#di greg lestrade

[justanothergoldfish]

Greg Lestrade x reader

Handsome stranger - part two -

pt. 1 pt. 2 pt. 3

warnings: swearing, drinking

words: 2200

A/N: there will be a third part. I love Greg too much. Also in this part, reader is definitely written from a female POV. If i hear one complaint about my interpretation of Scottish English I'm burning down the internet.

---

It didn't take long for your boss to show up at the bar after that interaction. 

“Seriously? Ain't he a wee old for a lassie like you?” he asked, his eyebrows furrowing together. With a feign look of innocence you shrugged, “What are you talking about?”

“I heard ya, young lady. Drooling over that poor fella.”

Hearing him call you out so shamelessly made it impossible to stay serious and to not grin like an idiot. 

“Oh can't I have some fun? Hey, maybe he'll tip nicely, alright? I'm just… boosting your business. Sales, you know?”

Gary rolled his eyes and shook his head, and you could almost hear him think ‘You're a hopeless case’ as he nudged towards the kitchen. “Go help the lad in the back, aye? I'll take it from here.”

You too rolled your eyes and clicked your tongue. “Hey, just to make this clear; men are like wine, they get better with age. Guess you might've gone bad.” you groaned in annoyance, throwing the linen cloth from your apron onto the counter before heading into the kitchen.

“Oi, remember who's paying your bills, lassie!” Gary called after you, his voice a bit elevated, earning a huff from you. It was all friendly banter, but it still made you pout, not to be able to serve Greg and have some fun conversation. You had been looking forward to another chat with this gorgeous man from London, he seemed… Interesting. 

~

After what felt like a thousand peeled potatoes later, Gary returned and slumped himself into a corner in the kitchen. 

“I feared the day would come…bloody shite…” he mumbled, looking pale as a ghost. The man shook his head, staring into the steamy kitchen air. 

Without looking at him, you already guessed what happened. “What's wrong? Someone discovered that the ‘monster’ is just a hungry dog you've sat out in the forest?” 

Gary's eyes drifted over to you. “That fella you've been drooling over… He's an Inspector.”

Oh shit. 

Instant panic broke out internally at his revelation and you basically dropped everything. “A Health Inspector? Bloody christ Gary, I don't have a fucking food or beverage certification! I'm only supposed to help you out until you find someone else! What am I supposed to do?!” you hissed, crouching down in front of him. 

Gary sighed and waved it off. “Not a Health Inspector. A Detective from Scotland Yard.”

Was that better or worse? 

It took a few moments to calm down and collect your thoughts. 

“So? What now?” 

With a groan, Gary buried his face in his hands.  “We told him everything, I can never look that man in the eyes again… He's only staying for one night, aye?”

You got back up and crossed your arms. 

A Detective from Scotland Yard? This man got more interesting by the minute. 

“Looks like I'll take it from here again. I'll make sure he’ll have a pleasant time and won’t close down your business.”

~

As you came to the front, you saw Greg leaning against the counter, scrolling through his phone. He nipped on his beer and locked his phone as you approached with light steps. Even though he had scared the shit out of the owner, he seemed so… relaxed. 

Once you cleared your throat you decided to speak up to him again. 

“So… You're a Detective? Is that what brought you here? Are we in trouble?” you tried to jest as he locked his phone and gave a reassuring smile.” I'm on holiday, no need to panic. I think the owner’s already learned his lesson and if I learned one thing in life it's to never mess with a lady who pours my beer.”

The way his eyes creased when he carried that beaming smile, it was honestly heartwarming. 

“You're a smart man then.” you chuckled, grabbing a small chestnut wood bowl and filling it with a bag of mixed nuts and crackers from one of the cabinets. 

“So, a Detective from London, all the way out here in the Dartmoor in our humble village,” you grabbed a tall glass and poured him another, noticing his drink was nearly finished, “You probably brought some exciting stories along. Care to share?”

Greg huffed as he supported himself on the counter with both arms in front of his chest and adjusting his seat on the barstool. “Rather gory than glory, trust me. Sure you can handle it?”

