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Greg Lestrade came home after a long work day and had barely passed the door of the home office when he found himself shoved against it.
“Just one shot!” Mycroft Holmes kissed Greg’s knuckles and grinned.
“Hah! Sherlock texted you, didn’t he?” Greg laughed as Mycroft began to unbutton his shirt.
“Of course, and I saw the camera feed.”
Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes, and John Watson were investigating a lead for a case that had them speaking with Aaron Herman, the waiter of a chic café.
Greg had politely stepped up to the man first to introduce the three of them when Herman pushed past Lestrade to serve customers, ignoring them more than once.
Mistake.
“Mr. Herman, you can talk to me freely here, or suffer the consequences at NSY in cuffs later.” Greg threatened, pushing back his trench coat to reveal said handcuffs.
“Meet me behind the café.” Herman entered to pick up another order, and this time accidentally shoved John.
Big Mistake.
“If you don’t like what’s in the mirror, don’t take it out on him.” Which was when Sherlock, being Sherlock, deduced the man’s affair with the café waitress and a few other things before John could put a stop to it, which naturally, only made the man less willing to speak.
“I said behind the café,” Herman growled, seemingly relenting.
Sherlock and Lestrade knowingly looked at each other as they pretended to turn for the rear. It was evident that Herman had no intention of meeting them, and Sherlock fully expected the man to run.
He was not the only one.
John stepped in front of Herman, blocking the front door as he stood toe-to-toe with the man.
That Aaron Herman was a half foot taller and two stone heavier than the former army captain was irrelevant.
“Get out of my…” Herman started speaking, and John immediately backed away, his expressive face wrinkled with disgust as he tried not to cough.
“I did say chronic halitosis, John,” Sherlock smirked.
Sherlock knew John Watson had a temper. Even for a Scot, Watson’s temper was something of note. It’s not that he forgets; he is Sherlock Holmes after all, but John’s temperament, like his deep blue eyes, is part and parcel of the man. Sherlock does not think about it.
When Herman spun around, his raised fist heading toward Sherlock Holmes…
Big Mistake. Huge.
So, the quick gut punch that brought Aaron Herman to his knees and several of the customers to their feet did not surprise him.
It was the one who threw the solid punch – Lestrade. The detective inspector does not let loose physically often, but when he does…
John whistled, impressed, as an annoyed Greg slapped cuffs on Herman, brought him to his feet, and began to read him his rights.
“He should have popped a breath mint and met us behind the café,” Sherlock chuckled as he pulled out his phone.
Text: Access the cameras at Waterfall Tearoom, past fifteen minutes. Should be nothing. –SH
“I cannot believe Sherlock still believes you want to know when I lay hands on suspects, just in case of a potential lawsuit. It was nothing.” Greg gasped lustily when Mycroft let him up for air after a most thorough snog. “I’m happy to enjoy the consequences, but if he ever figures out this winds you up…!”
"Yes, he continues to believe. ‘Should be nothing’ is exactly what he said when he texted me to check the footage. And you…” Mycroft dropped to his knees and winked as he unzipped Greg, “…get to reap the benefits, my dear pugilist!”