “Excuse me? Flirting? I was having a conversation meant to uncover details of the incident he might not recall later…”

“Oh yeah! Half an hour of conversation, full of smiles and laughter, that was all about the bloody case, was it? That stupid arse of a man was telling you his life’s story, and was most definitely flirting, he gave you his bloody number, and you took it. Don’t think I didn’t see it!” Greg was seething.

“His life story will help establish him as a valid witness, Lestrade. He is back home for a holiday, lives in the United States and is co-owner of a Home Security System Company! He knew exactly what he was seeing when the suspect used his little device to open the side door. He is even familiar with the precise kind of security system the stores have. He is a valuable witness for you Lestrade. I was merely securing his testimony!” Sherlock was also fuming from Greg’s accusations.

Greg wouldn’t let it go, “Jolly good then, just peachy, my boyfriend’s dedication shows no limits, huh? You are going to tell me he didn’t ask you out? He was picking stuff off your coat, Sherlock. Touching you, and you let him and I fucking know why.” That vein on Lestrade’s neck was showing and Sherlock stepped back

“He did not touch me, he touched my coat,” asserted Sherlock, but his voice had lost a bit of it’s edge. He did not like to fight with Greg.

“You infuriating wanker! He touched your coat and he would have touched a whole lot more of you if he could have, and you would have let him because the bloke looked like that bloody Heimdall you like so much. You should call him then, maybe he will show you his Bi-frost!”

Sherlock was done being angry, now he was beginning to worry this quarrel would fall into one of the “15 Types of Arguments That May End Your Relationship”, in the article from the “Psychology Today” magazine Molly had given him, if Greg was really doubting Sherlock’s fidelity.

“Please tell me you are not serious, Greg, You must be joking! If I was giving him any attention at all it was so he would remember the facts as accurately as possible. Mr. Ryland is in a long time marriage to a woman, who is in London with him. They are helping their newlywed daughter settle in with her husband. He wasn’t flirting, Greg. More importantly, I wasn’t flirting. Besides, his Bi-Frost might just be too big for me. I prefer my Detective Inspector to a Norse Deity who would sooner or later be my competition when it came to deductions.” Now Sherlock risked a small smile.

Greg however was not done yet, “He may be married to a woman, but even from a distance I saw him looking at your mouth and your...body a bit too much to be a straight guy. And excuse you, are you laughing at me you Pretentious Public School Prick?” he fumed, ready to continue the fight.

“No, Dearest. I’m laughing at myself. Here we are in the middle of a fight and you are fuming, but all I can think of is how hot you look and just how much I want you to fuck me right now,” grinned Sherlock.

That made Greg’s anger diffuse immediately and his blood rushed south. He blinked, the fury that had tightened his muscles leaving his limbs soft and a bit unstable.

“Unless you’re still too angry, and want to continue our argument,” Sherlock said with a smirk, thoughtfully giving Greg options.

Greg managed to close his mouth and get his bearings back.

“You know what? I think we have debated this topic enough. If you accept that in the future, you should stay away from imitation Nordic deities, I believe that is enough of an outcome for our...discussion,” conceded Greg, graciously.

“Ah, one of your great ideas, Detective Inspector. I believe we shall both be pleased with its results,” affirmed Sherlock, nodding his head and leading them to the bathroom.

“Oh, so I have had great ideas, huh? Examples please,” requested Greg already unbuttoning his shirt and kicking off his shoes.

“Your first great idea was to kiss me right outside of the log cabin. That was pure genius, dearest,” Sherlock glanced admiringly at Greg, while taking off his shoes and socks, “The next one, was, of course, sleeping with me.” Sherlock was all done with his clothes, and stepped into the bathroom to get the water running. “Then I liked it when you told me you kicked that idiot Allen goodbye the same night...of the incident.” Sherlock said.

