A/N: So I'm watching Supernatural pretty hardcore now, although I'm jumping on the bandwagon really late... oh well. Better late than never. Anyway, that was completely irrelevant - enjoy this bit.
Word Count: 1,000+
Pairing(s): John/Sherlock, and also Lestrade is everyone's bro
Warning(s): Greg being Greg. Brief implication of BSDM themes, pasta that isn't pasta, thievery, and Sherlock bent over.
Bossing
"John, get my phone, would you? I need you to text Mrs. Hudson."
"Where is it?"
"Pants. Back pocket."
"Seriously, Sherlock?"
"Yes. Tell her to put the Tupperware in the fridge. Don't tell her there's fingers in it, though."
John looked up with a sigh. Gregory felt bad for the bloke sometimes – he almost expected the doctor to just snap one day and tell Sherlock to fuck off and do it himself. But just like nearly every time John rolled his eyes, got to his feet, and (not without a good amount of embarrassment) shoved his hand into Sherlock's back pocket.
Greg shook his head with a bewildered smile as John crossed the room with the phone, pecking away at the keys. "I'm going to text Sarah too, okay? I've got to let her know I won't be into the surgery today… again."
"Yes, yes." Sherlock waved his hand dismissively, looming over the gathered evidence files on the table. "Get on with it, then."
John did. Gregory strolled up to stand beside Sherlock, peering over his shoulder. "Honestly, you boss him around a lot, don't you? You could stand to be a bit nicer."
"Well, he's never asked me to be courteous to him in any sort of whole-hearted way." Sherlock was clearly only half way paying attention as he replied, poking through each file with a look of near disgust. "Honestly, how do you people function? Almost all of this is completely irrelevant."
Greg ignored the jab, as per usual. "He is your friend, Sherlock. He shouldn't have to ask. If you care about him, you should do it automatically."
Said friend had left the room now, phone pressed to his ear. If Greg was right, Sarah had called to yell at him for missing work again. It was a wonder that John even kept that job, what with him running around with sociopaths in his spare time (and, sometimes, in his not spare time).
Sherlock snorted. "Aren't you just the scolding father figure today, Lestrade?" He swished his way around the table to the other side, supposedly to take a second-look at the samples in the microscope, although Greg suspected he was just trying to avoid any sort of physical contact with him. Sherlock looked up from the microscope with a bland expression. "I'll have you know that I do care about him, by the way. You have no right to imply that I do not."
"I wasn't implying anything, Sherlock." Gregory was fighting a smile at the turn in conversation, though. It wasn't every day that Sherlock engaged in conversation with anyone but John, especially about – what? Feelings? Greg snorted. "I just think you should consider not being so bossy."
Oddly, Sherlock grinned at him. Greg nearly dropped the files in his arms in shock at the expression – it was so bizarrely genuine and amused that it was actually frightening, considering it was settled on the face of a self-declared sociopath. He could count on one hand the number of times he'd seen Sherlock smile for real, and it startled him every time.
"I have considered it before, Gregory. I've even attempted it." Sherlock looked like he might actually be fighting a blush for a moment, nose wrinkling. "He asked if I was 'sick or something,' and when I told him what I was doing he laughed at me. I suspect he likes being bossed around – comes with the military training, learning to take orders without question. Do you think any of his commanders ever said please? No. That, and polite niceties are tiring."
It was strange just how rational that sounded. Greg shook his head, shifting the files in his arms. "Well, you're not his commander. You're his friend."
"Correct." Sherlock's smile faded for a moment, eyes jumping to some distant thing, before quickly returning to grinning (still freakish, Greg thought) down at the evidence. "You are implying that the 'bossiness' should be a two way street, correct?"
"Um, well, not exactly—"
"John is well aware of the power he has over me, Gregory. As am I." Sherlock's smile was gone with such abruptness that Greg felt his blood go cold for a moment. He wasn't scared of Sherlock, not a bit, but sometimes he could understand what people meant when they said he could be a serial killer. What was startling for Greg, however (he'd known the man for 5 years, the serial-killer-look didn't surprise him anymore) were the words, and he turned them over in his mind with a deep frown.
Power? John? Over Sherlock? Greg dared a doubtful glance through the small window in the door at John. As if reading his mind Sherlock sighed. Loudly.
"He is my best friend, Lestrade. I'd do anything for him. Really, I thought it was obvious." Sherlock took the samples out from the microscope and promptly tossed them into the waste bin, expression twisted into some odd cross of annoyed and embarrassed. Greg, never the type to pass up an opportunity, grinned.
"Anything? Really? Sounds a bit kinky to me." Greg waggled his eyebrows.
Sherlock just looked at him, expression unmoving. "If he were the type," he said. Greg blanched.
"Oh. Uh. Okay then." Greg shuffled the files in his arms, awkwardness smacking him full across the face.
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "John isn't gay, Gregory."
"Okay." Are you? Greg pushed the thought away, only to have it be replaced by, John might not be gay, but you're alien enough to be considered neither gender as far as I'm concerned. Greg clenched his jaw. Sherlock's sigh was thick with drama and irritation.
"The point is this, Gregory: John is well aware that, if he truly wanted something, I would give it to him. But, he asks for nothing. John is also aware that I care for him. But he makes no effort to make me be polite to him. Therefore, I am going to continue to do my Work in the way I always do. That…. That is the point. Deduce whatever you wish, Inspector."
Bristling with irritation (perhaps more with himself than with Gregory) Sherlock pushed the evidence into a neat stack before cramming it into a bag. Greg just stared at him until John came through the door, an apologetic look on his face.
"Oh, Sarah didn't fire you? Incredible how much attachment she formed to you regardless of your lacking feelings towards her. Is she aware how very little attraction you have towards her now a day?" Sherlock plucked the phone from John's hands. The doctor in question just rolled his eyes.
"Yes, well. I sent that text for you; Mrs. Hudson says the pasta looks delicious." Greg and John shuddered in unison; Sherlock just arched his eyebrows. "Are we done here?"
"Nearly," Sherlock said. Greg watched John watch Sherlock bend over to get his bag, and blushed. Not gay my ass, he thought. Or, well, your ass, considering John's line of vision. The thoughts were stomped out as soon as Sherlock stood upright. "Carry this, would you?"
"Can't you do it yourself?" John said as he took the bag, strapping it over his shoulder. Sherlock ignored him in favor of attacking the buttons on his phone; how he had achieved that level of dexterity with a touch screen was beyond Gregory, but he suspected it had something to do with those bony fingers of his.
"Ah, good. Somebody pulled through." Sherlock pocketed his phone and swept past the doctor, not even bothering to look over his shoulder on the way out the door. "The chase is on, John! Keep up!"
John glanced up at Greg with an apologetic smile; it looked only skin deep to Greg, though – it was clear he was more than happy to leave this abruptly to go gallivanting through the streets of London. "See you, Gregory."
"Yeah." Greg fought a smile. "See you."
It took Gregory a good hour to realize that Sherlock had just walked out with all the evidence.
Review?
p.s. FF(dot)net is allowing me to personally reply again, so expect me to be getting back to you asap; sorry if I miss anybody! I'm a busy lady. And by busy, I mean watching Supernatural. Yeahh. xx -DC