The teasing smirk on his face made your heart flutter and cheeks redden as you tried to contain yourself and served him his beer and the complimentary snack bowl. 

“You surely know the key to a man's heart. Thank you, love.”

Greg took a few peanuts, juggling him in his hand ever so slightly. 

"You'll probably hate me for questioning you about your job on your holiday, but I have to know. Have you ever seen a dead body?”

Greg munches on his peanuts as he nods along. Knowing that the hotel owner would scold you for just standing around and chatting, you decided to clean up a bit and do some side work during the talk.

“I've seen some, yeah. Part of the job.” He finally says after swallowing. 

From one of the drawers you gathered a bunch of paper towels and a tray of cutlery. Rolling silverware seemed like a perfect task to do right now, surely the conversation would make this eternally hated task probably more bearable.

Greg observed your hands working on the roll-ups with precision and skill as he took one of the crackers into his mouth, chewing on it while watching you.

“So, did you ever… shoot someone?” you asked, spreading out the next paper towel. 

For a moment, he went back into his thoughts. He chewed on the inside of his cheek before taking a sip of his beer. With the back of his hand he wiped off the foam from his upper lip and gave a half nod, half headshake. 

“Fire a gun at someone, yes. Killed someone, no. I think that answers your question?”

You raised your eyebrows and agreed with a simple nod before moving on to the next question. “Can I see your ID?”

The man grinnes and grabbed another peanut from his bowl, “You've seen it already.”

“Aw, not your personal ID, your police ID, you know what I mean” you mused. 

He chuckled as he reached into the inner pocket in the lining of his jacket and got it out, holding it up in front of your face.

“Wow…  Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade… Scotland Yard…“ you read off the card quietly, seemingly impressed before looking back up to him, meeting his brown eyes. 

“It's not as impressive as you think. Lots of paperwork” Greg explained as he stuffed his ID back into his inner pocket and straightened his jacket afterwards. 

“But- my turn to ask a question. I don't even know your name.”

“Then find out? You're a Detective working for Scotland Yard, I'm sure you've got your sources.” 

His expression instantly gave away that he was more than up for the challenge, despite being on holiday it seemed to be worth the effort. 

“Good, give me until tomorrow morning’” Greg grinned, looking at you all over again. Now that made your cheeks flush a bit, hopefully not enough to be noticeable in the dim light of the bar.  His smile made you completely forget about his age for a moment. Not that you truly cared. He was a fine man with an exciting job and probably made good money, what was not to like? 

You tried to get a glance at his hands as discreetly as possible. 

No ring, good. But it was visible that he'd been wearing one until recently.

Maybe that was your chance to get to know him better personally. 

“So, why does a handsome detective go on vacation all on his own?”

Greg can't help but smile bitterly to himself at your words, fidgeting with the beer glass in his hands. He felt flattered by your words, and after divorcing his wife, your words were like a balm to his sore heart. 

“Handsome, huh? Can't say I've heard that in a while” he said almost sheepishly before taking a deep breath, staring at the foam of his beverage for a moment. 

“Yes, i uh.. I'm divorced. Just happened a few months ago.”

You saw the sorrow creeping up in his face and tried to offer a shoulder to cry on as you sat away the tray of rolled silverware. 

“You know, bartenders are perfect to pour your heart out to, if you wanna get it off your chest?”

Greg hummed, his eyes scanning the liquors on the wall behind you. 

“Need something stronger for the nerves beforehand?” you asked, already reaching for a shot glass. 

He couldn't help but smile at your words, “You're a mind reader, my dear. Pour me anything.” 

After scanning through the variety of liquors the bar had to offer, you filled the shot glass with a clear, yellowish liquid and set it down in front of the Detective before returning to your tasks. 

Without any hesitation, the man downed his drink in one go and licked the excess off his lips. 

“That's a good one. Elderflower?”

You nodded and let him reach the empty shot glass over to get it cleaned in the sink. “Owner made it himself last year. Tastes awfully sweet but don't underestimate the alcohol.” 

