Chapter 4
Greg woke up the next morning at half past ten, feeling disoriented. It took him a moment to remember that he was at Baker Street and he had slept in John's bed last night. He had a headache and his back was still sore, but if it weren't for the aspirin John had given him he'd be feeling much worse.
Coming downstairs, he was greeted by his boxes and immediately felt angry again. John and Sherlock were up already. John was sitting at the kitchen table, reading a newspaper. And the shower was running, so Sherlock must be in it.
"Morning," Greg greeted John.
"Hey, sleep all right?" John said.
"Yeah, thanks. I think I passed out there after you left."
"You look much better now. Want some tea?"
"Sure."
John poured him a cup.
"I don't know how you take your tea?"
"Oh, just milk."
John made a face. "Yeah, I thought I might have to go in there again." He quickly opened the fridge without looking, dug out the carton purely by touch and prepared Greg's tea and popped in some toast. They sat down and had a late breakfast. Suddenly, the bathroom door burst open and Sherlock emerged, dressed in his blue silk robe. His head was wrapped in a white towel and he looked ridiculous.
Greg stifled a smile. "Hello," he said.
"Good morning, Lestrade," Sherlock answered haughtily and proceeded to his room, closing the door. After a minute, they heard the sound of a hair dryer.
"You know, if he doesn't do that, his hair looks like he … never mind, it looks very silly." John whispered conspiratorially. "If you want to have a shower, go ahead. I'll bring you some clean towels."
After Greg spent as long under the hot water as the boiler would permit him, he felt much better. He got dressed upstairs. John knocked on the door and entered.
"Are you decent? If you want, I'll help you unpack a little. You can use parts of my wardrobe. I don't have that many things to put in there, anyway."
They carried the boxes from downstairs until they crowded John's room. Sherlock didn't offer to help but paced up and down in the living room.
"Did you bring the case files, Lestrade?" he yelled after him while he was carrying a particularly heavy one.
"No!" Greg shouted back. When he was downstairs again to pick up the next one, he elaborated: "I just wrote a quick report last night. They'll have something proper on Monday. I'll let you have a look," he offered.
"You are all so slow," Sherlock commented. "How do you get anything done there?"
"It's my day off," Greg said defensively. "And you know, some people have weekends." Sherlock made a disgruntled sound at the notion of weekends.
"By the way, Sherlock, there's something I..."
"What is it," Sherlock interrupted and flung himself on the sofa.
"You keep calling me by my last name. But since I'm staying with you for a while, it feels weird. So do mind not doing that?"
"Of course, Gregory. Oh, you hate that," he corrected himself immediately after gauging Greg's reaction. "Yes, fine. Greg." Sherlock stretched on the sofa and reached for John's laptop.
"Thank you." At least he's acknowledging he knows my name, Greg thought to himself.
"What on earth, Greg!" John came down the stairs and held up a multi-colored button-down that would have felt right at home in the 70s. "Are you James May or something?" John giggled endearingly.
"Oi, put that down." Greg tried to snatch the offending garment from John.
"Who is that?" Sherlock asked.
"That bloke from Top Gear," John answered.
Sherlock stared at him blankly.
"You know, that show I like to watch sometimes? With the cars?" John tried. Greg couldn't help but grin at Sherlock's utterly blank expression. God forbid his formidable mind be polluted with pop culture.
"Never mind," John piped. "Are you coming, Greg? I made you some room."
"Sure." Greg picked up the last box and carried it upstairs.
Most of Greg's stuff actually fit in John's wardrobe. He prioritized and they stacked the boxes they didn't unpack next to it.
"I never knew I had so many clothes," Greg sighed. "I haven't seen half of these in years."
"You could donate some," John suggested. He sneezed.
"Bless you," Greg told him.
"Thanks," John muffled into his handkerchief. "It's really dusty here. I should clean." When Greg thought about John cleaning his room, in which he was staying now, he felt guilty.
"John, look," he said. "Thanks for having me, but I'm not staying for long. Please don't trouble yourself."
"It's no bother," John protested. "You can stay as long as you need to. I'm hardly up here anymore anyway."
Greg sat cross legged on the floor, exhausted from the unpacking already. "I don't want to get in your way," Greg demurred.
"You won't. We'll probably be so busy we'll hardly see each other. I'm on call at the surgery next week. When are you going back to work?" John asked.
"Monday," Greg said. "I got a whole weekend off. That happens once in a blue moon. The thing is, I don't know what to do with all that time anymore."
"Well, you're here. We can think of something to do, right?" John said cheerfully.
"Yeah, let's. Though drinking is out. I'm too old for this shit."
"Hey, that's my line," John chuckled.
"I'm older than you, so I get to use it."
"So what's a fun thing you haven't done in while?"
"Hmm," Greg thought about that a bit longer than he should have to. He couldn't go out and say 'sex' because that would be inappropriate. "I... used to do a bit of sports, that gets my mind off things. And I used to play some pool with my old mates. But with work, that rarely happens anymore."
"We could do that," John suggested. His face turned serious. "About what I told you last night," he began. "When you go back to work on Monday, you won't..."
"If you want me to keep my mouth shut about you two, then that's what I'll do." Greg emphasized.
John nodded. An awkward pause arose.
"Do you regret telling me? I can keep a secret, John."
"No, it's not that. I trust you." John sighed and leaned back against the wardrobe.
"But you're not feeling good about it, either," Greg observed.
"I'm afraid what will happen when they all know. I don't know how to deal with that," John confessed.
"With what, exactly?"
"You know, with people calling us faggots and not taking us seriously anymore and asking which one of us is the woman..."
Greg snorted involuntarily. "Well, if you want to get up into all that gender crap, you wouldn't have to ask. It's him, of course, he spends absurd amounts of money on his clothes."
John laughed.
"You don't have to be afraid, John. Most people are actually pretty okay with any sexual orientation."
"Really," John doubted. "Well, I was raised catholic. In a small town. Not that I cared much for either. My dad would freak out and disown me if he was still alive, god bless his reactionary soul. That's why Harry never told my parents. And my army mates... God, I don't even want to think about what they would have to say about me."
"It doesn't alarm people like it used to. They got used to it. We did a lot of work for that. There's still the odd jerk, but you know," Greg explained.
"You worked for that? How?"
"I went to a lot of demos in uni, campaigns and such. I'm bisexual myself."
John's jaw dropped. His mouth stood open but no words emerged. "No," he finally breathed.
"Erm, yes?" Greg was suddenly unsure. Was John that biased?
"But you were married. To a woman."
"Yes, so? I like both. Jodie's a gal, but there were people before her. It's the person that matters to me, not what's dangling or not dangling between their legs."
John shut his mouth with an audible click.
"I'm so sorry, Greg. I don't want to come off like a bigot or something. I'm still wrapping my head around this. Around the whole concept of... this." John was clearly embarrassed and out of his depth.
"Yeah, I suppose. It can be confusing," Greg conceded. Especially if people attempted to shove you into boxes your whole life and you continued their efforts on your own, long after they were gone. But he didn't voice that thought just now. John didn't need a lecture.
"Look, I want to be cool about all this, but I'm freaking out a little. I don't know how to go about this. I've never been with a bloke before. All I know is that I love Sherlock and I want to make him happy."
"Then focus on that, and fuck what other people think."