Greg now took his clothes off, efficiently and quickly,  When they were both naked, Greg joined him in the shower, where they stood under the warm water for a while, until Sherlock pushed himself against Greg’s chest and kissed his face, his neck, letting himself bite a bit there, until he heard Greg gasp. Then Sherlock grabbed his soap, and slowly, carefully, used it on his partner, first his shoulders, his clavicles, his under arms and arms. He took Greg’s hands and placed them up against the wall, to nuzzle and kiss the other side of his neck, as he soaped up his tummy, and slipped the bar to Greg’s upper back as Sherlock’s mouth played with Greg’s nipples, flicking his tongue over them and up his chest, then coming back and sucking first one nipple, then the other, as Greg made some very pleasing noises, especially when Sherlock’s cleansing hand reached that delicious spot right between both Gluteus Maximus, as he lowered himself a bit to tongue and suck at Greg’s nipples, and ooh did the silver fox look all undone now, his body arching off the tile wall, searching for friction. 

“What do you want? Say it,” asked Sherlock, but Greg was effectively incapable of answering, So Sherlock looked at the most outstanding part of him. He had often heard people refer to himself as gorgeous, or beautiful, but they had not seen Greg naked, or wet, or in the throes of passion. His skin was gorgeous, his silver hair a perfect frame for his very handsome, very expressive face. His body shape was glorious, wide shoulders, toned chest with a spattering of silver, waist and tummy adoringly soft, just a bit, his very own gorgeous buttocks and toned thighs and calves.

This, however, was only for Sherlock to see. This was his prize for those times when he had done things right, for when he had managed to be “a little bit good.” As he went on his knees in front of his lover, contemplating the sight, one debauched Silver Fox of a man, a splattering of pubic hair, sparked with silver there too. A mouth watering cock, standing straight and surprisingly flush to Greg’s tummy, so hard already and oh God that one drop of moisture on the tip. Sherlock greeted it with a kiss and curled his hand around the base of it before looking up at Greg, his tongue exploring the length in his hand. Greg was looking at him now, his hands in Sherlock’s hair, his eyes gone soft. Sherlock smiled and went to work, his head bobbing up and down as he took Greg down to the root and sucked him to his heart’s content, changing the speed and the depth, so as to not bring a quick end to this. Though is was not easy, not to get carried away, as his lover made those naughty, unmistakable sex sounds, his muscles turned to steel. Greg pulled him off and up into his arms, and had them both step into the water. Sherlock tightened the embrace and kissed Greg, to share the man’s flavor with him, his favorite kisses, the one only the two of them could share. The water seemed to help Greg gain some control, and he was able to speak again. 

“You, are incredible love, Not just a Consulting Detective genius, but a sex genius as well,” he managed as he kissed Sherlock’s neck. He grabbed the small container of lube that they kept there. “Now turn around sunshine.” Greg said and lubed his fingers and Sherlock’s arse. They knew each other well by now. Sherlock liked only the necessary preparation, as he didn’t want to risk becoming overwhelmed or coming from it. So Greg used his finger, as his other hand tweaked Sherlock’s nipples, making the genius shiver.

“More, faster, I’m not going to last much..,” Sherlock moaned.

“Greedy, bossy..,” Greg replied, kissing Sherlock’s neck and leaving marks. He added one more finger, and made sure his man was panting, and backing up to his hand. He made sure to hold him as he took his fingers out and lubed up. Greg got in position and backed  Sherlock up towards him. He entered him fully in one harsh stroke, still holding Sherlock, who went tense first, letting his head fall back on Greg’s shoulder, his hand reaching back to Greg’s hip, until his breathing calmed. 

Sherlock was met with sensations all around him, inside him, the water, the temperature the sound of Greg’s voice and groans, the incomparable sensation of being totally full. This minute of stillness was centering, vital in allowing him to enjoy this until completion. Greg’s hand started moving slowly to his nipple again, and Sherlock pulled the man’s hips towards him in a quick, strong move. Greg started thrusting into him, the friction, his grunting, the hand that now pinched his skin and made Sherlock step back, closer against Greg, saying his name in a high voice. Greg responded thrusting harder, and taking Sherlock’s steel hard and pulsing cock in his hand  and stroking it as he moved inside him. Sherlock existed for a moment in a physical cocoon of pleasure, that before Greg, he had never known could occur. Greg’s tense body behind him, producing this sensation, his hands, holding him and torturing him.

