TheDarkestShinobi: My computer restarted in the middle of uploading this, so even though it's late I hope it will still count. Rare Ship Bingo! It's Sherlock/Lestrade and a bit of Molly/Lestrade but I had to leave it a little open ended.
Prompt: Murder
Pairing: Sherlock/Lestrade minor Molly/Lestrade
"It's Greg, you know." Molly says to him with a small smile as she watches him leave.
"Who?" Sherlock is purposefully dense as he turns to Molly who rolls her eyes with a blush. Her newfound relationship with the Detective inspector is apparent.
"Lestrade. It's Greg Lestrade." She laughs "I'm sure you knew at one point, even if you've deleted it. Sherlock says nothing; he just nods his head as he makes his way out of Bart's, the cadaver being pushed from his thoughts by Greg.
Here, he had grunted long ago, Like this, he breathed as he instructed, Call me Greg.
Sherlock shakes his head but some things refuse to be deleted.
…
There's a buzzing in the back of his head he can't get rid of.
He shakes his head, shuts his eyes, slams his hands against the wall and throws himself over the crime scene but the buzzing is still there. It's an annoying hiss that won't let him just THINK! It's not the drugs, or rather the lack of. Sargent Lestrade has made it clear that if he even has a suspicion that Sherlock has been using he will get him off the crime scene and never invite him back. It's a rare case, with Sally taking pictures of everything in sight just so she won't miss anything. The click of the camera shutter registering just above the buzz every few seconds.
"SHUT UP!" He shouts as he spins to face the offender. Sally snorts behind him as Lestrade's mind goes blissfully silent for a second.
"I wasn't talking." And there it is, the buzzing, the humming.
"Shut up." He says but it doesn't work like before, in fact the buzzing is louder. Sherlock lets out a harsh breath and Sally glances at the two of them, concerned.
He turns his mind away from the dead man hanging out the window to the sergeant before him. Ruffled hair, done himself, but not because of stress; there are the marks around his eyes that indicate a late night. Ah, not any late night, a date. If the tenseness of his general persona was anything to go by it was an unsuccessful one, but one that he was expecting something from.
"She didn't invite you over, so now you're thinking so much that I can't."
"How did you-?" Lestrade cuts the question off before he can finish it; Lestrade knows he knows the same way he figured out what kind of coffee he drinks or what he had for lunch. It's downright invasive. And yet, Lestrade doesn't mind the way that those around him do, he's told Sherlock to piss off a few times but not every time.
"That's freaky." He hears Sally mutter but ignores it. He's still searching Lestrade's body for clues. It's sex. Dreadful. There's a perfectly good murder and Lestrade is busy thinking about her-no. Lestrade is thinking about him. Sherlock pulls back with wide eyes and Lestrade's face falls wondering how easily he had been read and what happens now. These crimes were probably the only think keeping the kid from doing drugs or committing crimes and now he's made this a bad place for him.
Sherlock turns away and has to walk, has to be away from this buzzing to think. There's a man hanging out of a second story window that no one noticed for days. He doesn't smell and his wife has been across the world for weeks now. This is a perfectly good murder, but for some reason all Sherlock can think about is Lestrade thinking about him.
…
"You were thinking about me." Sherlock says to confirm as he walks into Lestrade's apartment. Lestrade wants to ask how Sherlock knew where he lived but that first statement has the words freezing in his throat. Instead, he follows Sherlock until he can breathe again.
"What makes you say that?" Sherlock crosses his arms and turns once he's in the living room.
"I'm well above the age of consent." Lestrade takes a deep breath and shakes his head but his pupils are dilated and his breathing increases. Sherlock toes off his shoes and takes off his coat and notes the way Lestrade's eyes follow him.
Sherlock hasn't felt this wanted since Victor and it's so dangerous it makes his skin prickle.
He marches up to Lestrade, looks into his eyes and licks his lips. Lestrade closes his eyes and lets out a deep breath as Sherlock's hand grabs his. Sherlock places his fingers over his wrist and tracks his pulse as he steps closer and bites his lower lip and when he feels that expected jump he moves forward, but Lestrade has beat him to it, kissing him harshly
"Fuck, Sargent-" Lestrade cuts him off, he doesn't want to be reminded of what he's doing.
"Call me Greg." Sherlock groans as Lestrade grunts in satisfaction "Here, like this," He breathes into Sherlock's lips as his hands find Sherlock's bottom and pulls up "call me Greg."
"Greg," Sherlock moans as he's lifted and for some reason it sounds right on his lips. "Please."
Sherlock's not much for pillow talk, but lying next to Greg on the bed feels so nice and good that he turns over to face him. Lestrade is still breathing heavy and turns his head to watch Sherlock. Sherlock can't turn it off it seems, and in the quiet of orgasmic bliss, the lines on Greg's face speak to him and Sherlock comments on them.
"Interesting, you've never been with a man before but thought I'd be a good transition. My body type isn't too muscular and my height reminds you of your first girlfriend. It is interesting to note that-
"Piss off." It's harsh and let's Sherlock know that he was right and that it hits home. Lestrade's thinking again and he gets up before getting dressed quickly. He leaves. Sherlock sits up as the door slams. Greg was so put off he left his own house. Sherlock grits his teeth even though he is finally in blissful silence. Well, there was a murder that needed solving and he seemed to be the only one in London with the capabilities to solve it.
He leaves Lestrade's house with a stone face.
…
"Ah, Garrison." Sherlock nods his head in greeting as he leaves Bart's and sees Lestrade with two cups of coffee.
"Sherlock," he greets as if there is nothing amiss. Sherlock is the only one who can read him well enough to see the guilt. When he feels most vindictive, Sherlock will prance around a crime scene in oh so tight pants and feel his gaze. He'll stand a little too close for John. He'll moan out in just the right timbre at the crime scene. Right now, he just feels want so he nods and turns away remembering how easily those hands took him apart. He doesn't see Lestrade watch him leave.
"Call me Greg again." Lestrade whispers as he shakes his head, wondering if he'll ever forget how badly he fucked up.
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