Lestrade sat shifting uncomfortably on the plastic chair in the hospital waiting room running his hands roughly over his face with exhaustion and anxiety warring in his head. Twenty sodding minutes to get to the pool once the bomb exploded. By the time he'd arrived, the flames had already ebbed leaving a wrecked, blackened shell of a building housing his consulting detective. The ambulance had taken away Sherlock and Dr. Watson and he followed in a police car feeling fear grip his insides. They'd both been wheeled into surgery the minute they'd entered the hospital leaving him to wait, for four hours so far, for their prognosis. He'd been informed a few minutes ago about the positive news for Sherlock but Dr. Watson was in much worse shape. That tends to happen when certain Army doctor's shield their insane flatmates from explosions. He'd just tossed out his fourth cup of coffee when a pair of well-buffed shoes clicked into his field of vision.
"Detective Inspector Lestrade." The owner of the posh shoes bit out angrily.
"Mr. Holmes," Lestrade sighed. "I'm really in no mood."
"I really could care less about your mood," Mycroft said pointedly. "What I do care about is your role in this mess that Sherlock got himself wrapped up in."
"My role in all of this?" Lestrade asked taken aback. "What role exactly do you suppose I played?"
"Come now, Detective Inspector." Mycroft scoffed. "Overly emotional displays are beneath you. Please maintain some level of restraint."
"Fuck you." Lestrade growled out.
"Fine." Mycroft sniffed. "If you are so determined to engage in angry affectations, then perhaps we could go somewhere a bit more private so we don't have to subject the masses to your obvious shortcomings. Follow me."
Lestrade stomped after the posh twit down the corridor and into an abandoned office pointed out to them by his texting PA. Mycroft closed the door firmly behind him before shoving the shorter man roughly against the desk and pulling him into a searing kiss brutally shoving his wine-tinted tongue roughly into Lestrade's lips. Lestrade clung to Mycroft's lapels for dear life as the taller man claimed his mouth with each heated kiss. Lestrade's entire body trembled with desire and need and arousal so strong it made his knees weak. He whimpered softly as his erection brushed roughly against Mycroft's as the taller man canted his hips suggestively. Mycroft made quick work of his shirt buttons and was sucking at his jaw when Lestrade finally tried to gain a bit of control.
"Mycroft…" He gasped trying to think through the haze of dopamine flooding his system as the governmental official trailed a line of hot, wet licks down his neck to his collarbone. "Jesus…Mycroft…"
"Commentary really isn't necessary." Mycroft purred as he began grinding his hips causing Lestrade to moan loudly.
"Just…god…stop a second." Lestrade finally groaned.
"What?" Mycroft asked angrily. "What could you possibly have to say right now?"
Lestrade leaned back to stare into the eyes of Mycroft Holmes and saw more than he should. He saw fear and pain and uncertainty. He sighed at the realization and then proceeded with caution, "He's going to be fine, My."
"Attempts at intelligence don't suit you and I don't appreciate nor will I respond to nicknames." Mycroft said defensively before maneuvering Lestrade back onto the desk and claiming his mouth again. He knew it was an awful idea. He knew that what he felt for this brilliant man wasn't reciprocated. This had only ever happened twice before. Once when Sherlock had almost overdosed and another time when Mycroft's father died a year ago. He knew he was just a convenient outlet. The infuriating git had said so himself, but to feel close and taken by this man, to feel cherished for just a few short minutes was so heart wrenching to the Inspector that he would take it. These few minutes would hold him as long as he needed them to until the next time Mycroft deigned to seek him out for some carnal companionship. He jolted back into the moment at the sound of Mycroft ripping at his trouser buttons. He lifted up so that Mycroft could puddle the fabric until it hung off his left ankle. Mycroft pushed him down to lay flat against the desk as lube magically appeared in his hand. Lestrade writhed and whimpered as Mycroft pushed into him confidently with his finger. The shorter man's body opened up quickly and willingly under Mycroft's relentless ministrations. Gasping and bucking lightly, Lestrade felt his entire mind shatter at the first push of Mycroft's erection against his entrance. He hooked his legs tightly around Mycroft's suit jacket. The arse hadn't even undressed at all. Just whipped his erect cock out of his pants before pressing heavily into the inspector.
