Chapter Text
You may think Detective Greg Lestrade isn’t as stupid as he seems to be. You would be wrong. Detective Greg Lestrade is far less stupid than he seems to be. When he had seen Sherlock arriving at Scotland Yard Winter Charity Ball, he had been perplexed; but when he had spotted the consulting detective immediately making a bee line to where Y/N was quietly chatting with Anderson, he had promptly understood and gone to work.
As soon as Sherlock had been engrossed in a conversation with John and Molly, Greg had prompted Y/N to follow him to the bar and hadn’t stopped flirting with her since. He was keenly aware of the deadly glare Sherlock was giving him and since it seemed it wasn’t enough to urge the genius to act, he had asked Y/N to dance. Greg could see Sherlock fuming in his corner; what was he waiting for?
I will end with his fist in my face…
Desperate times call for desperate measures. While prying for the safety of his nose, Lestrade kissed Y/N’s hand, then her cheek, and then he started bending slowly to reach her lips when a rough hand shoved him away.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
oOo
There was probably nowhere where Sherlock wanted less to go than at Scotland Yard Winter Charity Ball. That wouldn’t have been a problem – hell, he wouldn’t even have thought about it for one minute – if he hadn’t had known Y/N would be there.
Sherlock had done his best to dismiss his feelings about the girl, he genuinely had. He also had been aware of his remarkable failing in the matter when he had started to borrow his jumper to Y/N, not because she was cold, but because seeing her in his outfits gave his stomach a sensation which dangerously looked like what one calls “butterflies”. It was ridiculous. Ludicrous. Charming. Stupendous. He was f*cked.
It hadn’t been long before the detective had found himself unable to deny Y/N at all. He beckoned her every time he could, dropped by her flat equally often and answered her texts within the minute or almost. He didn’t care to look desperate; he needed his fix of her. And he couldn’t get enough of her.
That night they had shared, that stormy night when the heat had gotten off, Sherlock had thought all his secret dreams were coming true. He had felt so full of sweetness; it had been a wonderful feeling. The addict he is should have recognized that he had tasted something stronger, something impossible to resist to. He needed more, more, more of Y/N.
He hadn’t been surprised to be unable to resist her hand in his hair and the praises she had given to him. And he had been delighted when his kiss had been welcomed, thrilled when he had found himself with a needy, shameless lapful of his fantasy. Again, Sherlock had felt hight and, again, he quickly had needed – and gotten – more of his newest drug. But it was still not enough. He wanted more, not just heated kisses and blazing touches. He wanted everything. What he had managed to steal was far from enough, especially when he had to pretend to be drunk to get what he was craving. Sherlock was so scared of his feelings. And so scared to be rejected.
Yet, he had seen the text Y/N had sent to The Woman. He had been enthralled by the possessiveness dripping from the messages. Y/N was jealous of Irene Adler, Y/N wanted him all to herself. What a stunning thought… It had been this very thought which had pushed Sherlock to act on his own jealousy after spending an hour watching Graham doing his best to woo Y/N. No one get to lay their gaze on what’s his.
oOo
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Trying to force you to get your head out of your ass, you idiot!
“I’m doing my best to entertain your friend, Y/N, here, since you seemed busy elsewhere…”
“We’re not just friends and you fucking know it!”
Detective Greg Lestrade was priding himself to not be easily taken aback, he had witnessed all kind of strange things during his time as a detective, but he had never thought he would, one day, see Sherlock Holmes kiss someone like his life depended on it, in the middle of the makeshift dancefloor at Scotland Yard.
Lestrade wasn’t the only one to be flabbergasted by the look on Y/N’s face when Sherlock released her a bit. As tears of joy appeared in the girl’s eyes, the Detective Inspector went a last time to her rescue.
“Come one, move along or I arrest you for exhibitionism!”
Sherlock smiled to the pun and took both of Y/N’s hands in his.
“Shall we go home, love?”
“Yes, please.”
A whole new game was on.
oOo
Limerence: (n) the state of being infatuated with another person.