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‘You know I don’t mind?’ Greg said, leaning against the wall. ‘About how you are. I do mind about Donovan and Anderson. I do wish you wouldn’t rile the pair of them so much, though, things would be much easier to deal with.’
‘They started it.’
‘Yeah, this time. I’ve had a word to them about it, but just behave Sherlock. Don’t retaliate this time, yeah?’
‘They…’
‘I know. But if I have any chance of actually stopping it, it’ll help if you cooperate. Oh, come here, you.’
Sherlock remained stubbornly at the window. ‘Do you really not mind about... how I am?’
‘Sherlock, I fell in love with you as you are. If you did do sex, I would, but you don’t. And, honestly, I could never enjoy it, want it, if you didn't. So. We’ve made it this far, haven’t we?’
There was a non-committal hum from Sherlock.
‘’Fraid you’ve got me for a long time yet. If you want.’
There was a thoughtful silence from the window, before Sherlock nodded. ‘You’re a good man, Greg. Don’t know how you put up with me.’
‘Nor do I, sometimes, normally when you’ve left experiments all over my bathroom again, or are winding up my team right, left and centre. Yet I happily do. Finished with the corpse?’
‘Oh, that? It was the butcher. Obvious.’
Greg considered the merits of getting Sherlock to explain then and there, or getting him away from the crime scene before Sally and Anderson made an appearance. The latter won, and he nagged Sherlock to a nearby café and through the deductions, pausing to tell someone to bring the butcher in for questioning.
Much later, after Sherlock decided Greg’s case was boring now and had flounced off to the morgue, Greg finally had a chance to read the various text messages from his genius of a boyfriend. Two about music, one about another murder inquiry, six about the decomposition of feet, and three about something else entirely.
Love? How overly romantic of you. Still. SH
I love you too. SH
Come around later. SH
So Greg did.