“You've got quite the taste, eh? Well… pouring my heart out to a bartender, I'm not gonna pass on that opportunity.” He braced himself mentally and propped up an elbow on the counter, his warm eyes drifting off as he started to explain. 

“Been married for years, but due to the job, my ex-wife and I sort of drifted apart. We've been fighting constantly, thought it was getting better only to find out she…”

As hard as he tried to say it out loud, the words just got stuck in his throat. Not that he had to finish the sentence for you to understand. You shook your head, not understanding why people were that way. 

That was fucked up. And as hard as he tried to find his words, you tried to be empathetic but couldn't help to automatically think out loud “What a bitch.”

Greg blinked a few times at your blatant words before the corners of his mouth curled up into a smile. He'd always felt his heart break at the thought of his failed marriage, feeling like it was his fault. He should've had more time for her, he should've showed her how much he loved her, but for the first time, he saw it all from a different perspective as you continued, “Communication problems or struggling to sort out your work - life balance don't justify cheating. Nothing does.”

You cleaned his shot glass and set it away to dry, still shaking your head. You kept on rambling about how wrong this all was, and it made him change the entire way he'd felt about this divorce prior to this conversation. 

Once you noticed how quiet he'd gotten, you too stopped talking and mustered him for a moment. He didn't say anything for a while, he just stared at his glass with a smile, realizing the final straw, his ex-wife's infidelity, was her choice. He never wanted to fight, he never wanted to neglect her or make her feel unloved. 

For the first time since the divorce he could look back at the situation without feeling like a miserable man who had thrown away his marriage himself. Your words had made him realize that this wasn't on him. 

“Greg? Are you alright?”

Finally, his eyes met yours, the outer corners of them creasing as he gave you a warm, honest smile. 

“Pour me two more of those shots, love” he said with an undertone of relief. 

So you did. Two more shots, onto the counter.

He took one of them and gestured for you to grab the other one for yourself. 

“Oh, I can't, not while I'm on shift-”

“Noone's looking. I'm off duty, I won't arrest you.” he says with a reassuring nudge to the other shot. 

If your boss knew… 

Ah, screw it. 

So you looked left and right quickly before clinking your glass against his, hoping no one would ever find out about it. 

“Atta girl. To the pretty lady pouring my drinks and opening my eyes.” he mumbled in a low volume before both of you downed your shot, while his words almost had you choking on the drink. 

He sat down his glass with a sigh and mustered you with care. “You know darling, I think I should come around more often."

[moodboards-aesthetics]

Gregory Lestrade & Mycroft Holmes

[fairer-tales]

i headcanon that lestrade wasn’t grey before he met sherlock. but, five years of dealing with his shit and he was fully grey and perpetually stressed by the time he met john

[jax-winchester]

The urge to write Sherlock fan fiction because im bored.

[bens-moms-are-lesbinems]

lestrade: need i remind you, sherlock, of what happens when you interfere with a case?

sherlock: …the case gets solved?

[strawberrywinter4]

May 8 | Prompt: Hobby

“You look horrendous.”

Sherlock’s words thrash Greg’s daze, and he turns to the detective to make sure he heard correctly. “What?”

“I said you look horrendous,” Sherlock repeats, eyes not leaving his device.

Greg holds a scowl, his eyes flickering down to the floor. “Yeah, thanks for that.”

It’s odd that Sherlock would even mention anything other than the case they are currently glued to. They are about to question the suspect that is being brought by other enforcers. In the mean time, Sherlock and Greg have slipped into a peaceful silence in two uncomfortable chairs just outside in the hall. Only now it’s not so peaceful and Sherlock has brought that upon them through insults.

“What I’m trying to make you understand is that you obviously haven’t slept properly in the past week,” Sherlock observes. “When you and your wife were together, that was never an issue.”

Greg has to refrain from rolling his eyes. “Mm.”

“Sherlock,” John hisses as he comes toward them with two coffee cups. “You can’t just say that out of nowhere.”

“Oh, please, John. You were informing me of that viewpoint just last night,” Sherlock says.

