Fair warning: I accidentally did the emotions again. Sherstrade just gives me so many FEELINGS. I CAN'T.
Greg couldn't breathe.
Everything was a blur of sound a light. He raced down the next dark, back alley, chasing the outline of Sherlock's greatcoat.
Of course, the idiot had taken off after an armed murderer without waiting for anybody else.
Greg had followed instinctively. He couldn't remember the last time he'd flat out run anywhere. But he couldn't think about the shooting ache in his back. The burn in his muscles. The way his lungs screamed for oxygen.
No.
His only thoughts circled around what might happen if Sherlock actually caught the bastard.
They rounded a sharp corner. Sherlock seemed to be getting further and further away. Greg didn't have any spare breath to curse. He ran with everything he had left in him and managed to gain a little ground. He almost caught up as Sherlock flew forward, tackling the murderer and dragging him to the the pavement.
Greg didn't have a pistol. But he pulled out his night stick. Sherlock and the tall, rather thin criminal rolled across the sidewalk. He saw a flash of metal. God, a knife?
Everything slowed down. Sherlock caught hold of the other man's wrist and flipped them both over, so he came out on top. Greg got there a few seconds after and stepped on the man's hand so that he released the knife.
"You're bleeding," Greg said breathlessly as he bent and snapped his cuffs around the criminal's wrists.
"Really?" Sherlock raised his eyebrows.
The younger man brought a hand up to the thin cut on the side of his neck. It didn't look deep. But they'd still need to get it bandaged up.
Greg's heart thudded so hard it almost made him feel ill.
He still felt a bit ill when Donovan and the rest of the squad finally showed up and shoved the apprehended criminal into a cruiser. Greg muddled about in a state of semi shock. He had to go back to the Yard. They had to process the criminal they'd caught. The West River Strangler.
Sherlock flat out refused to go to the hospital, and climbed into the passenger's seat of Greg's cruiser, holding a handkerchief to the cut on his neck.
When they got back to the Yard, they sterilized the cut and taped it up with some gauze. Sherlock kept repeating that he felt fine. But Greg couldn't help but hover slightly. The rest of the team was too preoccupied to notice, anyway.
Greg made Sherlock drink some orange juice and eat toast. The younger man complied. He even waited quietly in Greg's office while the DI finished up whatever paperwork needed to be done immediately so they could leave. Still, it seemed like there was a never ending wave of people that wanted things. Greg's signature on this. His approval of that. He had to go down and try to interrogate their captive. Come back up, call a public defender... god it was a nightmare.
They stumbled out of Greg's office together at around two in the morning. Both exhausted after the adrenaline crash. When they slid into a cab, Greg didn't even ask. He just directed the cabbie back to his flat.
They sat quietly. Not quite touching each other. But both somewhat in the middle of the seat. They waited until after they'd gotten upstairs, through the door of Greg's flat, to fall against each other.
Greg wrapped his arms around Sherlock and pulled him close.
"Don't do that to me," he whispered. He hadn't slept in a day and a half. Everything felt foggy and disjointed. The filter between his brain and his mouth had long since broken down.
"What?" Sherlock breathed against his cheek.
"When I saw you bleeding I—I mean what if the cut had been just a bit deeper? You could have died, Sherlock."
"I had perfect control of the situation—"
Greg just squeezed him a little tighter and the younger man trailed off.
It was a thing every cop had to deal with. The dangerous reality of the job. Greg and his wife used to fight about it. He'd come home limping and bruised, and she'd scream at him to be more careful.
But she'd never been there. She'd never been in danger. He'd never had to watch anybody hold a knife to her throat.
It was strange, suddenly realizing how she must have felt. How it must have terrified her, knowing he could die at any moment because of some insane drug addict or twisted psychopath with a gun.
"I'm sorry," Sherlock said quietly.
And perhaps he only said it to make Greg feel better. He'd probably run headlong into danger the next time it presented itself. But the simple fact that he'd listened was enough for the time being.
Greg released him, only to catch hold of his arm and drag him towards the bedroom. They were both too tired for any proper sort of shag. They stripped down to their pants and all but fell onto the mattress, tangled up in each other.
Greg couldn't resist a few desperate kisses. Even though his muscles ached. Even though the exhaustion seemed to pound through him with every heartbeat.
"I don't think anybody's ever worried about me like you do…" Sherlock murmured against Greg's mouth, "except perhaps Mycroft. But that's annoying. And when you do it… it's rather sweet."
The DI fumbled for the switch on the bedside lamp, hitting it after a few tries. Darkness spread across the room like a soft blanket. He could feel Sherlock's heartbeat—his heat of his skin.
Greg awoke with a warm body on top of him. A wet kiss pressed against his cheek. He let out a tired groan. It felt so early. He refused to open his eyes, but he hadn't closed the curtains last night. Daylight leaked in through the window, falling warm across his face.
Sherlock shifted. This time, a bit more deliberately. He rolled his hips against Greg, pressing his naked erection into Greg's stomach.
"Are you awake?" Sherlock's voice came out as a low rumble.
