Daughter knows best.
"My daughter," DI Lestrade introduced his teenage girl. Bring-your-child-to-work day was unfortunately timed with a visit from Sherlock to the Yard. He fiercely hoped Sherlock would not 'deduce' his little girl. Sherlock looked up where he was lounging, his limbs sliding back to more socially acceptable positions, and looked at his girl without much interest.
"The name is Holmes."
"I know," the girl answered aggressively, "you're the one who keeps dad away from home."
Lestrade choked on thin air. "Lorna!" he gasped.
Anderson seemed to appear in the doorway especially for the occasion, "She's right you know."
Sherlock sneered at him then turned to gape at Greg's daughter, "Excellent deduction," his emotionless mask back in place, "And I'm sure your mother has put you up against me."
Lorna swallowed and hissed back quickly, "No, I made up that opinion entirely on my own, Mr. Holmes. My mother left a long time ago."
It was silent.
"Oh," Sherlock said, "Oh!"
Lestrade wished he could sink through the ground. The one thing he had managed to keep a secret from the all-knowing Sherlock Holmes. The one thing he had managed to keep away from the Yard when his life had fallen apart. The one thing in his life he might have managed the right way. And now his precious daughter had told on him and he could not even be angry. Lorna stepped to her father to put an arm around him.
"Oh," Sherlock now annoyed, "there's always something!"
"Well," Anderson said.
'She likes you - GL'
Sherlock received hours after he'd left Anderson hovering awkwardly by Lestrade, who was pinned to the ground, beet red and hissing through his teeth that he should get the hell out.
'I did deduce that as I was leaving SH'
'She likes that you're so forward. -GL'
'I thought so SH'
'She said you have a crush on me - GL'
Sherlock didn't answer that, he simply stared at his screen. Oh, this girl was good, rendering him speechless like this, for the second time in a day
"Dad," Lorna yelled out from behind her computer she heard her father pass her room in the corridor.
"Yes," came her father's tired voice, he leant in the doorway, slowly taking one arm out of his suit.
"What did he say, dad?" Lorna asked, twirling around to face her exhausted father.
"I haven't had the time, hunny. I don't have to time."
Lorna sighed, "If he keeps you away from me, he might as well be fucking you."
"Lorna!" Greg yelled, exasperated, "do you get to decide I should move on?"
Lestrade huffed, "How would you know?"
He dropped himself on the edge of his daughter's bed.
"Did you see how he aware he became of himself when you came in? It radiated /through/ you and I could sense it, that's how intense."
"Lor, I'm his boss."
"No, dad, you're not. You know that. Have you ever heard yourself speak of him?"
"Lor, this is not some fairy tale." "You used to tell me true love exists, dad," Lorna said, suddenly soft, as she hugged her knees."If it does, it's not with Sherlock."
'John asked whether you would bring your daughter over for tea. Mrs. Hudson made biscuits and cake. SH'
Greg picked up his phone during dinner, finding the message and his expression became one of confusion before he caught himself.
"Is it him?" Lorna asked, used to her father jumping up and leaving whenever his phone went off.
"Yes, we're going over for tea tomorrow," Greg answered pensively.
'We'll be there at 3, if there are no break-throughs - GL'
'Naturally, I will look forward to it. SH'
His daughter looked beautiful. Somehow, without a female influence, she'd learned how to dress fashionably, yet practically. She was the image of her mother, although she didn't realise.
Mrs. Hudson opened the door for them and let them in, ushering upstairs as she yelled to let the residents know their guests had arrived. Within seconds, John burst out the door and turned Lorna around.
"Hi, nice to meet you. I am taking you to Angelo's for lunch. Hi Lestrade, Sherlock's upstairs."
Greg was slightly giddy as he stepped into 221B and didn't know why. He'd never felt anything towards the consulting detective, had he? It was only because his girl had been so observant that he...- He was struck with how much his daughter resembled a more sociable Sherlock and chuckled softly.
"Lestrade," Sherlock's voice came from the couch.
"Sherlock," Greg answered as he took off his coat and stood next to the couch.
"I guess you want to talk," the man sighed. Greg gulped. Well then.
When Greg didn't answer for a few minutes, Sherlock twisted his body on the couch to look at him, his eyebrows raised delicately.
