A/N: Once again on tumblr a certain portion of the fandom was using The Silver Fox like a consolation prize for Molly. "Molly should be with Greg, not someone who'll just use and abuse her like Sherlock!" (Meanwhile those same folks DESPERATELY want Sherlock and John together. Go figure.) So this is my first response to the wank. And since I now have three separate salstrade stories, I figured I'd start a collection for this rarest of rare pairs. Various ratings, this one is T. Enjoy!


Consolation Prize

Sometimes Greg Lestrade felt like nothing but a bloody consolation prize, especially when Sherlock would swan in and figure out the murderer in five minutes, after the Met had been at their wits end for months. The press would fawn over the consulting detective and entirely overlook the actual police who'd done the hardest part: gathering up the evidence that Sherlock bloody Holmes then used to solve the crime.

But then Sally Donovan would touch his sleeve and grin at him, knowing damn well how hard they'd both worked and that catching the murderer was more important than squabbling over who got credit, and suddenly being in the background didn't matter anymore. Let Sherlock bask in the limelight; he wasn't going home at night with the woman he loved. Hell, he wasn't even banging John Watson the way so many people thought he was; Lestrade knew for a fact that if he ever tried anything like that the other man would haul off and punch him right in the nose!

However, as he and Sally made their way to his car after the press conference had ended, Lestrade caught a glimpse of Sherlock disappearing around a corner, coat fluttering dramatically...with no John Watson in tow for a change. Curious, Lestrade tugged Sally along in the consulting git's wake, childishly pressing a finger to his lips in an exaggerated shushing gesture. She raised an eyebrow but followed along, tolerantly indulging his curiosity even though he knew she was eager to get back to their shared flat.

Sally Donovan was the best thing to happen to him since he and his wife had finally broken up, and well he knew it, but he was dying to know where Sherlock was going, since it clearly wasn't back to Baker Street with John, who'd vanished in the opposite direction with his arm around his latest girlfriend.

The answer to that question turned out to be a block of flats only a few streets down from where the press conference had been held. Waiting in the shadows, clasping Sally's hand in his and pretending he wasn't gasping for a smoke, Lestrade watched as Sherlock moved confidently to the first door, rapped on it, and waited approximately ten seconds before it opened.

"Fuck me," Sally breathed, while Lestrade gaped and tried very very hard to grasp what he was seeing.

Molly Hooper, the sweet little pathologist from St. Barts, was not only smiling at Sherlock and ushering him in, but she was wearing a very tiny yellow dress as she did so - and tip-toeing up to press a very passionate kiss on the other man's lips. A kiss he seemed more than eager to return! Then the door was closing behind the pair - but not before Sherlock turned and very deliberately waved at the pair of them.

"Cheeky bastard," Sally muttered. "Knew we were here the whole time. D'you think that's why he did it? Kissed her, I mean? Nah," she answered herself before Lestrade could do more than open his mouth. "It's probably why he kissed her right there on the front steps, but I'm betting that's been going on for a while now."

"How? Woman's intuition?" Lestrade teased, knowing how much she hated the term.

Sure enough Sally wrinkled her nose at him and mock-punched him on the shoulder - possibly a bit harder than she'd meant to, possibly exactly as hard as she'd meant to. "Don't be a dick," she said without rancor as they began the walk back to the car. "They just seemed too comfortable with each other. She was the one doing the kissing, and I'd lay even odds that Molly Hooper wouldn't let him use her, not like this. Even if he has flirted with her to get body parts," she added just as Lestrade was about to remind her of that very fact. "You told me about the Christmas party, how she stood up to him. After that?" She shook her head. "No way he'd get away with manipulating her. She's onto him now, and if they're actually, y'know, together..." She wrinkled her nose at the idea, but continued: "Then it's real. Huh, imagine that. I guess having John Watson around has been a good influence after all."

"I guess it has," Lestrade agreed. "Maybe Sherlock's finally on his way to being a good man after all."

"Not as good as some," Sally said as they reached the car. The rest of the crowd had fully dispersed, and they were alone on the darkened street. Lestrade gave a startled "oof" as she pressed him against the car, leaning up to snog him thoroughly, much to their mutual enjoyment. "Enough about that git," she said huskily when the kiss ended. She ran her fingers through his hair, raking her nails into his scalp in the way she knew drove him absolutely wild. "Take me home and shag me, Detective Inspector. I need you to be balls-deep in me as soon as possible."

It made him wild when Sally talked dirty to him like that; he pulled her close for another passionate snog that left them both breathing heavily when it ended. Lestrade wasted no time in getting the pair of them into the car and back to their flat, Sherlock Holmes and his newly-discovered love life a distant memory.

Lestrade had his own love life to think about - and no consolation prize about it!