a/n: warning for sex

"Are you still convinced Austin Finch killed Imogen?"

Greg's head was a warm weight in Sherlock's lap and the DI practically purred as the detective's dexterous fingers massaged tiny circles across his scalp. Sherlock imagined it was rather like the soothing motion of stroking a cat, but with less shedding hair and pin prick claws. Greg looked ten years younger when he totally relaxed like this and it made Sherlock's stomach quiver when his lover reached up and plucked the cigarette from his lips and took a long drag, exhaling a thin controlled stream of delicious smoke into the flat.

"John would go mad if he knew we were smoking indoors."

"The grumpy sod would go mad if he knew we were smoking at all. He hates that I encourage your bad habits, and I love that he hates it. Is that bad of me?"

Sherlock puffed a short breath of annoyance and took back the cigarette wondering when he'd come to accept, enjoy even, sharing a single smoke between them instead of taking one each from the pack. It had become an odd sort of shared intimacy they could indulge in when other things, like touching or kissing weren't possible. If anyone had noticed, they hadn't passed comment.

"You haven't answered my question."

"Hmm? Oh, Finch. Yes undoubtedly, I just don't know why. If he wanted to be free of her he could have just broken off the engagement; he didn't need to kill her. What did Mycroft say?"

"Only that we would be able to find enough evidence to convict him without much bother. If he did it, then that shouldn't really trouble me as much as it does, should it?"

Sherlock pondered his brother's motives, which were rarely clear cut. He plainly wanted to ensure no blame could be attached to the wife, which meant that she was more important to the British Government than Finch himself, and Sherlock found that much more fascinating than the murder. He stubbed out the butt in the ashtray by his side and absently unbuttoned Greg's shirt sliding his hand beneath the fabric to stroke his tanned skin and tease one nipple. Greg sighed and wriggled under his hand, a sly smile twitching his lips. Suddenly he flipped onto his side, pressing his face into his lover's lower belly, startling Sherlock out of his reverie. He pressed a close-mouthed kiss to the front of his trousers, keeping his eyes closed but knowing that Sherlock was watching him intently, wondering what he would do next. He decided to stick with his current actions until he felt his lover swell to his satisfaction which didn't take long.

"I thought we were discussing the case…" Sherlock said a little distractedly as Greg unfastened his trousers giving himself access to the smooth taut skin beneath.

"Feel free," he chuckled between kisses, "I'm listening. Multi-tasking with my mouth full. Who knows… the answer might come at the same time you do."

Sherlock abandoned any attempt to think about the case within a couple of minutes, instead giving himself over to the amazing things Greg was doing to him. He shoved his fingers into his short silver hair, guiding him to exactly where he wanted him, and Greg allowed himself to be directed, because it was the surest way to hear his boyfriend moaning obscenely without offering up any observations or deductions. Before long Sherlock lost all pretense of control and came hard in Greg's mouth. He sagged bonelessly against the back of Greg's sofa, one hand resting on the other man's ribcage, the other resting against his own heaving chest above his beating heart.

"Fuck!"

"Eloquent, Mr. Holmes." Greg said, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt.

"Do you want me to take care of you?" Sherlock's hand travelled south over his chest and stomach to his straining erection.

"Always, but give me a minute Lock? This old git could do with the comfort of a bed."

"Lock?"

The shortening of his name brought uncomfortable memories with it; discomfort that must be written plainly on his face because Greg shifted himself upright and put a discreet distance between them.

"If you don't like it, I won't use it," Greg frowned. "Much like you, your name is a mouthful. I thought the shortening was sexy, and something personal between us."

"I'm sorry. I like it- I just associate it with someone else from a long time ago."

"Someone significant?"

He hummed non-commitally, not sure how much he could reveal without dredging up haunting memories that would torment him for months to come. He didn't want to think about a poetically-doomed, handsome bad-boy in the same breath as this solid, dependable, loving man. He thought he loved them both, but his feelings for each were polar opposites.