"Well?"Greg sighed and lowered himself onto the armrest by Sherlock's head.
"Your daughter is smart," the consulting detective broke the silence.
Greg smiled to himself, "She is. She was right then?" Sherlock twisted again, this time sitting up.
"She deduced me," he answered, avoiding the question, twisting his hands.
"She was right." Greg said, looking down.
Greg observed Sherlock in the semi-darkness, waiting for him to return his gaze.
"How didn't I know?" Sherlock asked himself.
"Know what?" Greg responded, confused. Sherlock looked up, his eyes bright. "Not know what?"
"That you would reciprocate," Sherlock said. He gulped in air, realising what he'd said. He turned to Greg and reached up to pull him down. Greg slid from the armrest into Sherlock's arms. It might've been overly eager, but he couldn't care.
Sherlock Holmes was about to kiss him.
Greg breathed in loudly through his nose as Sherlock's lips connected to his. Oh, so he had been feeling something. He moved in, pushing one hand into the connection between Sherlock's neck and shoulder to get him to tilt his head, to deepen the kiss. But Sherlock didn't move, keeping his lips lightly closed and the tip of his tongue resting against Greg's. He was also the one to break the kiss, but his arms held onto the DI possessively.
"Greg," he gasped, "I'm sorry about Sophie."
Greg closed his eyes, his forehead against Sherlock.
"Could you not mention my ex right now," he said, exasperated. Of course Sherlock would do something to ruin is epiphany, to make him doubt only seconds after he'd found the truth.
Sherlock shivered lightly against him, "I'm so sorry."
"Stop, Sherlock. I don't want to -"
"She wasn't good for you, Greg, I saw you - I deduced you weren't happy. I did what was best for you," Sherlock's arms held him tighter as Greg became less able to breathe.
Greg felt Sherlock's expression shift against his.
"But then, at the Yard, I knew. You had such a strong mask, Greg, I admire your ability to act above anything. You may be a bad Inspector, but you know how to stay in your part. Greg, I did what was best for you, I did it for you. Not ..- Why didn't it work then?" Sherlock sneered at himself.
The DIs fists were clenched, one into his shirt on his back and the other around the side of his neck, nails digging into Sherlock's skin.
"How..-Sherlock!"
His thumb pushed against Sherlock's windpipe and he was dangerously tempted to keep it there, to push harder. How dare this genius confuse him. What gave him the right?
"Explain yourself," he had the push the words out, hoping his voice wouldn't quiver. How he wished he had a good mask now, "Sherlock, please. Please."
He wanted the man to tell him he was lying. That is had been a joke, that John was standing outside, giggling with his daughter. The daughter that the genius had hurt. His Lorna.
He didn't stop pushing. He didn't let go as he felt Sherlock shake violently beneath him, panicking silently.
At that point, the door opened and let in John and Lorna, awkwardly chatting.
"Angelo has food poisoning, he wasn't -" John saw the tableau before him, heard his roommate struggle for breath and it took him less than a second to react.
He dragged Lestrade off Sherlock, with surprising ease and let the DI collapse onto the floor.
"Dad, what the hell?" Lorna screamed.
"He! He- That man!"
Greg sat on the floor, having never felt like less of a man than now.
"That man took everything from us, Lorna. He broke us," he tried to explain.
"Get out," John dragged him up, "Get out, inspector." He was as confused as the teenager in the doorway was.
"No, Greg, I deduced that you'd be happier- That she'd be better off without," Sherlock tried to explain, gesturing vaguely at Lorna.
"Without what, her own daughter?" his voices an octave lower.
"Yes, - no, no, you could be with me and she..-"
"Tea, I'm making tea," John sighed when he was satisfied that Lestrade wouldn't lunge for Sherlock again. He looked at the pitiful heap of man on his floor and couldn't help but feel sorry. "Come help me in the kitchen."
Lorna followed him cautiously, giving a big eyed stare to her father before John closed the door between the two spaces.
"What was that?" she asked John.
"I don't know, Lorna. I get the feeling Sherlock's done something bad."
"Don't talk to me like I'm a child. What did dad mean?" Lorna answered aggressively.
