Chapter Text
Yo Pop, we out of milk. -OL
Greg rolled his eyes at the text. School was wasted on that kid. The newly promoted inspector was standing outside a crime scene, while his forensics man gave him a rundown of the case. Anderson was just getting into detail about how the victim had lost his head when a new voice shouted out at them.
"Wrong! You are wrong, go away!"
"Who the Hell is that?" Anderson sneered at the twitchy, dark haired man
Greg shook his head. "I have no idea." And yet... there was something terribly familiar about him. Greg could swear his name was on the tip of his tongue.
*
"Sherlock! Sherlock, for God's sake. Mummy and Daddy are expecting us for tea in an hour!"
Eighteen year-old Gregory Lestrade's head popped up over the side of his motorcycle in time to see a boy of about ten storming away from an older boy with lovely ginger hair. "Sherlock, will you please stop!" Sherlock stopped. Right in front of Greg's bike. The elder boy watched with mild amusement as the boy Sherlock's brother came up and grasped him by the the crook of his arm. The nameless brother caught sight of Greg, did a double take, then turned to march away with a faint blush blossoming over his neck. Greg finished up his bike with a grin on his face.
*
"Stick him in the drunk tank till he comes down enough to tell us his name." Greg instructed his new sergeant, Sally. He rubbed a hand over his face when she walked away, thankful that his shift was over and any paperwork would be able to wait till morning.
Greg arrived home to find his fifteen year old son splayed out on the couch, the kitchen a mess, and his homework still in his book bag.
"How long have you been playing that?" Greg asked with a nod to the video game playing on the tv.
"Don't know. What time is it?"
Greg groaned. Sometimes being a single parent of a teenager was more work than the job he was paid for. "Will you turn off the game and start your homework please?"
"But come on, it's Friday!"
"Is it really?" Oliver Lestrade looked up at him. At fifteen, Oliver was closing in on 6 feet, had the same dark brown eyes as Greg and the same cheeky smile. He was practically the spitting image of his dad, except for the dark ginger hair. That was his father's. "Long day?" He asked.
"You have no idea." Greg sighed. He ran a hand through his hair as he looked around the small flat. "Come on, help me clear up the kitchen and I'll order us something for dinner."
*
Greg wiped down the counters holding the coffee pots. He had taken a job at a local coffee shop to pay for bike parts and to save up for his own place. He heard the bell over the door chime and waited for the person to reach the counter.
"Small coffee please. Black."
Greg turned to face the new customer and smiled when he saw it was the same ginger haired young man from earlier that week.
"Can I tempt you with anything else? You look like an apple turnover type of man."
The teen licked his lips, eyeing up the pastry behind the glass display. Finally he sighed and shook his head. "Just the coffee please."
"Suit yourself." Greg nodded. He prepared the order and glanced back at the man he was clearly beginning to grow a crush on. With another cheeky flash of his teeth, he wrote out his name and number onto the side of the cardboard cup. The man paid and left with a curious look about Greg's expression.
Greg arrived home that night to a blinking answering machine.
*
Oliver looked at him with disappointment. "I thought you booked today off!"
They were sitting side-by-side on their couch each with a large plate of french toast and orange slices. It was the following morning since the mysterious, and high witness had turned up at Greg's crime scene. He and Oliver had made plans to spend time together that day, but now Greg had no choice but to backout.
"I'm sorry, Ollie. It's only for the morning though, we can do stuff tonight."
"Yeah." Oliver grumbled. "Unless another more important case comes up again." Oliver instantly regretted the words. The apology was clearly written on his face, but the words still hit his father hard.
Greg stood up and quietly left the room.
Once in his office, Greg busied himself with his work. Around eleven when he was finally winding down the paperwork, Anderson appeared at his doorway. "Sorry sir, the witness from last night is finally awake. They said to send for you when he did."
Greg glanced at the time. He suddenly deeply regretted letting Sally have the day off. "Yeah alright. I'm on my way."
The witness in question was still curled up on the hard bed in the drunk tank. His head was covered by his grey hoodie and his legs were drawn up to his chest. "Good morning there sir!" Greg said in a bright, loud voice.
The man turned away from him with a low groan. "Oh go direct some traffic." He muttered in a hoarse voice.
"Yeah that's nice." Greg mumbled. "Look I'm just here to take your statement, if you cooperate we can get through this as quick and easily as you want it. Now, you witnessed Mr. Barron's death at around six o' clock last night is that right?"
"No."
Greg looked down at his report. The coroner had put time of death at that time, how wrong could it be? "No, okay so what time-"
"I never witnessed the murder."
The older detective crossed his arms. "Alright, then how'd you know all that stuff? Where the weapon was hidden, and why the killer did it? If this is a confession, do you mind waiting for me to go grab the proper forms?"
The witness or whatever he was sat up and glared at Greg. His eyes were bloodshot, and his whole face appeared sunken beneath his unwashed black hair. "I never saw any murder, and I didn't commit one either. I simply observed. Something none of you seem capable of- hold on. What did you say your name was?"
Greg furrowed his brows at the sudden change of subject. "Uh Lestrade. Detective Inspector Lestrade."
The man blinked then fell back against the wall laughing like a madman. "Oh that is lovely. Of all the people to arrest me, it has to be my bloody brother's ex."
"What are you-"
"Oh come now, has it really been that long that you don't you recognize me Inspector?"
Greg felt his stomach drop. The room suddenly felt to small as he stared at the man, finally realizing why he'd seemed so familiar. "Sherlock Holmes."
"Hello again." Without another word, Greg turned and fled the room. Sherlock smirked. "I thought you wanted my statement!"
*
"Really Greg, you need to learn to observe more."
"I observe plenty."
It was a beautiful spring afternoon. Mycroft, Greg, and Sherlock had taken a large picnic up to the park to spend the day there. "Sherlock leave those toads alone! You'll get warts!"
Greg's head was settled comfortable in his boyfriend's lap. He waited for him to finish berating his brother before raising another strawberry to his lips. Mycroft ate the offered food and smiled down at Greg. People might have thought they were an oddly paired couple, Greg with his dark leather, piercings, and motorcycle; and Mycroft with his tucked in shirt, pristine posture, and an honest to God chauffer. But they were happy together and that was all that mattered.
Well that, plus the sex was hot.
The two boys had been together for six months and Greg had found himself falling rapidly in love with younger man. The only problem was, Mr and Mrs. Holmes. No matter how much Mycroft told him that they did like him, Greg was no idiot. The one dinner he'd been invited to had been spent in a tense, terse silence. Mrs. Holmes had lectured him on the importance of good grades, and had been deaf to his assurances of being a straight A, high B student. Mr. Holmes had been worse. He had been convinced Greg had to be some sort of delinquent, even going so far as to ask if he'd spent time in prison. But still, Greg didn't mind. No matter what Mycroft's parents said, it was all fine.
Until it wasn't.
*
Pizza for dinner in front of the tv. It wasn't fancy, but neither of the Lestrade's were complaining. They were discussing their plans for the evening, a trip to the movies to see the new action thriller Oliver was excited for, when there came a knock on the door. Greg frowned, neither one of them was expecting company and it was too late for it to be a solicitor.
Greg crossed the room and opened the door. Then promptly slammed it shut again. "Oliver, go to your room."
"What-"
"Just go and stay until I call you."
Once Oliver was fully out of the way, Greg took some steadying breaths then reopened the door.
"Mycroft."