Lestrade was always patient with Sherlock; he was the only one who had never lost his temper with the consulting detective.
Well, he never had before.
It had been a horrifically long week. He hadn’t slept in days, and he had been stuck doing busy work all week. He also hadn’t seen Sherlock in a week and a half; Anderson and Donovan had been at each other’s throats and now they were investigating the murders of three children.
The consulting detective had swopped in ten minutes after he had called. He had begun spouting out rapid-fire deductions, and insults to everyone, especially Lestrade. Sherlock was just being Sherlock, and today he couldn’t take it.
“STOP BEING SUCH A FREAK!” He exclaimed without thinking, cutting off the consulting detective. Everyone at the crime scene fell silent, and Lestrade slowly realized exactly what he had said. Though not before Sherlock had walked out of the room.
John followed Sherlock after shooting Lestrade a look that told him everything he already knew.
When Donovan and Anderson called Sherlock a freak, it didn’t affect him. Sherlock was well past the emotionally vulnerable stage in his life where the insults ‘their puny little brains created’ could hurt him. He had long since learned to guard himself from regular humans, as he had been tormented daily in primary school. On the other hand, Sherlock took insults and harsh words from Mrs. Hudson, John, Mycroft, and Lestrade to heart, whether or not he showed it. The word freak though, coming from any of them, did more damage than a bullet ever could.
The first time Lestrade had realized that the word freak, even in jest, coming from him hurt Sherlock’s feelings was after they had begun shagging. It was about a year and a half after they had met, the case had been particularly frustrating, and Sherlock had followed Lestrade home.
After waking up the next day, Lestrade brushed past Sherlock on his way to the shower and commented on how the detective was ‘freakishly alert’ for this early in the morning. Sherlock was gone before he was out of the shower. He even avoided him for a few days after that.
Since then the two had begun dating, and they had been going strong for two years. No one at the yard knew, he wasn’t even sure John knew. Lestrade had wanted to keep it that way in the beginning but had begun to regret that particular decision.
Even though Lestrade had raced to follow after Sherlock, he was gone when he made it outside. Lestrade groaned and put his head in his hands. This was most definitely all his fault and he really didn’t know how to go about remedying the situation. Sherlock could hold a grudge.
Finally he decided to text John, to see if the Doctor had any helpful ideas. That was, if John would talk to him.
How mad is he?-GL
Pretty pissed, as he should be.-JW
Lestrade sighed, John was mad at him too. It was understandable. He and Sherlock were best mates. John cared a great deal for Sherlock and felt the need to take care of him.
God, I know I shouldn’t have said it. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, you must know that.-GL
Well have fun getting him to believe that. It’s not like he trusts just anyone.-JW
I know I’m a total prick, I would never hurt him on purpose.-GL
Good luck getting him to be in the same room as you any time soon.-JW
John was right. Sherlock wasn’t going to come within a kilometre of him. Unless of course Lestrade figured out a way to trick and surprise him. Well, first things first, he might as well send flowers. It’s not like he didn’t know Sherlock’s favourite florist.
After he called the florist and arranged to have two dozen long-stemmed red roses sent over, which by the way was going to cost him half this months pay check, he went back inside to the crime scene to see if Donovan and Anderson had actually gotten anywhere.
Sherlock did end up helping to solve the case of the child murderer, but he had used John to communicate his deductions.
Sherlock ignored all of his texts and calls, and refused to take any new cases from him.
Lestrade had wanted to be there for him after the case. Cases involving children always struck a chord with Sherlock that cases with adults didn’t seem to. Lestrade had his ideas on why that was, but he would wait for Sherlock to tell him instead of making assumptions.
Sherlock had begun taking cases with Dimmock, which truly hurt Lestrade’s feelings but he had decided to ignore that bit.
A week after the incident he sent flowers again. If he could have afforded it, he would have sent them every day. John was nice enough to inform him that Sherlock had used the first two bouquets in an experiment and had eroded them in acid.
He didn’t even catch a glimpse of Sherlock until three weeks after the incident. Lestrade had not realized just how much he craved the consulting detectives’ presence until he wasn’t around for such an extended period of time. This was the longest they had gone without seeing each other in three and a half years.
Greg now felt that drastic measures were to be taken. He had everything planned out and all he needed was Sherlock to be in the same room with him.
Easier said than done, obviously.
The detective inspector had even gone so far as to use the key Sherlock had given him to 221B and had sat in the living room until the next morning. John had taken pity on him and fixed him some tea before telling him that he was going to have to put a bit more effort into whatever he was planning. It was Sherlock, after all.
