(Sherlock POV)

'Lestrade wants to know what I taste like? He thinks my lips are soft? Since when is he wondering about my lips?' Sherlock tried to wrap his massive intellect around the verbal bomb Lestrade had just dropped. This must be why the DI had been avoiding him. 'He has … feelings for me? Perhaps it's merely physical. I have been reliably informed that people consider me attractive. Maybe there are no feelings involved. More data required.'

Sherlock remained where he was, kneeling next to Lestrade, as he studied the other man. He was flushed and his pupils were dilated, barely any brown visible. His pulse was elevated but that could be the result of the panic attack Sherlock helped him stave off. But the other signs were fairly typical, Lestrade was definitely attracted to him. 'Huh.'

These thoughts and observations raced through his mind in a matter of seconds. He realized he would have to speak to Lestrade at some point but found himself at a loss for what to say. 'That's new. Why is that? I've fended off advances before.' Yet, Lestrade hadn't made any advances, he merely spoke his thoughts aloud. He made no attempt to kiss Sherlock or draw him into an embrace of any sort. In fact the older man seemed rather frozen at the moment.

"Are you alright, Lestrade?" Sherlock had yet to release the DI's wrist and made no move to do so. He didn't want to alarm the other man and he had been just in the midst of a nasty panic attack. 'Perhaps he finds my presence comforting? Although, perhaps not. He has been avoided my presence consistently for months now.'

Lestrade blushed, his skin flushing even darker pink. "Yes," he said, nodding his head slightly. "Just dying of embarrassment. Nothing to see here." He grimaced and pulled his arm away from Sherlock's hand. The detective didn't resist the action but remained by the other man's side.

"Nothing to be embarrassed about. You misspoke. People make mistakes all the time." Sherlock said softly, his gaze riveted on the older man.

The DI raised his head sharply and suddenly looked furious and stood up, knocking the younger man back on his heels.

"A mistake?" He stormed around the sitting room, pacing angrily. "A mistake?! Is that what just happened? A mistake."

Sherlock remained on the floor, motionless, and watched as Lestrade laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "Yeah, I bloody well think I made a mistake the minute I fell in love with you, you bastard."

He stopped pacing and his face paled. "Oh, brilliant, I can't seem to stop putting my foot in it."

Sherlock rocked back. 'He loves me? He loves me? So not purely physical then.' He opened his mouth to speak. "…" No words came to mind. He didn't know how to respond to such an idea.

The detective stood and walked over to Lestrade's sofa. He flung himself down on it and muttered, "I need to go to my mind palace." He heard Lestrade scoff and stomp out of the room, banging around in the kitchen. Sherlock tuned him out.

'Alright, review the facts. Lestrade fancies himself in love with me. If nothing else the past five years have proven to me that I'm not unlovable. That's rather affirming. Oh God, why did I read all those relationship books. Let's focus here.'

Sherlock went to the part of his mind palace that housed everything that was Greg Lestrade. He hadn't been to this section in a while. He'd been too preoccupied by John's wedding and then the entire horrible Magnussen affair. Greg's section rivaled John's in scale and scope. He wandered around, collating data and attempting to sort the vast information in a way that would explain the current situation.

'Since I've returned he's acted very differently towards me: uncomfortable and evasive when we are together, blatantly ignoring me the rest of the time. Not all of that can be explained by his feelings. John told me Lestrade rarely answered his calls or texts, so not just me. He's been pulling away from both of us. But why? I do understand wanting to protect oneself from emotionally pain but he must know I would never willingly hurt him. Granted, I have insulted his intelligence on numerous occasions but he must know I do that with with everyone. At least I did. Sure, I purposely get his name wrong… well, most of the time. Sometimes I do genuinely forget. He's been "Lestrade" to me for so long I forget that's not his only name. Perhaps my teasing about his name was not taken in the manner it was intended. I'll have to make a concentrated effort to show him he counts. After all, I've tried very hard to be less abrasive to those who matter to me… Wait! That's it. Oh, stupid Sherlock. He thinks he doesn't matter. Well, that won't do at all.'

Sherlock opened his eyes and sat up abruptly. Lestrade wasn't there. He heard the older man puttering around towards the back of the flat. He rose up and followed the noise. He found Lestrade in his laundry room sorting through dirty clothes.

"Greg." He began. Lestrade stood up quickly and looked at the younger man.

"Oh, it's 'Greg' now is it? I didn't realize you could be arsed to get my name right. Thought I was Graham? Or Geoff? Maybe next time I'll be Griffin? Not sure how many G names there are but I figured you'd get around to all of them eventually." Lestrade pushed past the consulting detective and headed back towards the sitting room.

Sherlock sighed and followed. 'This may be more difficult than I anticipated.'