Actions

Work Header

Domesticity

Chapter Text

John:
“What is so hard to understand about there being multiple Doctors in the same episode? He’s a time traveler – he’s bound to run into himself sometimes,” I say setting my now empty takeaway box on the coffee table and turning to look at Sherlock trying to understand how the Doctor hasn’t paradoxed himself into oblivion yet. “What I’m more surprised by is that his wives haven’t ran into each other yet!”

Sherlock:
"How can he be rescued by The Doctor in Pompeii but also be The Doctor. Why is he the Twelfth? Wouldn't he be thirteen or twelve-point-five?"

John:
 “He remembered his face when he regenerated and…” but I stop when I hear steps coming up the stairs.

Greg:
Damn bomb squad.  They were supposed to clear the vehicle before forensics started going through it.  I was fucking lucky.  If I'd still been standing next to Lathrop... I shudder at the thought.

I open the door at 221 and head slowly up the stairs.  My hip is still pretty sore - the doctor over at A&E told me to expect it'd be sore for a few weeks, actually. 

"Evenin', gents." I say, trying not to look as worn down as I feel.

Sherlock:
"If there are three Doctors and one button--" my explanation is interrupted by the arrival of a Gregory letting himself in. I smell cordite, see tears on his coat, no tie, obvious distress. "Jawn! Here now!"

John:
"I'm right here Sher..." but then I also see what has him so upset. I jump up off the sofa about five seconds after Sherlock and rush over to inspect the state Greg is in. "What happened?"

Greg:
"Damn bomb squad fucked up... Forensics lost a good man today..." I sat gingerly in Sherlock's chair, favoring my hip.  "Don't suppose you've got any decent scotch?" I ask John.

John:
"I can see you've already been to A&E tonight, why didn't you call us from there? We would have come got you," as I crouch down in front of Greg holding a hand and check over the few small lacerations on his face and neck.

"What pain meds did they give you?"

Greg:
"Just paracetamol, honest.  It's not that bad - just some bumps and bruises, really."

Sherlock:
Not knowing what else to do I go get Greg a glass of Scotch. "Here." I pass it to him as I make my way past to get the med kit from the bathroom.

Once I return I plop the kit next to John. "Fix him." I demand like a child handing their beloved toy to their parent to repair.

Greg:
"I'm fine, Sherlock... just some bumps and scrapes.  Blast slammed me into the floor, so my hip's a little sore.  Should be right as rain in a week or so."  I put my arm around him and squeezed him, giving him a kiss on the temple.  "Nothing to worry about."

John:
As Greg leans forward to kiss Sherlock I run one hand through Greg’s hair and the other down Sherlock’s back. “You’re… no, we’re all lucky tonight. But you said someone in forensics died… anyone we know?”

Sherlock:
I quickly get up from the floor and grab my laptop. It takes me less than 30 seconds to hack NSY and see the reports on today's incident. "Explosion. Forensics. One causality. Two severely injured. One mildly injured." I pointedly look at Greg and his 'mild' injury that looks like it should've received stitches. "Car bomb. No leads." I slam the laptop shut and start pacing. "Stupid Yard. Can't even do basic forensic testing without cocking it all up." If only there was a case. Of course they had no leads. They were never going to have leads. It was obvious a car bomb rigged by the now deceased smuggler who had abandoned this car ten years ago! "Idiots!!"

John:
"Who died Greg?" as I stroke his hand with my thumb and look into his eyes. I'm beginning to worry it's someone we know since he's not answering me.

Greg:
"Kid named Lathrop.  Hadn't been with forensics long... fresh out of school.  I only barely knew him... ran into him in the cafeteria a couple times."  I take a deep breath.  "He had his whole life ahead of him... now he's on a slab at St. Bart's.  Thank God I'm not the one who had to tell his parents... his fiancée..." I lean over and rest my head on John's shoulder.

Sherlock:
"Stupid Anderson and his stupid lack of .... I don't know! Something! He's stupid and it's his fault!" I storm into the kitchen. "Tea! I'll make tea."

