A Surprise in 221B
“Sherlock, I’ve got a case for you and I think its a good one!” Lestrade called as he jogged up the seventeen stairs of 221B. He saw Donovan and the others had remained in the foyer and gestured for them to follow. He was just on his way to the crime scene now and figured he could stop and offer Sherlock a ride, he knew the man would probably rebuff his offer but it never hurt to ask. He knocked at the thick, wooden door and waited. When there was no answer he tried the handle and wasn't at all surprised to find it unlocked. Sherlock wasn't one who spared a thought for self preservation; if his eating habits were anything to go by. He had told Lestrade once that he only needed to eat every few days to sustain himself. He entered the flat prepared to find a consulting detective sulking on the couch due to the lack of cases but instead found a short blond man, wearing an oatmeal jumper, who was limping down the hallway towards the door.
“...or let yourselves in, whatever.” He waved his hand at the crowd now standing in the middle of the sitting room before pulling himself up to his full height. But before the blond man could say anything further Lestrade cut in.
“Who the hell are you?” Greg was bewildered. Had Sherlock moved out of 221B and not informed anyone? No that was nonsense Mycroft kept close tabs on him and would have informed Greg of any relocations the detective made.
“I should be asking you the same question seeing as you’re the one who walked into my flat.” The man’s mouth was set in a stern line across his face and had his eyebrows knit together in annoyance.
“We were looking for Sherlock Holmes but seeing as he isn't here-”
“Who said he wasn't here?” The man asked.
“Well obviously you are the one living here not him so I assume he doesn't live here any longer.” Lestrade was confused on why Sherlock would be here. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited for the man with the cane to reply.
“Well obviously you assumed wrong seeing as Sherlock is here. But that doesn't matter, you still haven't answered my question: Who are you and why did you burst into our flat?” Greg was torn out of his momentary triumph at once seeming to get all the details and conceded to respond to the man’s questions. Their current path obviously not getting them anywhere.
“Right. Sorry. I'm Detective Inspector Lestrade and this is my team from NSY. We walked into your flat because there is a case and I presume Sherlock would be bored out of his skull because he hasn't had one in over a week.” The limping man left the room momentarily to go to the kitchen. He returned with a bottle of water and took a sip. After he finished a smile replaced the frown he’d been wearing upon their entrance of the flat and held out his hand to the DI.
“Well its nice to finally meet you Detective Inspector. I've heard quite a bit about you but it’s nice to finally put a face with the name.” The man had a strong grip and shook Greg’s hand warmly.
Donovan had been quite this whole time and finally let her curiosity get the better of her because she suddenly asked, “What, so the freak got himself a flatmate now? Did he blackmail you into this or did his brother?” The blonde man stiffened at the name ‘freak’ but managed to reply cooly that he had moved there of his own free will and was not being blackmailed.
“Sorry,” Greg said. “Sherlock didn't tell us he had gotten a new flatmate. He actually didn't tell us of having a...well, erm…friend.”
John didn't say anything and instead continued to watch the DI stumble through his words.
“Em...I'm not saying that he can't but we just thought he would've at least mentioned you in some way.” Greg was falling over his words and was grateful when he heard the calling for a someone called ‘John’ from the down the hallway and realized the deep baritone was Sherlock.
“You're John?” Greg asked wanting to be sure since he had learned that his assumptions seemed to be a bit off today.
“Hmm? Oh, yes.”
“John!” Sherlock schlumped down the hall in a bed sheet, towards the shorter man, clearly irritated by something. “Why aren't you in you in bed? It is so tediously boring when you aren't there.” Sherlock whined and the whole of Lestrade’s team turned their heads to stare at Sherlock, even the DI. Had Sherlock just said what they thought he’d said?
“Sorry, love, but there was someone at the door and then there were people in our flat.” John reached up to kiss the man on the lips. Quick and chaste was the kiss yet it still had the yarders eyes bugging out of their skulls like it was public sex .
“Yes, well, it is quite easy for them to be ignored if one tries hard enough.” Sherlock responded with a smile playing upon his lips.
“You’re dating the freak?!” Donovan shrieked. Lestrade just stared. Through all the time he had known Sherlock he had never known him date or even show interest in other people. Well, beside the corpses he examined at the crime scene, but never had he mentioned fancying someone.
