Fic: Sherlock/Lestrade - "Atavism"
Title: Atavism
Chapter: 1/1
Author: inlaterdays
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Sherlock/Lestrade
Words: 749
Disclaimer: Don't own; just playing.
Summary: Sherlock says goodbye to his pre-221B flat.
A/N: First fanfic in a long time; first ever in this fandom. Just a vignette and I know it's not good. I'm sorry.
When Sherlock announced he'd be moving and was looking for a flatmate, Lestrade knew it was the beginning of the end. He'd always known it would be over between them someday - still couldn't quite get his mind around the fact that it had begun at all - but it took him by surprise all the same.
“Well,” he'd said, thrusting his hands deeper into his coat pockets and looking around at Sherlock's small, crammed, and horrifically untidy flat. “That's that, then.”
Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “Oh, stop. It's not like I'm leaving you.”
“Isn't it?”
“Of course not. I'll give you my new address. You'll always know where to find me. It's not like you'll stop needing me. On cases,” he said, after a slight pause.
“Hmph,” Lestrade said, drawing a forefinger along a bookshelf and coming up with a fingerful of dust. “Hope your future flatmate will have housekeeping skills. And a tolerant disposition.”
“Yes,” Sherlock said, not insulted in the slightest. “I can't be the easiest person in the world to live with.”
Too bloody right, thought Lestrade, and frowned harder when Sherlock told him to stop frowning.
“Shall we?” One long-fingered, elegant hand gestured toward the bedroom.
“One for the road? For old times' sake? Pity lay?” Bitter. He was sounding bitter. He'd told himself he wouldn't be bitter.
“Don't be petulant. I've gone stale, here. I need new surroundings and the stimulation of another person, and it's not like you're willing or able to be that person.” Lestrade flinched at the pointed gaze from those intense, pale eyes - but the man had a point. He was the one insistent on keeping up appearances, wearing a wedding ring and letting people assume he was a widower. Even so, Donovan and some of the others were not above the occasional snide remarks about the liberties he allowed Sherlock at crime scenes. Perhaps it was better this way after all. Perhaps...
...perhaps he'd rather forget all about it for now and give the old flat one more secret to keep within its walls and himself one last memory of something he never should have started, didn't want to end, and couldn't bring himself to regret. Lestrade shrugged off his topcoat; tossed it over a chair. Sherlock quirked a one-sided grin and began unbuttoning his cuffs, leading the way to the other room.
…
They lay side by side afterwards, sharing a cigarette, replete. The sun climbed the walls. Sherlock was silent and Lestrade's phone hadn't gone off, both rarities.
“I'm quitting,”Lestrade said, finally; casually.
“Excuse me?” Sherlock had been miles away.
“This,” another drag on the cigarette. “It's a filthy habit. Turning over a new leaf.”
“Oh.” Sherlock pondered this for awhile. “I will too, then. Easier to find a nonsmoking than a smoking roommate these days, anyway.”
For some reason, this cheered Lestrade up even more than their previous activity had. Perhaps things wouldn't change entirely. And it wasn't as if the past would be wiped from his memory. “Put it out,” he said.
“It's not - “
“I've got something better for my mouth to do.”
Sherlock put it out.
Lestrade rolled on top, staring down into those unique, feline features, wondering if he'd ever again be this close. Memorizing every pore, or trying to. He felt one languid hand trailing slowly up and down his spine, waiting. Expectant.
Leaning in, Lestrade licked delicately along the length of one collarbone, feeling Sherlock shift and close his eyes. And then, obeying a sudden impulse, nipped sharply and fastened his mouth on the spot, sucking hard. Sherlock bruised easily.
And was wise to his game. Of course. “The urge to mark one's mate is a behavioral atavism, Inspector. Really, I thought you were more evolved than that.”
Lestrade came up for air, but only temporarily. “Being evolved is highly overrated.”
Sherlock grinned, tilting his chin up to allow for easier access. He'd have to wear his shirts buttoned to the neck for at least a week, and a scarf every time he went out, but he liked driving Lestrade to distraction, in any of a number of ways. He gently pushed on the older man's head, drawing him nearer, eliciting a groan. When Lestrade had finished with his little love-bite business, Sherlock had a few other primitive behaviors he'd been thinking of trying out. Somehow, he didn't think the inspector would mind.
