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This short fic is a little different. It’s johnlock and mystrade in one fic. But I wanted to show the similarities between the two relationships. Mostly I’m just praying it makes sense:

Tandem – Two relationships, each unique, but also mirrors of one another in ways their participants never know.

teaser below the cut

Sherlock lay awake, watching John sleep on his side. He looked almost boyish, lines of worry and stress smoothed out and softened by the moons soft light. One small hand lay curled on the pillow, forming a loose fist. The other hand was tucked under his chin, lost in shadows. His white t-shirt rode up, exposing the soft stomach.

Greg watched Mycroft sleep. It wasn’t unusual for the man to show up on his doorstep late at night. More often than not Greg was awake watching late night telly. He’d take the man to bed, maybe after a hot shower and they would sleep the way they slept best; side by side.

John’s chest rose steadily, heart strong and steady as always. Something worrisome must have crossed his dreams because his brow suddenly furrowed, lips parting to release a breathy whimper. Sherlock clasped the hand under John’s chin, feeling him squeeze, only relaxing when Sherlock’s lips brushed his cheek. John guarded Sherlock’s days; Sherlock guarded John’s nights.

Mycroft had seemed particularly bothered by something tonight. Greg wouldn’t even begin to guess the reason. It could be anything from a bit of cracked china to an attempt on the Queen. His brow was creased as he breathed softly, curled up on his side. He ran his hands down Mycroft’s back, soothing him. The man mumbled something and shifted. Greg leaned down to kiss his cheek, hand moving around to his chest. Mycroft whimpered. “You’re with me,” whispered Greg in his ear. “Safe.”

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Since I’ve been posting fics at 1am this week, here’s a morning reblog with what I’ve been up to:

Alone in the Woods – On orders to take some time away from London, Sherlock finds out the best part of camping.

Midnight Touch – Mycroft’s been working too hard. Greg knows how to make him relax.

What John Didn’t Know He Wanted – Sherlock and John have been sleeping together a few weeks. This time Sherlock takes control.

Wash Away the Bruises – Short post-case shower sex pwp.

The worst part is it’s only Thursday. I just might end up writing more, who knows.

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Okay, so I wrote two smutfics today. This one is Mystrade and a bit inspired by that awesome gifset:

Midnight Touch – Mycroft’s been working too hard. Greg knows how to make him relax.

short teaser below the cut

Greg was one of the few people who could walk into Mycroft’s office without an invitation. Besides, it was nearly midnight and the office building was practically empty. The man was at his desk like usual, working on some paperwork. He barely looked up as the door opened. “What do you need, Gregory?”

“It’s almost midnight,” said Greg, walking towards him.

“I will hardly turn into a pumpkin.” Mycroft put his pen down. Greg could see the lines that said he’d barely been sleeping.

“Mycroft.” Greg put both hands on the desk and leaned over him.

The other man sighed and leaned back in his chair. “If I told you I have very important work to do would it matter?”

“Not one bit.” Stepping back, Greg started on the buttons of his shirt. Mycroft licked his lips as he watched him.

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Huh, looks like i’m writing some desk sex mystrade.

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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?”

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Would anyone be interested if I wrote a post-reichenbach smutfic of John finding comfort in Greg and Mycrofts bed?

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And one more Mystrade tonight. Also there may be plans for another one as well. But it’s 1am, so, have some smut,I’m going to bed

Make You Beg – Coming home Greg is surprised in his flat. But it’s the best kind of surprise.

teaser below the cut

Greg Lestrade unlocked the door to his flat, tired after another long day. At least Sherlock and John were on this case; might even be solved by morning. He stepped inside, but before he could turn on the light, a hand landed on his shoulder. He turned but the gun was knocked from his hand before he could aim. A strong hand grabbed his arm and twisted, shoving him face first into the wall with a grunt.

“You have become slow,” said a familiar voice in his ear.

“One of these days I am going to shoot you,” grumbled Greg. “Aren’t you getting too old for this game?”

“On the contrary. It is a refreshing change of pace from the verbal dente.” He leaned in and nibbled Greg’s ear in a way that sent shivers down his spine and stirred the interest of his cock.

Greg pushed back, but he had a firm grip. “The polite thing to do is to ask.”

“You always do give in regardless,” his breath was warm on his ear. “Shall I take you against this wall, Gregory?”

Greg panted at the promise in his tone. That voice knew him too well, could pick him apart with just words. A hand dropped to his zip and stopped, waiting with infinite patience.

“Yes,” he groaned. “Please.” He swallowed hard. “Mycroft.”