“Okay, one, stop calling him a freak. You're in our flat and you will call him by his name. Considering he solves almost every case for you, you could at least call him by his first name and-”
“and you could learn to leave us alone.” Sherlock finished for him. “Seeing as John just returned I think you can figure out what I'd rather be doing.” The innuendo was not lost on the two men as they shared a sly glance at one another before breaking out in giggles, that were more appropriate for teenagers, in front of Lestrade’s team.
They were still silent as the pair finished and wiped the tears of mirth from their eyes. Lestrade finally came back to himself to ask, “Wait, returned from where?”
“Oh, yeah, erm, Afghanistan. Captain John Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. RAMC doctor, shot in the line of duty and Honorably Discharged.” John said with a faint blush painting the tips of his ears and his cheeks. He rubbed the back of head with his hands, looking away from the crowd in the sitting room.
“Well, um, we thank you for your-”
“Don't say that.” Sherlock cut him off. “He hates it when people say things like that. He didn't do it for you so don't say it like he did.” Sherlock focused his icy stare on Lestrade who starting to feel like he was missing something very important.
In the background he could hear Donovan sigh before she lost all her sense of decorum.
“So you’re dating right? You two are together?” She blurted, not really caring if it was an intrusive question or not.
John let out a chuckle. “Sergeant Donovan, right?” She stared at him and simply nodded.
“Thought so. Sherlock’s mentioned you, too. I won't lie, so far, everything he has said about you is true, and its not good.” John lost some of the warm cuddly doctor for a second before slipping right back into what Lestrade thought was his usual persona. “But to answer your question, no, I'm not his boyfriend.”
All the yarders turned confused faces to the man. If they weren't dating, why was this man, John, kissing Sherlock and calling him love and sleeping in the same bed with him?
John continued. “I'm not his boyfriend, I'm his husband.” Lestrade was sure, if someone dropped a needle, you would've heard it. The whole flat became silent as all the yarders processed what they had just been told. Lestrade’s eyes flew to John’s and Sherlock’s left hands where there lay simple platinum rings. Sherlock’s had an intricate hexagonal pattern while John’s had alternating soft and hard ridges. The DI was the first to recover and find his words.
“What?” He squeaked. He couldn't believe Sherlock Holmes had gotten married. He had just never seemed the type.
“Really, Lestrade, are you being purposely obtuse today or have you always been this idiotic? John said that he’s my husband as I am his.” Sherlock curled himself protectively around John as he spoke. Looking like someone would lash out and do something if he didn't.
"Oi, I'm not stupid, I was just surprised, that's all. Never thought you'd find someone who could...er...um-”
“Put up with me? Yes I don't know how John does deal with me.” Sherlock smiled fondly down at John before nuzzled, just slightly, into the shorter man’s hair.
“That's great, um, when did-”Lestrade was again cut off by Sherlock.
“Lestrade, you barge in on a couple’s home where they apparently have other things that need attending to,” Sherlock slid a side long glance towards John before continuing. “ You would think that you would have the decency to let them alone. Now run along to your dull little crime scene. I'm sure all your funny little brains put together should be able to get you some leads and, if not, I’ll be available soon enough. Now, if you please, we were enjoying a lie in before you so unceremoniously burst into our flat. You and the rest of your cohorts are able to find your way back out I presume?” Sherlock turned and, with a dramatic swish, sauntered down the hallway, back towards his and John’s bedroom, tugging at the bedsheet as he went. John stared after him and only seemed to remember there were people in his flat when Lestrade cleared his throat in an awkward manner.
“Oh, sorry, pleasure to meet you Mr. Lestrade. Hope to see you again some time. You,” John made a gesture towards Sergeant Donovan while reaching out his hand to take Lestrade’s. “not so much. And don't call him freak, you owe him a lot.” John maintained his friendly demeanor but Greg could see the malice held behind his gaze and, apparently, so did Sally, because she huffed out an indignant ‘okay’ in response.
“As to you Mr. Watson.”
“Mnmn, it’s Watson-Holmes. I'm only John Watson when referring to my army career.” Lestrade nodded in understanding and turned to leave, ushering everyone out of the flat. As the officers filed out ahead of him he felt John grab his shoulder.
“Don't hold out on him for much longer. As much as he hates to admit it, he’s beginning to get a bit bored and he’ll need a case sooner or later. Try us again in a couple more days, yeah?” John looked at him and Lestrade could see the utter admiration he held for the detective in his ocean eyes. No wonder he was a doctor, this man cared for everything and everyone. The DI nodded and stepped out of the flat, closing the door behind him, and made his way down the seventeen stairs of 221B Baker street, smiling to himself as he did.