"You're always so fucking tight." Mycroft groaned letting his hips buck lightly as Lestrade adjusted to the length nestled inside him.
"Don't really have time for a regular fuck." Lestrade bit out as pleasure raced across his skin as Mycroft's cock brushed against his prostate.
Mycroft's only response was to hum quietly before pulling in and out slowly as Lestrade moaned heavily. Taking that as a sign, Mycroft began pounding into him rougher and harder with each slap of skin against skin. It was relentless and overwhelming and wonderful. Letrade gripped the sides of the desk tightly and let the feeling of it surround him with endorphins.
"Touch yourself," Mycroft growled. "I want to feel you come."
Lestrade grasped his achingly hard erection and used the precome trailing lightly down his cock to slick his hand before matching the pace Mycroft set for his own rhythm. Lestrade felt his body tense for the impending release as he began writhing and groaning involuntarily.
"Fuck…I'm going to…god…now…Mycroft!" Lestrade entire body jerked and shivered as orgasm slammed into him sending warm waves of bright light behind his eyelids and covering his hand in sticky white ropes of come. His body gripped Mycroft tightly and he felt the other man release his own orgasm into him feeling Mycroft grip his hips hard enough to cause bruises as the taller man came apart above him. The man had barely stopped coming before he was pulling out of Lestrade's still shivering body and wiping himself off with some tissue.
"That will be all, Inspector." Mycroft said, his voice slightly rough. "I will request any further information I require via email. Good day."
"Mycroft, wait!" Lestrade said feeling his heart stutter painfully. He sat up and asked hesitantly, "Why don't we grab a cup of coffee or something until they wake up?"
"That won't be necessary." Mycroft sniffed. "I'm much too busy for that type of activity."
"Mycroft, you can't just…" Lestrade began.
"You'll find that I can." Mycroft said firmly before opening the door and shutting it firmly behind him. Lestrade lay back against the desk for a few more minutes pushing away the feelings trying to claw up into his consciousness. He couldn't spend the rest of the night naked and covered in his own ejaculate in an administration office of Bart's. He couldn't even go home, drink himself into a stupor, and attempt to erase this huge mistake from his memory. No, he'd clean up, call Sally, find out about Dr. Watson, and get back to work. Because despite his deplorable and cringe-inducing taste in men, he was a professional and he would at least act like it.
He'd just returned to the waiting room after a long stint in the men's restroom followed by another horrid cup of hospital coffee when he finally saw John's surgeon come out to meet him.
"Are you here for Mr. Watson?" The short woman asked.
"Dr. Watson." He corrected automatically, "Yes, I am. How is he?"
"We were able to repair the damage caused by the shrapnel from the pool stalls, but our main concern right now is the risk of infection." She said. "We'd like to keep him here for at least the next three days to monitor the concussion he sustained as well."
"Can I see him?" He asked hesitantly.
"He's still a bit groggy." She answered. "He sustained a lot of trauma to his lower back and legs so he's on a substantial amount of pain medications. But you can go back if you like."
"Thank you." He said.
He was led back to the room where Dr. Watson was recuperating and wasn't at all surprised to see a bandaged –covered Sherlock perched in the only chair in the room.
"Mr. Holmes." The doctor scolded. "You're supposed to be in your own bed!"
"Dull." The detective said, his voice the barest raspy breath. "Lestrade."
"Holmes." He growled. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't arrest you?"
"I miscalculated." Sherlock sighed stilted. "He wasn't supposed to be there."
"Who? Moriarty?" Lestrade asked confused. "I thought you wanted him to be there."
"Don't be an idiot." Sherlock said angrily.
"You mean John." Lestrade said quietly.
"It seems both of you are gluttons for punishment." Sherlock said coldly. "How is Mycroft by the way?"
"Fuck off." Lestrade bit out.
"You are, quite possibly, the stupidest fuck buddy he's ever had." Sherlock answered.
