THE ROAD TO DAMASCUS
Warnings: Mature themes, language.
Spoilers: None.
A/N I quite like these two together, put it this way, they wouldn't leave my head till I wrote it.
John Watson remembered very clearly the first time he met Greg Lestrade. The man would turn heads anywhere he went, and Sherlock was quite happy to fill John in about the D.I. John's enthusiasm waned slightly when he found out Greg was married, but that didn't stop them becoming friends. Both of them needed a buffer against the intelligent whirlwind that was Sherlock Holmes sometimes, and a few beers with a mate usually fit the bill.
John would never forget that Christmas, either. The look on Greg's face when Sherlock announced that's Greg's wife was cheating on him.
Stricken, confirmation of his worst fears dawning in his eyes then resignation as he turned away from the room. Not long afterwards he made some excuse and left.
"Can't you take one day off?" said John, furious at his genius flatmate. "Why did you have to do that?"
"It's kinder in the long run, isn't it?" asked Sherlock.
"There was nothing kind about that."
Sherlock gave him the oh-you-peasant look which frequently brought him close to frenzied strangulation.
"He's wasting his time with her. He reminds me of you a lot, John. Repressed bisexual, sexually frustrated, desperate to present a normal face to the outside world by being with unsuitable women. I like Lestrade, John. He needed to know that his wife has no respect for him, even though he loves her. If people weren't so obsessed with sex, things would be a lot easier."
"You're unbelievable," said John. He grabbed his coat and stalked out of the flat.
Once outside, he rang Greg's mobile.
"It's John," he said when Greg answered. "Where are you?"
"Take an educated guess," yelled Greg over the sound of Christmas revellers. John knew exactly where.
"Stay there," said John and hung up.
The Fox and Grapes was packed with pretty girls in party dresses with tinsel in their hair all being covetously watched by the groups of men clutching pints and short glasses.
Greg was at a table in the corner, a very forlorn figure. When John fought his way through the chattering crowd to him he saw Greg's eyes were wet, and in that moment, he hated Sherlock.
"Get you another?" he asked, pointing to the almost empty glass of whisky.
"Yeah, why not?"
By the time John got served at the bar and returned with their drinks Greg had composed himself and his eyes were dry.
"Cheers," said Greg, taking a deep swallow from his glass. "Look, John, if you've come to apologise for Sherlock…"
"No, he can do that himself. He's got no bloody boundaries, that man. That was bloody cruel, Greg, what he said to you. How the hell do you stand him?"
"I could ask you the same question," said Greg.
"Alcohol helps."
That provoked a very faint smile.
"No, but what he said about your wife…"
"Is absolutely true," interrupted Greg. "It's not the first time, in case you were wondering. And I always take her back."
"Why?"
"I love her. We very rarely have sex but we don't argue either. She's never been bothered about my fancying men as well, in our early days she used to find it a turn-on. And she's beautiful. Maybe if we'd had kids, it would have been different, I dunno."
He took another swig of whisky. "It hurts like hell sometimes."
John had no real explanation for what he said next, he could hardly blame the drink.
"That's bullshit and you know it. You could have anyone you want, Greg. You're the kindest man I know and you're fucking gorgeous."
Greg smiled at him. "Do you think so?"
"Yeah, I do. And that's just me. Half the Yard calls you Detective Inspector Silver Fox,"
Greg's ears went scarlet but he didn't look away. John was close enough now to see the amber flecks in his brown eyes.
"Can you honestly sit there and tell me you've never contemplated cheating on your wife?"
"Daydreamed, yes. But if I did it would make me just as bad as her. I never really thought about it. Not until tonight. Not until you followed me here and sat down to listen to me wallowing in self-pity. Now I could, John. With you."
John felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the room, there was no mistaking the look of frank desire on Greg's face. John's hand squeezed Greg's thigh under the table, hope flaring in the other man's eyes.
"Then let's go," he said firmly.
"Really?"
"God, yes. Unless you weren't serious?"
"Oh, I am."
In the shadows of an alley beside the pub, they kissed for the first time. Everyone else was too intent on their own pleasures to pay any attention to the two figures locked in an embrace. The kiss was warm and tentative and John responded with enthusiasm, running the tip of his tongue along the inside of Greg's lower lip, making Greg sigh with pleasure.
"We can't go back to Baker Street," said John fretfully as Greg kissed his way down his neck. "And you certainly can't take me home."
Greg paused in his ministrations. "I know somewhere, don't worry."
They managed to get a taxi and as the driver pulled away from the kerb, Greg said
"This won't change anything, will it? I mean, I really like being friends with you. Will this make it weird?"
"It doesn't have to," said John. "No strings, no promises. Friends with benefits. Is that okay?"
"Yeah, more than okay, actually"
John didn't recognise the hotel but it was a cash-only-no-questions-asked kind of place and the disinterested receptionist swapped Greg's sheaf of bills for a room key without comment.
The room itself was spartan but clean, neither of them really cared when privacy was all they were interested in.
Greg kissed John again. It had been far too long since he had kissed another man and he had missed it, he realised. Missed the brush of stubble against his cheek and an answering hardness as he pressed close.
Soon they were naked on the bed which creaked with their combined weight, both intent on pleasuring each other, no quarter given or asked for, slick heat, soft cries and mouthed obscenities until neither could hold back any more, drowning in sensation, gripping each other hard enough to leave bruises as they returned to earth. Tangled together, stealing each other's heat, they slept.
Next morning, they dressed in companionable silence. John felt hollowed out and very much at peace with everything, especially when he caught Greg's eye and they smiled in mutual agreement.
"That has to be the world's noisiest bed," remarked Greg as he pulled on his coat.
"Served its purpose, though," smiled John.
Greg blushed. John hugged his friend and kissed him on the cheek.
"Merry Christmas, Greg."
"Merry Christmas. I'll see you when you get back from your sister's."
They parted outside the hotel, John headed for the nearest Tube station while Greg caught a taxi home.
His wife was waiting in the living room for him when he got there.
"Where the hell have you been?" she yelled.
"Out," he replied vaguely.
He looked at her but this time with different eyes. Yes, she was beautiful but it was a shallow brilliance, one that would quickly fade. With her face contorted in anger she looked shrewish and bitter and Greg felt as though he had just put down a burden he wasn't aware he was carrying. John was right, he deserved better than this.
"I want you to leave," he said quietly.
"What do you mean?"
"I know you're screwing around again and I've had enough. You can't keep doing this to me. Get out, it's over. Next time you hear from me, it'll be through my lawyer."
She looked at him like he had just slapped her and Greg felt viciously pleased.
"I'm not..." she said.
"You forget what I do for a living. I know you're fucking someone else. Get out of here. Don't make me ask you again."
Absent-mindedly he pulled off his wedding ring and dropped it on the coffee table.
When he heard the front door slam, he felt nothing but relief.