I need to write more... The last story was in February! And although I signed up for two prompt tables and started working on the first fic, I somehow lost track of it. I really need to get back to that. Any way, this is something I completed in June... I asked for a beta, but must have picked a wrong time for it or something as nobody responded. Oh well, I finally decided to put it out there without a beta.
Title: Sherlock Holmes and the trouble of maintaining a relationship
Author: JE / immortalje
Summary: Sherlock and his relationship with Lestrade (in 4 parts)
Rating: FRAO - Adults only!!
Warnings: Contains smut! With handcuffs and clothes still on...
AN: Not beta read.
Sherlock Holmes and the trouble of maintaining a relationship
It wasn't hard to see that Lestrade wanted more. That he wanted more than just the occasional night spent together, most of the time with Sherlock leaving soon after. If he was honest with himself, which was rare when it came to any kind of emotions that represented an attachment, he wanted that as well. He wanted the entire world to know or simply whoever Lestrade wanted to know.
To everyone else it would be a rather simple conclusion that he should just tell Lestrade that they were dating, that this was as official as it could be short of marriage. For Sherlock that was only half of it though.
The other half of the problem was called Mycroft.
So far he had meddled in the two relationships he had let get more serious. One of them had ended up arrested – the charges being real enough, but he didn't think that anything would have been found on the drug bust without some inside information – and the other had been run of by a meeting with Mycroft. Apparently it was only intended as a warning not to hurt Sherlock – if he believed Mycroft – but it had the result of the relationship being ended within an hour of that particular meeting.
All together, that made him rather apprehensive to make another relationship official in any way or shape. Not that he could tell Lestrade that. He would change his way and Mycroft would figure it out.
It wasn't even that he thought Lestrade would be scared away by a meeting of that kind. He was more worried what Mycroft would do to Lestrade or his career should he disapprove. It was painfully obvious that Lestrade lived for his job and it would be dreadful to find another DI willing to let him run the show on the interesting cases.
The biggest problem in all of this was that the status quo couldn't remain as it was. No matter how happy he was with the current arrangement, Lestrade would eventually tire of it and demand that it either be terminated or advanced.
It was more or less chance that made John Watson realise that Lestrade had never actually met Mycroft Holmes. He found it rather odd that Mycroft had never made the effort to meet Lestrade when he had had his first meeting with the elder Holmes hours after he had first taken a look at the flat he would share with Sherlock.
Sure, they had been in the same room, but there had never been an official introduction or a secret meeting in which Mycroft offered money to spy on Sherlock or whatever else he asked people to do at those meetings.
"So Lestrade doesn't know who your brother is?" John said once they had settled back home, the latest case solved and the excitement slowly dropping to a more normal level.
Sherlock didn't reply at first. Eventually, he said, "I'm making sure of that; can't pull too much attention on Lestrade. Mycroft is probably keeping track of him through the police channels, but so far he's staying away."
"Why don't you want them to meet? You could always offer to share the money Mycroft offers – I remember you telling me to," John said with a frown.
Sherlock only shook his head and said, "He'll be asking other things."
Suddenly Sherlock pulled out a pair of handcuffs and swirled them around his fingers, his mind clearly focused on something else entirely. John most certainly didn't want to know if the handcuffs were just random or actually involved in whatever Sherlock was thinking about. He also didn't want to know where he had gotten the handcuffs from.
Without a warning Sherlock shot up and said, "I need to go."
The handcuffs disappeared into a coat pocket. It was only when Sherlock disappeared into his bedroom and came back out stuffing what looked suspiciously like a tube of lube that John realised just why Sherlock didn't want Lestrade to meet Mycroft.
He was all together too excited, standing in front of Lestrade's flat. He was watching everybody around him while he waited for the door to be opened, absently playing with the handcuffs in his right pocket. All the while he was running through all the possible scenarios, trying to decide which one would be the most gratifying for the both of them.
Finally the door opened behind him. Turning around, he could see the frown of confusion.
"What do you want? You don't usually show up after solving a case," Lestrade said and Sherlock smiled in response. He loved catching Lestrade unaware.
Not waiting for an invitation, Sherlock pushed his way in and only when the door was closed behind him, along with a muttered and resigned, "Come in Sherlock," did he turn around and pulled out the pair of handcuffs.
Smiling slightly, he was sure Lestrade would class it as creepy, he said, "I need you for an experiment. It promises to be pleasurable."
Lestrade didn't reply, but it was obvious in his eyes that he understood perfectly what the experiment was all about.
"You're not going to cuff me."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. It wasn't a question, but a fact. A statement of the rules for what they would be doing.
"As much as I find the thought pleasurable, it wasn't what I had in mind for tonight," Sherlock said.
Lestrade walked over to him until they were standing toe to toe and snatched the handcuffs from his hand. A second later Sherlock was spun around in an all too familiar way from the few times he had been arrested and the handcuffs clicked around his hands behind his back, Lestrade breathing heavily into his ear.
