Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade was a Detective Inspector. He had an office and a division and was important, mostly. He had people who worked for him, although some of them were fucking dumb. Whatever. One day, he was sitting in his office and he was all like,
"Oh my actual fucking god, I am so hungry that I could eat the sun."
So he grabbed all his guns and shit and gapped. He was hurrying out of the front of New Scotland Yard when he bumped into some random mother fucker.
"What in the fuck?" He said.
"Lestrade, sorry," came the reply, "It's me, Anderson." said Anderson.
"Oh, Anderson. I couldn't see you behind your fugly beard." Lestrade said.
"I just wanted to tell you about the footprints we found at the-"
But Lestrade didn't hear the rest, because by this point, he'd run out of fucks to give about Anderson, and had walked off down the street like a boss bitch.
"What do I feel like eating?" he asked himself out loud, like an insane person, as he wombled around in search of nourishment. He'd had Chinese the night before, and cold Pizza for breakfast. He was done with savoury - he wanted something sweet.
"Fucking Donutssssss," he whispered to himself like he was on acid and was seeing the universe for what it really for the first time (a big sack of boiled glitter and tits).
And off he fucked to the donut purchasing arena/shop.
On the way there, he got bothered by some other guy.
"Officer, officer, help, my grandma just got stabbed and someone stole my bab-" the man began.
"Like I give a shit." Said Lestrade, continuing on his way.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" The random citizen asked. Or, he would have, if Lestrade hadn't gotten sick of his bullshit and busted caps.
"I'm a rebel without a cause." He whispered to himself because he's a lunatic.
"I don't take orders from nobody, and I take these bastards down!" he said, punching every muthafucka who dared to even walk past him, because who the fuck do they think they are?
Those basic bitches fell to the ground, one hit quitters. Lestrade was a man on a mission and no pedestrian was going to get up in his shit today. He was getting more and more frustrated with all these useless dicks who kept interrupting his donut mission. And he really wanted a donut, because they were his favourite food. Except for maybe beer or cock.
So then Lestrade finally got to the bakery and was totally fucking excited like holy shit, except, lo and behold, there were Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.
“What the fu-” he started to say, but was left speechless by the commotion unfolding before him.
The Bakery was in complete disarray, and long abandoned by the staff and other customers. Sherlock was clutching the last remaining tray of donuts and was scrambling to get away from John. He took one, shoving it into his mouth as quickly as he could.
“Sherlock! Give me a donut!” Shouted John, like the petulant little bitch he is.
“No. They’re mine.” Was Sherlock's answer, because he's a fucking asshole.
“Sherlock, you’ll get as fat as Mycroft if you’re not careful. And you know the diets don’t work, you hefty bitch.”
“They’re for an experiment.”
“What could you possibly be experimenting on, how long it takes me to beat you to death with a rolling pin?”
John was trying and failing to grab Sherlock off the top of the bread racks by the ceiling.
“No, I’m experimenting on you.”
Before Lestrade or John could do anything, Sherlock plucked up a donut and shoved it down his trousers. Leaving the tray containing the rest of the donuts on the bread rack, he hopped to the ground and smirked at John.
“If you want a donut John, you can come and fucking get it.” he said in a seductive voice.
Lestrade’s jaw dropped to the floor, and John froze. He looked up at Sherlock like he'd just been told he was mpreg and was about to go in to labour.
“Wh-” he started, but he seemed to be lost for words.
Poor John, always the victim in Sherlock’s schemes. To anyone else, it would seem that Sherlock was sexually propositioning John, but Lestrade knew better. But actually, he was trippin' and didn't know shit, because the tent in Sherlock’s pants was too big to be entirely donut related.
“John," Sherlock murmured, "Do you want it or not?”
His deep voice brought both Lestrade and John back to the current moment. What “it” was, neither of them were sure. John wordlessly looked down at Sherlock’s crotch, mouth still hanging open in shock. His arm lifted slightly, as though he were reaching for the Consulting Detective’s pants and the delicious treasure held within. He paused and hesitated, because he wasn't sure if he wanted dat diq a whole lot or a whole hell of a lot.
“Are you two going to fuck around all day? Because I just want a goddamned donut” said Lestrade, once again impatient.
He crossed the room and pushed John out of the way, dropping to his knees in front of a disbelieving Sherlock.
“Do you mind?” he questioned, looking into the twin universes in Sherlock’s face. Sherlock stuttered out some noises that meant “No, go ahead Lestrade, eat this donut off my penis please”, followed by a nod.
