A/N: Hey JAL - I used that phrase from the review – hope you like it – poetic license and all (grin)!
This one is from Lestrade's point of view and is a little lighter than some of the others are or will be. This is how he finds out.
Yeah – swearing.
Still don't own.
5. Embarrass
embarrass – verb -1. cause (a person) to feel awkward or self-conscious or ashamed
archaic reference – hamper or impede
Lestrade ducked under the tape and followed the sounds of commotion coming from the building. He could hear voices and an argument taking place.
Oh shit!
It wasn't often Sherlock beat him to a crime scene, but he knew the consulting detective would want to see this, as it was the third victim for what was promising to be a serial killer. Holmes' favourite, so he would have arrived as quickly as possible. Lestrade had had to fight traffic.
He always tried to be there first because if Sherlock came in all scathe and petulance, especially with Anderson, it could get down right ugly.
But it seemed there was only Holmes and Watson. So it must have been those two fighting. No Anderson at all.
Huhn, Lestrade grunted to himself, surprised.
By the time he entered, things seemed calmer and he wondered what the argument had been about. He scanned the room, taking in the emotional temperature and attuning himself to the condition of the participants.
The air was still a little tense.
Sherlock was completely absorbed in investigating and appeared indifferent to the glowers that his flatmate was shooting him, although there was a stiff set to his shoulders to indicate something was off.
John was definitely in a grumpy mood, if the storm clouds floating across his face were any indication.
Great. If John's that angry, Sherlock must have done something colossally stupid. What on earth could have happened?
Lestrade knew there wasn't much that ruffled the doctor, but Sherlock being an arse was top of the list. An irritable John meant handling Sherlock would be a chore.
He apparently came in on the middle of the conversation.
"I've told you already, John, it is not my fault you are tired. You know I dislike repeating myself. If this is what lack of sleep does to you, you will just have to get more rest."
John swore, an unusual response. Not John swearing, but so publicly. He usually muttered imprecations under his breath and saved swearing for truly intense moments in the privacy of the flat.
His voice held a steeliness, which indicated he was not finished chastising the detective, "Well I would have had more sleep if you'd kept your hands off last night. I told you I'd had a long day and then you put your sodding cold feet on me and stole the bloody covers! It was fucking freezing last, night Sherlock!"
"You didn't appear to be reluctant when I suggested sex as a way to warm up and as for afterwards, you could have always snuggled up to me and that would solve some of your problems with lowered body temperature."
It was at that precise moment the two men realized Lestrade had entered the room.
Silence reigned.
No one moved.
Lestrade's mouth fell open.
He really wished he'd had a camera, because the completely floored looks on all their faces must have been something indeed.
A slow flush crept its way up the shorter man's face. In his tired state he had not been circumspect and information that up until this instant had been private just spewed out on to the floor.
Well, thought Lestrade.
He was glad he was the only one present. Donovan and Anderson would have a field day with this.
Which is why Lestrade was not going to tell them.
Firstly, they could keep their noses out. Secondly, he didn't care who you slept with as long as it was consensual and no one was cheating.
The sad part was until they told everyone else, he was not going to be able to collect the 50 quid from Dimmock.
"Er, umm, look, yeah. I don't care, what the hell you two, umm, do, just so you know," Lestrade may not care about sleeping arrangements, but that didn't mean he wasn't self-conscious regarding the information burning its way through the room.
John just continued to glow a bright red. He then nodded sharply and feigned great interest in a patch of damp on the wall across from him.
Lestrade walked over to Sherlock to hear his theories on the murder, as he tried to give John time to recover his composure.
Sherlock looked as if nothing had happened, except for the small grin trying to light its way at the corner of his mouth.
After a time, Sherlock billowed out of the room and John followed behind, in a more earthly manner, only to be stopped by a friendly hand on the arm, hindering his exit.
"John, you've nothing to be ashamed of mate. You know you're the best thing that's happened to that lunatic, right?" he paused as he assessed the man in front of him.
And he could see everything unspoken, everything implied.
No, he wasn't ashamed of this growing union and he was not ashamed of Sherlock. Not ever.
He just didn't want personal moments to become public ones. It was understood that Sherlock and John were intensely private, not because they were embarrassed by their relationship, but because it was nobody else's business. What they had was special, and flaunting it or putting it on public display, would not cheapen it, that could never happen, but it would make it spectacle. People would talk more than they already did and neither man wanted that.
John's slow sunny grin chased the testiness off of his face. Lestrade grinned back. When John smiled like that it was contagious.
Lestrade would have high-fived him if they had been younger.
Yeah, he's good for Sherlock, but I do believe the reverse is equally true.
He watched as the two men left to hail a cab. There was nothing different, precisely, about the way they stood or walked to indicate the change in their relationship, but they were definitely more relaxed and everything seemed…balanced.
He tried not to watch, as ever so carefully, making it look like it was nothing, Sherlock brushed up against John. He must have whispered something to the other man, because Lestrade could see the back of John's neck flame up again. And then the cab pulled up and they left.
Lestrade turned to finish up the scene.
Part of him wondered what the younger man had said to his, well, partner seemed more than appropriate now.
He grinned.
They were both very lucky.