Jealous Guy (1/4)
BBC Sherlock
Rating 15 (swearing, slash)
Spoilers: None for series 2 (and not compatible with it).
Written for a prompt (no 69) at the Mystrade Fanworks Festival
Summary: Lestrade's not insecure normally.
Betaed by Thesmallhobbit - many thanks.
I was feeling insecure
When does it all start, when does he first realise what might happen? When Lestrade thinks back, what he remembers is the first Christmas he goes to the Holmes' and John telling him about the time he and Mycroft met.
***
He and John are both drunk, which explains a lot, and they have also just lost all their spare cash at poker. Which is ironic, because it was Lestrade's idea to play cards in the first place. The plan had been to leave Mycroft entertaining Mrs Holmes, free of Sherlock (who will wind Mycroft up), John (who Mrs Holmes frankly does not care for) and Lestrade (who Mrs Holmes has been known to flirt with, thus winding Mycroft up). Instead, it somehow ends up with Mummy and Mycroft joining in the game as well. Perhaps inevitably, it rapidly becomes a titanic three way Holmes struggle for the pot, while the two temporarily bankrupt non-Holmes go and have a walk to try and clear their heads.
"You'd have done better," Lestrade says to John, "if you actually knew how to bluff."
"Well you'd have done better if you’d taken your eyes off Sherlock occasionally," John replies. It's a remarkably casual comment, but Lestrade still goes rather pink, because it's not supposed to be that Holmes he ogles.
"How can you not look at him in those trousers?" he protests. "What was his mother thinking of? Buying her own son skin-tight jeans for a Christmas present?"
"Possibly she just realised his arse would look glorious in them," says John. "More likely, I think she got the sizes muddled up and thinks he's still eighteen. Or even twelve." He smiles benignly at Lestrade in the rapidly dimming afternoon light. "He does have a glorious arse, doesn't he?"
"Sherlock’s gorgeous," he replies, because he's no good at bluffing either.
"Did you ever...you know, before I came along?" John asks suddenly. "I mean, you'd known him for five years."
Someone should have told Mrs Holmes to cut down the alcohol content of that Christmas lunch by at least half, Lestrade thinks. But it's a moment for secrets and confessions, the end of a year they've all somehow staggered through alive.
"I asked him once early on and he wasn't interested," he says. "And he didn't seem like the sort of bloke who'd change his mind." He hopes he doesn't sound wistful, because about 99.9% of the time he knows he's much better off with Mycroft.
"You're much better off with Mycroft," John says. "More your cup of tea. He's really quite a decent bloke underneath it all, not a looney like Sherlock. Though when I first met him, I thought he was even weirder."
"He took you off to some warehouse, didn't he, and tried to menace you?"
"The menacing bit wasn't too bad, I could cope with that," says John, with the sublime confidence of the truly brave. "What was awkward was him hitting on me."
"He didn't, did he?"
"He tried to hold my hand to see if it was shaking. Did I not tell you that bit?" John says giggling. "There was a moment I thought I was going to be whisked off and chained up somewhere for future attention."
Lestrade finds he's trying to smile and not doing very well at it.
Oh, I'm sorry," John adds. "It was nothing serious. The moment Mycroft realised it was Sherlock I was...interested in, he backed off. And if you're going to be allowed to look at Sherlock's arse, I don't see why Mycroft can't have a dodgy memory or two."
"Fair enough," says Lestrade and tries to convince himself it is.
“We’d better get back,” John says, stamping his feet. “Or you’ll end up falling in a ditch or the village pond or something. Besides, I want to see Mycroft’s face when Sherlock cleans him out.”
“God, you must be completely plastered to think that,” he replies with a genuine smile. “Don’t you realise that My always has an ace up his sleeve?”
***
Sure enough, when they get back, Sherlock is protesting loudly about the mathematical correctness of his strategy, but it’s Mycroft who has all the chips. He also has the smug air of someone who has once again won at life and Lestrade feels a sudden desperate urge to put that smirking mouth to good use. He gives him a long thoughtful stare with hints of stripping him naked involved. Mycroft promptly gulps his mouthful of tea a little loudly and starts a convoluted explanation to his mother as to why he needs to go and e-mail Vladimir Putin immediately.