The doctor and Lestrade had conversed the night before about the drastic measures he wanted to take. John had agreed to attempt to get Sherlock in the same room.
Lestrade needed his plan to work out. He was going mad without Sherlock. He needed him like he needed air. Greg missed the sly smiles at crime scenes, and the snide comments about his and his teams’ intelligence. He missed waking up next to Sherlock on the nights that the consulting detective actually slept over. He missed their easy banter over take out dinners and crap telly. He missed everything.
Greg missed Sherlock.
Needless to say, he needed the stubborn consulting detective to forgive him.
At exactly 3 o’clock John strolled into his office and a very unhappy looking Sherlock shuffled in behind him.
“Hello Greg,” John said, acting unusually chipper.
“’Lo John,” nodding at him and then turning his attention to the taller man “Sherlock” he said cautiously, dipping his head a mere centimeter. Sherlock, as expected, didn’t respond.
“Well, I’ll leave you two to it,” John said and then walked out, shutting the door behind him.
The younger of the two men glared at the door, but did not say anything.
“Sherlock, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have called you a freak, and I didn’t mean it. I would never purposefully hurt you, you know that right?” The glare was turned on him, and Greg almost looked away as the chill from the gaze swept through him. Luckily he managed to still himself.
“Why should I believe you? Because you sent me roses? Congratulations. How stereotypically boring of you, Lestrade.” The way Sherlock was glaring at him, and the fact that he was completely tense, told him that Sherlock felt more than he was letting on.
“I love you, Sherlock, you must know that.”
Sherlock actually scoffed. “Is this how you show love? Close the door, and make sure no one hears? Never touch me in public so no one sees? Calling me a freak also doesn’t help your case.” They both looked at each other in silence for a few moments, Lestrade was completely at a loss for words, he hadn’t known that keeping their relationship a secret had bothered Sherlock so much. “That’s what I thought. Well, if you don’t have anything else to say I think I’ll be on my way now. I have better things to do with my time.”
As his hand reached for the doorknob Lestrade shot up out of his chair, “Wait!”
The consulting detective turned cold eyes on him and lifted one eyebrow in question. Greg made his way to the door and flung it open, “I’m in love with Sherlock Holmes, if any of you have a problem with that kiss my arse.” Before the door shut again he saw the astonished and outraged looks on Donovan and Anderson’s faces respectively, and the look of bemusement on John’s.
When he turned around Sherlock was less than a foot in front of him and his gaze was now very much heated.
Lestrade held up a hand again, telling him to wait. “I know you’re not much for tradition, or anything. I know we’ve never really talked about anything in the future, but I want you to know that I’ve wanted people to know about us for a while, I just didn’t know how to bring it up. But I want everyone to know. Not just the yard, or John, or Mrs. Hudson, or your brother. I want it to be obvious that you’re with someone, and that I am as well. So, um, will you marry me?” Lestrade made the whole proposal in one breath, and he looked away from Sherlock to drag much needed air into his lungs.
He pulled the rings out of his pocket before looking back up into the heated gaze of his…well now he wasn’t sure because Sherlock hadn’t said anything yet. When Greg held up the rings, almost as an offering, Sherlock smiled and then pulled Lestrade’s face to his and kissed him hungrily. When they broke off Lestrade broke the silence, “I’ve missed you so much, Sherlock.”
Sherlock took one of the rings and slid it onto Greg’s left hand; “I admit that I have felt a longing for your presence since we have been apart.” The other ring was slid onto Sherlock’s hand as the kissed softly again.
“I really am sorry Sherlock, for calling you something you’re not, and for making you think I didn’t love you.”
“You are taking my last name.”
“Was that a question or a statement?” Normally Greg would glare at the detective for being so presumptuous, but he couldn’t say he minded changing his last name. Greg Holmes had a nice ring to it. Or maybe it was just the residual giddiness from proposing and having his proposal accepted.
“Statement, of course. I couldn’t possibly take your last name. My family name is very old and highly respected, and also I have made a name for myself, I couldn’t possibly change my name now.”
“Whatever you say, princess.” Lestrade grinned up at him and kissed him softly. Sherlock smiled back at him.
Eventually consulting detective pulled away and moved to the door, before opening it he said “The next time you have inevitably done something wrong, and need to apologize, German dark chocolate and nicotine patches work faster than roses. Though, the flowers were gorgeous.”
“I’ll remember that,” Greg said, smiling fondly at the detective. Sherlock turned again after opening the door.
“Dinner at eight tonight. I’ll send a car to get you at seven. I think it’s time you met mummy.” The look on Lestrade’s face would be a great source of amusement for Sherlock for years to come.