“God you are beautiful. I can’t...I’m coming, sunshine,” whispered Greg, and the incredible sensation of his lover coming inside of him was all Sherlock’s overwhelmed body needed to spill over his release and sap him of all his remaining strength, his legs suddenly useless. Greg’s arms tightened around him.

“I got you, I got you, love.” He was able to help Sherlock rinse off as he turned around and held onto him, his head on Greg’s shoulder. Then a towel, then the feeling of being helped to bed.

Sherlock opened his eyes to the smell of hot chocolate, and some of Mrs. Hudson’s almond biscotti. 

“You alright there?” smiled Greg, as he sat next to him, his own mug in hand.

Sherlock sat up, accepting his mug and biting into a biscotti. “I’m starving. Greg, that was...spectacular, astonishing and unforgettable.”

Greg kissed him as a response, first his lips, then his hair. “It is every time, sweetheart. Only with you.”

“A good thing the bathroom was renovated,” noted Sherlock.

“Even better we soundproofed the flat,” answered Greg.  They sat companionably as they had their snack. Eventually Sherlock started a conversation about their plans for the new year.”

“First off, we have to go visit John again, I made note of all the things they are missing in the nursery. I want to see Sophie again. I believe her hair is growing out red. She is so small, is it normal for a newborn to look that wrinkly?” Sherlock asked.

“Yeah, they grow out of it fast, though. It’s good for John that Harry and Meghan are so committed to help. That will be the best for that little girl, to have two moms and a dad. I just hope they can work it out, because John and Harry, well they’ve never lived together before.” Greg said carefully.

“I know. However, it seems as if Meghan is the calming force there. She supported Harry through her first year of sobriety and it seems they are meaning to be in Sophie’s life for the long run. That is good for John, and for me also, as it means he has reliable childcare for when I need him for cases.” 

There was what had been nagging at Greg from the moment Sophie had been born, and the woman who had her was discretely taken away. He had to say it now, nothing for it, “Is that all he’s going to be? Your partner in the work? Because he is single now, He’s...available, and I know I just moved in, but…”

“Oh no. Stop. Stop that Right Now..,” Sherlock turned to face him, holding Greg’s face in his hands. “...I don’t want to hear anything like this ever again, Greg. You have never wavered. You were a friend, always looking out for me, even when I was horrid to you, you have been kind. Greg, you have shown me what being loved feels like. We love each other in every sense of the word, and I am truly hoping this is not a temporary situation. Yes, John is our friend. He works cases with me. He will come here sometimes to help me think a case out. You and I will invite him and his daughter over sometimes. I volunteered to look over her on occasion, when it’s needed. That is all. What you and I have is everything. It comes first. Please don’t bring up my past. It’s gone.” He kissed Greg wholeheartedly.

“What I do want to know is what we will be doing first; will we go to the Log Cabin to check out my new Jacuzzi? Or will we go to France to explore your Grandfather’s town?” Sherlock asked, his hands moving with his words.

“Il faut aller en France l'été, profiter du soleil,” answered Greg calmly and Sherlock looked at him, surprised.

“Since when do you speak French?”

“ Mon grand-père m’a toujours parlé en français . So ever since I was a little kid,” smirked Greg, pleased to have surprised Sherlock. 

“It appears there are many things about one another we are yet to discover, “ Sherlock said, looking at Greg with wonder on his face. 

“ Eh bien, c’est une bonne chose quail nous reste une vie à découvrir, ” said Greg, taking a wide eyed, smiling Sherlock in his arms and kissing him again.

The End!!