A/N: Things that happens when one of your best friends' birthday arrives and you remember she told you she ships Sherstrad (Sherlock+Lestrade) and that she never find fics about it.
So, Dina, my amazing friend and part-time Beta, who (for some unknown reason) keeps up with me, my stories, me telling her about my stories and me telling her about stories then won't let her read them, I wanted to wish you the happiest of birthdays.
With all my love, I give you this:
Tuesday evenings were always his favorite.
Those were the nights when John would go on dates, usually staying to sleep at the current woman's house, and those were the nights Lestrade spent at his apartment.
He would usually arrive at around 8pm, and Sherlock was embarrassed to say that starting half seven, he couldn't focus on anything other than the DI.
It was infuriating sometimes, when he was working an important case and was searching his mind palace for useful information. His searches, however, always ended back in the room he dedicated to Lestrade.
He would go over memories of the times they spent together, even before their relationship turned into something beyond professional, and in retrospective, he realizes how ridiculously long it took him to understand the feelings he have for the older man. After all, no room in his mind palace was quite as neat and organized as this one, and even during the rare times he deleted useless facts off his brain, the room remained untouched.
And even after he came to peace with the feelings he have, he kept them hidden away from the other man. The fear of rejection controlled him for so long he was blinded to what was laid in front of him. Blinded to the facts that the feelings were mutual.
At quarter to eight, John headed out for his weekly date (Was her name Marissa? Clarissa?) and Sherlock remained with his thoughts. He drowned into the memory of a date they had, not that long ago, when they headed out to a deserted corner of Reagents Park and spent an entire afternoon there, and was only disturbed by the cracking of the opening door.
A smile involuntary settled on his lips, but he did not open his eyes or moved from his spot at the couch. The footsteps became closer and stronger and eventually, finally, a soft kiss was placed upon his lips.
Sherlock groaned into the warm lips that touched his, and he raised his hand to his lover's cheek, gently brushing against what he knew to be a two days old beard. Lestrade pulled away and the younger man raised his head in his direction, trying to keep the kiss going.
"Garth?" Lestrade asked, referring to the name the consulting detective called him earlier that day. "You're getting creative as time goes by."
"Well," Sherlock said, grabbing the man in front of him and pulling him on top of him on the couch. "There are only so many times I can call you Graham before somebody will realize I must have figured it's not your name."
"There are only so many times you can forget my name before someone will realize you must be faking it." Lestrade retorted, trying to ignore the small kissed the younger man was planting on his neck.
The trail of kisses reached Lestrade's ear as Sherlock whispered, "Let's not discuss work in the bed."
Lestrade chuckled, "I may not be as perceptive as you," he said, "but this is not the bed."
"We should fix it, then." Sherlock said seriously, standing up and slowly pulling Lestrade into his bedroom, closing the door behind them and falling on the bed.
They kissed slowly, putting into it every emotion they had to hide during their work lives, knowing they will not be allowed to work together if their secret is revealed.
Slowly but steadily, the kisses turned intense and unsatisfying, and Lestrade's hands started unbuttoning the other man's shirt. He took his time with every button, slowly sliding it out of the loop before moving to the next one. By the time he was done, Sherlock was so aroused he just threw his shirt over his shoulders, and pulled the other man's shirt off.
They were clinging to each other's warm bodies, each holding onto the other's back. Occasionally, a hand rushed through Sherlock's curls, untangling them and causing him to moan deeply into the kiss.
It was almost thoughtlessly when the pants came off, and the underwear followed shortly after, leaving their bodies bare. As always, Lestrade took a moment to admire at Sherlock's skinny, yet muscled frame before moving on and lifting him so that they would both be nearly seated.
Sherlock moaned almost desperately, the need to feel his lover overcoming every other thought in his mind, but as always, Lestrade took his time.
He inserted a finger, and then another, slowly flexing the entrance to be more welcoming before finally taking his fingers out and letting his member in.
Sherlock gasped as with one deep thrust, he was entirely filled and his own member was hard. Lestrade stayed still for a moment or two, before starting to move inside.
They moved together, choosing the pace and rhythm at what they seemed to be the most fitting at the moment. Usually, Lestrade would set a slow yet steady pace, but today it seemed like Sherlock could not stand it for much longer.
He started pumping, not too slowly but not quickly either, letting each thrust move up until the base and pushing Sherlock closer and closer to the edge. It wasn't long before the two man reached their climax and screamed each other's name with their release.
Lestrade fell on top of Sherlock and then rolled to his side, locking him in a tight embrace that would not be unlocked until the early hours of tomorrow morning, when the DI would have to get up and get away before John returns.
Those few hours of cuddling in bed, feeling like a normal couple, were the hours Sherlock cherished the most.
After all, in the end, Tuesday evenings were always his favorite.
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