Support
Title: Support
Characters: Sherlock Holmes & Greg Lestrade
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~900
Warnings: Urine, Paternal!Lestrade
Summary: After a harrowing case Sherlock is released into Greg's care and he has a little accident. Greg takes care of him.
This was written for a prompt on the kink meme.
---
"Alright, easy goes. Steady on, Sherlock, just a short trip up the stairs and we're done." It's not actually a short trip - for the first time ever Greg Lestrade wishes desperately that he lived on the ground floor - but saying it seems to bolster his nerve enough to actually get them moving. He readjusts his hold on Sherlock’s waist and draws him up a bit more firmly, supporting the swaying body.
"Tired," Sherlock mumbles, his head hanging low. "Want... sleep. Bed?" And he points at the stairs.
"No, not bed. Those are stairs for climbing." To emphasize his point Greg puts a foot on the first step and eases Sherlock's weight up with him. Every single step is a new fight and he feels his body aching from the night they've had, muscles twanging and burning. He wants nothing more than to take a hot shower and collapse into bed, but he can't. Sherlock comes first.
By the time they make it into Greg's flat, he's sweating and Sherlock's coordination is going downhill fast. Greg sets him down on the sofa and goes into the kitchen for a glass of cold water. It is quite possibly the best thing he's ever tasted. He drinks another and then brings a glass out to Sherlock, holding it to Sherlock's lips until he has no choice but to drink.
"Tired," Sherlock says again. The word is slurred and he sloppily pushes the glass away.
"Shh, I know. Stay here and I'll get you into bed."
Greg takes the glass back into the kitchen and sets it down in the sink. His head swims with exhaustion as he leans heavily against the counter and he lets his eyes shut for just a moment. Jesus but it's been a fucking long 48 hours. No matter how often this happens he doubts his body will ever get used to it.
There's a shuffling sound from the other room and then a loud thump.
"Sherlock?" Greg moves quickly to the door and spots Sherlock instantly. He's sitting on the floor with a vaguely confused expression, like he's not sure how he got there. He turns and looks blearily up at Greg, eyes wide, a faint flush colouring his cheeks.
"What were you doing?" Bemused, he walks over to Sherlock and starts to help him up, but Sherlock slaps his hands away.
"No!"
"What do you mean, no? I hardly think you have a say in this. Now come on, stop being so - " He cuts himself off, sharply, when he sees the problem. The tell tale dark stain has spread across the front of Sherlock's trousers and soaked down between his thighs. Greg goes quiet for a moment and then his shoulders slump in an inaudible sigh. Of course. It's not Sherlock's fault since he can't control anything right now, but it's the perfect end to a perfect night.
"Come on," he says, forcing a note of warmth into his voice. "Let's get you cleaned up, shall we?"
Sherlock peers up at him but says nothing, and his eyes are just unfocused enough that Greg knows he can't handle it on his own. So, summoning the last vestiges of patience, he gets his hands under Sherlock's arms and levers the man up, awkwardly leading him down the hall into the loo and onto the seat of the toilet. His body is tense but his hands remain gentle as he unbuckles Sherlock's trousers and thumbs the button open. As his hand touches the zip, Sherlock grabs it.
"Don't," he says. "You... don't have to."
"It's alright, Sherlock. I don't mind." And surprisingly, he realizes it's the truth. Having children has never been his cup of tea, that's one of the reasons he and his wife broke up, but somewhere along the line... He looks up at Sherlock thoughtfully for a moment before firmly tugging the zip down. "Brace yourself against the counter and lift your hips."
For once, Sherlock complies with his orders and Greg slides the soaked trousers and pants off of his body, tossing them into the tub. He wets a damp cloth with warm water and sets about sponging Sherlock off, removing the remaining traces of urine. Sherlock watches this in silence, the slight blush on his cheeks the only sign that he feels any discomfort. Greg pretends not to notice and cleans his genitals as quickly as possible before moving on to his thighs and legs. When he's done, he stands up with a wince as his back cracks.
"Uh, sign I'm getting too old for this," he mutters. "Sherlock - "
Whatever else he is about to say is cut off when Sherlock slumps forward, pressing his face into Greg's stomach. Greg starts to panic, thinking that Sherlock has fainted, but then he hears Sherlock say, "Are you angry at me?" in a voice he's never heard before, a tiny, almost timid voice that no one would associate with the great detective.
His heart melts. "No, love, I'm not," he says, cupping a gentle hand against Sherlock's head. The dark curls are matted with sweat beneath his palm but he doesn't mind. "I know you didn't do it on purpose. I was angry at myself for not realizing it might be an issue but no, I'm not mad at you."
Sherlock nods slowly and lets out a quiet sigh. Greg smiles. He knows he should get Sherlock dressed in a pair of pyjamas and he will, in a moment, but for a couple of minutes he's content enough to just stand there and be the support Sherlock needs.
