Disclaimer: I disclaim everything. I didn't do it and I haven't any money so you can't follow any kind of paper trail and try to accuse me. Though if you hand over Lestrade I promise not to sue you for defamation of character.

A/N: No dedication this time. I came up with this idea all on my own. Let me know what you think. And if you have an idea let me know that too.

A/N2: To Lovee: I thank you for the review and am glad you like the story.

An Enamored Bodyguard

"Good evening, Artiebiba," Greg called out as the woman entered the parlour trailing John. "How are you?"

Artiebiba glanced up from her BlackBerry and gave him a warm smile. "I am well, Greg. You look much better than you did a few days ago. Being home must agree with you." She eyed his position on the sofa with his head in Mycroft's lap with approval.

"Or he's just enjoying Mycroft's stories," John grinned. "He's a very good storyteller though some of his subject matter upsets Sherlock."

"I am not upset!" Sherlock yelled loudly and turned his back on the rest of them, far more interested in the files. He'd already solved three of them and was contemplating texting Anderson for more.

"Of course you aren't, Sherlock," Artiebiba agreed calmly. "Still I don't want to hear any stories about their sex life either." She gave Mycroft the evil eye. "Stop trying to irritate your brother, sir. It's childish."

Greg slowly sat up as Artiebiba had the guard with her place brown paper sacks on the coffee table in front of the sofa he and Mycroft were reclining on. "You are the best, Artie," Greg grinned at her. "Have I told you lately that I adore you in a totally platonic you-scare-the-crap-out-of-me way?"

Artiebiba pulled a chair in from the kitchen and curled up in it with a plate of food before she smiled at him again. "It's been at least a week since the last time you asked me to marry you for the food I bring you. So no, you haven't told me that lately."

Greg ginned at her and attacked his own plate with a fierceness born of a hunger he'd been ignoring. "Leave the files and come eat, Sher," he called out between mouthfuls. "I know you're hungry. I can hear your stomach from over here."

Sherlock hunched his shoulders. "I'm not hungry and I ate at lunch. You can't possibly hear my stomach."

"Sherlock," John said in a warning tone. "You are not on a case. You will come eat. You promised. We made a deal. I wouldn't bug you about eating when you are working unless you haven't eaten in three days and you would eat three meals a day when you weren't."

Sherlock frowned at the files and slowly placed the one in his hand on the desk. "Cold cases don't count as work?"

John cocked his head to the side in thought. "Not unless they become active cases again, Sherlock. Now come and eat."

Sherlock sulked but did as his husband had bid. He settled himself far away from the fur rug in front of the fire place with a pointed look at Mycroft and sat near John instead. Artiebiba saw the look and couldn't stop the soft giggle.

"You said you had information for us, Artiebiba?" Mycroft asked after a few minutes of silent eating.

Artiebiba polished off the sauce on her plate by scooping it up with a bit of bread, popped the bread in her mouth and nodded while chewing it. "Yes sir," she confirmed after swallowing. "I've found out why we weren't informed of Greg's injury right away."

"Which of Lestrade's bodyguards fell in love with him this time?" Sherlock interrupted with a light sneer.

Greg groaned. "My bodyguards fall in love with me on a normal basis? How do I not remember this? You would think that something so embarrassing would remain in my memory indefinitely." He set his plate on the table and turned so that he could lay his head in Mycroft's lap again.

Mycroft obligingly lifted his plate up so that Greg could lie down and smiled down at him. "Comfortable?"

"Of course," Greg answered and then turned his gaze to the dark haired woman. "You gonna tell us about this stupid bodyguard that was after my body?"

Artiebiba giggled a bit. "He wasn't in love with you for once, Greg. He wanted you out of the picture so that he could have a go at Mr. H. There are a couple of agents on Sherlock and John's detail that think you're dishy but they're far more caught up on 'the cuteness of the Johnlock'."

"Me?" Mycroft squeaked. He flushed a bit, cleared his throat and tried again. "What did you do to this guard?"

Artiebiba gave an evil smirk to her boss. "He has been shown the error of his ways and willingly transferred to a bodyguard position with Dr. Salic in Russia."

"Do you always send my admirers off to remote places?" Greg asked with a chortle.

Artiebiba only raised an eyebrow at him. "I don't send them anywhere, Greg. They choose to go to oh, Davik Diamond Mine in Canada or Nord, Greenland or Antarctica all by themselves."

"At least they're not choosing Elko or Death Valley anymore," Mycroft mused. "I hated paying hospital bills simply because the agents couldn't take the heat."

"I'm far more interested in this 'cuteness of the Johnlock' business," John shuddered in remembrance of the heat of the desert. "Where did that come from?"

"It's our names smashed together to form a new word, John," Sherlock told him dryly. "John and Sherlock or Johnlock."

"I had rather figured that much out on my own, Sherlock," John frowned at him with a glint of irritation. "I meant why on Earth would they call us that and who thought that up? It's rather ridiculous."

"I like it," Sherlock refuted. "It's rather ingenious really. So simple and yet elegant. I would like to know who came up with it though."

Mycroft snickered. "Artiebiba of course," he snickered a bit more and then finally calmed as the dark haired woman blushed and shot him a furious glare. "She used it in a report on the two of you once and it just kind of stuck."

John shrugged philosophically. "Well at least the credit doesn't go to someone we don't know. I thought someone was peeping when they shouldn't be."

"Mycroft's always peeping when he shouldn't be," Sherlock said. He put his plate down and turned back to the desk full of files. "Maybe A has a story that will help Lestrade's memory," he suggested and sat down at the desk chair pulling a file towards himself.

Greg considered her for a moment and then grinned delightedly. "Do you, Artie? Will you tell me a story? Pretty please?"

"Stop whining, Greg," Artiebiba admonished him. "Very well, I do know a story I can tell you all. How would you like to hear about the very first time Greg and Mr. H. met in person?"

John guffawed. "Did you kidnap him too?"

"He did actually," Artiebiba nodded. "Now hush and let me tell it."