PWP that somehow grew feelings-and I'm not a bit sorry.
The pub was loud, too loud for a sober person on a Thursday afternoon. Greg glanced down ruefully at his orange juice. Most of the noise was coming from his own team, already on their third round which he was in the process of paying for at the crowded bar. John Watson weaving back through the other customers with the tray of drinks.
The conviction they were celebrating (of a particularly violent armed robber) had by no means been a done deal. Sherlock had got involved in the case, as he often did, by mooching round Lestrade's office because he was bored. A timely deduction about a gang member's ex wife had led them to the stolen goods and an impressive display of hand to hand combat skills from John had stopped two of the robbers escaping. So the flatmates had naturally been invited to the pub with the rest of the team.
John was in his element, telling a dirty joke by the sounds of things. Sherlock leaned against the bar a few paces from where Greg stood. Sober by choice as he frantically tapped his phone.
'Problems?' Greg said sipping his juice.
'Not really, I've told my brother twice I'm not going to Marseille this weekend.' Greg didn't ask.
'Why are you not getting intoxicated with the rest?' Sherlock said, not even attempting to hide how bored he was by his surroundings.
'More court tomorrow for me. Just a chain of evidence thing, probably won't even get called. Case is going to get tossed out I reckon.'
'Dimmock?' Greg nodded.
'Moron.' Sherlock hissed and the barman gave him a hostile look as he handed Greg his change.
'Going to head off shortly anyway, now I've bought a round.'
'You can give me a lift on your way.' Sherlock said, looking daggers at a new message on his phone.
'Baker Street isn't really on my way home - as you well know- but fine.' Greg said with slight irritation as they made their way towards the door, via the table where the rest of the group sat.
'I don't see how you're going to be less bored at home. You've nothing on.' A now slightly tipsy John Watson replied when Sherlock told him on the way out that he was leaving before he died of boredom.
'I'm sure I'll find some paperwork or something.' Sherlock said over his shoulder as he followed Greg out of the pub.
They hurried to the car through a cold drizzle and set off towards Baker Street, the worst possible direction for traffic. Sherlock apparently engaged in a frantic text argument with Mycroft.
' You know you're right.' Sherlock said suddenly, not looking up from his phone. 'Baker Street's not really on your way can we go to your flat instead? ' His hand came to rest oh-so-casually on Lestrade's knee.
'John's always either last man standing or first home anyway.' He continued calmly.
The older man jerked the steering wheel slightly but otherwise froze. 'It's been a while Sherlock.' He said, his voice catching.
'I know, it's more awkward these days with John.' Fingers began creeping softly up the fabric of Lestrade' s thigh.
' I only hope you don't have thin walls. It's just as well Mrs Hudson is broad minded, those noises you made...'.
'Sherlock.' Greg interrupted sharply. Driving in heavy traffic he did not need a reminder of the last time they'd done this, when he had moaned and swore them both into a sweaty sated mess on Sherlock's expensive sheets. Sherlock turned towards him, his eyes somehow managing to look innocent.
'Move your hand please.' Greg almost whispered.
'Why?' Sherlock's hand moved higher.
'One, because I don't want to have to explain to my mates in traffic that I went into the back of a lorry because I had Sherlock Holmes hand on my cock and two if you keep that up I won't last the distance. Like I say, it's been a while.'
Sherlock moved his hand reluctantly. 'In the interests of road safety...I'm not worried about your stamina though, you've never had any issues in that regard. Besides,your refractory period is quite impressive for a man of your age and lifestyle.' The detective calmly folded his hands in his lap. Greg (trying to untangle the compliment from the insult in Sherlock's last words) rerouted at the first opportunity. Concentrating hard on the road, knuckles white on the steering wheel for the rest of the drive.
He was soon pulling into the underground car park of his building, driving into his allotted awkward space with less care than normal. Sherlock leaned against the side of the car as he waited for Lestrade to get his briefcase from the boot. He was suddenly grabbed by the back of the neck and roughly kissed. He softened into it for a few seconds, before pulling back.
'Your neighbours will see us at this time of day.' Sherlock looked slightly flustered, much to Greg's amusement who casually turned his wrist where it rested on Sherlock's shoulder to look at his watch.
'With any luck. If one of them sees us it might get back to her I'm shagging Sherlock Holmes. They all thought the divorce was my fault anyway, working long hours, not paying her enough attention.' He slid his hands round Sherlock's shoulders, down his chest and under his coat, fingers coming to rest on his hips. Thumbs tracing the too-prominent bones through the fabric.
'In that case.' Sherlock held his gaze his fingers going to Greg's jaw line and into the back of his hair. Their mouths joined again, wet and desperate and inelegant. Heated hard flesh pressing deliciously together through too many layers. Greg found himself with greedy handfuls of that fabulous arse before he knew what he was doing. They didn't notice the lift doors opening and it was only the sound of three inch heels coming to a sudden halt across the concrete that brought things to a dead stop. They looked up at a woman with a golf umbrella, key fob in her raised hand.