Next the frisking came. Only once Lestrade was done with trousers, his hands snatched around Sherlock and started working on opening the trousers before pulling them down. All the while not a single word was said.
Sherlock had already closed his eyes, putting all his focus on Lestrade and his exact position and what he was doing. With every new touch he was slowly sinking into the calm that good sex put him in. His breathing was still calm, but his rising arousal was hard to miss. Yet Lestrade touched everything but his cock, making him step out of the trousers before starting to frisk him all over again. Lestrade applied all the right pressure at his more sensitive areas as well.
Before he could get his bearings again from the pleasure high, Lestrade was pushing him towards and up against the wall, keeping him firmly in place with one hand. The other hand was busy with something else. Sherlock could hear the sound of a zipper being opened and figured that Lestrade was getting rid of his own trousers.
A tuck on the right side of his coat and Sherlock knew that Lestrade was getting the lube – which was always on the right side, condoms were on the left. While trying to keep his breath calm in anticipation, Sherlock listened to what was going on behind him. The tube was opened and a decent amount was poured out. He could hear it being rubbed between two fingers and his breath hitched in anticipation.
However, Lestrade wasn't making any move closer and Sherlock knew that it was deliberate. There wasn't even a hint to see when Lestrade would move, considering that he was facing a wall and not Lestrade, and that made it even more arousing.
Finally, Lestrade moved and pushed the coat and the shirt beneath it to the side so it wouldn't be in the way. Some more lube was poured out, this time over his ass and, finally, there was a finger at his anus.
Lestrade prepared him efficiently and quickly, slipping first one and then two fingers in. There was a short break as his jacket was searched for condoms. The ripping of the package could be heard and Sherlock was barely able to follow anything else as the anticipation in combination with the pleasure was putting him into an all too elusive high.
He had to be careful though not to press his cock against the wall. The one time he had done so (and spurted all over it on top of that) he had had to listen to Lestrade's complaints for months on end. As it was, he half expected Lestrade to order him to keep the wall clean.
While he had drifted of into memory, Lestrade had gotten ready and the tip of a cock against his ass pulled Sherlock back to the present with a groan.
As he had expected there was a short, "You better not be ruining my wall again," before Lestrade pushed in. Sherlock found that this worked perfectly as he pushed his ass back to meet the elusive cock that was pushed in all too slow for his like.
Even when the cock was fully in, Lestrade didn't speed up the pace despite several tries from Sherlock. Faintly, he pulled at a memory of Lestrade telling him that he enjoyed driving Sherlock mad with need and pleasure.
Sherlock itched to touch himself to ease some of the slow torture, but since his hands were still handcuffed behind his back, this wasn't possible. Instead he was reduced to hoping that Lestrade would finally speed up and moaning.
Finally, Lestrade sped up and with every new thrust it became harder to focus. Sherlock was tempted to move his hips just that bit closer to the wall so he could use it to add some friction in lieu of his inability to do so himself, but the fraction of his mind that was still able to think reminded him that it wasn't a good idea.
Instead he chose to focus on Lestrade and his breathing, rhythm and the tightness of his grip on his hips. They told him all he needed to know. Lestrade was getting close to his orgasm. He also knew just what would give him the last push over the edge.
Moaning, "Greg," Sherlock was satisfied to feel all the signs of Lestrade reaching climax.
There was a moment's break as Lestrade rested against his back to catch his breath again, before he pulled back and out. A hand sneaked around his hip to touch his still hard cock, before he was turned to the side and lead to the bedroom.
Sherlock was pushed backwards onto the bed and Lestrade, still mostly dressed, quickly joined him. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, once again relying solely on his other sense as Lestrade took his head in his hands and started pumping it. It didn't take long for him to come as well.
As he basked in the afterglow Lestrade got back up and disappeared. Just as his breathing had returned to normal, Lestrade returned with the keys for the handcuffs.
"You intend to stay?" Lestrade said and Sherlock found himself nodding.
The following day he went by the station as usual. What wasn't usual was Lestrade stepping out of an all too familiar car. Cursing his luck, Sherlock immediately turned around and walked away. As much as he loved telling on Donovan and Anderson, any anyone else that annoyed him, he was all too aware that this wasn't a conversation he should have at the station.
Despite his ability to think logically under all kinds of situations, his curiosity would be too much of a distraction so even consider working a case. He was itching even right now to interrogate Lestrade about the content of the conversation he had had with Mycroft. Not even the thought of possibly reading the effect it had on Lestrade and ultimately their arrangement, could keep him focused.
He didn't even need to think about where he was going. There was only one place he would be going to: Lestrade's flat. Sooner or later he would end up back home.
By the time Lestrade did arrive home, he had constructed and executed three different experiments, all carefully cleaned up again. The last thing he needed was Lestrade put off by the remainder of his experimentations. Usually he didn't care, but he was on edge from the thought of Lestrade and Mycroft in one room, discussing him and more specifically, the relationship between Lestrade and him.
