Fic - The Effort of Being Okay 3
A/N: Chapter 3 of 4. The last part is written and will be posted Monday or Tuesday. Whole fic will also be up on A03 at the same time. Many thanks to everyone who has been reading this!
Title: The Effort of Being Okay
Author: szm
Fandom: Sherlock
Characters: John Watson/Greg Lestrade(/Sherlock)
Rating: PG
Spoilers: all the way up to the end of series two
Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to the BBC. Not me, no money is made off this story.
Summary: Sherlock is gone, and John is okay. Really. So is Greg.
Many thanks to aeron_lanart for the beta.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
John staying at Greg’s started as a thing that happened rarely. Something that ,to be honest ,was as awkward as it was welcome. It was hard at first not to compare each other with Sherlock, after all without Sherlock they never would have met.
The thing was, in a way, Sherlock was actually easy to have had as a friend. He was demanding and had little use for any kind of boundaries, but if you didn’t let that scare you off in the first place it made everything simpler. Sherlock would tell you what he wanted, and expect that you’d do the same. It cut out all the awkward dancing around that you had to do as you negotiated a place in someone else’s life.
Greg was more than a friend now, but then hadn’t Sherlock been? If John was honest with himself, which apparently according to his therapist he should be, Sherlock had been the most important person he’d ever met. John had never just clicked with anyone the way he’d clicked with Sherlock.
Greg had taken longer to understand, more ‘legwork’, but now he was as much a part of John’s life as Sherlock has been. As Sherlock still was, dead or not. Greg was easy to talk to, and even easier just to be with. Greg got it, whatever ‘it’ was.
One night became once a week, soon John was staying over at Greg’s more often than he was at his flat. He was still waiting for it to start to feel strange. It had been awkward at first but it always felt like it was something worth the being awkward for. John was now regularly sleeping with a man, which was not something he’d done before. Surely that shouldn’t be this easy to accept? Wasn’t he supposed to be in some blind panic or something?
John shifted the plastic shopping bag from one hand to the other (he seemed destined to share living spaces with people who were incapable of remembering to buy milk), so he could get his key out of his pocket. He slid it into the lock and stared at it. His key, his key to Greg’s house. He was going to go in and hang his coat on the hook by the door that he always hung it on. He’d put the shopping away, maybe make a cup of tea in his mug, which was here because he was hardly ever at his own place. It wasn’t actually panic but it was a heavy weight low in his stomach, because he knew what he’d call this if Greg was a woman.
John went in, made the tea, and rang his sister because it was Friday afternoon. It rang for a long while but eventually Harry answered.
“Huh, Erm… Hello.”
“Hi,” said John taking the handset to the sofa and sitting down. “Did I wake you?”
“Hey, Jonny. Yeah, was up all last night. Work thing. How are you?” she asked her voice thick with sleep.
“I think I might have a boyfriend,” John blurted out.
“Really?” asked Harry. “Can I meet him?”
“No,” said John. “We agreed, you are not allowed to meet anyone I’m dating ever again.”
John could imagine her rolling her eyes at him. “Honestly, it was one time. I was 18. Besides, I’m hardly likely to steal your boyfriend am I?”
John chuckled and they pretended that was the reason John didn’t want to introduce her to Greg. They chatted for a few minutes, swapping work stories and a bit of information about mutual acquaintances.
Then John said softly. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Harry. I think I might have accidentally moved in.”
Harry managed to keep up with the sudden change in topic. “Does he make you happy?” she asked.
“Yes,” said John.
“Then go with it, little brother. And stop worrying.”
**
John did go to his flat some of the time. And one of those times he found the letter. John can’t imagine that anyone is ever happy to receive an unexpected letter from the police. Even if it is a job offer. At first he’s just confused, not angry yet because he hasn’t made the obvious connection. So after his morning shift at the surgery he heads over to see Greg, to find out what’s going on. He expected that walking into Greg’s office would give him the same kick in the stomach feeling he always got when he went somewhere he’d been with Sherlock. Angelo’s was like that. John didn’t think he’d ever eat there again, no matter that Angelo had made it clear that Sherlock’s ‘free food’ privilege now extended to John. But somehow he didn’t feel like that at Scotland Yard, maybe because this was more Greg’s place than Sherlock’s. It had always felt like Sherlock was here on Greg’s indulgence, even if they were working with somebody else.
Greg was sat at his desk tapping at the computer, eating the sorriest looking excuse for a sandwich that John had ever seen. He didn’t look up as John walked in, just waved at his desk with the sandwich.
