Fic - Steadfast (Sherlock/Lestrade)
Title: Steadfast
Pairings: Sherlock/Lestrade
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 358
Summary: Just a little borderline fluff thing that grabbed me at the time and demanded to be written. Set after the moment in Lestrade's office when they realise the blind lady's been killed for trying to describe Moriarty's voice.
--
Sherlock stepped out into the corridor, eyes hard and distant. He'd almost bumped into Lestrade before he realised the man had followed him out of his office and was deliberately standing in front of him. Blinked, slowly, waiting for the cutting remarks that would inevitably follow on from John's words of a moment before that were still ringing in his ears.
Lestrade though, just looked dogged. "Just tell me what needs doing Sherlock, and I'll get it done," he said wearily, rubbing his eyes.
"She'd have died anyway," Sherlock blurted, almost defensively, in response to the rebuke that hadn't, in the end, been voiced.
"I believe you."
"John doesn't."
"Yes he does. He just thinks that if you'd pulled the big reveal a little earlier she wouldn't have spent the last hours of her life strapped to a bomb."
Sherlock looked sideways at him. "And what about you Inspector? No ill-placed sentiment, because you think I should have been kind rather than logical?"
"You think I've got the time to be sentimental?" Lestrade sighed. "I'm a policeman. I'll settle for saving as many as I can."
"And he's a solider! You'd think - "
"He's a doctor." Lestrade reached out and stroked the hair back from Sherlock's face, fingers coming to rest on the back of his neck. They were warm, and kindly, and Sherlock didn't pull away.
"When was the last time you slept?"
"Don't need sleep."
"You know what I need? You on top form." Lestrade's fingertips were brushing through the hair at the nape of Sherlock's neck. Sherlock resisted the urge to push into the not-quite caress.
"You about to kiss me, Inspector?" he murmured, taking in Lestrade's thoughtful look and the prolonged touch.
"Thinking about it," Lestrade murmured back, equably.
"In front of the CCTV cameras?" Sherlock's lips quirked in what was almost a smile.
Lestrade sighed. "Not unless I want to end up on the Christmas party tape, no." He withdrew his hand and gave Sherlock a push. "There's a sofa in my office. Why don't you get some rest even if you don't bloody sleep. And then catch me a killer."
--
Pairings: Sherlock/Lestrade
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 358
Summary: Just a little borderline fluff thing that grabbed me at the time and demanded to be written. Set after the moment in Lestrade's office when they realise the blind lady's been killed for trying to describe Moriarty's voice.
--
Sherlock stepped out into the corridor, eyes hard and distant. He'd almost bumped into Lestrade before he realised the man had followed him out of his office and was deliberately standing in front of him. Blinked, slowly, waiting for the cutting remarks that would inevitably follow on from John's words of a moment before that were still ringing in his ears.
Lestrade though, just looked dogged. "Just tell me what needs doing Sherlock, and I'll get it done," he said wearily, rubbing his eyes.
"She'd have died anyway," Sherlock blurted, almost defensively, in response to the rebuke that hadn't, in the end, been voiced.
"I believe you."
"John doesn't."
"Yes he does. He just thinks that if you'd pulled the big reveal a little earlier she wouldn't have spent the last hours of her life strapped to a bomb."
Sherlock looked sideways at him. "And what about you Inspector? No ill-placed sentiment, because you think I should have been kind rather than logical?"
"You think I've got the time to be sentimental?" Lestrade sighed. "I'm a policeman. I'll settle for saving as many as I can."
"And he's a solider! You'd think - "
"He's a doctor." Lestrade reached out and stroked the hair back from Sherlock's face, fingers coming to rest on the back of his neck. They were warm, and kindly, and Sherlock didn't pull away.
"When was the last time you slept?"
"Don't need sleep."
"You know what I need? You on top form." Lestrade's fingertips were brushing through the hair at the nape of Sherlock's neck. Sherlock resisted the urge to push into the not-quite caress.
"You about to kiss me, Inspector?" he murmured, taking in Lestrade's thoughtful look and the prolonged touch.
"Thinking about it," Lestrade murmured back, equably.
"In front of the CCTV cameras?" Sherlock's lips quirked in what was almost a smile.
Lestrade sighed. "Not unless I want to end up on the Christmas party tape, no." He withdrew his hand and gave Sherlock a push. "There's a sofa in my office. Why don't you get some rest even if you don't bloody sleep. And then catch me a killer."
--