' You'll need that later, heavy showers forecast.' Sherlock said casually, putting on his fake but devastating smile and making no effort to move away. His coat mercifully covering Greg's hands from view.
The woman nodded slightly and hurried on to her car. They sniggered against each other for a few seconds.
'On the other hand I don't want to get done for lewd behaviour. Come on.' Greg picked up his briefcase and led the way. In the lift Sherlock pushed him against the mirrored wall. Long fingers cradling his head with a gentleness that belied the ferocity of the kiss. Greg stole glances at the reflection of the two of them together, finding it literally unbelievable that someone like Sherlock, who could have anyone, wanted a middle-aged cop like him.
His flat door was opened with uncooperative fingers, Sherlock's chin resting on his shoulder, breath brushing the side of his neck. Lestrade grabbed him by his scarf and playfully dragged him inside. It was far from his usual style, playful, he didn't know what had come over him.
Actually he did, he had his consulting detective back. When John Watson had appeared and he saw them together he had thought...Well what everyone thought. Now though, Sherlock was pushing him against the wall and dropping to his knees, his coat pooling on the floor and forehead resting on Greg's stomach as his fingers went to his belt.
'Sherlock, stop. I want to do this, you know, properly. I've not even got my jacket off. ' Lestrade rested his hand lightly on Sherlock's head. He slowly stood.
'Fine, never took you for such a romantic.' Sherlock shrugged out of his his coat and walked towards the bedroom dropping clothes in an expensive breadcrumb trail. Greg simply watched him go for a second.
'I assume you have the necessary?' Sherlock called back over his shoulder.
' Give me a minute.' Lestrade went to the bathroom cabinet, taking a moment to check the expiry dates on 'the necessary' (it really had been a while), before shedding his own clothes in a hasty heap on the way to the bedroom.
Sherlock was lying naked on the bed, duvet tossed carelessly to the end . The bedding, a hangover from his ex-wife's last decorative scheme, was a dark burgundy. Not really his taste (nothing had been when she lived here come to think of it) but it offset the pale, deceptively fragile looking younger man perfectly.
'Why are you still thinking? It's distracting.' Pale eyes, the usual faint irritation tempered with arousal, were fixed on him where he stood in the doorway.
'You know, the usual line is 'what are you thinking?' and since you don't ask, I was thinking you look gorgeous on my bed-I could get used to you there.' Greg moved slowly to sit beside him and ran one hand gently up the detectives thigh. Sherlock propped himself up on his elbows.
'Please Lestrade, we're both clearly aroused, you don't need to seduce me.'
' I just meant it'd be nice to do this more often.' Sherlock looked at him steadily. It occurred to Greg that maybe this was not a talk to be had naked.
Fuck it, he'd started now.
'Maybe even,you know,keep our clothes on sometimes. Go for dinner or a walk..or something.' He got a few more seconds worth of stare before Sherlock turned away.
'You don't want me like that.'
'Maybe I do.' He persisted, picking up one hand. Sherlock looked down uncomfortably but didn't pull away when Greg gently tilted his head and pressed their lips together pulling their joined hands against his chest. It was a deconstructed kiss, drawn out, tongues lazily moving together. With them both naked and hard it seemed almost perversely chaste but it continued for long seconds , his other hand twisting in impossibly soft hair. There was no rush. He shifted to work his mouth along the neck that then stretched open for him, occasionally roughly but never enough to mark. Not that the idea of Sherlock having to cover lovebites with his scarf on a crime scene was unappealing.
He shifted onto the bed and into the comfort of Sherlock's arms. Most people thought he was cold and mostly he did nothing to contradict them but it wasn't true. In the right circumstances, like now, he could be warm and affectionate. His limbs wrapped generously around the older man, fingertips brushing down Lestrade' s back as they kissed.
'You know I'd be terrible at being a - well- partner.' Sherlock said suddenly breaking away. Greg shared his reluctance about the term boyfriend though he suspected for different reasons. He was too bloody old to have a boyfriend. On the other hand he was too bloody old to feel the way he felt - had felt for ages if he was honest- and not say anything.
'You know I like you, right? I mean not just this, obviously I like this.' Greg gestured over their tangled limbs. 'I like you too, how intense you are, how you get into a problem like there's nothing else in the world. How much you care about the people you're close to. Even Mycroft.' That earned him a slap.
'Please don't talk about my brother when we're naked.' The detective brought one hand to his eyes as if to rub away an unpleasant image.
'Just think about it,Ok?' It occurred to Greg then that he was asking the world's only consulting detective out on a date. He hadn't actually been on an date in years. Unless you counted the charade he'd went through every time his ex wife tried to patch things up (and he chose not to count that). He had never really been on a date with a man at all. Back before he was married being bisexual wasn't exactly the way to get on in the Met so he'd kept that side of his private life clandestine. It would be an all new experience - if he'd have him.
