Work Text:
Lounging in bed on a cold Saturday morning was something that Greg thought he could get used to. That Sherlock, the owner of said bed, had his head pillowed on Greg’s shoulder as he flicked through a journal was something he knew he could get used to.
He carded his fingers Sherlock’s dark curls, scratching lightly at his scalp. “What time are John and Rosie coming?”
“John said they'd be here at about eleven,” Sherlock replied, pushing his head into Greg’s hand like a contented cat.
Greg glanced at the clock on the bedside table. “You’ve only got an hour, you know. Shouldn’t you be putting your experiments away or something?”
Sherlock let go of his journal, allowing it to rest on Greg’s abdomen, and propped his head up on his hand. “I did that after you fell asleep last night. Leaving it until this morning would have meant less time with you, and it's not time I want to miss.”
“I’d never have believed it before, but you’re a bloody sap,” Greg said, clamping down hard on the declaration that wanted to break free.
“It took me over a week to convince you that waiting until things have calmed down before pursuing this was pointless; wasting time cleaning my flat when you’re awake in bed would be plain stupid,” Sherlock replied haughtily.
Greg chuckled. “Right, of course. Logical, not sappy.” He leant in for a brief, sweet kiss. Sherlock’s mouth was faintly minty with a distinct hint of tea, and Greg thought it was perfect on him.
Sherlock responded eagerly, but the shrill ring of the doorbell cut their kiss short. “That'll be John and Rosie. They’re early,” he declared brightly, jumping from the bed. He made a valiant effort to straighten his shirt, though, having lain in bed wearing it, Greg suspected that it was beyond the intervention of anything but a hot iron, and left the room.
Greg settled back against the pillow, enjoying the warmth and comfort of the bed; he was in no hurry to see John again considering that their last meeting hadn't been particularly friendly. He'd just decided that the smart thing to do would be to stay out of the way until John left when the sound of raised voices started emanating from the living room. Greg got out of bed and dressed quickly; his jumper and jeans were somewhat creased from having spent the night scattered across the bedroom floor, but he had at least had the forethought to bring clean underwear.
He left the bedroom and moved down the hall to the bathroom quietly, not wanting to give away that he'd spent the night. From the bathroom, the conversation taking place in the living room was muffled but audible.
“You said you were bringing Rosie,” came Sherlock’s voice, and Greg could hear his disappointment even through the closed door.
“And you said you’d protect Mary, so I guess we both lied.”
Silence followed, and Greg could only imagine how Sherlock felt. He rinsed his mouth and left the bathroom, letting the door close loudly behind him. “Morning, John,” he greeted as he entered the living room, though his eyes were trained on Sherlock. The relaxed and affectionate man from barely five minutes ago was gone, replaced with a pale and tense Sherlock. His hair was still a mess from Greg’s hands, and the older man resisted the temptation to smooth it down.
“Greg,” the doctor said warily. “Got a case?”
“No,” Greg replied, finally looking at John properly. He was tired and drawn, but considering that he was a new widower with a young baby, that was hardly surprising. “Personal visit. I’m gonna put the kettle on. Either of you want a cuppa?”
“No thanks, I’m not staying that long,” John replied coldly.
Greg turned his back and walked into the kitchen, leaving the sliding door open, and breathed deeply to force his anger down. Sherlock had talked of little else except seeing John and Rosie since the other man had agreed that they would visit, and Greg was furious at John for turning up without her. If he put Sherlock’s mug down harder than was strictly necessary, Greg thought it was better than smacking John in the face.
“You said you wouldn't bring Rosie unless I was clean. I told you that I haven’t used for over a week,” Sherlock said, voice brittle.
John snorted. “Yeah, and everything you’ve ever told me has been the truth, right?”
“I—”
“—you lie, Sherlock; that’s what you do, and people suffer because of it. Anyway, you can’t expect me to bring my daughter here when I had no idea if there would be needles or guns lying around.”
“Right,” Sherlock replied dejectedly. Greg put the milk away and picked up Sherlock’s drink. Re-entering the living room, he found John with his back to Sherlock, looking out of the window, and his lover in his chair staring at a bookcase.
