"Sherlock! What the bloody hell are you doing in my kitchen?" Greg shouted at the taller man as he stumbled through the door, dragging bags of food behind him.
"I'm looking for something." Sherlock mumbled in Lestrade's direction. "You're distracting me!" He snapped, continuing to root around without a care.
"In my cupboards?" Greg asked in surprise and confusion.
"Yes Lestrade, observant as ever I can see." Greg glared at the back of Sherlock's head.
"What are you even searching for." He asked, biting back all the rude comments he was tempted to make.
"Elbow macaroni." The younger Holmes replied in a bored tone.
"Elbow Macaroni? Why do you need?"
"IT'S FOR AN EXPERIMENT!" he yelled before Greg could finish his thought. "Now go be boring somewhere else. As you can see I'm busy." He ordered.
"It's my kitchen. You can't demand I leave my own kitchen." He replied but Sherlock just ignored him. "Why don't you just ask John? I'm sure he."
"John has Mary over." Sherlock interrupted Greg once more.
"I see what this is." Greg began before Sherlock cut him off.
"Whatever observation you are about to make is incorrect so don't even try," Sherlock slammed the last cupboard door shut.
"You're jealous." Greg stated, placing his bags on the counter.
"Nope." Sherlock let out a huff of breath.
"Just admit it. You see John dating all those women and your curious. You want to know why people put their feelings on the line for the comfort of another person. It interests you." Lestrade began to put away his groceries, his back to Sherlock's scowl.
"Emotions just complicate things. People are better off alone." Sherlock replied, but his voice was hollow.
"So what's your experiment?" Greg asked instead of pestering Sherlock. He knew the man didn't know how to handle emotions.
"Well it's pointless now that I don't have any macaroni." He sighed.
"It just so happens that I bought some. I was planning on using it to make macaroni and cheese." He placed the box in front of Sherlock. "But you can have it if you want. I can easily make something else."
"Brilliant!" Sherlock snatched up the box. Now I just need unfrozen blood, and some."
"I don't have any of that, and I'm not forking over any blood." It was his turn to interrupt.
"I have everything else; it's back in the flat." Sherlock looked defeated, "With John," he sighed, "And Mary," he growled.
"Well you're welcome to stay here, for the night, or however long." He ran a hand threw his hair, "I mean so you don't…you know…interrupt." Sherlock was poised to refuse, the snide comment perched on his lips.
"I was planning on it anyway." He snapped instead. Greg rolled his eyes, turning away from Sherlock to begin preparing their food. The consulting detective sat there silently, just observing Greg. Watching how his body moved, relaxed when he was stirring the pot and tensed while he was chopping onions.
"Greg." Sherlock began, "If that really is your name." he continued, his usual venom once again present. "Have you ever found blokes attractive?"
"I'm surprised you can't do your little magic trick and answer that yourself." He replied, clearly uncomfortable with the question.
"It's not a trick!" he stomped his foot on the ground, "It's using…oh never mind, you obviously don't understand." He leaned forward, steepling his fingers in front of him. "So you do think of men as attractive."
"Not like it's any of your business, but yes." Greg stirred the pot, tasting it before adding more salt.
"So have you ever, found John attractive?" Sherlock continued. Greg shifted uncomfortably under the other man's scrutiny.
"No, he's not really my type." Greg could feel his cheeks heat up.
"No, he wouldn't be." Sherlock rose from the chair and stalked over to Greg. "So then, detective inspector, what pray tell, is your type." Greg swallowed loudly.
"Well," he cleared his throat, taking a hesitant step backwards. "You, ah, you see." Sherlock smirked.
"Am I your type?" The younger man persisted, backing Lestrade up against the counter.
"N…No…o." Greg stuttered out, but Sherlock just tsked disapprovingly.
"I can tell you're lying, Lestrade," His eyes widened, "My magic trick and all." Sherlock teased before placing a hand on the side of Greg's face. Greg had nowhere else to look but into Sherlock's curious eyes.
"I…"He tried to counteract Sherlock, had every denial poised on his tongue. "Yes." He answered instead. "Yes you are my type. Exactly my type. I've fancied you for a while." Sherlock's lip twitched into a half smile.
"I didn't come here for macaroni." Sherlock whispered, his breath hitting Lestrade's cheek. "I came here for you." Sherlock leaned down, capturing Greg's lips in his own. Doing what he vowed he never would. Feeling.
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