"Sherlock?" Greg questioned softly, reaching out to cup the detective's face and soothing his thumbs over the other's cheeks. "You don't have to tell me if you don't feel able. Mycroft mentioned a previous relationship today… It sounded like it didn't end well."

"You could say that. It wasn't much of a relationship though."

Sherlock stared blankly at the flickering TV which was turned down low. His long fingers drummed erratically on the arm of the sofa while he tried to organize his thoughts and determine how to explain about Robert. Robert, the man he locked away in his mind palace in a room labelled 'abandon hope all ye who enter here'. Robert, the beautiful, screwed up junkie who had added Sherlock to his list of addictions and first made him aware that there was a means to escape the torment of everyday life for a price.

"When I was a first year student I shared a flat with two other boys. They were in their final year, so a couple of years older. I hardly saw Max; he was practically living with his girlfriend, but Robert was always around. I don't even know what he was studying."

"Robert was your boyfriend?"

"Nothing so conventional. I was pretty naive and hadn't really thought about love and sex or sexuality. I wasn't particularly interested in any of it. I was intrigued by this mysterious, attractive man though, and he seemed fascinated by me."

"He's not the only one," teased Greg tenderly, reaching out to take Sherlock's hand. The detective stared at their entwined fingers and fell silent. Greg shifted closer so he could lean against the other man. "You can tell me some other time if you want to leave it there?"

"No, now I've started- Robert spent most of the six months I knew him pursuing the next high, most of it chemical, all of it dangerous. I found his constantly changing personality intoxicating but it was merely the result of drug addiction. I didn't really understand that at the time. When he was high he was this amazing bundle of energy, entertaining and beautiful, and I was besotted. When he wasn't he cried a lot and I found myself comforting him more and more."

"Were you lovers?" Sherlock turned red and tried to move away from his boyfriend but Greg stayed with him, maintaining his steady presence. "It's ok, Sherlock."

"We shared a bed when he was distressed. He liked the physical contact. Sometimes I would become aroused and he enjoyed touching me, but I was never permitted to touch him and we never had sex. He cried a great deal towards the end and told me he loved me often. I wasn't allowed to say it back."

Silent tears were streaming down his cheeks but he wasn't aware until Greg gently wiped them away. Almost twenty years of falling in and out of addiction and rehab had convinced him it was dependency not true love, but it was the closest he'd come to genuine connection with another human being. First love at an impressionable age always left its mark, but this had left hideous scars that Greg was at a loss to know how to begin healing. Mycroft's over-protective stance made a bitter kind of sense. He pulled Sherlock into his arms so the younger man's head lay heavily on his shoulder. He thought he knew, but he had to ask.

"How did it end?"

"He died. Overdose. Deliberate."

Greg nodded and hugged him tightly, rubbing soothing circles over his narrow back. He hesitantly pressed his lips to the curls on the crown of Sherlock's head and suddenly his lover twisted in his arms, mouth surging up to meet his in a bruising desperate kiss. Greg could do nothing but respond in kind, taking all his sorrow and turning it into passion. Their kisses turned more frantic and before long Sherlock was tugging him off the sofa and towards the bedroom. He paused in the doorway, pushing Greg roughly against the wooden frame, biting and sucking at his neck in the spot he knew would have the other man trembling. Greg was trying to force their lower bodies as close as possible while both still clothed and whimpering when it wasn't enough.

"Sherlock-?" He begged.

"Yes!" He growled, roughly yanking at Greg's jeans and forcing them down over his hips. He slicked his palm with saliva as best he could and held Greg's hot straining flesh in a grip that would be uncomfortable in any other circumstance but was perfect in that instant. Greg groaned and thrust into his fist, driven by the hard sucking and biting up and down his neck and Sherlock's hot breath panting in his ear. It was over quickly and as Greg spilled hot and wet over his lover, Sherlock gasped in his ear "I love you, Greg."