Characters: Sherlock Holmes & Greg Lestrade
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~900
Warnings: Urine, Paternal!Lestrade
Summary: After a harrowing case Sherlock is released into Greg's care and he has a little accident. Greg takes care of him.
This was written for a prompt on the kink meme.
---
"Alright, easy goes. Steady on, Sherlock, just a short trip up the stairs and we're done." It's not actually a short trip - for the first time ever Greg Lestrade wishes desperately that he lived on the ground floor - but saying it seems to bolster his nerve enough to actually get them moving. He readjusts his hold on Sherlock’s waist and draws him up a bit more firmly, supporting the swaying body.
"Tired," Sherlock mumbles, his head hanging low. "Want... sleep. Bed?" And he points at the stairs.
"No, not bed. Those are stairs for climbing." To emphasize his point Greg puts a foot on the first step and eases Sherlock's weight up with him. Every single step is a new fight and he feels his body aching from the night they've had, muscles twanging and burning. He wants nothing more than to take a hot shower and collapse into bed, but he can't. Sherlock comes first.
By the time they make it into Greg's flat, he's sweating and Sherlock's coordination is going downhill fast. Greg sets him down on the sofa and goes into the kitchen for a glass of cold water. It is quite possibly the best thing he's ever tasted. He drinks another and then brings a glass out to Sherlock, holding it to Sherlock's lips until he has no choice but to drink.
"Tired," Sherlock says again. The word is slurred and he sloppily pushes the glass away.
"Shh, I know. Stay here and I'll get you into bed."
Greg takes the glass back into the kitchen and sets it down in the sink. His head swims with exhaustion as he leans heavily against the counter and he lets his eyes shut for just a moment. Jesus but it's been a fucking long 48 hours. No matter how often this happens he doubts his body will ever get used to it.
There's a shuffling sound from the other room and then a loud thump.
"Sherlock?" Greg moves quickly to the door and spots Sherlock instantly. He's sitting on the floor with a vaguely confused expression, like he's not sure how he got there. He turns and looks blearily up at Greg, eyes wide, a faint flush colouring his cheeks.
"What were you doing?" Bemused, he walks over to Sherlock and starts to help him up, but Sherlock slaps his hands away.
"No!"
"What do you mean, no? I hardly think you have a say in this. Now come on, stop being so - " He cuts himself off, sharply, when he sees the problem. The tell tale dark stain has spread across the front of Sherlock's trousers and soaked down between his thighs. Greg goes quiet for a moment and then his shoulders slump in an inaudible sigh. Of course. It's not Sherlock's fault since he can't control anything right now, but it's the perfect end to a perfect night.
"Come on," he says, forcing a note of warmth into his voice. "Let's get you cleaned up, shall we?"
Sherlock peers up at him but says nothing, and his eyes are just unfocused enough that Greg knows he can't handle it on his own. So, summoning the last vestiges of patience, he gets his hands under Sherlock's arms and levers the man up, awkwardly leading him down the hall into the loo and onto the seat of the toilet. His body is tense but his hands remain gentle as he unbuckles Sherlock's trousers and thumbs the button open. As his hand touches the zip, Sherlock grabs it.
"Don't," he says. "You... don't have to."
"It's alright, Sherlock. I don't mind." And surprisingly, he realizes it's the truth. Having children has never been his cup of tea, that's one of the reasons he and his wife broke up, but somewhere along the line... He looks up at Sherlock thoughtfully for a moment before firmly tugging the zip down. "Brace yourself against the counter and lift your hips."
For once, Sherlock complies with his orders and Greg slides the soaked trousers and pants off of his body, tossing them into the tub. He wets a damp cloth with warm water and sets about sponging Sherlock off, removing the remaining traces of urine. Sherlock watches this in silence, the slight blush on his cheeks the only sign that he feels any discomfort. Greg pretends not to notice and cleans his genitals as quickly as possible before moving on to his thighs and legs. When he's done, he stands up with a wince as his back cracks.
"Uh, sign I'm getting too old for this," he mutters. "Sherlock - "
Whatever else he is about to say is cut off when Sherlock slumps forward, pressing his face into Greg's stomach. Greg starts to panic, thinking that Sherlock has fainted, but then he hears Sherlock say, "Are you angry at me?" in a voice he's never heard before, a tiny, almost timid voice that no one would associate with the great detective.
His heart melts. "No, love, I'm not," he says, cupping a gentle hand against Sherlock's head. The dark curls are matted with sweat beneath his palm but he doesn't mind. "I know you didn't do it on purpose. I was angry at myself for not realizing it might be an issue but no, I'm not mad at you."
Sherlock nods slowly and lets out a quiet sigh. Greg smiles. He knows he should get Sherlock dressed in a pair of pyjamas and he will, in a moment, but for a couple of minutes he's content enough to just stand there and be the support Sherlock needs.