"Barely," Greg grunted.
Sherlock pawed at the elastic of Greg's boxer shorts until the older man lifted his hips so Sherlock could get them all the way off.
"You don't have to do anything, Sir. Just stay like that."
The drawer on the bedside table rolled open. Sherlock shifted his weight. Greg heard the click of a plastic cap. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what was about to happen.
Sherlock's slick hand wrapped around Greg's hardening prick and gave him a few slow strokes. Then their bodies pressed together once again. Sherlock's cock rocked against Greg's. The younger man wrapped his hand around both of them and began to thrust slowly.
The quiet intimacy of it tugged at Greg in a very particular way. He let out a small sigh. Let his hands slide down the musculature of Sherlock's back. The air underneath the sheets became humid.
Sherlock planted another kiss on Greg's jaw line. Their cocks slid together perfectly. A slow build. Not like the wildfire that usually burned between them, in stolen moments of obscure lunacy.
Greg opened his eyes. He had to blink a few times as he adjusted to the early morning light. Sherlock stared down at him—but not with the frightening intensity he usually directed at crime scenes. No, it was a softer gaze, sweeping over Greg's face. Cataloguing old details.
"I think," Sherlock murmured, "you have one of the most interesting faces I've ever seen."
"Is that so?" The corners of Greg's mouth twitched upwards.
"Yes…" Sherlock breathed. "You have a strong jaw, and dark eyes, so you're capable of looking immensely stern if you feel like it. But then you smile, and it curves around your whole face… and I just want you to keep smiling."
"Well this is a pretty good way to go about that." Greg slid his hands further downward until they rested on Sherlock's arse. He squeezed playfully. Sherlock's hips stuttered.
The younger man dropped his head to the pillow. He panted right beside Greg's ear as he continued to buck and rut against Greg's cock.
The tension built on an uphill climb. But they seemed to be going faster and faster. The heat spread through Greg's body. Through every point of contact between them. Sherlock moaned quietly. Let out a few small whines. Greg started to meet his motions. Their pricks slid together deliciously in the tight ring of Sherlock's hand.
It felt so luxurious. Unhurried. Stolen from the world, out into an entirely separate plane of existence. All the impending responsibilities of the day melted to background noise.
"Oh," Sherlock whispered, "please…"
"Yes, come on, love."
And Greg thrust up against him just a little bit faster. Chasing the tingling pleasure. Sherlock's breath came in broken little gasps.
The younger man shuddered. Greg felt the stickiness pulse between them. Sherlock shifted slightly. Wrapped his hand firmly around Greg's prick and began to stroke it earnestly. Greg groaned. Surrendered to the wash of sensation.
The orgasm crashed over him. He added to the mess between them. Surfed out on the wash of pleasure. He came down slow. Easy. Settled right back into the nice, warm, sated feeling.
Sherlock rolled off of him and cleaned the mess up a bit with Greg's boxers. Then he cuddled against Greg's side.
The sleepiness settled back in over them. Greg glanced over at the clock. Only 6:00. He still had time. After all. They'd call if anything important happened. His mobile was right there on the bedside table. He'd have heard if they called…
Shit.
He hadn't plugged it in last night. Had the battery died? Usually it did. Stupid old thing. He pondered reaching out to plug his phone in. But at that moment Sherlock began kissing his neck. Greg found it hard to rein his focus back in.
Sherlock peppered kisses along Greg's jaw line until the DI turned his head and their lips met. They kept their mouths closed. Sweet.
Greg didn't realize he'd fallen back asleep until his alarm clock began to blare at him. Greg groaned and hit the snooze button. Sherlock draped an arm across his chest and let out a low whine.
"You can stay here and sleep," Greg mumbled.
"Do you really have to go?"
"'Fraid so…"
Greg began to make a few mental calculations. If he didn't shower—just sprayed on some extra cologne and wiped off the sticky areas on his abdomen—he could stay in bed for another fifteen minutes…
A loud knock on the front door interrupted his thoughts.
"Lestrade!" The sound was muffled. Through the thick wood of the door and the distance across Greg's flat. But it was unmistakably the voice of Sally Donovan.
Panic lurched through Greg. Sherlock tensed. Froze. He stared up at Greg with wide eyes.
They'd never talked about what to do in such a situation. They had no contingency plan. Greg could either drag blankets and pillows out to the couch and pretend that Sherlock had stayed the night platonically, or he could shut Sherlock in the bedroom and pretend he wasn't there at all.
"Fuck," Greg rolled out of bed and stumbled over to his dresser. He pulled on some fresh pants, trousers and an undershirt. He grabbed a button down and a blazer without really looking at them. He glanced at the clock. Shit. 9:30? How the hell was it 9:30? They must have slept through the first two alarm cycles.
Sherlock sat up in bed, still naked, just watching him.
"Lestrade, I'm going to kick in this door!" Sally shouted. "Are you dead? Why haven't you been answering your mobile?"
"I'm coming, Jesus," Greg called back to her.
