AN: Sorry, I couldn't help it after that wonderful episode! Hope you enjoy it. First Sherstrade fic.
Lestrade was thankful that he wasn't the one that had to deal with the entire terrorist attack. The amount of paperwork involved would have been hell. Now London was safe again, the police had officially stated that Sherlock was back, and Lestrade could get on with his life.
Nevertheless, every morning he woke up he couldn't help but think that it had all been a dream. He would go and look back over past text messages, go to 221B even when there wasn't a case. Sometimes he just had to reassure himself that Sherlock was alive, that he was not dead and buried like before.
Nearly two weeks had passed before Sherlock knocked on his door at a little past ten o'clock.
Lestrade knew who it was before opening the door. Sherlock immediately tried to come in without a word but Lestrade blocked the path into his apartment. He sighed, shaking his head, not really surprised at Sherlock's actions.
"What are you doing here?"
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "I knew your memory wasn't like mine Greg but have you already forgotten?" he asked, trying to push past Lestrade.
However, the detective-inspector was having none of that, even if Sherlock had used his first name correctly. "Of course I remember Sherlock but it's been two years," stressed Lestrade.
"And within those two years you haven't been seeing anyone. Clearly John managed to move on when you did not. There isn't any one you're currently, or were recently, romantically involved with," Sherlock quickly replied. "Besides, I also know that it is doubtful you performed in any 'one-night stands' meaning that we can pick up right where we left off."
"Sherlock, it doesn't quit work like that," Lestrade muttered, rubbing his eyes tiredly. Looking back up, he saw that his words meant nothing to the consulting detective. Shaking his head, he said, "Come in then. I'll explain it if you like seeing as you clearly don't get it, not that I'm surprised."
Moving aside, Sherlock strode in, quickly taking in all the little details. Lestrade could only roll his eyes at the man as he listened to his mumbling, mainly about how the couch should be moved back to its original place. However, after a few more seconds, Sherlock abruptly stopped.
"What is it?" asked Lestrade. "You not like the pictures? Or perhaps it's because I have a new chair. Really Sherlock, you can't just come back and expect everything to be the exact same. I mean, look at John and Mary!"
"No, I suppose you're right…."
A frown appeared on Lestrade's face at the way Sherlock's tone had changed. "Something wrong?"
The answer came too quickly. "No! Why would there be? Though you really do need to move that sofa back," he replied, falling onto one of the cushions.
"Tea?" asked Lestrade. After a quick no, Lestrade offered some beer. Lestrade went to go get him one even when Sherlock said no to the prospect of it. If Sherlock was upset over the fact that Lestrade sat in the armchair across from him instead of next to him, he didn't voice it.
"So, explain to me again why we can't just pick off where we left off?" asked Sherlock. "Don't have any more of those little emotions for me?"
"No it's the exact opposite," Lestrade muttered, holding the cold bottle of the beer to his head before bringing it down to his lips and taking a sip. "I cared-still care-about you Sherlock but what I went through….I'm not going through that again."
"So you plan on finding someone else? Even though I've just came back?" asked Sherlock, confusion in his face.
"I'm getting old Sherlock. If you exclude my earlier college days, there's only been my ex-wife and you after that."
"Well I should hope that I at least hold a higher place in your heart than your ex-wife," said Sherlock, just a smidge of anger entering his voice. Lestrade's ex-wife had always been a touchy subject when it came to Sherlock.
"Of course you do but I can't go through the worry of not knowing what the hell you've gotten yourself in to again. Especially when you don't even love me yourself," Lestrade replied. He had wanted to shout that last bit but it had only come out soft and defeated. "Besides, this was never really a relationship to you. I know it wasn't then so don't even lie to me on that part. Never anything meaningful, no small talk about how my day was. I still don't know why I allowed myself to get involved in the—"
"I love you."
For a moment, nothing came out of Lestrade's open mouth but he was finally able to garble out, "You can't just throw that out there like it's your trump card. Those words don't mean anything when you're just saying them to try and get into my bed."
Sherlock was silent, eyes looking everywhere except at Lestrade before he asked, "A month? Or was it two?"
"What are you on about—"
"After my death," Sherlock quickly clarified, looking back at Lestrade for the first time, pain in his eyes. "Was it one month or two months after my death when it occurred? Did they suspend you? One to many times yelling at someone? Was that the last straw? Or was it how many times you stumbled into work late?"
"Sherlock I—"
"You perfectly well know what I'm talking about so don't even try to deny it," Sherlock replied, jumping up and pacing back and forth. "The chair that you replaced, old but sturdy enough. However, nothing is very sturdy when thrown against the wall. That would explain the rips in the wallpaper. The lamp in that corner has been replaced as well along with a picture frame missing from your shelves. The TV has been replaced too.
"If there were more things replaced or missing then I might think you'd have redecorated but you're not one for that. You also wouldn't have gotten a brand new TV, not unless the old one had broken. Also, all the things missing are items commonly thrown, except for the TV, though people will usually throw things at it when upset.
"Was it the picture frame you threw at the TV or was it an empty bottle? The lamp could've been the projectile that hit the TV as well. Were they talking about me again? Saying I was a fraud? Or were you simply to angry and drunk to know what you were throwing at—"
"Shut up!"
Sherlock froze mid-step, turning to see Lestrade now standing up and staring at him.
"Are you trying to piss me off? Rub it in? I know you've said love is part of the losing side, that it's a worthless emotion! I loved you then Sherlock just as much as I love you now. Did you think that your death would only affect John and no one else?"
"Of course I didn't!" yelled Sherlock, his hands tightening into fists. "Why do you think I even came back? I was dead! I could have gone anywhere else in the world, started my life over, but I came back because I love London! I moved back to 221B because I love the apartment and Mrs. Hudson! I exposed myself to John and yourself instead of waiting for you to hear it from someone else or the media because I care about you!
"I was ranting about your drinking problem because it upset me! I did not expect you of all people to allow yourself to stay at the bottom of a bottle, even if it was for only a month or two! Out of everything I truly expected you to be the one thing that wouldn't change!"
The breath that Lestrade sucked in was shaky. "I drank because I didn't see any reason to go on. To you, you had everything ready and awaiting your return. For me, my whole world ended that day."
"What brought you back?" asked Sherlock softly.
"Realizing that just because you were gone didn't mean criminals were gone as well. The fact that the world was still turning despite everything reminded me of the fact that the world doesn't revolve around you. Still doesn't, I might add," Lestrade said causing a small laugh to come from Sherlock. "Did you mean what you said though?"
"It would have been a waste of breath otherwise," replied Sherlock. "Besides, looking at it logically, love is the only sound explanation."
"Are you sure it's not just because I put up with your crap and provide you with access to police cases?"
"There are several people that put up with my crap and I could always figure out another way to get information on certain crimes. That and you must always take into account certain chemical reactions that happen in the body when only around certain people implying certain-urmhh!"
Sherlock's monologue was stopped by a kiss that came all to quickly and sloppily. After the initial shock though, the consulting detective relaxed. When Lestrade pulled away, he asked, "Am I forgiven?"
"Yes," admitted Lestrade.
"I'm sorry for yelling at you," Sherlock replied. He paused for a second and then asked, "That is an acceptable response for what just happened, right?"
Lestrade let out a tired chuckle and simply kissed Sherlock again in response.
Sherlock was the one to pull away this time and gave a quick sniff. "You haven't been smoking."
"Well if I remember correctly, someone did tell me those damn cigarettes would kill me."
The smile on Sherlock's face was breathtaking.