“Here,” Greg said, holding out Sherlock’s tea. Once the other man had taken the mug, Greg smoothed his errant curls down, though it made little difference.
John turned and looked at them, expression stony. “Since when do you visit unless you need a case solving?”
Greg felt his anger flare anew, but knew that getting into an argument with John would do more harm than good, especially if he wanted Sherlock to be able to see Rosie, so he let it slide.
Sherlock, on the other hand, took exception to John’s snide comment. “I understand your anger at me, John, but Lestrade has done nothing wrong.”
“Right, whatever,” John snapped, and moved to leave.
“Wait!” Sherlock exclaimed, jumping up from his chair. He crossed the room in two long strides and picked up an orange gift bag from beside the sofa. “Will you give this to Rosie? Please?”
John took the bag from Sherlock and lifted out a large, reddish-brown stuffed dog with a bright red bow around its neck. He looked at it for a moment before shoving it back into the bag. “Fine. I need to get going; Rosie’s with Harry and she can only cope with her for so long.” He left the flat with nary a word of good bye to either of them, letting the door slam in his wake.
Greg stood still for a long moment, starting at the closed door. “He’ll leave her with his alcoholic sister, but won’t bring her here? Of all the nasty—”
“Leave it, Greg,” Sherlock said dejectedly, dropping back into his chair like a marionette with its strings cut. “He's right to be cautious; last time he was here there were needles lying around.”
“He had no right to talk to you like that, no right at all. You told him you’re clean, and he didn’t even have the decency to tell you he wasn’t bringing Rosie!”
Sherlock made a non-committal noise and pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping his long arms around them. It was painful to see Sherlock hurting so much, but Greg knew it would do no good to point out that John was a selfish, nasty little bastard who was unworthy of being in the same room, no matter the veracity of the statement.
Greg dropped into a crouch in front of Sherlock and the younger man smirked when his knees popped loudly. “Yeah, I’m an old man, laugh it up,” he said, taking one of Sherlock’s hands between his own. “I need to go; Kaz could only have Jacob for one night this weekend because she’s going away with the PE teacher. I know it won’t be the same as seeing Rosie, but do you wanna stay at my place?”
“Yes,” Sherlock said immediately, unfolding his long limbs. “Have I got time to pack a bag now, or should I follow you later?”
“You’ve got time,” replied Greg, leaning in for a gentle kiss. Sherlock had met Jacob many, many times, but this would be the first time he'd spent the night since the early years of their acquaintance when Greg regularly found him passed out on the sofa, and he felt a flutter of nervous excitement. “He’s grown out of biting and messing himself, but don’t be surprised if he kicks you,” he warned Sherlock apologetically.
Sherlock huffed a laugh and left the room. Greg wandered around, looking with interest at the newly-tidied piles of papers. There were a myriad of chemistry and criminology journals, which Greg expected to see, but what he didn't expect to find was a copy of the Educational and Child Psychology journal. He picked it up and flicked through its pages with interest until Sherlock returned. He had changed into a clean shirt, combed his hair, and was carrying a fancy holdall in one hand and a green gift bag in the other. “This is for Jacob,” he said, holding the green bag out.
Greg looked inside and found a pirate ship Lego set and assorted re-fills for the mini chemistry lab he'd gifted him at Christmas. “You spoil him, you know. He’ll love it,” he said, handing the bag back. “Being as you’ll be staying with us tonight, you can give it to him.”
“Okay,” Sherlock replied, looking pleased. “Thank you.”
“What for?”
“Trusting me,” Sherlock replied, closing and locking the door. “You trust me when no one else will, even when I’ve fucked up.”
Greg stopped at the top of the stairs and stepped into Sherlock’s personal space, forcing the younger man to look at him. “Always have done and always will do. If you’re not fit to be on a crime scene, or around Jacob, you’ve always told me so. I’ve got no reason to think that’s changed.”
The kiss Sherlock bestowed on him had Greg’s toes curling, and he was panting slightly when Sherlock stepped away. “Come on,” his lover said, bounding down the stairs. “I want to get a proper look at this pirate ship.”
Greg laughed, following more sedately behind. John Watson had no idea what he was missing.