So Lestrade went for it.
Upon opening Sherlock’s trousers, it was revealed that the tasty pastry-ring had found a comfortable perch - the other detective’s half-hard penis. He tried to tug it off, but it wouldn’t come (Hahaha, omg).
Lestrade didn’t give a shit. Because the penis in question had grown too large for the removal of the donut, he held Sherlock’s trousers open and moved in to eat the donut where it was. The air was heavy above him, he could tell, but he was ridiculously far from caring. He enjoyed a nice cock, and luckily, quite accidentally, he had one in front of him.
He licked the tip, and then kissed his way down to the sugary ring of glory, where he sunk his teeth into its fried dough.
“Is it, ahem... Is it delicious?” he heard John clearing his throat, trying to force the words out past his quickly blossoming homosexuality.
“Mhm” Lestrade moaned, nuzzling Sherlock’s dick like a cat or something, running his tongue along the underside of the doughy circle, teasing, putting in more effort than required because he's a fucking slut.
He was paying sole attention to the unorthodox meal in his mouth, and so was taken by surprise when he felt a hand fumbling at his belt buckle. John Watson had managed to reach the donuts, and was attempting to recreate the current situation, except this time in Lestrade’s pants. Lestrade had no fucks to give. He shuffled back a bit so John could reach, and then returned to blowing Sherlock in between taking bites of chocolate-y goodness. He felt Sherlock tremble, and so dragged him to the floor, until Lestrade was able to get on all fours above the chocolate mess in Sherlock’s pants. He spread his legs, so that John also had better access.
Icing was melting all over Sherlock’s pale lower half, so Lestrade took it upon himself to clean up. He was sucking softly on an adventurous smear by Sherlock’s hipbone when he felt the doctor between his legs, unzipping his pants. John timidly put his mouth to Lestrade, giving the half-hard penis a dry-lipped kiss.
“Ughghnnfhnngggkdjshgmglfljksfhgjknskmfinland" Lestrade moaned into his mouthful of Sherlock's skin.
Knowing John was in a very awkward position, and that his shoulder would get tired soon, he thought it was time to reposition themselves.
“What do you say we roll over, huh?” He said, withdrawing from the glorious crotch in front of him.
He rolled over onto his back and shucked off his shoes and trousers so that he could spread himself wider for John. Any view he might have had of the good Doctor was obscured by Sherlock, who straddled him, shuffling forward until the heat of his body was right in Lestrade’s face, as if Sherlock was some kind of cheap pastry stripper. Lestrade, leaning on his elbows now, bent forward eagerly, delving right into his hot and gooey lunch.
John was now free to move as he liked, navigating his way around the strawberry donut he’d wedged on Lestrade’s dick. Lestrade chuckled a bit as he noticed John’s clumsy but determined dick-licking technique. It was all good. In fact, he seemed to be paying more attention to the penis than the donut. Lestrade was soon groaning, pushing his hips up into John’s face.
He finished his own donut quickly so that he could focus on the pre-cum covered cock in front of him. Done teasing, he took most of Sherlock's penis into his mouth – Sherlock was as smart as he claimed to be, because he got the hint and started thrusting quickly into Lestrade’s sticky mouth. Lestrade put his hands to good use, one hand squeezing Sherlock’s flesh, while the index finger on the other gently pressed into Sherlock’s arse, because why the fuck not, Lestrade loved butt stuff.
Sherlock gave one last, hard thrust and came in Lestrade’s mouth, semen spilling over lips and smearing over cheeks. Lestrade gave Sherlock’s arse a pat and then pushed him off, so that he could bury his hands in John’s hair and fuck his face properly. He grabbed a donut off the floor and bit down on it before humping wildly into John’s mouth. Poor John, he looked as though he didn’t know what had hit him (hint: it was Lestrade’s penis), but he was taking it all in his stride. Lestrade took one look over his donut at John, or rather, his dick disappearing inside John’s face hole, and that was it. He finished all over the place like a cheap hooker, and then lay back on the floor, eating his donut in between panting breaths.
John knelt on the ground looking dazed and a little confused. Lestrade grinned slightly as he got up and put his trousers back on. Grabbing a few more donuts off the tray, he headed towards the exist, ignoring the sound of Sherlock saying filthy things and helping John with his own pants-problem. It was about time those to got to some good, old-fashioned, bakery-floor, donut-fuelled fucking. He hoped he might join them again soon.
Greg Lestrade really fucking loved donuts.