“If you can find a clear bit to put them on…” he said distractedly.
“Skipping lunch again?” asked John, smiling for no real reason.
Greg looked up and smiled back when he realised who it was. “I have lunch,” he said holding up his soggy sandwich as proof. John raised an eyebrow at that but didn’t answer. Greg just chuckled. “So to what do I owe this pleasure? Or are you just checking up on me?”
“Why on earth would you need checking up on?” asked John not even trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “I got this letter today. It says my application to become a ‘medical consultant’ for the Metropolitan police has been accepted. I don’t remember making an application, Greg.”
Greg had the grace to look a little bit uncomfortable. “I did, but I was going to tell you. By rights I should have had at least another month before personnel sorted all that out. I suppose he…” Greg trailed off. “I made the application nearly three months ago, before the other night when… I hurt my ribs. Before we started this.” He waved his hand between them to indicate whatever it was that they were.
John shook his head. “I have a job, Greg.” He didn’t need this, he didn’t need Greg to do him favours, he’d thought that Greg understood that.
Greg winced. “I know that. Look, just sit down will you?” John thought about refusing for a second but then settled into the chair opposite the desk. Greg threw what was left of the sandwich in the bin and looked at John. “It’s only a part-time thing. It means I can call you in if I think you would help. It’s all above board and cleared through the Superintendent, no questions about it. And it’s not just for you, I… I want to hear what you think about quite a lot of cases it turns out.”
John tipped his head slightly to one side. “I’m not Sherlock.”
Greg glared. “For God’s sake, John. I know that.”
John thought about it for a minute, and then shook his head. “How did you even manage this? I once gave the Chief Superintendent a bloody nose. I can’t see him agreeing to this in my lifetime.”
Greg didn’t look shifty very often, so when he did it was really obvious. “I… went over his head.”
All of a sudden it clicked. Over the head of the Chief Superintendent and all the paperwork had been fast tracked. “Tell me,” said John suddenly very serious. “That this has nothing to do with Mycroft.”
Greg didn’t answer and John shook his head getting up to leave.
“John,” called Greg standing up as well. “Please think about it.”
John turned back to Greg. “No, I don’t want anything from him.”
“This isn’t from Mycroft, it’s from me. I asked Mycroft for something, now I’m asking you for something. The two things don’t have to be connected if you don’t let them be, just think about it.”
John left without saying a word. As he walked out of the building his mobile rang, withheld number. John ignored it, he didn’t look up to see if the cameras turned.
**
Greg couldn’t remember the last time he’d managed to screw something up that badly. Unless you counted the last few years of his marriage or the early days when he’d first met Sherlock. He resisted the urge to bang his head on the desk. He knew that John blamed Mycroft in some way for what had happened to Sherlock, but he couldn’t for the life of him work out why. It seemed unusually cruel, Mycroft had after all lost his brother in all this. No matter how strange that relationship was at times.
Greg managed to be professional for the rest of the day. Not succumbing to the urge to bite anyone’s head off. No matter how much paperwork they foisted on him. As he was leaving, what felt like days later, he got a text from John.
I can’t take the job, sorry Greg.
At least he was still Greg and not ‘Lestrade’. He texted back, I’m sorry too. He wondered if he’d still see John, would he still be coming round to the house? He found himself wishing that nothing would change. This pattern he’d fallen into with John was as much a comfort to him as he hoped it was to John.
That sandwich was terrible. I’ll stand you a pub meal at the Crown, if you like?
Greg felt himself flooded with relief. He knew he had some flavour of silly grin plastered across his face as he text back, Meet you there.
**
Later that night Greg lay in bed watching John’s face in the low light that filtered through the curtain from the streetlight outside. John wasn’t quite asleep yet, but his face had relaxed and some of the lines had smoothed out.
“Stop staring at me, trying to sleep,” he mumbled.
Greg shifted a little so more of him was in contact with more of John. John sighed and wrapped his arms around Greg.
“Have you always been such a cuddler?” John asked his breath soft on the side of Greg’s face
“You started it, I was just moving a bit,” countered Greg, relaxing further into John’s hold.
They lay there for a while not really sleeping, but not really awake either.
“How disturbed are you going to be if I say I miss Sherlock?” asked John eventually.
“You’re allowed to miss him, John,” replied Greg. “I miss him too.”
John sighed “I sometimes think he warped the whole world by just existing… “
“And now it doesn’t fit right anymore,” agreed Greg.