“On Christmas Day?” Mrs Holmes demands.
“It’s not the Eastern Orthodox Christmas till 7th January,” Mycroft announces triumphantly and hurries off.
Give him a couple of minutes, Lestrade thinks, and then I’ll say I need to go and change my shoes or find a book. Then he realises that everyone in the room is looking at him and waiting for his excuse. A consulting detective, his sidekick, and Mycroft’s mother: of course they can work out those clues. He sighs and says:
“Yes, I’m going to shag him senseless, no I won’t break any furniture and yes, we will be down in time for tea,” and then stalks out before the giggling starts.
***
Lestrade’s sobered up by the morning, which he starts with a bit more shagging, because Boxing Day is when the lower orders are supposed to get a little something from their betters as a reward for good service, isn’t it? But it’s not just reducing Mycroft to collapsed incoherence that cheers him up. It’s also common sense kicking back in and telling him not to be ridiculous about My and John.
It’s not surprising that Mycroft fancied John a bit, or maybe even still does fancy him. John is fearless and cuddly, which is probably a nice combination in bed. He’s also attached to Sherlock so securely that it’d take dynamite to separate them. And Sherlock adores John, though he’ll probably die before admitting it.
And...and he trusts Mycroft. Well, not playing cards, obviously - he has a nasty suspicion that a marked deck somehow got involved in yesterday’s triumph - but when it comes to what they feel for one another, he has no worries. Mycroft and he love one another; he’s learned to be happy with that phrase over the last year. And the sex is good with some outstanding features (he’s been reading too many performance reviews, hasn’t he?) It’s just that he’s got to the age when he’s seen too many failed relationships, been involved in too many himself. There are times he gets cynical that any couple can stay together.
Which is a bloody stupid defeatist attitude, he thinks, as Mycroft comes back from his shower, and starts to pack. They are going to make this thing work, regardless of what life throws at them, because that’s what they do, keep on going, overcome problems. And if they’ve got through five days of Holmes family togetherness unscarred, that’s one achievement to start with.
***
And that would probably have been that, if it hadn’t been for Sherlock getting himself killed.
Part 2
Rating 15 (swearing, slash)
Spoilers: None for series 2 (and not compatible with it).
Written for a prompt (no 69) at the Mystrade Fanworks Festival
Summary: Lestrade's not insecure normally.
Betaed by Thesmallhobbit - many thanks.
I was feeling insecure
When does it all start, when does he first realise what might happen? When Lestrade thinks back, what he remembers is the first Christmas he goes to the Holmes' and John telling him about the time he and Mycroft met.
***
He and John are both drunk, which explains a lot, and they have also just lost all their spare cash at poker. Which is ironic, because it was Lestrade's idea to play cards in the first place. The plan had been to leave Mycroft entertaining Mrs Holmes, free of Sherlock (who will wind Mycroft up), John (who Mrs Holmes frankly does not care for) and Lestrade (who Mrs Holmes has been known to flirt with, thus winding Mycroft up). Instead, it somehow ends up with Mummy and Mycroft joining in the game as well. Perhaps inevitably, it rapidly becomes a titanic three way Holmes struggle for the pot, while the two temporarily bankrupt non-Holmes go and have a walk to try and clear their heads.
"You'd have done better," Lestrade says to John, "if you actually knew how to bluff."
"Well you'd have done better if you’d taken your eyes off Sherlock occasionally," John replies. It's a remarkably casual comment, but Lestrade still goes rather pink, because it's not supposed to be that Holmes he ogles.
"How can you not look at him in those trousers?" he protests. "What was his mother thinking of? Buying her own son skin-tight jeans for a Christmas present?"
"Possibly she just realised his arse would look glorious in them," says John. "More likely, I think she got the sizes muddled up and thinks he's still eighteen. Or even twelve." He smiles benignly at Lestrade in the rapidly dimming afternoon light. "He does have a glorious arse, doesn't he?"
"Sherlock’s gorgeous," he replies, because he's no good at bluffing either.
"Did you ever...you know, before I came along?" John asks suddenly. "I mean, you'd known him for five years."