Greg’s jaw drops open as he looks between the two men, Sherlock impassive and John embarrassed. “Oh, I see how it is, then!” he says, crossing his arms. “You two just want to have a laugh so you decide to think of ways to gossip.”

“No, Greg. That’s not what this is,” John argues calmly, sending a glare to Sherlock which he ignores. He hands the coffee to Greg, and Greg’s about to deny it in stubbornness before he gets a whiff of the warm goodness. Instead of turning his nose up at it, he takes it, mumbling a ‘thank you’ in the process. “I was only saying that you seemed off, mate,” continues John. “You’ve been digging yourself in cases and that isn’t like you. We’re just worried, is all.”

Greg sighs, his tenseness dissipating. “I know. I’m sorry for snapping, it’s just—”

“It’s fine,” says John, taking a seat next to him. “But…you know, my suggestion is that you find an activity you enjoy or something. Get your mind off work for a while.”

“I second that,” Donovan pipes up when walking towards them. “You look awful, Greg.”

“Yes, thank you,” Greg grits out.

“When you feel up to it, get home, look on the internet,” Donovan instructs. “Trust me, I’m sure you can find a hobby, no matter how weird.”

And Greg does just that. After the case, he heads to his flat and takes a long nap, it nearing 5AM. Once he’s woken up and somewhat refreshed, he scrolls on his laptop.

The first suggestion that pops up is gardening. He could do that.

He sets up a little string of seeds in a row of dirt just outside his balcony. He had asked the man at the shop which seeds he recommended, and the kind man sent him off with various different seeds.

“I’ll name you Toby,” Greg says as he plants a seed he doesn’t know the name of. This should be simple enough.

The plants are short lived when Greg buys a hose and puts it at the wrong setting when watering the plants. It’s at the highest setting and when he turns it on, the weight of the water knocks the wooden bucket of plants off, sending them flying down his balcony. He winces when he hears them crash on a car below, the vehicle honking. Greg rushes inside, trying to ignore the loud cursing that the owner of the vehicle provides.

“How about knitting?” Molly suggests a few days later. “Always calms me.”

“Okay,” Greg considers. “I’ll knit something for you.”

Molly smiles shyly. “I’d love that.”

That activity is short lived as well. Greg can’t hold his frustration for one moment as he constantly pokes himself, gets lost with the tutorial on YouTube, and all in all, the supposed sweater turns out to be a bundle of false direction.

Greg puts the attempted knitting project on the counter in front of Molly.

Molly smiles in pity. “It’s a start.”

“No, it’s shit.” Greg sighs, wishing he could glare at himself. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” says Molly. “How about you find something a little more simple? Something that doesn’t require a set of rules.”

Donovan suggests a hiking trail outside of London. Greg can do that. He can absolutely do that.

“Fuck!” Greg curses when tripping on another long set of weeds. A family passes him, sending him horrified expressions. Greg huffs, sweat dripping down his back. “Yeah, why don’t you take a picture while you’re at it.”

He doesn’t know how Donovan recommended this with such ease, as if it’s the simplest activity in the world. So far, Greg has received numerous scars on his ankles due to sharp ends of rocks and vines, he’s cursed every minute he’s walked (he’s sure he will get kicked out of the park soon), and dizziness from the heat has taken over.

Once back home, he flops on his bed, rolling himself up in blankets. He’s not good at anything. Nothing is for him. Greg shouldn’t be surprised, but he is. Either he’s shit at all hobbies or he’s meant to suffer as a workaholic.

A week later, his neighbor, Mrs. Sue, knocks on his door. When Greg opens it, she’s holding a grey kitten with bright yellow eyes in her hands. Mrs. Sue sneezes several times, putting on a smile.

“Hi, Greg,” she says a bit timidly, her nose noticeably stuffed. “Uh—well, my sister left me with this and I was wondering if you could sit her for a day, only a day. I need to find some place where they will accept cats because I’m quite allergic.”

“Oh,” Greg says. “I mean—yes, of course. I suppose I could sit for a day. What’s her name?”

“Luna,” Mrs. Sue informs, already handing him the cat. “I’ll be back in the afternoon.”

