"And that is why Mr. West tried to murder his elderly aunt. The method was ingenious, I will admit, but easily seen through once the color of the petals was taken into consideration. All in all, an interesting little puzzle."
Only the great Sherlock Holmes would call an attempted murder an "interesting little puzzle".
" Alright then," I sighed. "That should close this case up. John, mate, this one going up on the blog?"
John Watson considered for a moment.
"Yeah, probably. Famed mystery writer Raymond West uses ghost story to poison aunt; it'll be interesting to write up. Don't know what I should call it yet, though. The Case of the Poison Petals, maybe?"
"Whatever it is, I'm sure you'll figure something out. Now, how about the-" I yawned heavily, interrupting myself. Frustrated, all I could do was scrub a hand down my face and reach for my coffee.
"Something wrong, Inspector?" Sherlock queried in that bored, superior drawl of his.
Before I could snap at him, John stepped in.
"Mycroft not back from his business trip yet, mate?" he asked sympathetically.
"Not yet. He won't be back until Friday, at the earliest."
I sighed again. Mycroft, in his role as the British Government, had had to go and oversee some political talks in God-knows-where lest a third World War break out. Which, yeah, I understood it was important, but it had also been three weeks since I'd last seen him, and I missed him. It didn't help that I hadn't been sleeping well, as I'd gotten used to him sleeping beside me almost every night for the past six years. So, I might've been a bit snappish.
"Never fear, Lestrade, soon enough my brother will be back to stick his nose into everyone's personal affairs as usual."
I glared half-heartedly at Sherlock, realising that it was his own weird attempt at comfort. Which, damn, I must've looked really bad if even Sherlock was getting concerned about me.
"Yeah, yeah, I know. And I'm fine. As I was saying, anything on the Littlemarsh case? Any leads?"
"Boring," Sherlock muttered under his breath, slumping in his chair (so professional of him). "The sister did it. That much is obvious to anyone with more than three brain cells.
" And how is that obv- you know what? I'll just bring her in again for another interview." Brat.
Waving my hand at the edge of my desk, I told the dynamic duo to look around at some of the old cases and see if they could find anything. The two nodded, and it was only as they were leaving that I remembered what I'd wanted so urgently to talk to Sherlock about.
"Hey, Sherlock, could you stay a minute? I need to talk with you about something."
He looked at me oddly, while John grabbed the rest of the case files.
"I'll be waiting outside for you, then," John said mildly. "See you later, Greg."
"You too, John."
As the door closed behind him, Sherlock stiffened slightly, and for the near thousandth time I marveled at John Watson's effect on the consulting detective. He mellowed him, I guess. Made it easier for him to connect. Whatever it was, exactly, even Mycroft agreed it made a definite improvement over the old Sherlock.
"So, Inspector, what else do you need my help with?"
(Oh yeah. John also made him marginally less insufferable. Marginally. Sometimes.)
"It's nothing like that, Sherlock. And I am capable of doing things myself, thanks."
He seemed unconvinced, the bastard.
"This has to do with Myc."
Now he just looked vaguely alarmed.
"If you are experiencing trouble in paradise, Inspector, I am sure I cannot help you, as I know nothing and want to know nothing about your relations with my brother."
The hell?
" Fuck, Sherlock, calm down. It's not like I'm gonna talk about our sex life or anything, that would be totally inappropriate. Ugh. Anyway," I took a deep breath and prayed to the Lord to be saved from these Holmeses. " You know Mycroft and I have been together for about six years now, right?"
"Yes, I am aware."
"Okay, great. So, I just wanted to know how you'd feel about me, um," breathe Greg "making an honest man out of your brother."
To my surprise, Sherlock snorted.
"Please, Lestrade, Mycroft has never been honest a day in his life."
(I'm sure this won't come as a surprise, but I am regularly shocked at Sherlock's cluelessness, pun intended. You'd think the solar system thing would've warned us all pretty well, but it is still startling to find out how deep the whole selective learning thing he does goes. Honestly, I think some of the time he pretends to not get it just to freak us all out. At least, that's what I hope he's doing...)
"You can't be serious, Sherlock, you know that isn't what I meant. I'm going to propose to him, you twit."
He froze, honest-to-God froze, and blinked rapidly. Then, "I...see. Why?"
"Why what?"
"Firstly, why would you want to marry Mycroft? And secondly, I would like to know your reasoning for telling me of your intentions. Are you worried he will refuse? You shouldn't, if I know my brother at all he will leap at the chance. After he gets over his shock, of course."
For some reason, the first part of that my brain processed was..."Why would he be shocked? It's been six years, for Chrissakes. I can maybe see him surprised, maybe, but not shocked."
Sherlock smiled sardonically.
"Inspector, it has been six years. This to you is a normal period of time in a committed relationship. Mycroft, however, is I'm sure still trying to puzzle out why you have continued to put up with him for as long as you have. In case you hadn't noticed, Lestrade, my brother is no better than I at forming connections with people."
Oh hell, had I noticed. The first time I'd met Mycroft, all I'd wanted to do was punch him, condescending bastard he was. Similar to my reactions to Sherlock now, actually. Then somewhere along the line, the elder Holmes became my condescending bastard, and the rest... Poor Myc had been so confused when instead of walking off one day I'd asked him to coffee, aaaand now I could see where Sherlock was coming from...
"God, he's such a bloody idiot," I said fondly. "He should bloody well know by now that I'm not going anywhere. Maybe this will finally convince him." I paused. "And to answer your first question, I want to marry him because I love him."
After a moment's awkward silence, I ventured, "So, you're...okay with this?"
Sherlock stared me straight in the eyes.
"Would it deter you if I did have an issue with this plan?"
"Not a chance."
That must have been the right answer, as Sherlock smiled, nodded, and rose to leave my office. But at the door, he paused and turned back to face me.
"I trust it goes without saying that if you hurt my elder brother in any way, I will make sure that there is not enough of your body left to be found by your collegues here at the Met, yes?"
My mouth went dry as I caught a glimpse of the potential cold and dangerous killer Sally Donovan always claims to see in him. I swallowed hard.
"That a threat, Holmes?"
"Of course not, Inspector. Merely a promise." Sherlock responded evenly. "You are good for my brother, Gregory Lestrade. Do not give me reason to regret entrusting his happiness to you."
And with that, he left.
Stunned, I leaned back in my seat and reached for my (now cold) coffee on reflex. Aside from hearing that Sherlock did indeed know my actual first name, it seemed that he had just given me the Holmes version of the shovel talk.
After a minute, I smiled. He does really care about Mycroft, it's sweet. Not that he'll ever admit it.
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John glanced up to see his boyfriend striding towards him.
"Everything go alright with Lestrade, then?"
Sherlock kissed him quickly, looked at him sideways, then nodded.
"So what was that all about, anyway?"
"Nothing important, John. Merely that wedding bells may soon be ringing for my brother and Lestrade. Let's get back to the flat, I have experiments to conduct."
Sherlock hid a smirk as he walked ahead, listening to his John splutter.
"Wait... Lestrade is going to- with Mycroft?!"
" Exactly, my dear Watson. Exactly."