'I will - think about it. For now though...' Greg hadn't expected a positive response at all and it threw him for a second until the beautiful (and now decidedly antsy) man below him wriggled. Opening himself up as he adjusted to allow Greg to rest between his thighs.
Greg recovered himself enough to grab the bottle on the bedside table, generously coating his fingers and making a bit of a show of running his hand over his own cock.
When he turned his attention to Sherlock he was shaky with anticipation. He took it slow, gently, with one finger before adding another as Sherlock relaxed. When he found his prostate Sherlock grew impatient. Gasping and cursing. That posh voice, swearing and begging, seemed to make Greg all the harder and it was an act of willpower to sink into him teasingly slowly. Continuing at the languid pace that he knew from previous encounters drew out both their pleasure.
'I want to see you touch yourself.' He said hoarsely . Picking up Sherlock's hand and squeezing the bottle into his palm. Sherlock was only too happy to oblige, maintaining eye contact in a way that would be unnerving under other circumstances as he slid his fingers desperately over his own erection.
Greg shifted slightly and the change of angle obviously took it to another level for Sherlock who threw his head back and tensed. 'Mmm, there.' He almost shouted, smooth voice roughening.
Greg picked up the pace in response, sensing the tension building in Sherlock's limbs. 'Fuck yes come for me, I'm close too.' He shouted breathlessly, instinct dictating the last few thrusts. The sight of Sherlock Holmes twitching cock coating his own stomach and chest was glorious and he tensed and swore with his own release seconds later.
He eased himself out of the younger man carefully and collapsed on top of him for a few seconds, getting covered in rapidly drying semen in the process.
'Be right back.' He said rolling off reluctantly and quickly disappearing to the bathroom to dispose of the condom. Returning with a damp towel for Sherlock. He threw himself back on the bed, deliciously sated, and the unusually peaceful expression on Sherlock's face suggested he felt the same. When the younger man rolled over and draped himself across his chest Greg held his breath for a few seconds, in case he broke the spell.
Previously they'd always done this at Baker Street and he'd left quickly after. In the early days because of guilt that he was cheating on his wife-even if she'd been the one to fire the starting pistol in that area. Later they'd always been in the middle of a case and there was just no time for lounging in bed. Now though he had nowhere else to be. He had to be at court again tomorrow but it was barely early evening. He pulled the duvet up and as he wrapped his arms around the world's only consulting detective they both sighed contentedly.
#######
He had a slight panic as he woke up and heard the squeak of the shower turning off till he remembered. He checked his clock, they must have slept for a couple of hours. Sherlock appeared in the doorway, towel round his hips, wet hair pushed back off his forehead and Greg stared helplessly.
'Showers all yours- you should get conditioner- something decent.'
'I'll bear it in mind for when his lordship comes back next.' Greg threw over his shoulder as he headed for the bathroom.
When he was showered and dressed he found Sherlock in the kitchen sipping tea, re-dressed in his now crumpled suit.
'He nodded to a mug on the table. 'I made tea and took the liberty of ordering Chinese. You don't have much in.'
'Well I don't have a John or a Mrs Hudson.' He replied, genuinely surprised Sherlock was still there.
'True. I was thinking about the other thing.' Sherlock paused to sip his tea.
'We could go to Angelo' s tomorrow, if you're free and obviously if you still want to. I wasn't sure if you meant it or if it was just because-well...'
'I was trying to shag you? No I'd really like that.' They were both silent for a second, awkward, it was ridiculous, he'd been inside the man a few hours ago.
'Hang on, isn't that the place you get fed for free? Cheap bugger- and you with a trust fund.' They were interrupted by a buzz at the door.
'I like it there. Anyway, how do you think old money gets to be old money?' The detective replied with a rare smile. 'I will get this Chinese though.'
'Too bloody right.' Greg returned the smile.
########
Sherlock had expected the flat to himself when he got back. Usually drunk John was either passed out in bed by nine or not back till the early hours. As it was, the doctor was sitting in his chair reading an evening paper.
'You're back.' Sherlock said, hanging his coat, hoping his suit didn't look too much like it had spent time on Greg's floor.
'Yeah, died a death after you left. Donovan and Anderson had an argument.' The doctor turned his page. 'No paperwork then?'
'Nothing obvious.' Sherlock replied, a little too defensively.
'How is Greg? All tucked in for an early night?' John folded his paper and smiled, eyebrows raised. Sherlock felt blood rush to his face.
'I can do deductions too you know, learned from the best. You smell just like him.'
'I've showered.' Sherlock blurted out.
'Exactly, in his body wash.' John opened the paper again and began to read. 'Like I say, learned from the best.'
Thanks for reading.