"I don't know. Tea, tea makes everything better," John sighed as he rubbed a hand across his face.
"Greg, I didn't ask her to go away," Sherlock said.
"What did you do, why did you break my life?" Greg couldn't help it, his lip quivered and he swallowed repeatedly to keep himself from tearing up. Why hadn't this man used his genius to woo him when he'd had the chance?
"I told her about how I felt. She laughed in my face. I- I suggested you felt the same, because I knew- I deduced"
"You deduced?" Greg cut him off. He used the word as though that would make what he did OK, like he was just breaking the law to get his criminals. Like he wasn't breaking people. "You deduced that I liked you and so you chased my wife, mother of my child, away? Are you insane?"
"For God's sake," Lorna sighed behind the kitchen door. "They're going around in circles."
John looked at the girl. Sound observation, he thought. "Nothing we can do," he answered, putting four mugs onto the counter to inspect them for poisonous stains.
"Greg, listen. I told her what I felt and that you wouldn't stay away if I told you. That I'd tell you. She took that and ran, she didn't fight for you. She spoke about you as though you were separated. She was ready to accept the end."
"I loved her."
"Past tense," Sherlock rushed to add, unable to keep a triumphant tone out of his voice.
"Yes, past tense. It was three years ago, Sherlock. She up and left me with a pre-teen."
Sherlock sat up slightly, learning towards the remains of this fascinating man on the floor and reached out with his hand.
"Please."
"Do you see what you've done. How it's wrong," Greg tried, eyeing the hand, contemplating taking it.
John opened the door, letting an impatient Lorna through to get to her father. She pulled him into a hug, a strangely motherly gesture for a girl that young, and looked over her shoulder to cast a neutral glance at Sherlock.
"Dad, she's left. It happened, it passed. We got over it, remember?" she murmured, her eyes locked to Sherlock's. "She could've fought for you, but she didn't."
"You didn't do anything wrong," Sherlock added, slowly, cued by a nod from Lorna.
"She left, dad, we're better for it. Maybe you can start - with Sherlock, I could see you -" her words failed quickly. Damn her limited vocabulary.
"I think what your eloquent daughter is trying to say is that what has passed has passed," John said softly, tempting Lorna out of the hug with a mug of steaming tea and putting another in Sherlock's hands, giving him a warning glare.
Greg looked up at Sherlock.
"But how can I -"
"Sit up," John instructed from the kitchen. Greg listened and stood up quickly. Lorna pointedly inhabited one of the chairs and John slid into the other one, leaving him no option but to sit next to Sherlock on the couch. He reached for the mug that was handed to him.
Sherlock cast a side way glance at Greg, most like a teenager would, and John smiled at his expression.
"Dad, you got over it. Whatever it was, you got over it, remember?"
Greg cleared his throat softly, took a sip of tea and took in a deep breath, "Sherlock, did you ask her to leave?"
"No," came a certain answer.
"Did you threaten her?"
"No."
"Geez, dad," Lorna sighed, "she was a bitch."
Stunned into silence, Greg turned his gaze to his daughter.
"She wasn't there, she worked a lot, like you, but didn't make time to be home. When there was a boy after me when I was eight she said I should try it. She cried when I laughed and perhaps even vice versa. Mum didn't like me."
"Oh, Lor," Greg made to get up, but Sherlock placed a careful have on his thigh, but above his knee.
"Mum wanted you for herself, you know. She thought you were screwing that Donovan woman."
Sherlock huffed out a restrained laugh and John chuckled with him lightly.
"I give you my permission, dad."
Greg's eyes were flashing across the room, from his larger-than-life daughter, to the calm John, to Sherlock, who looked back nervously. He looked at the door, contemplating storming out for a few seconds, until he felt Sherlock tighten the fingers on his leg. He wasn't going anywhere.
He looked back at the man, staring at him. He had been right. This felt alright and so wrong, because his wife - ex-wife - was someone he hadn't even know. He certainly couldn't remember a possessive version of Sophie. Apparently, he hadn't known her and this genius had seen right through it.
He melted against Sherlock, pushing his shoulder into the man's chest and dropping his head back.
He heard his daughter slurp her tea contently and John started up a conversation about his day with Sherlock, who traced a pattern down his arm.