He had no doubt that it was his unplanned visit last night. John, even if he had caught on, wouldn't have mentioned that to his brother. No, the last night had been far too spontaneous and not out of boredom. Usually he only went when he was getting tired of boredom and not straight after a case. He had made an error. The handcuffs had simply been too irresistible though.
When he heard the keys in the lock, he quickly assed that nothing dangerous was involved his in his fourth experiment and unceremoniously cleared it into the bin that already held his previous experiments.
Just as he had set the bin back to the floor and turned around, Lestrade entered the kitchen. For once, his face was unreadable. There wasn't a hint of a coming break up or even an admonishment that this couldn't move beyond what they were having. There wasn't the usual expression he wore when he was waiting in the apartment either. No lust and no hope that this would be the time Sherlock would admit to something.
Nervously, Sherlock swallowed. He knew what he wanted to ask, but the words just wouldn't pass his throat where a huge clump had formed.
Looking down into the trash can, Sherlock took a shallow breath and turned back around, busying his hands with trying to set up another experiment almost on their own. Finally the words were willing to come and he said, "What did Mycroft want?"
"My brother. I saw you get out of his car at the station – it was no use asking for more cases after that."
Lestrade didn't answer. Instead he slowly walked towards Sherlock before moving slightly to the side and passed the table. Out of the corner of his eye he carefully kept track of every step until Lestrade finally stopped on the other side of the table.
There was apprehension. The talk with Mycroft did affect Lestrade. The only question was what would follow. He never officially let this develop into a relationship, so he coudln't be dumped; it didn't mean that the arrangement wouldn't be called off though. Unless of course Mycroft had wanted something else entirely from Lestrade, but Sherlock doubted it. If that was the case this would have happened sooner.
"Has he done this before?"
"He had John brought to him after that first crime scene. He hadn't even really moved in yet. Or did you mean people I'm...," Sherlock wasn't sure how to end that sentence. The way Lestrade believed it or the way they both wanted it to be? Would it matter?
"Shagging?" Lestrade offered. The tone suggested he was displeased with that choice, but fully expected it to be the one Sherlock was thinking of.
Sherlock mock busied himself with the experiment again and said, "No. He doesn't usually bother with the people I go to for distraction. However, out of the two people I dated he had one arrested and the other called it quits after talking with him."
"Then why would he think we're dating? You're certainly making sure I never had that impression from our arrangement," Lestrade said. The tone in which it was said reminded Sherlock of various interrogations he had overheard.
Without replying, Sherlock got rid of the experiment again. It was of no use. He wouldn't be able to concentrate on it anyway. Not while trying to stay in control of his conversation with Lestrade and even less so when his mind was wandering to the little details that Lestrade might be able to gather from him.
Standing upright again, Sherlock said, "For good reason," before walking to the living room and the couch there. He needed to lie down to think. What he really needed was his violin, but he had left it at Baker Street.
He could feel Lestrade's eyes on him.
"What changed then? Because he certainly was of the opinion that there was more going on," Lestrade said and Sherlock wasn't sure if he should be surprised that there weren't any questions about his two previous relationships he had just admitted to or not.
Lestrade didn't move away from the door and Sherlock wondered if he should risk another glance, before saying, "I made a mistake."
"You? Made a Mistake?" Lestrade said and Sherlock could practically hear the added, "I never would have thought to hear you admit such a thing."
Closing his eyes to fully detach from the world surrounding him, Sherlock said, "Last night. I shouldn't have come."
There was no reply. Sherlock wasn't sure if he expected any.
After a while he heard Lestrade walk into the room and to the armchair next to the couch. He could practically feel Lestrade think and come to conclusions. His mind was running wild with possible outcomes and he wasn't sure if he wanted Lestrade to figure it out or not.
His mind was so busy with all kinds of outcomes – and ideas on how to make Mycroft's life more difficult – that he nearly missed Lestrade getting up again.
Opening his eyes, he saw Lestrade standing over him. He half expected a "Why" to come. Why didn't you tell me you wanted more? Why didn't you tell me you didn't want your brother interested in this relationship? Why didn't you think me capable of pretending? But none were coming. Instead Lestrade was leaning down and kissing him.
This was entirely unexpected.
When Sherlock woke the next morning, he found that he was held in place by arms. A second later he realised that Lestrade was spooning up behind him, holding him close. He found that he rather liked waking up in this kind of cocoon.
A quick check of his surroundings showed him that Lestrade was actually awake, but obviously too comfortable to give up this unexpected morning opportunity. It was the first time he had staid after all.
After a while Lestrade said softly into his ear, "Now that you know he can't scare me away, will you be able to move to the next step."
Smiling to himself, Sherlock said, "I think so."
He didn't even care what kind of threats Mycroft could have pulled out.