A Gift and A Curse
Chapter 16
Caring Really Isn't an Advantage
Week 13 (3 months, 1 week)
To say that Sherlock Holmes wasn't an overly sentimental man would undoubtedly be an understatement to say the least. Lestrade had only seen Sherlock show any form of affection twice towards him in all the years he had known him.
The first time was when much younger Sherlock was drugged up to his eyeballs and weeping like child and Greg had taken it upon himself to comfort him, the second was when he and Sherlock got pissed out of their skulls and Sherlock had confessed a few things to him that…well…he'd rather not think of again.
That's why he'd been mildly surprised when said man had showed up in his office demanding to go to lunch with him. But, he'd understood completely what Sherlock was going through, it was terrifying becoming a Father and knowing the control freak that he was he'd want to do everything right.
So, he'd agreed, only on the condition that Lestrade chose the place where they had lunch. In the end, he'd chosen a pub round the corner. Sod it, he wasn't strictly on duty, it was lunch time.
Sherlock had looked disdainfully at the establishment Greg had chosen but said nothing in complaint; instead he'd sat with Greg at the back of the pub and ordered a chicken risotto when Greg insisted he should eat too.
About halfway through Greg's chicken tikka masala, Sherlock put his fork down and leaned back so he could successfully pull something from his pocket. Without a word, he flattened it out onto the table and slid it across towards Lestrade.
Greg frowned as he placed his cutlery down and picked up the piece of paper. His face slowly softened as he saw what the piece of paper was. It was a photograph. It was a photograph of a baby scan.
Greg smiled up at Sherlock, who was staring at him with the same innocent expression that was normally reserved for when he doesn't understand the social standing of those around him.
"Do you know what it is yet?" Greg asked softly.
Finally, Sherlock's expression relaxed and he huffed in annoyance. "No. Jane insisted it should stay a surprise until the birth. Which, I tried to talk her out of because it is completely ridiculous."
Lestrade shrugged. "That's just the way it goes, sometimes." Lestrade picked the photo up and offered it back to him, but Sherlock shook his head.
"Keep it."
Lestrade raised his eyebrows. "Really?" He asked, weary of the fact that he was starting to feel genuinely touched.
Sherlock nodded curtly. "A godfather should have a picture of his godchild."
Lestrade's mouth actually dropped open. "What? You genuinely want me to be its godfather?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Well, if you were listening to my previous sentence you will find the answer in there."
"Alright, smart arse." Lestrade said, with a grin. "I was only asking because I thought perhaps Mycroft would be the godfather or Jane's brother."
"Yes, well," Sherlock stuck his fork back into the risotto. "Jane and I aren't over keen on our siblings being godfathers."
Lestrade nodded in understanding, both men had their eyes fixed back on their food, until Greg finally plucked up the courage to speak. "Sherlock."
The Consulting Detective looked up, raising an eyebrow.
"I'd be honoured. Genuinely. And, if there's anything I can do to help, then I'd be more than willing." Greg smiled, somewhat awkwardly but even Sherlock couldn't miss the honest caring.
Sherlock shifted in his seat. "Well, you see Les-Greg. I was hoping I could take you up on that."
Lestrade raised his eyebrow suspiciously. "Oh? And what might that be?"
2 Days Later
Lestrade wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand, sighing as he did so. Sherlock stood next to him, with his hands the hips of his suit trousers, surveying what they had done. Greg ran a hand through his hair only to have paint residue stick to his hand and wiped the residue on the front of his jeans.
H tutted, as he tried to pull the dried specs of paint from strands of his grey hair. "Do you think we should've done it this soon?" Greg turned to the younger man. "I mean, in all seriousness, if, God forbid, something happened to the child…"
Sherlock turned his head away and simply stated in reply: "Nothing will happen to my child. I am certain of that."
Lestrade simply accepted the fact that, that was that. Sherlock could be as stubborn as a mule sometimes and more often than not it was easier just to go along with it.
Greg turned back to his work and with a growing sense of pride that only could be achieved by DIY. The bedroom, which he assumed to be Jane's old room, had been turned into a nursery for either a boy or a girl.
The overall colour on the walls was a soft green, with almost a blue tinge, which made the white silhouette of a large tree and birds painted on the walls stand out nicely. The furniture was made up a crib, chest of draws, with a built in changing area and a rocking chair, all made out of dark mahogany. But, the pièce de résistance was the hooks that hung from the branches of the tree, dangling beautifully crafted multicoloured birds over the crib.
And…all done in the space of an afternoon. They had worked well considering that every other word Lestrade had said was bad language and Sherlock had nearly thrown the crib out of the window.
Lestrade picked his jumper off the floor and pulled it over his head. "Right, well, I'm off. You can surprise Jane with this when she comes back."
"You don't want to stay?" Sherlock asked. "She and I would be more than happy for you to stay."
Greg chuckled knowingly. "No, trust me mate. When she sees what you've done to the room she's going to be very happy. Very, very happy indeed."
Sherlock simply frowned at him and Greg sighed. "Look, let's just say you'll know what I'm on about at the end of the night."
"Alright…well, um…thank you, Lestrade. For all your help. You've been indispensible the past couple of months…and I thank you for it."
Greg put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder, "No problem, Sherlock. It really isn't." He meant what he said.
When it had emerged that Sherlock had done what he'd done to save his life, Greg had felt like chucking himself off a building. Not only was there the feeling of overwhelming guilt, survivor's guilt, they'd called it but he'd felt grief. Genuine, soul-shattering grief because Sherlock hadn't just been his friend.
Once upon a time ago a drugged up raving lunatic was bundled into Scotland Yard and never left. Lestrade had been there at the time; in fact he'd been there when Sherlock had needed him except for when it mattered. Not only that but he'd had to live with the fact for that three years, he'd sold him out. Well, to be fair he had given him prior warning which had cost not only his reputation but his job.
Yes, he still worked for the Yard but that had been down to…well, to this day he wasn't entire sure what it had been down to but what he did know was that over night he had lost his job and over night he gained it.
Then, he'd come back from the dead and Lestrade felt like strangling the bastard but he resisted. He was an officer of the law and it was more than slightly frowned upon if he killed someone and made it look like an accident…
"I know." Sherlock whispered and offered his hand to Lestrade, who shook it.
"Right, well. I'm off. Oh, and Sherlock…I'm more than happy to help you…but for the love of God, don't ask me to do DIY again."
Sherlock 'hmm'ed in agreement and walked with Lestrade as he headed out of the door and down the stairs. Lestrade pulled his jacket off the banister once he reached the bottom of the stairs. Just as he walked out of the door Jane and Mrs. Hudson pulled up in a taxi. He pulled up his collar and kept his head down and thankfully the two women didn't notice him.
He crossed to the other side of the road and was starting to hail a taxi when he stopped; this was something he had to see…he made himself comfortable leaning against a lamppost and crossed his arms whilst he waited.
About twenty minutes or so later he saw the shape of two bodies, one taller, one short with a rather rounded stomach conjoined at the mouth. Greg smirked to himself, before finally hailing a taxi.
Very, very happy, indeed…