"And you're quite possibly the worst friend in the history of mankind." Lestrade whispered vehemently. "Honestly, Sherlock. He's the only person I've ever met who puts up with your bullshit, and you decide to use him as a pawn in a game with a psychopath."
"He wasn't supposed to be there." Sherlock repeated. "There was no previous data supporting this outcome."
"And how do those probabilities hold up now?" He quipped. "Do they give you comfort as the poor bloke lies broken in a hospital bed?"
Lestrade and Sherlock squared off almost coming to blows when a weak voice cut through the anger like a knife.
"Oh, please." John Watson whispered. "This is nothing. You should have seen the gunshot wound."
Both men turned to face the doctor's painful, but wry grin. Lestrade watched in an absurd sense of fascination as all of the tension in his consulting detective's body evaporated causing him to collapse back into the chair by the bedside.
"Oh, good." Sherlock said awkwardly. "Right then. Well, right. Okay…John…right."
"It's good to see you too, you giant idiot." John cut in to Sherlock blundering. "Are you alright?"
"Please, John." Sherlock said. "Observe. I'm not the one in a hospital bed."
"That doesn't mean that you shouldn't be." John countered. "Just that you're way too stubborn to follow a doctor's orders."
"It was tedious." Sherlock sniffed.
"Right," John said smiling slightly again. "Well, bugger off for a few minutes. I need a word with Lestrade."
"What could you possibly have to say to Lestrade that I couldn't hear?" Sherlock scoffed.
"Two words: Bomb Jacket." John said firmly fighting against his obvious pain and discomfort. "Give me five minutes."
Lestrade's eyebrows shot up as he watched Sherlock meekly rise and walk slowly to the door before throwing one last fervent glance at the doctor before leaving quietly.
"I need a statement, John." Lestrade said tiredly.
"Right." John said firmly. "We'll get to that when I don't feel like I've been run over by a car. There's something more important we need to talk about."
"And what's that?" Lestrade asked curiously.
"Sherlock's going to leave." John said quietly.
"What do you mean?" Lestrade asked.
"Moriarty said something…before the vest…" John began. "He's not just playing with Sherlock. He's obsessed. Terrifyingly obsessed. And we both know how Sherlock is. He won't be able to resist chasing after the bastard."
"You honestly think that Sherlock would just scamper off to chase after a complete psychopath?" Lestrade asked incredulous.
"You don't?" John said simply, allowing Lestrade to see just how the idea was cutting into the doctor's very heart.
"John…" Lestrade began awkwardly.
"Don't." John said firmly. "I barely know the man. He wouldn't…he won't…I don't matter."
"What does this have to do with me?" Lestrade asked curiously.
"He'll go to his brother." John said confidently. "For funds. Information. I need you to be a part of it."
"How would I possibly do that?" Lestrade asked feeling something unpleasant niggling at his innards.
"Sherlock sort of shared your…history…with Mycroft." John said quietly.
"If he shared the history, then you are aware that I don't matter either." Lestrade said glancing anywhere except at the injured man.
"You matter enough." John said firmly.
"To do what exactly?" Lestrade asked.
"Mycroft and Sherlock only ever see the trees." John said. "I need you to see the forest. Make sure that he's okay. That he…takes care of himself…eats, sleeps."
"You want me to be his babysitter?" Lestrade asked aghast.
"I want you to keep him alive." John answered. "Please, Geoff."
"I don't want to give up my entire life for the fucking Holmes brothers!" Lestrade said angrily. "They already take enough of my life as it is!"
"But I can't." John said painfully. "And I don't trust anyone else to do it."
Lestrade searched the doctor's face and felt his resolve wash away at the look of desolation hiding behind that stern, blank face.
"We're completely fucked, Watson." Lestrade sighed.
"I couldn't agree more." John said with a quirk of his lips.
"Get some sleep." Lestrade said. "I'll see what I can do."
"Thank you." John said firmly.
Lestrade strode out of the hospital room feeling a weight settle heavily on his shoulders. He turned a corner and almost knocked Sherlock to the ground.
"What did John want?" Sherlock demanded.
"You're one stupid bastard, you know that?" Lestrade answered before striding past the dumb-struck consulting detective.