Greg:
I call after Sherlock as he disappears into the kitchen. "Anderson didn't have anything to do with it, Sherlock... he's been on holiday for the past two weeks.  Taking care of his mum, I think he said."

Sherlock:
"Of course it's not his fault. He would've missed the obvious clue that there was a bomb rigged to go off. Anyone but me would've missed it." I yell back towards where the guys are starting to stand up, "but he's stupid so I'm going to blame him anyway. Stupid Anderson and his stupid..." What's another word for an idiotic cheating pseudo forensics person... "Andersonness."

Greg:
I take a long drink of the scotch Sherlock handed me, as John starts poking at the scrape on my cheek.  I bat his hand away.  "Makes you think, though.  Life is short."

John:
 “Too short. I’m just glad you’re alright,” and I give Greg’s upper arm a squeeze as I turn towards the kitchen. “Better make sure he doesn’t burn the tea.”

 

Greg:
John and Sherlock are arguing about the kettle in the kitchen, so I down the rest of my glass and get up slowly, taking a few steps to grab the bottle, and moving to the sofa with it.  I've just refilled my glass when Sherlock reappears.

Sherlock:
I walk out of the kitchen and sit next to Gregory. grabbing the bottle of Scotch I take a swallow then put it on the floor between our feet."John's finishing the tea." Not knowing what else to say, since John says I cannot speak about Stupid Anderson, I reach down and grab his feet and put them on my lap.

Greg:
I wince a little when Sherlock swings my legs up onto the sofa, resting my feet on his lap.  I'm nursing away at my scotch when John returns with tea.

John:
Setting two mugs of tea on the coffee table, I keep hold of my mug and sip from it while standing. “Talk to us Greg… I can see you’re troubled by something more than this new kid’s death.”

Greg:
"I had a lot of time to think today.  Life really is short.  Too short.  I threw away far too much with my ex.  Not going to make that mistake again." I take another drink of my scotch.  "Things are going to change for me."

John:
I cough almost choking on my tea and set it on the coffee table before moving to squeeze in next to Sherlock placing one hand on his shoulder. Sherlock has stopped rubbing Greg's feet and is just looking at him with concerned anticipation.

"What do you want to change, Greg?" and I swallow deeply and trying to think of what he could mean.

Greg:
"I can't lose you two." I say quietly, looking down into my glass.  "I..." I start to shake, and the tears start.

Sherlock:
Emotions are not my strong suit, so I put my arm around Greg's shoulder like he did for me earlier. As he snuggles in I look over at John and mouth "what do I do?" I hold him tightly and pet his hair.

John:
Pushing the coffee table a bit away from the sofa, I kneel down between them, moving the bottle of scotch on the floor and up to the coffee table.

“Oh Greg… You aren’t going to lose us! If anything, we almost lost you today,” as I rub my hand up and down Greg’s back and nuzzle in against his shoulder looking up at Sherlock.

Greg:
I feel like an idiot, blubbering like a baby.  I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand and clear my throat. "So... when we  went camping last month, you guys were talking about renting out 221C... were you serious?"

Sherlock:
"Depends..." I look at John with worry that Gregory is only joking, "It's ready and available." What if it's just an off-hand remark? What if he doesn't really want to move? What if it's just a reaction to the chemical flood his brain received during or even after the explosion?? What if...?

Greg:
"Depends on what, Sherlock?" I look at him seriously.  "I mean, I'd need to know if it's even in my budget..."

John:
"He looks serious Sherlock," and I smile realizing what this means for all of us.

Sherlock:
"Ha!" I start giggling quietly at first then get louder and louder til my laughter almost causes me to fall off the couch. I whoosh my hand towards John so he can explain that there is no rent and it's been ready for Greg to move in the day after we got back from camping.