Chapter: 1/1
Author: inlaterdays
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Sherlock/Lestrade
Words: 749
Disclaimer: Don't own; just playing.
Summary: Sherlock says goodbye to his pre-221B flat.
A/N: First fanfic in a long time; first ever in this fandom. Just a vignette and I know it's not good. I'm sorry.
When Sherlock announced he'd be moving and was looking for a flatmate, Lestrade knew it was the beginning of the end. He'd always known it would be over between them someday - still couldn't quite get his mind around the fact that it had begun at all - but it took him by surprise all the same.
“Well,” he'd said, thrusting his hands deeper into his coat pockets and looking around at Sherlock's small, crammed, and horrifically untidy flat. “That's that, then.”
Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “Oh, stop. It's not like I'm leaving you.”
“Isn't it?”
“Of course not. I'll give you my new address. You'll always know where to find me. It's not like you'll stop needing me. On cases,” he said, after a slight pause.
“Hmph,” Lestrade said, drawing a forefinger along a bookshelf and coming up with a fingerful of dust. “Hope your future flatmate will have housekeeping skills. And a tolerant disposition.”
“Yes,” Sherlock said, not insulted in the slightest. “I can't be the easiest person in the world to live with.”
Too bloody right, thought Lestrade, and frowned harder when Sherlock told him to stop frowning.
“Shall we?” One long-fingered, elegant hand gestured toward the bedroom.
“One for the road? For old times' sake? Pity lay?” Bitter. He was sounding bitter. He'd told himself he wouldn't be bitter.
“Don't be petulant. I've gone stale, here. I need new surroundings and the stimulation of another person, and it's not like you're willing or able to be that person.” Lestrade flinched at the pointed gaze from those intense, pale eyes - but the man had a point. He was the one insistent on keeping up appearances, wearing a wedding ring and letting people assume he was a widower. Even so, Donovan and some of the others were not above the occasional snide remarks about the liberties he allowed Sherlock at crime scenes. Perhaps it was better this way after all. Perhaps...
...perhaps he'd rather forget all about it for now and give the old flat one more secret to keep within its walls and himself one last memory of something he never should have started, didn't want to end, and couldn't bring himself to regret. Lestrade shrugged off his topcoat; tossed it over a chair. Sherlock quirked a one-sided grin and began unbuttoning his cuffs, leading the way to the other room.
…
They lay side by side afterwards, sharing a cigarette, replete. The sun climbed the walls. Sherlock was silent and Lestrade's phone hadn't gone off, both rarities.
“I'm quitting,”Lestrade said, finally; casually.
“Excuse me?” Sherlock had been miles away.
“This,” another drag on the cigarette. “It's a filthy habit. Turning over a new leaf.”
“Oh.” Sherlock pondered this for awhile. “I will too, then. Easier to find a nonsmoking than a smoking roommate these days, anyway.”
For some reason, this cheered Lestrade up even more than their previous activity had. Perhaps things wouldn't change entirely. And it wasn't as if the past would be wiped from his memory. “Put it out,” he said.
“It's not - “
“I've got something better for my mouth to do.”
Sherlock put it out.
Lestrade rolled on top, staring down into those unique, feline features, wondering if he'd ever again be this close. Memorizing every pore, or trying to. He felt one languid hand trailing slowly up and down his spine, waiting. Expectant.
Leaning in, Lestrade licked delicately along the length of one collarbone, feeling Sherlock shift and close his eyes. And then, obeying a sudden impulse, nipped sharply and fastened his mouth on the spot, sucking hard. Sherlock bruised easily.
And was wise to his game. Of course. “The urge to mark one's mate is a behavioral atavism, Inspector. Really, I thought you were more evolved than that.”
Lestrade came up for air, but only temporarily. “Being evolved is highly overrated.”
Sherlock grinned, tilting his chin up to allow for easier access. He'd have to wear his shirts buttoned to the neck for at least a week, and a scarf every time he went out, but he liked driving Lestrade to distraction, in any of a number of ways. He gently pushed on the older man's head, drawing him nearer, eliciting a groan. When Lestrade had finished with his little love-bite business, Sherlock had a few other primitive behaviors he'd been thinking of trying out. Somehow, he didn't think the inspector would mind.