When she leaves, Greg shuts the door and puts the loudly purring cat down. She rubs against his leg, looking up at him with innocent eyes.

“Well, aren’t you just a cutie,” Greg comments. “C’mon. I’m sure I have some milk. Cats like milk, right?”

The whole day, Luna is nothing but attached to him. When Greg sits, she settles herself on his lap. When Greg does his light workout routine on the floor, she’s under him when he does push ups and on top of him when doing sit-ups. Greg can’t help but laugh. Even after he’s taken a shower, she’s waiting patiently outside the door, looking up at him expectantly.

Afternoon hits and the doorbell rings. Disappointment admittedly looms through Greg, especially when he looks down to see Luna sleeping soundly against his leg.

He opens the door and Mrs. She is holding a box. “Thank you so much, Greg,” she says. “I can take her now. I found a place.”

Greg blinks, and he’s considering giving her back to Mrs. Sue. Maybe it’s for the best.

But when Luna looks up at him with her big yellow eyes, Greg can’t resist.

“Erm…actually,” he starts. “I wouldn’t—y’know, mind keepin’ her.”

Mrs. Sue’s eyes widen in surprise. “Really?”

“Yeah, I mean,” Greg shrugs, “she’s a sweetheart. I would be happy to, actually.”

Mrs. Sue signs in relief. “Thank god. I didn’t even know if the place I visited would have accepted her.” She smiles. “This works out perfectly, Greg, thank you.”

Once she’s gone, Greg sits on his chair and pats his leg. Luna hops up and begins to purr against his chest. “Guess this worked out just fine, hm?” he says as he scratches behind her ear.

Though it isn’t classified as a hobby, Greg finally finds something that keeps him busy and content. Though Luna’s constant mewing and purring can be annoying at times, Greg is delighted to have another pair of soft footsteps on the floorboard. He’s happy to have some noise other than himself in the once quiet space. He’s glad to have something to come home to, something to look forward to.

——

Thanks for reading! I know I haven’t been following with the prompts, but I’m sick at home and actually have some time to write so I thought I’d do this prompt today lol.

Greg is one of my absolute favorite characters and I love, love, love writing him. I stand by that he’s both an impatient and patient man, but that’s okay! He finally found something that makes him happy.

Prompt by @calaisreno Thank you for making this a tradition of sorts. I loved writing this!

Tags: @a-victorian-girl @whatnext2020 @totallysilvergirl @ninasnakie @thegildedbee @whodwantmeasaflatmate @with-a-ghost-mr-holmes @sherlocknjohn221b @jawnn-watson @blogstandbygo @lisbeth-kk @holmesianlove @7-percent @itsonlytext @chinike @peanitbear @mary-johnlocked @bakerstreetbe @curlyjohnlock @helloliriels @keirgreeneyes @ceceliajupe @ghostofnuggetspast @dw91165 @jolieblack @gwendelaneyisjohnlocked

[spectral-kitkat]

I had an epiphany the other day:

Greg ‘Not our division’ Lestrade and Sir Leon the Long Suffering are the same character in different time periods

They both have to deal with all the shit the other people around them do whilst wondering how the hell they found themselves in this situation in the first place. They will always be there when needed but they will 100% be judging the fuck out of the other person when they help. They always seem like they know more than they do but decide that it’s not their problem unless it’s life or death/important enough.

Idk maybe I’m reaching 😅

[kitoblob]

Who is Strade and why is he mine. I don't want him

[totallynots8tan]

He’s just a funky little white boy

[mycroft-in-disguise]

"Oh, c'mon! Give me a smile!"

"Why..?"

⚠️ Please, do not post to other sites without asking, thank you!

[ I know, I have a lot to improve! ]

[mathispunk]

i may or may not have gotten carried away with the "silly doodbles"

[justanothergoldfish]

Greg Lestrade x reader

Handsome stranger

pt. 1 pt.2 pt. 3

warnings: mentions of alcohol/drinking

word count: 950

A/N: this plays during the events of the episode 'Hounds of Baskerville'.