John:
Chuckling at how happy this turn of events is making Sherlock too, I move to take Sherlock’s seat as he rushes off to our bedroom to grab the item I know he’s getting. “Forget your budget Greg, Sherlock bought the whole building from Mrs. Hudson a few months ago without either of them telling me. I only found out because she didn’t throw a fit when busted a hole in the roof trying to add mounts for a beehive. And he finished the renovations on 221C the day after we got back from camping!”

Sherlock:
Practically running back from the bedroom, I get on bended knee and offer a silver key with 221 etched in calligraphy on the head to Greg.

Greg:
"Really?  You weren't just kidding around?  I don't know what to say..." For the first time in a very long time, I'm speechless.

John:
"We just didn't want to pressure you into it, but we've always been serious about the offer," and I gently kiss Greg on the temple.

Sherlock:
"Seriously, Gavin, would I ever lie to you? Wait! Don't answer that." I grab the bottle of Scotch and prepare to pour some in each tea mug.

Greg:
"Wait!  Sherlock, go get some more glasses.  I don't want tea in my scotch..."

John:
"So, it's a yes then? You don't want to even go see it first?" and I giggle as Sherlock glares at me before he runs to the kitchen to get glasses.

Greg:
Between the scotch and the adrenaline let-down, I'm suddenly quite exhausted.  "How about tomorrow?" I ask hopefully.

Sherlock:
Coming back in I notice how exhausted Gregory appears. I pour us a finger each of the good Scotch I nicked from Myc. "Drink this." I hand them their glasses. "To old friends and new beginnings."

John:
Drinking down my scotch in one gulp, I set the glass on the table before sliding a hand over Greg's thigh. "I assume they gave you a few days off?" and Greg nods as he swallows his scotch. "Good, you're staying here tonight at least," and Sherlock ruffles his hand through Greg's hair looking very content sitting on the armrest behind him.

Sherlock:
I itch to grab my computer and show Greg all the furniture sites I have bookmarked, or suggest we call Mycroft and make him force some big furniture store open, or even start ordering swatches for his color scheme, but he's already starting to nod off. "John, let's get him to bed."

Greg:
I shake my head in amazement.  "You don't know how much better I feel about this... about us... about everything."  I try to stifle a yawn and fail miserably.

John:
Getting up I take Greg’s hand to help him stand as Sherlock goes around to turn off the lights and lock the flat door. Walking into the bedroom I help Greg strip down and ease him into bed laying him on his good hip before I go off to the loo as soon as Sherlock comes out of it and crawls in bed facing Greg. Once I come back I carefully spoon in behind Greg and fall asleep with the lullaby of their combined breathing in the room.

Sherlock:
Once both their breathing has evened out, and the early stages of REM are noticeable, I whisper a quiet I love you and fall to sleep to dream of a lifetime of this.

Chapter Text

Sherlock:
Too excited to stay asleep for long I woke up and started looking at a website called Pinterest. They had all sorts of decorating ideas that I couldn't wait to get a start on. I left the flat rather early to head off to a place called Ikea. This time I remember to leave a note to Greg and John to call me.

Greg:
I can feel the sun coming through the window, and the warmth of John curled up behind me.  I carefully slip out from under his arm, trying not to wake him as I slowly get up to head to the loo.  I was far more sore today than I was when I went to bed, that's for sure.  I took a look at my sore hip, admiring the beautiful maroon bruise starting to bloom there.  "Great..." I thought to myself.  I limped back to bed and lay flat on my back.

John:
I wake up when Greg comes back to bed and I hear him hiss from the pain as he gingerly lies back down. I slide a hand up to his cheek as he turns his head to look at me. “Morning love… you doing okay?”

Greg:
"Yeah... just a little sore. I'll live." I slip an arm around him and pull him close.  "Where's Sherlock?"

"It's weird waking up in this bed without him draped all over us."

John:
With a soft chuckle I nuzzle into Greg’s shoulder kissing it. “He’s probably up shopping online for furniture or hiring you movers. I don’t hear him moving about in the sitting room though,” as I lift my head up in an attempt to hear better.

