Chapter Text
Five
Sherlock had fled NSY after coming up with a cunning plan to reveal his feelings for Lestrade and went home to determine precisely the perfect moment to spring said plan on the oblivious, unsuspecting, adorable, unbearably sexy DI.
The perfect moment never arose.
It was infuriating.
If Sherlock believed in luck or a higher power, he would say that the universe was conspiring against him.
Finally, Sherlock decided to hell with the universe and its attempts to keep the two men apart. Real men made their own luck, he seemed to recall someone saying something along those lines.
Gah, this waiting was intolerable! Sod it all. He was going to see Lestrade. Right now.
Sherlock stealthily broke into Lestrade’s flat. It was evening but not so late that Lestrade would be in bed. He’d worked a series of long days on a case which was so easy even the Met could solve and so Sherlock had not had an excuse to see the DI again. Not that he needed an excuse but he had something planned and wanted it to be perfect. Now he was too impatient to wait any longer - thus the breaking and entering.
The entrance hall and sitting room were dimly lit and the sounds of the shower came from the depths of the flat. Looking around, Sherlock deduced he’d only recently arrived home. Lestrade’s clothes were strewn along the hall towards his bedroom and bath. He decided to wait in the sitting room where Lestrade had turned on the telly before heading to shower, obviously intending to unwind with some mindless entertainment. And if the older man simply fell asleep, Sherlock would kip on the sofa and enact his plan in the morning.
Sherlock sat on Lestrade’s sofa after removing his coat & scarf. From the back of the flat, he heard Lestrade’s beautiful singing voice. Sherlock had to admit now that he loved hearing the other man sing, no matter the reason. His voice was rough with age and years of smoking but his emotions always shone through and each song extremely pleasing to Sherlock’s ear. Which was a feat as he had perfect pitch and usually could only stand to listen to professionally performed classical music. He supposed it was a sign of his regard and the depths of his affection for the DI.
Straining a bit, he could just make out the words of the song Lestrade sung, the sound becoming clearer as the other man shut off the running water.
“… Let me worthy of your love, I’ll find a way to earn your love, wait and see, then you will turn your love to me, your love to me.”
Sherlock heard Lestrade rummage around in his bedroom, opening and closing drawers, softly humming the tune he’d been singing. After a few moments, Lestrade emerged from his bedroom, walking along the hall, stooping to pick up up his scattered clothing.
“Lestrade.”
Sherlock’s normally deep voice came out as more of a croak. Lestrade froze and craned his neck to see into the sitting room. He stood up quickly and clutched his dirty clothing to his chest.
“Jesus Brian Christ, Sherlock, you nearly gave me a bloody heart attack.” He entered the sitting room proper and glared at the younger man.
“Hardly. Despite your age and vices, smoking and occasionally drinking to excess, you are in exceedingly good shape. I’m sure your heart is just fine.” Sherlock shifted in his seat as he spoke and twirled his phone between his fingers in a nervous manner.
“Right. There might’ve been a compliment in there somewhere.” Lestrade smirked and walked over to his favorite armchair, moving aside Sherlock’s coat so he didn’t crush it where it lay. He sat and dumped his laundry onto the floor next to him. “So, why are you here? What do you want?”
Sherlock visibly steeled himself and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You. I want you.”
Lestrade’s face paled and he gave an abortive laugh. “That’s not funny, Sherlock. That’s low, even for you. Get out.”
He made to stand to forcibly remove Sherlock who showed no signs of leaving when the younger man blurted out, “Wait. Lestrade. Hear me out. Please. If, after I’ve said my piece, you still want me to leave, I will and we will never discuss this again. If that’s what you want. Just … listen to me.”
Sherlock held his hands out in front of him, palms splayed in a placating gesture. One made slightly less effective by the iron grip he held on his mobile in one hand. So one palm splayed.
Still, Lestrade stayed sitting and the consulting detective took that as a good sign.
Sherlock stayed in his seat as well, even though he desperately wanted to get up and pace while he spoke. But he didn’t want Lestrade to feel threatened or uneasy (well, uneasier) as he listened to Sherlock’s pleas.
“Lestrade… Um… Greg.” Lestrade raised an eyebrow at the use of his proper given name but remained silent.
Sherlock plowed on, “I had a whole speech prepared but I can’t seem to recall any of it.” He took a deep breath and the words raced out of his mouth at breakneck speed. “So, er, the thing is — I’ve — well, I’ve heard you singing to yourself on a number of occasions and it’s lead me to believe that you have feelings for me —“
Greg opened his mouth to speak as two rosy blooms of color appeared on his cheeks.
“You what—?” He sputtered.
Sherlock spoke over him, barreling on, “— romantic feelings, that is, and I wanted to express myself to you in a similar vein… Only I don’t know the songs you seem to fancy well enough to sing them on my own. So, well, this will have to do.” He brought up the hand holding his phone and thumbed the touch screen. Seconds later, a song emerged from the tinny speaker.
The first few lines were too soft to hear so Sherlock raised the volume on his mobile’s media player.
“… Take a chance on me. If you need me, let me know, gonna be around. If you’ve got no place to go, if you’re feeling down, if you’re all alone when the pretty birds have flown. Honey I’m still free. Take a chance on me. Gonna do my very best and it ain’t no lie. If you put me to the test, if you let me try.”
Sherlock had been staring at his shoes as the song started, afraid to look at the man he now knew he loved with all his heart, as he laid that heart out for him to see. He glanced up and saw that the other man had tears in his eyes and the ghost of a smile playing about his lips.
As the song continued to play, Greg swiped an impatient hand at his eyes. “Sherlock, are you saying…?”
Sherlock stood and moved to kneel next to the older man. He raised the hand not holding his mobile and cupped Greg’s face. He leaned into the younger man’s touch and Sherlock used his thumb to brush away the few tears that had escaped down Greg’s face.
“Greg, I’ve been a blind fool for far too long. I know I don’t deserve you, that you are a far better man than I could ever hope to be. But —“
Greg leaned forward and silenced Sherlock with a lingering kiss.
The older man pulled away long enough to whisper, “Sherlock, you are, and always will be, one of the greatest men I’ve ever known. I’d be lucky to have you. Now shut up and kiss me.”
Sherlock let his mobile drop to the carpeted floor as he brought both hands up to cradle Greg’s face and fervently met the other man’s lips with his own.
The song continued to play, muffled by the carpet, as the two men met in a series of passionate, loving embraces.
“Take a chance, take a chance, take a chance on me. Honey I’m still free, take a chance on me.”