---

It was a rather slow afternoon, all the guests had settled in this morning. You checked the guest book and there were no more reservations booked for today. Since most guests were currently out with Fletcher, the guide for the Hound of Baskerville Tour, it was finally calming down in the “Cross Keys” hotel and bar. There was finally time to refill the ale and the fridge for the sodas. 

This entire story about this monster had brought in a lot of customers in the last month, which is why you were helping Gary, the owner and a family friend, out. He'd asked you to work for him part time so he had more time for management and the paperwork.

Billy stuck his head out from the kitchen and gave you an exhausted look. “You alright up front? We're busy prepping dinner back here, but if you need help just call, okay?” the ginger haired boy panted, wiping his hands on a towel. You just chuckled and nodded along, it was adorable how the staff was still treating you like a raw egg. 

“I'm fine, don't worry. Not my first time being a waitress” you smiled, patting his shoulder before he looked up to the bar. “Ah, customer.” he said, quickly nudging to the door as he retreated to the kitchen. 

You turned around to see a middle aged man with ashy gray hair and a beige, loose jacket. He wore a black button shirt and anthracite pants, on his face a black pair of sunglasses. 

Yeah, definitely a foreigner. 

You tightened your apron as you walked up to the bar, supporting yourself on the edge of the surface with both hands. 

“Hi, welcome to the Cross Keys.” you smiled as he looked around, hands buried in his pockets. 

“Mmh, nice cozy place, innit?” 

Ah, so he's from London. 

“Most definitely, Sir. Away from all the city trouble, it's pure heaven.” You smiled at him and he took off his shades, letting his eyes get used to the light in the room. 

Once they had adapted, he looked directly at you. Big mistake. His eyes were a gorgeous shade of chocolate brown, practically making you melt away at first sight.

No, get it out of your head. He's way too old and probably married.

“You don't happen to have any single rooms available for tonight, do you?” He asked, putting his hands back into his pockets. 

Or maybe not married. 

You pretended to check the bookings, chewing on your lip as you tried your best to look very focused in order not to smile. Despite his age, he was definitely a sight for sore eyes. 

As soon as you had yourself back together, you nodded and looked back up at the man. 

“Actually, we do. That'll be 120£, breakfast is already included and served in the dining room from 7.30 to 9.30 in the morning.” 

The man nodded and pulled out his wallet, “Sounds good. I'll take it.” he says, his voice dropping lower than before. It distracted you to the point you almost gave him the key without having him pay, hadn't he already reached out the money to you. 

“Oh, and your ID please.” you added, taking the money and putting it into the cash register. 

“Sure, one second.” He pulled out the card and placed it on the counter, shoving it over to you. As you took it, you quickly read through his information, calculating in your head. 

So he's 49, damn, from London. 1,80m tall… Gregory Lestrade… handsome man, handsome name. 

Gregory Lestrade. 

You pulled yourself out of your thoughts and cleared your throat, writing down his personal information into the guest book and handing the card back to him. 

“The rooms are upstairs, around the corner on the left.” you said, taking some of the already polished glasses and one by one wiping them down again, just to look busy and to have an excuse to stay up front for a while longer.

“Came to see the creature?” you grinned, and Lestrade seemed to be in thought for a moment. He took the key with the room number and his ID from the counter. 

“Sort of…” he grins to himself, leaning against the bar, hoping to catch a glimpse into the guest book. 

“I'm actually looking for.. uhm, a friend.”

You raised an eyebrow, wiping down another glass. “Oh, a woman?”

Lestrade can't help but huff. He shakes his head as he wets his lips, “Tall man with dark curly hair, probably wore a dark coat, collar turned up for the dramatic effect. Occasionally acts like a drama queen though.” 

Yeah, that rang a bell. 

“With his shorter boyfriend?”

Lestrade took a seat on a barstool, snorting at your confident words. He tries his best not to grin and laugh out loud. 

“Yeah, his, er… boyfriend.” He mumbles in amusement. “So they are here, good. Listen, I'll bring my bag to my room and I'll be right back for a drink. I'll probably need it.”