Greg:
"He realizes that I actually have furniture, doesn't he?" I chuckle.  "I assume I get to keep at least some of it."

John:
I look down at Greg with a ‘what do you think’ look on my face and he groans and chuckles a bit, but that causes him to hiss in pain again. Pulling down the blankets I get a look at his bruising and although it looks pretty bad, and he’ll be hurting for a while, he’ll mend. “Time for more paracetamol I think. I’ll go make some tea, but do you want to go soak in the tub for a bit too?”

Greg:
"That sounds like a fantastic idea." I sit up and swing my legs off the bed.

John:
I help get Greg eased into the tub before I head to the kitchen to put the kettle on. Not seeing Sherlock in the sitting room, I eventually find a note on the box of PG Tips saying that he’s gone to IKEA of all places. Oh, Greg is gonna love this.

Greg:
Every muscle was screaming as I slowly slid into the hot water with a sigh.  I'd say I felt like I'd been hit by a bus, but... well, I guess that wasn't too far from the truth, was it? I leaned back and rested my head on the rim of the tub, concentrating on letting everything relax.  I closed my eyes and started humming an old song that had been rattling around my head.

John:
Walking back into the bathroom with the paracetamol and two mugs of tea, I see Greg laying back in the tub with his eyes closed and humming a song. I quietly pause in the doorway trying to identify the song when I give up and finish walking in and sit on the pile of towels next to the tub. Greg opens his eyes and smiles at me as he keeps humming and takes his mug from me.

“What’s the song?”

Greg:
"An old song my mum used to listen to.  'I Had The Craziest Dream' ... Frank Sinatra sang it. I can never remember all the lyrics, but I love the tune.”

John:
 “Mmm… sounds lovely coming from you either way,” and I wink at him as I sip from my mug of tea.

“So Sherlock has gone out shopping this morning and has requested we join him – he left a note.”

Greg:
"Oi... where are we going?" I am almost afraid to ask what sort of shopping expedition Sherlock is on that he needs our help.

John:
Shaking my head, "You're never going to believe this but IKEA." And we both bust into a fit of giggles imagining Sherlock walking around the vast consumer mecca that is an IKEA showroom.

Greg:
"He's probably nicked his brother's credit card again, hasn't he?"  I put my hands to my face and groaned, sitting up.  "We'd better get over there and stop him, before he refurnished BOTH these flats."

John:
"Hang on..." I say setting my tea down. "We still need to wash your hair and clean all this blast residue off you. Lean forward and I'll help," as I grab the closest bottle of shampoo.

Greg:
"Sure... just be gentle with me." I grin up at him as he pours some of Sherlock's posh-smelling shampoo into his hand.

John:
I chuckle as I rub the shampoo into his already wet hair and massage his scalp. "Let me know if I need to ease up anywhere, yea?"

Once his hair is thoroughly cleaned I pull the sprayer hose over and rinse it out before I grab a flannel and shower gel that smells like leather, sandalwood and some oriental spice. Sherlock always finds the most exotic and amazing bath products. I start with Greg's back, and after he leans back against the tub again, I move down by his feet and work my way up. Greg's practically purring like a kitten and watching me with his 'look', so by the time I get to his upper thighs, I let the flannel fall to the side and take his already half hard cock in my hand.

Greg:
I groan with pleasure as John rubs the flannel up my legs, his touch an interesting mix of efficient doctor's care and tender lover's attentions. By the time he reaches my thighs, my cock is rapidly rising to the occasion, his hands moving the water into a gentle, coaxing current over my skin.

John:
Keeping my hand moving around his cock without really touching it was allowing the water to massage him without the eventually irritating rub of sensitive skin-on-skin under water. Greg reaches a hand up to my face and I pull his first two fingers into my mouth gently sucking and flicking my tongue over them, my eyes never leaving their gaze into his.

Greg:
"Mmmm..." I reach up with my other hand and pull him toward me, slipping my fingers from his mouth and kissing him, putting my tongue in their place.

