Greg loved the way Sherlock made him feel. Wanted, desirable, addictive. He loved the way it felt when Sherlock touched him, the fullness when he filled him. The look on Sherlock's face when he came deep inside him.
But Greg wanted to do the same for Sherlock. They'd been together for six months and Sherlock always took the lead, even when Lestrade attempted to. Sherlock tried to be subtle about it, well, subtle for Sherlock, but it was obvious something was wrong. He wouldn't let Greg near his arse, no matter how much Greg tried to show him he just wanted to reciprocate.
Greg might not be a proper genius like Sherlock but he was a damn good detective. He could read the signs and the evidence presented before him. Something happened to Sherlock that made him shy away from that aspect of physical contact. Something happened to make Sherlock insist on topping every time they made love.
Another month passed. Once, Greg tried to touch Sherlock's bottom while Sherlock was inside him, but quickly moved his hands away when he felt his lover tense and the movement of his hips.
Greg knew he had to broach this topic. He also knew that Sherlock did not want him to and that the conversation would be painful and possible detrimental to their relationship. But he felt even more strongly that not talking about would be worse.
One night after Sherlock solved a case for the Met and had dinner with John, he came over to Lestrade's flat and let himself in. Greg had been nursing a beer, half watching the late news when his lover arrived.
"Hey there, love. Didn't expect to see you tonight." Lestrade said as Sherlock came and sat next to him on the sofa after throwing is coat on an armchair.
"Yes well, I need to sleep tonight and I've discovered I sleep better when with you." Sherlock stated blandly as if he hadn't revealed something intimate. Lestrade put his arm around the other man's shoulders and hugged him tight.
"I sleep better when I'm next to you, too." He kissed Sherlock's temple and set down his beer on the coffee table. "Come on, let's get you into bed."
Sherlock stood then paused, looking uncomfortable. "Um, Greg, I just want to rest. It's been three days since I've slept and I'm utterly knackered."
Lestrade took his hand and gently tugged him towards the bedroom. "It's fine, Sherlock, I love just sleeping with you. I won't attempt to ravage you." He aimed for a lighthearted jest but could tell by the set of Sherlock's shoulder's that he'd failed. He sighed to himself. They were definitely talking about this but he'd let Sherlock sleep and regain his equilibrium first.
In his bedroom, Greg stripped Sherlock down to his pants efficiently and tucked him under the covers. He went to leave the room when Sherlock grasped his wrist.
"Stay." Lestrade wondered if Sherlock knew how vulnerable he sounded right then. If he did, he probably hated it.
"I'm just going to lock up and shut off the lights. I'll be back in two minutes." Greg leaned over and brushed Sherlock's hair away from his eyes, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.
The next morning, Sherlock was up and puttering in the kitchen when Greg woke. He staggered to the bathroom, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. After a quick shower, he went in search of tea. Sherlock for all his faults, always made Greg tea when he stayed over.
Sure enough there was a steaming cup on the counter but no Sherlock. A note next to the tea said he went to meet Mycroft and that he'd text him later. Lestrade sighed. He wondered if Sherlock knew what he wanted to discuss and was avoiding the conversation.