You put the glass down and tucked the cloth back into the belt of your apron. 

“Great idea. I've just opened a brand new keg of Guinness if you're interested? I'll be here if you need anything else, Mr. Lestrade.” you smile sweetly, taking his appearance in once again. 

Lestrade turned his head back to you as he walked to the door with an amused grin. “Guinness sounds wonderful, and you can just call me Greg, love.” 

Watching him go, you just stood there behind the bar, staring and smiling in awe like a dork. 

Greg Lestrade.

What a handsome stranger...

[moodboards-aesthetics]

Mycroft Holmes & Greg Lestrade aka Mystrade

Holmes-Lestrade Family AU

[fairer-tales]

One of the things about the unaired pilot that I'm relieved never made it into the actual show is lestrade wearing a tie. there is no way detective inspector greg 'well, don't commit suicide' lestrade is put together enough to wear a double windsor to work every day.

[bullet-prooflove]

“I’m sorry. You’re allowed to say no, I won’t be mad” ❤️

Commited!Series:

The Longest Time - Greg has wanted you for the longest time.

You - You and Greg sneak a moment after spending some time apart.

Secrets - Greg doesn’t want to be a secret any longer.

Love - Greg wants you.

Drunk Dial - Greg drunk dials your ex-husband after the Christmas Party

Crossing Lines - Your ex-husband shows up at Greg’s apartment.

Ten Minutes - Greg intends to make the most of his time with you.

It’s four in the morning and you’re standing outside Scotland Yard bundled up in your winter jacket, your hands wrapped around a takeaway cup of Costa hot chocolate. Greg leans against the wall beside you, sipping from the Vanilla Latte you’d brought with you. This is something the two of you do on weekends now because it’s the only way to see each other. He’s been Gold Commander for six weeks in a row and people are beginning to talk about what he’s done to piss the Superintendent off so much.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.” You say quietly, your gaze downcast as your thumb taps out a rhythm on the cardboard ridges. “You’re allowed to say no, I won’t be mad.”

“It’s just unexpected.” Greg tells you, shrugging his shoulders before he removes the lid from the Costa cup. “If I say yes, if we go to this thing together, people will know we’re in a relationship. Are you ready for that?”

The event the two of you are talking about is the City of London Police Awards and Charity Gala. You’re one of the few officers up for an award, you’d been part of an operation last year that had taken down a huge modern slavery network with ties to several criminal organisations around the country.

“The question is are you?” You ask him, taking up residence on the wall alongside of him. “You know what Castor’s been saying, if we go together people will assume that you’re the man who broke up our marriage…”

“I don’t care about that.” He says, draining the remains  of his coffee before setting the empty cup down on the wall beside him, the white plastic lid tucked neatly inside. “I want to be there, I want to see you win that award, I want to celebrate your success.”

“But…” You prompt and he tucks his hands into his pocket.

“You know I come out better from the story than you do.” He says, his eyes meeting yours. “I get a slap on the back for fucking the bosses’ wife and you get…”

You know what you get because that shit it’s already happening. It’s been happening since Castor transferred you to the nightshift in Whitehall, since he started telling people an alternative version of events.

“I am sick of hiding how I feel.” You tell him as you set your own takeaway cup down on the wall you’re leaning against. “I’m tired of letting Castor dictate the boundaries of our relationship. I love you…”

You trail off because it’s the first time you’ve said it out loud and now the words are out in the ether and you can’t take them back. There’s a few seconds of silence before Greg’s shoulder nudges against yours.

“You know I love you Kate.” He says quietly, his fingers entwining with yours. “You the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time, I just wanted to make sure that you’re ready.”

You tilt your head up towards him and he thinks you couldn’t be more beautiful than you are in this moment. He’s known how you’ve felt about him for a long time, but hearing you say it. You have no idea what that does to a man.

“I am ready Greg.” You tell him, his lips brushing over yours. “I want everyone to know you’re the man I chose.”

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[bens-moms-are-lesbinems]

lestrade: seems like she’d become a member of the world’s oldest profession.

sherlock, nodding: stone mason, then.