John:
Sucking hard on Greg’s tongue for a moment he groans into mouth and I release hold of it. Our kiss is intense and hungry and he once again pushes his tongue into mouth so I repeat sucking on it when he groans loudly and I feel a shudder ripple through him.

Greg:
"Fuck... that feels... so good..." I gasp as I reach into the water and wrap my hand around John's, squeezing just enough to get light friction on my hypersensitive skin.   I struggle to keep my hips still as our hands glide over my prick.  Hard to believe I'm so close, and he's only barely touching me...

John:
 “Cum for me... cum now Gregory,” I command softly.

Greg:
His words give me that last push I need to send me tumbling over the edge, my groans echoing through the room as I cum.  Our hands slip away from my softening cock and I relax again, the last of the tension in me swept away.  I look up into his eyes and smile.

John:
 “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll help you stand and bring you over to rinse off in the shower. I’m going to go jump in it now though,” I say as I get up and kiss him gently.

I hang my robe on the hook by the door and slip into the shower. My cock is rock hard and I debate lowering the water temperature to help ease it down, but Greg calls out to me. “John - how about giving me a show?”

I chuckle and peek around the glass stall to see him better. I smile and hesitate a second, licking my lips, “Alright, yea,” and pour some conditioner in my hand.

Greg:
I lean back in the tub, and watch intently as John slowly strokes his slicked hand up his cock.  The look of bliss on his face is something I'm never going to get tired of seeing, even if Sherlock and I aren't causing it.

John:
Grasping one hand on the edge of glass stall, I face out towards the room. The glass is steaming up and water rivulets are condensing and falling down the glass so I can’t really see Greg well, but having been in his position when Sherlock was once showering, I know he can see me very well. I stroke my slick cock as the shower sprays down my back, a glorious sensation combination.

Greg:
Watching John is so damn erotic... I'm tempted to climb out of the tub on my own and help him...

"Stroke that gorgeous cock for me, John... Let me hear how good it feels..."

John:
 “Oh god... it feels... fuck...” I manage to verbalize as my climax nears.

Greg:
I can tell he's close by the gasping breaths, and how his hand sped up just as he spoke.  "I wish I were on my knees right in front of you, John... waiting for you to cum... I wouldn't be waiting long..."

John:
Imagining Greg on his knees before me I let out a loud groan and my cum splatters on the glass, sliding down with the water in thick globs. I step back and lean against the back wall of the shower as the water sprays down onto my chest.

“Thank you, Greg. That was surprisingly good,” as I catch my breath.

Greg:
I chuckle.  "Happy to return the favor.  Now when you're ready, I'd love to get out of the tub and join you for a quick rinse..."

John:
 “Two seconds,” and I quickly rinse my cum off the glass and my hands before stepping out to help Greg emerge from the tub, his fingers and toes all pruned up now.

Greg:
John steadies me as I climb out of the tub and we walk into the shower, the hot water sluicing down my body.  Finally rinsed and feeling refreshed, I turn off the water and we step out.  John hands me a towel to start drying off while he dries himself quickly, then grabbing another dry towel to help me dry off.

Chapter Text

Greg:
Laying on the bed wrapped in a towel, I hear my phone's text alerts.  I pick it up to check it and start to giggle.  "We probably should go rescue the store from Sherlock, John..." I show him the messages before replying.

John:
“Yea, I see I have a bunch of messages too…” and laugh as I pull on my jeans and let Greg answer him.

Sherlock:
Text to John - wake up. SH

Text to Gary - why aren't you awake? SH

Text to John - one of the helpers is leaking. SH

Text to Graham - do you like throw pillows? SH

Text to Gentry - silly question. How many do you want. SH

Text to Gerald - Nm. I've picked out 12. SH

Greg:
Text to Sherlock - We are awake.  Stop tormenting the shopkeepers.  We will be there in 30 minutes.  Go wait in the restaurant.

