Pairing: Sherlock/Lestrade (& Lestrade/OMC)
Summary: A birthday present for bellap74, on the prompt of "Sherlock is perplexed by another man in Lestrade's flat." Hope you like it sweetie!
AN: Inspired by a certain scene in Ashes To Ashes *coughs*
Thinking about it afterwards, Lestrade conceded (although only to himself) that it had been a dangerous precedent to set - letting Sherlock Holmes break into your flat on a regular basis without at least reprimanding him. It was only a matter of time before he wandered in when it was amazingly inconvenient.
He'd even taken to locking the bathroom door when he was in there, just in case. But that night, he'd been more than a little drunk - considerably hammered in fact - and most definitely had other things on his mind.
For starters, the fact that he was getting laid for the first time in over a year.
The lack of anything he could legitimately call a sex life hadn't really bothered him at the time - he was often too busy and too tired to even want to have to worry about keeping another person happy, and he was perfectly capable of seeing to himself when the urge arose. But when the opportunity rather unexpectedly presented itself, who was he to say no?
So there was very little on his mind other than the fact he was lying on his back with a really rather attractive man he hadn't seen for about three years straddling his legs and being considerably more energetic about bouncing up and down on his cock than he would have managed had their positions been reversed.
Nothing else on his mind, other than the building, tingling heat of approaching orgasm, the harsh sound of his own breathing and faster panting gasps of his partner, the squeaks of the bed beneath them, the tight, incredible sensations enveloping his cock, the hands gripping his hips for support.
Until a movement at the far side of the room caught his attention and he turned his head just enough to find his eyes locked with the rather startled pair belonging to Sherlock, standing in the doorway.
For a second he felt frozen, conscious of nothing but the rush of blood in his ears.
And then with a sudden helpless groan he was coming, aware only of the waves of his orgasm, and the subsequent climax of his partner, who promptly came messily over his chest, and collapsed into his arms.
When he could next look up, the doorway was empty.
As soon as he could decently manage it, he muttered an excuse about needing the loo, and hurried out of the bedroom, pulling a dressing gown around him with the distinct feeling of too little too late.
The flat was empty. He stared at his phone lying on the coffee table, wondering whether to call him. Then rolled his eyes and went back to bed. If Sherlock wanted to break into people's houses with impunity he'd just have to risk seeing sights that might scar him for life, wouldn't he.
It was raining, and the abandoned and half-collapsed building festooned with crime scene tape was rapidly being washed clean of any clues. Lestrade pulled his scarf tighter about his throat and stared determinedly down at the corpse in the steadily deepening puddle at his feet. Uncomfortably aware of the silent figure of Sherlock standing next to him.
Neither had mentioned what had happened and Lestrade felt it like an intrusive third presence, glowering over them. Finally couldn't stand it any longer. He'd rather be ridiculed than feel this uncomfortable.
"Look - about the other night. I'm sorry."
Sherlock looked briefly irritated at having his train of thought interrupted, then cocked his head. "Are you? That's interesting."
"What?" Lestrade looked taken aback.
"Well." Sherlock gave a one-shouldered shrug, still minutely studying the corpse. "I was the one that broke into your flat. Walked in on you having sex. And yet you're sorry. Interesting."
"Yeah, well, I just - don't want things to be - awkward, yeah?"
"I don't feel awkward."
"Well. Good. That's alright then."
Lestrade had turned away to look for Donovan, more cross with himself for needing to drag it up than with Sherlock, when a quiet question pulled him up short.
"Who was he?"
He hesitated, spoke without turning round. "Just a friend."
"More than a friend, I'd have said." The voice was low and in his ear. Lestrade jumped, finding Sherlock leaning over his shoulder.
"Alright then, he's an ex-lover, is that better?"
"Didn't look very ex to me."
"Sherlock! Look, he's just come out of a long term relationship, yeah? He was a bit - miserable. Needed cheering up."
"Do you cheer everyone up that way?"
Lestrade gave a yelp of indignant and embarrassed laughter. "No! It was - we were just - it didn't mean anything. It was a bit of fun, okay?"
Sherlock looked blank. "No skin off my nose what you do. You hardly need to justify your actions to me. And yet you seem to feel that you do. Like I said. Interesting."
"Sherlock, shut up." He turned to go, thrusting his hands into his pockets and stepping carefully around the puddles.
"I masturbated. Afterwards."
Lestrade stopped in his tracks.
"So you went home and had a wank. Bully for you. I really didn't need to know that."
"Perfectly natural reaction, although admittedly not a common one, at least as far as I'm concerned." Sherlock sounded more perplexed than anything, at the effect the sight seemed to have had on him.
"Yeah well, he's a good looking bloke." Lestrade shrugged uncomfortably.
"If you say so."
"I'll give you his number if you want, although I'm not sure the poor sod deserves you." Anything to stop this conversation, right now.
"I don't want it." Sherlock gave a disturbingly thoughtful smile. "And I already have yours."
"...?" Lestrade stared at him in speechless confusion, but Sherlock was already striding away through the rain. Smirking.