Greg listened to John’s breathing as he slipped into sleep.
Title: The Effort of Being Okay
Author: szm
Fandom: Sherlock
Characters: John Watson/Greg Lestrade(/Sherlock)
Rating: PG
Spoilers: all the way up to the end of series two
Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to the BBC. Not me, no money is made off this story.
Summary: Sherlock is gone, and John is okay. Really. So is Greg.
Many thanks to aeron_lanart for the beta.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
John staying at Greg’s started as a thing that happened rarely. Something that ,to be honest ,was as awkward as it was welcome. It was hard at first not to compare each other with Sherlock, after all without Sherlock they never would have met.
The thing was, in a way, Sherlock was actually easy to have had as a friend. He was demanding and had little use for any kind of boundaries, but if you didn’t let that scare you off in the first place it made everything simpler. Sherlock would tell you what he wanted, and expect that you’d do the same. It cut out all the awkward dancing around that you had to do as you negotiated a place in someone else’s life.
Greg was more than a friend now, but then hadn’t Sherlock been? If John was honest with himself, which apparently according to his therapist he should be, Sherlock had been the most important person he’d ever met. John had never just clicked with anyone the way he’d clicked with Sherlock.
Greg had taken longer to understand, more ‘legwork’, but now he was as much a part of John’s life as Sherlock has been. As Sherlock still was, dead or not. Greg was easy to talk to, and even easier just to be with. Greg got it, whatever ‘it’ was.
One night became once a week, soon John was staying over at Greg’s more often than he was at his flat. He was still waiting for it to start to feel strange. It had been awkward at first but it always felt like it was something worth the being awkward for. John was now regularly sleeping with a man, which was not something he’d done before. Surely that shouldn’t be this easy to accept? Wasn’t he supposed to be in some blind panic or something?
John shifted the plastic shopping bag from one hand to the other (he seemed destined to share living spaces with people who were incapable of remembering to buy milk), so he could get his key out of his pocket. He slid it into the lock and stared at it. His key, his key to Greg’s house. He was going to go in and hang his coat on the hook by the door that he always hung it on. He’d put the shopping away, maybe make a cup of tea in his mug, which was here because he was hardly ever at his own place. It wasn’t actually panic but it was a heavy weight low in his stomach, because he knew what he’d call this if Greg was a woman.
John went in, made the tea, and rang his sister because it was Friday afternoon. It rang for a long while but eventually Harry answered.
“Huh, Erm… Hello.”
“Hi,” said John taking the handset to the sofa and sitting down. “Did I wake you?”
“Hey, Jonny. Yeah, was up all last night. Work thing. How are you?” she asked her voice thick with sleep.
“I think I might have a boyfriend,” John blurted out.
“Really?” asked Harry. “Can I meet him?”
“No,” said John. “We agreed, you are not allowed to meet anyone I’m dating ever again.”
John could imagine her rolling her eyes at him. “Honestly, it was one time. I was 18. Besides, I’m hardly likely to steal your boyfriend am I?”
John chuckled and they pretended that was the reason John didn’t want to introduce her to Greg. They chatted for a few minutes, swapping work stories and a bit of information about mutual acquaintances.
Then John said softly. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Harry. I think I might have accidentally moved in.”
Harry managed to keep up with the sudden change in topic. “Does he make you happy?” she asked.
“Yes,” said John.
“Then go with it, little brother. And stop worrying.”
**
John did go to his flat some of the time. And one of those times he found the letter. John can’t imagine that anyone is ever happy to receive an unexpected letter from the police. Even if it is a job offer. At first he’s just confused, not angry yet because he hasn’t made the obvious connection. So after his morning shift at the surgery he heads over to see Greg, to find out what’s going on. He expected that walking into Greg’s office would give him the same kick in the stomach feeling he always got when he went somewhere he’d been with Sherlock. Angelo’s was like that. John didn’t think he’d ever eat there again, no matter that Angelo had made it clear that Sherlock’s ‘free food’ privilege now extended to John. But somehow he didn’t feel like that at Scotland Yard, maybe because this was more Greg’s place than Sherlock’s. It had always felt like Sherlock was here on Greg’s indulgence, even if they were working with somebody else.
Greg was sat at his desk tapping at the computer, eating the sorriest looking excuse for a sandwich that John had ever seen. He didn’t look up as John walked in, just waved at his desk with the sandwich.
“If you can find a clear bit to put them on…” he said distractedly.