Sherlock:
Text to Gerald - can't. I'm in the zone as you call it. SH

Text to John - they gave me a tablet to help me shop. Said all their 'personal shoppers" are busy but I see a few doing nothing. SH

Text to John - tablet is better. Less peopley. SH

Text to Gavin - come at once. SH

Greg:
Text to Sherlock - Then find a comfortable chair and wait, or I'll call your brother and have him cancel the credit card you nicked.

Sherlock:
Text to Gerry - you wouldn’t. SH

Text to Geoff - pfft. SH

Greg:
Text to Sherlock - just how sure of that are you?

Sherlock:
Text to Germaine - Pfft pfft. SH

I sit down at the Ikea cafe with an espresso while I wait I continue to shop using the tablet the manager gave me.

John:
Text to Sherlock – Getting in cab now. Stay out of trouble and be there soon.

“How much you wanna bet we all get kicked out of IKEA?” I ask Greg after I tell the driver where to take us.

Sherlock:
Text to John - Pfft Pfft Pfft. SH

Greg:
"To be honest, I am surprised they haven't already tossed him," and I grin out the window.

John:
Reaching over to hold Greg’s hand, he turns and smiles at me and it dawns on me, “Shit, I forgot to show you 221C before we left!”

Greg:
"I'm sure it's better than where I am now, and really... how much time am I going to be spending there?" I squeeze his hand and give him a wink.  I know full well that I'll be upstairs most of the time - 221C will mostly be a mailing address.

John:
I chuckle and smile thinking about getting to have Greg in our bed with us almost every night now. “True… probably not much time. My guess is unless you are working a tough case and sleeping odd hours, or Sherlock and I have one that you aren’t involved in, we’ll likely not be apart much,” I say low so the driver doesn’t over hear us. “I’m really looking forward to it, love,” and I give him a quick kiss.

Greg:
I lean into him, running my hand over his knee.  "You're not the only one." I say with a big grin.

Sherlock:
Text to Greg - don't listen to whatever John tells you. SH

Text to John - do not tell Gavin about your weird hang up to not shop with me. SH

Text to John - I'll be good. This time. SH

John:
Text to Sherlock - If we don't get kicked out of IKEA today, I can promise you a reward later.

Sherlock:
Text to John - define kicked out. SH

Text to Gerry - if you are not here soon your bath mat may be pink. SH

John:
Text to Sherlock - I'll know it when or if it happens.

Sherlock:
Text to John & Gavin - Bored. Hurry. SH

John:
Text to Sherlock - We'll be there in 5 minutes. Where are you in the store?

Sherlock:
Text to John - looking at bathroom towel sets. SH

Greg:
Text to Sherlock -  NO PINK.

Sherlock:
Text to Gowin - then hurry. they have matching towels. SH

Greg:
Text to Sherlock - I mean it... no pink.

Sherlock:
Text to Gerald - don't be so heteronormative. SH

John:
I pay the driver as we pull up to the front doors and Greg and I practically run inside and up the escalators to find Sherlock. The maze of their showroom means we have to walk through practically the whole thing before we get to the towels area, but we know we’re close when we pass a couple women looking disgruntled coming from the area. Luckily, it’s a Thursday morning so the store isn’t too busy.

Greg:
I find Sherlock looking through a stack of polka dotted bath towels.  "What on earth are you doing, Sherlock??"

Sherlock:
"I was looking for foxes." So far all I've found is pigs, dogs, and whatever this is." I throw the set back on the shelf

Greg:
"Just plain towels are fine, Sherlock.  What color's the bathroom?  Something that matches that."  I look at the selection of towels, bathmats, shower curtains... it's all a bit overwhelming.

Sherlock:
"Currently a pale green. A shade between Summer Grass and what the paint person called Spring Rain." I show Greg a picture of the bathroom.

Greg:
I take Sherlock's phone and look at the picture more closely.  "That's a good color - I like it."  I look at the stacks of towels.  "How about a set of these, then..." I pull out a light grey bath towel and show it to Sherlock.

