Lestrade

It turned out that Molly didn't need to stay much longer, after all.

Lestrade had, by default, learned of their current living arrangements.

Or, rather, had walked into their flat expecting to see Sherlock or John and instead found nothing except a sleeping Molly; glasses askew and all. They'd planned to go out for a pint that night, and John had enjoyed receiving that frantic call. They had met at the Yard shortly after, instead.

John had laughed particularly hard when asked, as Greg had so eloquently put it, if they were – you know. And just to tease him some more, he had feigned ignorance.

"Are you... together?"

John had been practically reduced to tears by that, wheezing as he fought to catch his breath. "No, no – god no!" he choked, clutching his stomach. "Absolutely not." His breath hitched. He was attempting to still his shaking sides. "Even if we were, do you think I'd treat her like that?"

Greg had let through a subtle nod, glancing at John nervously. "Her and Sherlock, then...?" he had asked, and John found he couldn't contain himself any longer. He had, quite literally, laughed so hard he needed to sit down. He laughed until it was painful. Greg didn't seem to know what the cause of his response had been and, for a second, John could have wondered how he actually managed to become detective inspector.

He was like Sherlock. Brilliant with his work, but oblivious to the things that should be most obvious. If he hadn't seen the man on scene, it would have been a question to seriously consider.

"No, Lestrade – no. I just," John paused, grinning madly. " You've got it bad, haven't you?"

"Yes," Lestrade agreed automatically, running a hand across his face. He then seemed to realize what he had actually said. "Wait, no–" he corrected, then doubled back. "I don't know!"

John's roaring laughter had finally trickled down to a chuckle, and Lestrade sat down as he began to explain. "Greg, it's as simple as this," he started, complete with unnecessary hand gestures that would have put Sherlock to shame. He had one chance to get this through the mans' thick skull. "Molly got evicted." Greg frowned, nodding.

"She needed a place to stay. As far as I'm aware, she doesn't even have any relatives in Britain right now." It seemed to dawn on the inspector and John could see the beginnings of a flush creeping up his neck. "I wasn't going to leave her without a place to stay. We had room."

John stood up, readjusting his jumper before reaching for his coat. "And that's all there is to it." John had never seen Lestrade turn such a colour. Right as John opened the door and was about to step out, Lestrade spoke.

"How the hell did you get Sherlock to agree to that?"

John shrugged, hand against the doorframe. "I'll be damned if I know. And – Greg?"

Lestrade glanced up at him again. John smirked.

"Just ask her."

And John was out the door before he could even fumble for a response.

Molly left their flat by the end of the week.