Someone should have told Mrs Holmes to cut down the alcohol content of that Christmas lunch by at least half, Lestrade thinks. But it's a moment for secrets and confessions, the end of a year they've all somehow staggered through alive.
"I asked him once early on and he wasn't interested," he says. "And he didn't seem like the sort of bloke who'd change his mind." He hopes he doesn't sound wistful, because about 99.9% of the time he knows he's much better off with Mycroft.
"You're much better off with Mycroft," John says. "More your cup of tea. He's really quite a decent bloke underneath it all, not a looney like Sherlock. Though when I first met him, I thought he was even weirder."
"He took you off to some warehouse, didn't he, and tried to menace you?"
"The menacing bit wasn't too bad, I could cope with that," says John, with the sublime confidence of the truly brave. "What was awkward was him hitting on me."
"He didn't, did he?"
"He tried to hold my hand to see if it was shaking. Did I not tell you that bit?" John says giggling. "There was a moment I thought I was going to be whisked off and chained up somewhere for future attention."
Lestrade finds he's trying to smile and not doing very well at it.
Oh, I'm sorry," John adds. "It was nothing serious. The moment Mycroft realised it was Sherlock I was...interested in, he backed off. And if you're going to be allowed to look at Sherlock's arse, I don't see why Mycroft can't have a dodgy memory or two."
"Fair enough," says Lestrade and tries to convince himself it is.
“We’d better get back,” John says, stamping his feet. “Or you’ll end up falling in a ditch or the village pond or something. Besides, I want to see Mycroft’s face when Sherlock cleans him out.”
“God, you must be completely plastered to think that,” he replies with a genuine smile. “Don’t you realise that My always has an ace up his sleeve?”
***
Sure enough, when they get back, Sherlock is protesting loudly about the mathematical correctness of his strategy, but it’s Mycroft who has all the chips. He also has the smug air of someone who has once again won at life and Lestrade feels a sudden desperate urge to put that smirking mouth to good use. He gives him a long thoughtful stare with hints of stripping him naked involved. Mycroft promptly gulps his mouthful of tea a little loudly and starts a convoluted explanation to his mother as to why he needs to go and e-mail Vladimir Putin immediately.
“On Christmas Day?” Mrs Holmes demands.
“It’s not the Eastern Orthodox Christmas till 7th January,” Mycroft announces triumphantly and hurries off.
Give him a couple of minutes, Lestrade thinks, and then I’ll say I need to go and change my shoes or find a book. Then he realises that everyone in the room is looking at him and waiting for his excuse. A consulting detective, his sidekick, and Mycroft’s mother: of course they can work out those clues. He sighs and says:
“Yes, I’m going to shag him senseless, no I won’t break any furniture and yes, we will be down in time for tea,” and then stalks out before the giggling starts.
***
Lestrade’s sobered up by the morning, which he starts with a bit more shagging, because Boxing Day is when the lower orders are supposed to get a little something from their betters as a reward for good service, isn’t it? But it’s not just reducing Mycroft to collapsed incoherence that cheers him up. It’s also common sense kicking back in and telling him not to be ridiculous about My and John.
It’s not surprising that Mycroft fancied John a bit, or maybe even still does fancy him. John is fearless and cuddly, which is probably a nice combination in bed. He’s also attached to Sherlock so securely that it’d take dynamite to separate them. And Sherlock adores John, though he’ll probably die before admitting it.
And...and he trusts Mycroft. Well, not playing cards, obviously - he has a nasty suspicion that a marked deck somehow got involved in yesterday’s triumph - but when it comes to what they feel for one another, he has no worries. Mycroft and he love one another; he’s learned to be happy with that phrase over the last year. And the sex is good with some outstanding features (he’s been reading too many performance reviews, hasn’t he?) It’s just that he’s got to the age when he’s seen too many failed relationships, been involved in too many himself. There are times he gets cynical that any couple can stay together.
Which is a bloody stupid defeatist attitude, he thinks, as Mycroft comes back from his shower, and starts to pack. They are going to make this thing work, regardless of what life throws at them, because that’s what they do, keep on going, overcome problems. And if they’ve got through five days of Holmes family togetherness unscarred, that’s one achievement to start with.
***
And that would probably have been that, if it hadn’t been for Sherlock getting himself killed.
Part 2