“Skipping lunch again?” asked John, smiling for no real reason.
Greg looked up and smiled back when he realised who it was. “I have lunch,” he said holding up his soggy sandwich as proof. John raised an eyebrow at that but didn’t answer. Greg just chuckled. “So to what do I owe this pleasure? Or are you just checking up on me?”
“Why on earth would you need checking up on?” asked John not even trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “I got this letter today. It says my application to become a ‘medical consultant’ for the Metropolitan police has been accepted. I don’t remember making an application, Greg.”
Greg had the grace to look a little bit uncomfortable. “I did, but I was going to tell you. By rights I should have had at least another month before personnel sorted all that out. I suppose he…” Greg trailed off. “I made the application nearly three months ago, before the other night when… I hurt my ribs. Before we started this.” He waved his hand between them to indicate whatever it was that they were.
John shook his head. “I have a job, Greg.” He didn’t need this, he didn’t need Greg to do him favours, he’d thought that Greg understood that.
Greg winced. “I know that. Look, just sit down will you?” John thought about refusing for a second but then settled into the chair opposite the desk. Greg threw what was left of the sandwich in the bin and looked at John. “It’s only a part-time thing. It means I can call you in if I think you would help. It’s all above board and cleared through the Superintendent, no questions about it. And it’s not just for you, I… I want to hear what you think about quite a lot of cases it turns out.”
John tipped his head slightly to one side. “I’m not Sherlock.”
Greg glared. “For God’s sake, John. I know that.”
John thought about it for a minute, and then shook his head. “How did you even manage this? I once gave the Chief Superintendent a bloody nose. I can’t see him agreeing to this in my lifetime.”
Greg didn’t look shifty very often, so when he did it was really obvious. “I… went over his head.”
All of a sudden it clicked. Over the head of the Chief Superintendent and all the paperwork had been fast tracked. “Tell me,” said John suddenly very serious. “That this has nothing to do with Mycroft.”
Greg didn’t answer and John shook his head getting up to leave.
“John,” called Greg standing up as well. “Please think about it.”
John turned back to Greg. “No, I don’t want anything from him.”
“This isn’t from Mycroft, it’s from me. I asked Mycroft for something, now I’m asking you for something. The two things don’t have to be connected if you don’t let them be, just think about it.”
John left without saying a word. As he walked out of the building his mobile rang, withheld number. John ignored it, he didn’t look up to see if the cameras turned.
**
Greg couldn’t remember the last time he’d managed to screw something up that badly. Unless you counted the last few years of his marriage or the early days when he’d first met Sherlock. He resisted the urge to bang his head on the desk. He knew that John blamed Mycroft in some way for what had happened to Sherlock, but he couldn’t for the life of him work out why. It seemed unusually cruel, Mycroft had after all lost his brother in all this. No matter how strange that relationship was at times.
Greg managed to be professional for the rest of the day. Not succumbing to the urge to bite anyone’s head off. No matter how much paperwork they foisted on him. As he was leaving, what felt like days later, he got a text from John.
I can’t take the job, sorry Greg.
At least he was still Greg and not ‘Lestrade’. He texted back, I’m sorry too. He wondered if he’d still see John, would he still be coming round to the house? He found himself wishing that nothing would change. This pattern he’d fallen into with John was as much a comfort to him as he hoped it was to John.
That sandwich was terrible. I’ll stand you a pub meal at the Crown, if you like?
Greg felt himself flooded with relief. He knew he had some flavour of silly grin plastered across his face as he text back, Meet you there.
**
Later that night Greg lay in bed watching John’s face in the low light that filtered through the curtain from the streetlight outside. John wasn’t quite asleep yet, but his face had relaxed and some of the lines had smoothed out.
“Stop staring at me, trying to sleep,” he mumbled.
Greg shifted a little so more of him was in contact with more of John. John sighed and wrapped his arms around Greg.
“Have you always been such a cuddler?” John asked his breath soft on the side of Greg’s face
“You started it, I was just moving a bit,” countered Greg, relaxing further into John’s hold.
They lay there for a while not really sleeping, but not really awake either.
“How disturbed are you going to be if I say I miss Sherlock?” asked John eventually.
“You’re allowed to miss him, John,” replied Greg. “I miss him too.”
John sighed “I sometimes think he warped the whole world by just existing… “
“And now it doesn’t fit right anymore,” agreed Greg.
Greg listened to John’s breathing as he slipped into sleep.