What would a drunk deduction of John’s penis be like? (Because we all know something happened that night)
??? Biggish ??? Licky stick ???
I think ‘sitty thing’ would also qualify.
“Actual reason for limping”
Licky stick
I said I wasn’t going to write any s3 Sherlock until the season was over, but well, I had to write a post-wedding mystrade smut ficlet:
After the Wedding – After John’s wedding, Greg got dropped off at Mycroft’s.
teaser below the cut
Greg knew better than to drive home. Sally had offered to take him home when she’d picked up the photographer, but he’d refused, wanting to at least stay for some of the reception. In the end though, he only stayed for about half, pulling out his phone to call a cab when he saw a dark car pull up in front of him. Shaking his head he ducked down, saw Anthea and got inside.
“You know, John wouldn’t have minded if you’d shown up,” he said as he came into the house and took off his coat.
Mycroft was in pyjamas, housecoat and slippers. Greg looked him up and down, then leaned in and kissed him sloppily until Mycroft detangled himself and stepped back. “You’re drunk,” he sniffed.
“Leave it to John Watson to have an open bar. Come on,” he reached back and pinched Mycroft’s arse.
“Gregory!” Mycroft put a hand on his chest.
Greg leaned back and smiled. “What? You had your car drop me off here just so you can take incriminating photographs?”
So yeah, here you go, angsty post-reichnbach fic with a bit of smut. Just John/Greg though. Maybe I’ll make this something longer too.
Wounded and Worn – When Greg finds him wandering the streets and takes him home, John doesn’t expect to find Mycroft there too.
teaser below the cut
The car pulled up to the curb. John blinked at it, not one of Mycroft’s thank God, but he was surprised when the window rolled down and Greg appeared. “Get in, John, you’ll catch your death out here.”
Would that be so bad? Thought John as he moved automatically to get into the car. It was raining and cold and like usual he was underdressed for the weather. Greg’s car was warm and dry and he was surprised that the car’s clock showed it was nearly midnight.
“What are you doing out so late?” He asked as they drove through the dark streets.
“Had some paperwork to catch up on. You can spend the night with me.”
John wasn’t inclined to argue. Baker Street felt haunted these days, which was why he’d been walking anyway. His knee twinged and he rubbed it without thinking. He’d never been to Greg’s flat before as Greg climbed the stairs and got the door. “Make yourself comfortable,” he said, going into the kitchen to turn the kettle on.
Looking around, John took in the flat. He knew Greg and his wife had divorced sometime the year before and the flat certainly shouted bachelor. He found himself deducting as he looked around, though he was surprised to see an expensive looking bottle of lotion sitting on a bookshelf. That certainly didn’t look like it belonged to Greg Lestrade.
“Here,” Greg came out of the kitchen and handed him a mug. John somewhat wished it was something stronger, but he really didn’t need to drink right now. If he did he might never stop.
“So, this is where you live?” he said lamely, not knowing what else to say.
“Yeah,” Greg reached for his soaked coat and hung up behind the door.
The action reminded John again of Sherlock and he winced. Then he blinked, seeing the other coat hanging up. “That’s…not your coat.”
“This? No, it’s not.” Greg hung up his own coat, knocking over the umbrella.
John froze, then stood so quickly he knocked over his tea. “He’s here?”
Seriously oh my god just listen, there are actual tears in my eyes.
Also this one:
