A/N: Some references to sex - fairly mild, in my opinion, but just saying... I don't own Sherlock or any material relating to it. Reviews welcome.
Greg threw the pile of papers onto his desk and raked his hands through his silver hair, huffing in irritation. He'd started reading the statement a half dozen times already, but hadn't yet progressed beyond the third paragraph before he found his mind wandering to Sherlock-bloody-Holmes.
"Curse the bloody man," he muttered. "How the hell am I supposed to get any work done?" He picked up his phone checking for a non-existent message and started tapping at the screen before deliberately deleting every letter, because he couldn't think of the appropriate words to use to communicate the way he felt. Embarrassed? Maybe. Conflicted? Possibly. Confused? Definitely!
Waking up in Sherlock's bed the morning before with a raging hangover, but the sense of having had a great night, had been weird enough. What he had trouble explaining to himself was why he'd thought kissing the detective would be funny. He'd intended it as a joke, a way to wind up John and give him a bit of a shock after he'd teased them about being in bed together, but neither he nor Sherlock had broken the kiss even when John had clashed the tea tray down on the nightstand and left muttering embarrassed obscenities. He hadn't anticipated Sherlock's cool fingers sliding around the back of his neck, and he hadn't intended his own fingers to tangle in those impossibly soft curls. It was only when the bedroom door had clashed shut behind John and Sherlock's palm shoved forcefully against his chest that the spell had been broken. The detective slumped out of the bed and vomited spectacularly in the waste bin, with a hoarse "sorry", leaving Greg propped against the headboard, flushed and more than a little shell-shocked.
Greg hadn't said anything, simply handing him one of the mugs of tea and patting his shoulder soothingly, then he shrugged back into John's too-tight shirt and escaped to the bathroom, avoiding the doctor's accusing glare as he passed. Once there he pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the mirror and asked himself the most lucid question his hung-over brain could form - what the fuck…? – but even after five minutes of staring deeply into his own eyes, the best he could come up with was bloody hell, I kissed Sherlock, and it was probably the best kiss I've had in a decade! He had heard John's angry tones coming from Sherlock's bedroom, and the detective's answering low rumble, but he couldn't make out what they were saying. When John rapped furiously on the door a moment later, Greg decided he'd probably overstayed his welcome and slipped out of the bathroom to find a black bin liner containing his ruined suit unceremoniously thrust into his arms.
"I'm sure Sherlock will call, but maybe don't wait by the phone!" John had snapped, before turning on his heel and leaving the flat, front door slamming shut behind him. Greg had stared after his retreating friend, baffled by the sudden switch from good-natured teasing to outright hostility. He poked his head around Sherlock's door but the detective was lying on his side facing away from the door and didn't acknowledge him.
"Everything ok, Sherlock? John seemed pretty pissed."
"He'll get over it," snorted Sherlock without turning round.
"Um, ok… See you later then?" Greg forced cheerfully, but there was no reply.
He checked his watch. That had been thirty-one hours ago, give or take? Greg had spent a large portion of that time deliberating on the events of the previous day and winding himself into knots about what a stupid, single freaking hot kiss could possibly mean. He'd embraced his new status as a single man since his wife had walked out again, and this time it seemed a bit more final. Twenty-five weeks and four days, she'd been gone this time, not that he had it marked on the calendar or anything... In that time he'd had six dates, two of which had ended in frantic, rushed, and ultimately unsatisfying sex with women he neither liked or cared for. They couldn't wait to leave in the morning, and he couldn't wait to be rid of them, a crushing sense of shame overshadowing any pleasant memories of getting off with a living breathing human being instead of by his own hand. It was a bad deal when you considered a wank to be more meaningful than sex with an enthusiastic partner.
Unlike Sherlock, he had near perfect recall of the night before, and in the cold light of day, sober and feeling slightly dejected, he could analyze every exchange. For some unfathomable reason he had flirted with Sherlock - actually flirted, as though he was interested in his friend on a more intimate level. Feeding him ice cream - Christ, the way he'd held that spoon and suggestively slipped it between Sherlock's lips - it had felt good to have him pressed against his legs and the heat in Sherlock's eyes had sent a shiver low in his stomach. The alcohol had emboldened him enough to lightly twine his fingers through Sherlock's hair and it had seemed a perfectly reasonable thing to do when pissed, but all the time at the back of his mind was John's mantra - 'I'm not gay'. That had clicked into sharp focus when Sherlock had dragged him off to the bedroom. Sex with a man - with Sherlock - wasn't his thing. He had no bloody clue about that and didn't particularly want to find out, no matter how much his stomach quivered at the thought of being touched by someone who looked like they would very much enjoy it. Sad git. Sad and bloody desperate. So what if emotions were running high after almost being killed? That was no reason to consider jumping a close, and very male friend!
His phone finally gave a little chirp and he snatched it off the desk - Classy Greg - like a teenage girl the morning after – but it was John's number not Sherlock's. After John's apparent anger the morning before he was surprised at the regular tone of his message.
Running late. Get the pints in.
So their regular Friday night at the pub was still on. The clock showed he should have left ten minutes ago, so he shrugged on his jacket and overcoat and hurried out of the office, dropping the statements onto Donovan's desk as he passed.
The front of the pub was busy when he got there, early evening revelers chatting and drinking before heading home to whatever weekend plans they had made. He pressed his way to the bar to find John handing over cash for the four pints that stood on the bar.