John:
"I agree, those are nice," as I run my hand over the soft cotton towels.

Sherlock:
"Those are too plain." I reach in the top shelf for the ultra-fluffy ones. "If it MUST be plain at least make it comfortable."

Greg:
I laugh.  "All right.  Fluffy is good."  I look at the picture again.  "Is that a whirlpool tub?  Looks big..." I look slyly at Sherlock, who's grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

Sherlock:
"Of course it is. I chose it. Now, off to bedding. I've already picked out the bed." I hand John the Ikea tablet.

John:
"Pretty sure Greg already has a bed," I say taking the tablet and looking at the one Sherlock has added to the shopping list on the tablet and following them back over towards the furniture area of the showroom.

Sherlock:
"A bed? And here I thought it was an old army cot." I roll my eyes. "Well now he'll have a -decent- bed."

Greg:
"It's all right, John. If nothing else, my bed's not near big enough. A nice king size bed would be fantastic.  And then, Sherlock can pick out new linens." I nod at Sherlock.  "But the living room and kitchen are mine to furnish, all right?"

Sherlock:
"Hmm. No. You need help. I've seen your living room."

John:
"Sherlock," I say in a low warning tone.

Sherlock:
"What?" I see there look. "Bit not good?"

John:
Squeezing Sherlock's hand as he stops at the foot of a big black wood frame bed, I look at Greg to see his reaction.

Greg:
I look at the bed and frown.  "Uh, Sherlock... this doesn't look all that sturdy to me.  Where did you buy your bed?"

Sherlock:
"Mine was custom made. I could have one made for you, but I assumed you would balk at the money. However, the online reviews say the design is well above capable of holding over eight hundred pounds. Even with the three of us, and John's love of Mrs. Hudson's biscuits, I see no reason this bed wouldn't hold up."

Greg:
"Well, if you say so..." I'm doubtful, but again, I don't think I'm going to be spending much time in it, after all.

John:
"Oi," and I elbow Sherlock in the ribs.

Sherlock:
"Ouch." That was uncalled for.

"Now let's go to the kitchen area. I've already picked out the dishes and appliances, but you may choose the table and bar chairs." I hope they see how nice I am being.

Greg:
"I like my kitchen, Sherlock.  If you like my cooking, you'll leave my kitchen alone." I say in a low voice.

Sherlock:
"They are stainless steel. Won't that be better?" I do love Greg's cooking. Note to self: cancel kitchen order.

John:
"How about we go pick out sheets?" I suggest.

Greg:
"John's right - new bed is gonna need new sheets.  Got a color in mind, Sherlock?" I grab him by the wrist and drag him from the kitchen furnishings area, heading back toward bed linens.

Sherlock:
"Depends. Who will be doing your laundry?" I look back and forth from Greg to John.

John:
As we pass back thru the towels section and near the bedding area, I spot a nice display of a dark grey sheet set with matching duvet out front. "How about these?"

Greg:
"I can do my own laundry, thankyouverymuch."

Sherlock:
"Then I suggest getting a pattern set. It will hide the semen stains better." I get funny looks by an older couple who quickly wander off.

Quickly seeing how low their thread counts are, "None of these are acceptable. I'll find some online." I turn and start walking to the living room area.

Greg:
I chase after Sherlock as he heads to the living room furniture.  "Now, what exactly is wrong with my sofa??" It was the most comfortable sofa I'd ever slept on... and I slept on it a lot in the last 6 months of my marriage.

Sherlock:
"What -isn't- wrong with it? John, tell him how bad it is. It's even worse than that thing you call a bed." I throw my hands up. These two are so difficult to shop with.

John:
 “Sherlock, you know you don’t like it when I try to organize the kitchen, aka your lab? Imagine if you came home one day and I’d replaced the chairs and table, and tossed all your equipment,” and I see a look of horror come across his face.