He stumbled about frantically. God, it still felt so early. He couldn't fucking deal with this. He somehow managed to get dressed, though he looked a disheveled mess.
"I um... I've got to go... I guess," he mumbled at Sherlock.
The younger man nodded. He didn't look upset. No. Just oddly blank. Fuck. Greg didn't even have time to worry about it. He planted a kiss on Sherlock's forehead then exited the bedroom, closing the door behind him.
He stumbled across the room and opened his front door. Sally's fist was raised, poised for another knock.
"The West River Strangler is going to try to get out on a technicality. Because the freak is a civilian, and he tackled the bastard, not you," Sally snarled without being prompted.
"Oh, don't get your knickers in a twist. No jury in their right minds would ever let him off on that."
"It's still going to cause us a lot of trouble."
"Did you really come all the way here and not bring coffee?" Greg grumbled.
"Yes. And what happened to your mobile."
Greg groaned internally. Shit. He'd left his mobile in the bedroom, hadn't he?
"Forgot to charge it," he said carefully. "Listen, I'll meet you downstairs, I've got to grab something."
"Oh, what now?" Sally rolled her eyes.
"Go on," Greg waved his hand.
She snorted, but she started to head down the hallway. Greg darted back across his flat and into his bedroom. He grabbed his mobile and his charger of the bedside table. Sherlock had sprawled out again. But his eyes were open.
"Don't worry," Sherlock grinned. "If that psychopath gets off because of me, I'll hunt him down and kill him quietly."
"Sherlock, don't say things like that." Greg couldn't help but chuckle. "You going to head back to yours? We could get dinner later."
"Text me," the younger man yawned.
Greg couldn't help it. He leaned down for one more kiss. Just a closed mouthed peck.
The bedroom door creaked. Greg snapped his head around. Sally stood in the doorway, staring at them with wide eyes.
"What the fuck?" She breathed. "I thought I heard two voices... but..."
Greg's brain stopped functioning entirely. All he could do was stand there. Sherlock raised himself up on his elbows and fixed Sally with an icy stare.
"Sgt. Donovan," he snarled, "quite nosey, aren't we?"
"You... you're naked."
"Yes. And you're an idiot. Are we doing making useless observations?"
"You slept here," she said flatly.
"No. I climbed in the window after somebody stole my clothes. You're still wearing what you had on yesterday. Sleep on Anderson's couch again, did you?"
Sally turned to Greg. "So the freak is your new bloody girlfriend?"
"Shut up Sally," Greg grunted, finally finding his voice.
"Oh," she laughed harshly. "Oh this explains a hell of a lot. No wonder you still call him. I bet he's miles easier to tolerate if he's sucking you off—"
"That is quite enough," Greg barked. "I trust you'll be able to have some discretion about this. Because if you can't, I'll have you transferred to a different department. Technically I'm not doing anything against the rules here, because he technically doesn't work for us. Sure. I'd probably get in trouble. Probably a lot of it. But not as much trouble as you and Anderson would..."
"You wouldn't," she narrowed here eyes.
"You like Cardiff? I hear they're looking for some bright young detectives."
Sally's lips pressed together into a thin line. It was an empty threat on Greg's part. He'd never transfer Sally. But he could look damn scary if he needed to. Scary enough that she wouldn't question it.
"I'll wait downstairs," Sally snapped. She turned on her heel and walked out.
Greg let out a long breath.
"Do you think she'll tell anyone?" Sherlock asked quietly.
"I don't know. I hope not."
"Because of your job," Sherlock said in a strange voice.
"Well, of course. Why else?" Greg glanced sideways at him. He had that blank look on his face again. Damn it. Why was this all happening right then? Would it really have been to much to ask for a little time to prepare before something like this happened?
"I dunno," Sherlock shrugged vaguely. "I'm a snarky, degenerate, drug addict. You're not the first person to ever be embarrassed about shagging me. It's all right."
"God Sherlock... I'm not fucking embarrassed... it's just... well we're really not supposed to be doing this, yeah? We do work together. And have you ever heard of a publicly gay Detective Inspector? NSY doesn't necessarily have the most forward thinking stances on that kind of thing. Doesn't say it anywhere on paper but... we're all expected to keep out private lives private."
"All right. Go on. You're late," Sherlock forced a smile.
"You're not going to get all sulky and distant on me, are you?"
"No."
"Fuck, you are," Greg groaned. "Just... I'll be back by six. We'll talk about it, ok?"
"Fine."
He wrapped Sherlock in a loose hug. Kissed his cheek. But then he had to go. Out the door. Without any coffee or breakfast. He pushed the down button for the lift with a little more force than strictly needed.
He should have known. Whenever things started going well, something happened to fuck them up spectacularly.
Just his luck. Time and time again.
"Fuck," he grumbled to nobody in particular as the lift doors opened.
It was going to be a very long day.
I don't know why I would do such a thing.
Sorry it's been so long between updates. I was quite ill this week. Everything's all discombobulated and messy. But I'm finally feeling better.
I'll try not to drag it out so long.
Meh.