"Got two each so we don't have to navigate this lot again. Should thin out in an hour or so."
Greg nodded and picked up a pint in each hand, and then they shouldered their way to the back of the pub where there was always a few tables available. He took a sip of his pint, and grinned nervously at John. "So are we going to discuss the elephant in the room? Get it over with?"
"Ok," John said slowly, not looking at Greg, "which elephant do you want to start with? You and Sherlock, and why neither of you bothered to tell me you were together? Or the fact that my friendship means so little to you both, that you announce your relationship by shoving it down my throat?" Two spots of angry colour bloomed on the doctor's cheeks as he fought to keep his tone even. Clearly still pissed off, then, which immediately put Greg on the defensive.
"There is no relationship. It was just a laugh, you know? You came in and thought it was hilarious to find us in a compromising situation, so we… well I thought it would be funny to embarrass you a bit. Sherlock went along with it. I don't really get why you're so upset to be honest, you were fine with it when you first came in!" He took a long swallow of his drink watching a war of emotions cross his friend's face in the gloom of the pub.
"Yeah, when I first came in and figured out who Sherlock was with, and that the pair of you were probably wasted given the empty bottles, I didn't think there was anything more to it. After all, Sherlock and I have ended up in the same bed more than once after a trying night. Generally fully clothed, mind you, but given the mess you'd both made of what you were wearing... Even when I came into the room it was just so ridiculous that you two could be together like that, it made me laugh."
"Why ridiculous? Aren't I good enough for the great detective?" Greg teased, but there was an undercurrent of annoyance to the question. He might not be Sherlock's equal in looks or intelligence, but he could give John a run for his money, even if he was a little longer in the tooth. He looked after himself, punishing himself in the gym for his love of a beer, even more so in recent weeks since he'd been so lonely. Female company preferred muscle over stodge if the likes of Sally Donovan were to be listened to. "Are you jealous?" John glared at his friend's perfect toothy grin and declined to answer, hiding behind his lager. "You bloody are," said Greg gleefully, "I don't care if you're married - 'not gay', bollocks!"
"I'm not, and I didn't think you were either, or I wouldn't have -"
"What?"
"I don't know. Walked in without warning maybe. Anyway, as Sherlock was quick to point out, who he chooses to sleep with is none of my business." John said bitterly. "I'll get another drink." Greg gawped after the other man as he walked away to the bar looking like the revelation of Sherlock's comment had physically pained him. He dug in his pocket for his phone and briskly typed a text.
Why did you tell John we had sex? G
Why did you kiss me? - SH
And I said we slept together, not sex. Different -SH
Matter of semantics Sherlock, and apparently hurtful to our friend. G
John is over-sensitive. His observational skills are dulled as a result. And you haven't answered my question – SH
What are you on about? Kiss seemed a good idea at the time. G
I see. John did not approve– SH
Wasn't seeking his approval. Confused now. But not gay. Thought I should point that out. G
Seems to be a common theme. Busy. Go away – SH
John returned with another two pints and scowled at Greg's phone as the final message beeped. He slipped it back into his pocket and stared anxiously at his friend. "You want to tell me what's really eating you? Me and Sherlock... Well there is no me and Sherlock. We had a moment, but I'm pretty sure I'm not gay. I um... Well I spent last night channel hopping, looking at all these guys on TV that women rave over and there was nothing... Not a twitch."
John stared at him, the corners of his mouth twitching up into a grin in spite of himself. "I'm not sure what's more creepy - you stalking the channels looking for blokes to turn you on, or you telling me that you did it."
Greg looked sheepish. "Kissing Sherlock wasn't a mistake exactly. There's just something infuriatingly attractive about the man, particularly when your inhibitions are low. I didn't set out to seduce him, but I enjoyed kissing him. We didn't - you know...?"
"We never 'you knowed' either" chuckled John, the tension between them easing a little. "Maybe we would've in time but then he sort of put the dampeners on it when he 'died'. Mary picked up the pieces and that was that... I missed my chance. Maybe I wasn't even prepared to acknowledge there was a chance. I still hold I'm not gay either."
"So, two straight blokes attracted to the enigma that is Sherlock Holmes... Is Sherlock gay?"
"No idea, probably not. Irene Adler had him by the short and curlies with every obscene text message, so I reckon he has a passing interest in women at least. "
"You know, we should conduct an experiment to find out," grinned Greg. "Take him out for the evening and get him drunk then point him at the 'beautiful people' and see which way he goes."
"He'd never go for it, never go on a night out with us. He'd certainly never let his guard down around strangers."
"Course he would, if he thought it was for a case. And he seems to loosen up a bit when he's had a few. Definitely more open to a bit of flirting I've discovered."
John leaned back against the wall balancing his stool on two legs as he regarded Greg thoughtfully. He was grinning back at him, enthusiastic in his drunken state. The thought of conducting an experiment on their consulting detective was very appealing. A little bit of revenge for all the experiments Sherlock had imposed on them over the years, and this one was pretty harmless. May even be a laugh. "So what did you have in mind? We can't just invent a case then hope he takes a fancy to someone in the pub." John looked around and decided none of the clientele, save for perhaps themselves, would be appealing to Sherlock. Single women were almost non-existent in here, and gay men rarer than hens' teeth, so definitely not a fruitful hunting ground.
"Leave it to me. I know a fantastic club that would be perfect and a couple of friends who would quite enjoy a bit of flirting. I'll set it all up and call you with the details. You up for reliving your teenage years for the night?"