Sherlock:
"You. Wouldn't."

John:
"No, but that's exactly what it feels like to Greg... what you feel about your things. It's Greg's space and he should decide what it looks like, not us."

"I know you mean well and are wanting to be helpful, and we love you for it," as I take his hands in mine, "but if Greg doesn't want you replacing all his belongings, you're going to have to listen to him."

Sherlock:
"Fine. Be Bachelor Chic. Whatever." John would never! John would never... Would John ever...? No. Not worth thinking about.

"He will need a table and bar chairs. Unless he plans on getting those at a yard sale."

Greg:
"No, let's take a look at what they've got.  I can definitely use a dining room table.  I rub my hand over his shoulder.  "And once I've gotten settled in, maybe we'll start looking for new living room furniture.  It'll do for now."

Sherlock:
When Greg rubs my shoulder I recall that it was less than twenty-four hours ago that he almost died. "I will say nothing more about the couch. If you like it then that's enough."

John:
"I have an idea Sherlock... since you are so set on racking up charges on Mycroft's card, how about we use it to pay for some men to box up Greg's stuff and move it over for him? With how sore he is from the blast yesterday, he won't be doing much moving of boxes himself for at least a week." And I turn to Greg, "If that's alright with you of course? I wasn't sure how quickly you wanted to move your things in..."

Greg:
"Well, my lease is up next month anyway, so no harm in moving things out early.  I'd appreciate the help, too... you're right, I'm not going to be moving much for a few days."

Sherlock:
During the time it took them to have this conversation I had already found and booked the appropriate moving and packing company. "Your belongings will arrive at C in three days. In the meantime, if there's anything you want to pack yourself," I can only assume he will want to pack his own pleasure toys, "it is suggested to you remove it from the flat before they get there."

Greg:
"So, that’s settled… let's finish up here, get some lunch, and head back to Baker Street, so you two can give me the grand tour of my new flat and I can take some more paracetamol." I reply.  With all the walking around, I was starting to get sore again.

John:
"Greg, why don't you and I go sit in the cafe, while Sherlock goes thru checkout and orders the bed delivery. Text us when you're done and we'll come down to take a cab back home together," and it hits me... home. We're all going home to the same place together. I fight back tears in my eyes and Greg takes my hand smiling.

Greg:
"All right.  A cup of coffee wouldn't be amiss." I give John's hand a squeeze.  I lean in and whisper in John's ear, "Don't go getting all choked up... it's just coffee." I say with a grin.

Sherlock:
Quickly figuring out if that's even possible. I should be able to move everything important to C until the movers arrive. "Yes Dear." I give a sweet smile and kiss on the cheek. "If you'll hand me the tablet, I will pay for our things and we’ll be on the way."

John:
As Sherlock walks away with an arm load of towels and the tablet, I turn to Greg with a worried look on my face, "He's up to something. He said 'yes dear.' When the hell has ever said that?"

Greg:
"I stopped trying to figure him out a long time ago, John. Just roll with it," I shrug.

John:
I chuckle and point to a banner hanging from the ceiling back towards the café, “Ever had their Swedish meatballs? That’s what I’m making for dinner – they’re delicious, but if Sherlock knows they came from a furniture store, he probably won’t eat them. So, no telling him alright?” and I hook Greg’s arm onto mine and lead him over to the café.

Greg:
I chuckle quietly.  "That sounds perfect.  My lips are sealed."  Once we're at the cafe, we get some coffee, and John does a little shopping for dinner.

Sherlock:
Text to John - I want your old room. SH

John:
Text to Sherlock - Why? What for?

Sherlock:
Text to John - For my reward. SH

John:
Text to Sherlock - What reward?

Sherlock:
Text to John - You promised a reward if we did not get kicked out of Ikea. We were not. I want your old room. SH

John:
Text to Sherlock - We're still in the building and you haven't paid for the purchases yet. That leaves you plenty of time to get kicked out.

Sherlock:
Text to John - Pfft. SH