Title: Christmas Present Interrupted
Author: Tiffany F
Pairing: Sherlock/Lestrade
Fandoms: Sherlock
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Don't own and claim nothing but the plot.
Warning(s): None
Summary: Slight spoilers for A Scandal in Belgravia. Sherlock returns home from Bart's and finds his lover waiting for him in bed. They don't get very far before they're found.


Sherlock knew that John would be waiting for him when he got home from the morgue, so he detoured around and slipped back to his bedroom. It was the one place in the flat that John, mostly, left him alone in. He shut the door and leaned against it for a moment before sniffing the air. "I thought you left."

"Now how could I just leave without giving you your Christmas present?"

"You gave me a present, out there," Sherlock pointed out. He hung up his suit jacket and started to unbutton his purple shirt. "I haven't opened it, yet, but I suspect that it's another crime novel of some sort. It's what you give me every year."

"And you haven't read any of them, have you?"

"They're so dull," Sherlock said. He slipped into bed next to his lover and leaned over for a kiss. "I solve them within the first chapter. Where is the fun in that?"

Lestrade chuckled. "Oh god, Sherlock, were you really out there without pants on?" he asked when his hand found nothing but skin.
"Didn't you hear what John had to say about that?" Sherlock asked with a laugh. "How does John know you weren't wearing any pants?"

Sherlock kissed Lestrade softly. "Jealousy doesn't suit you, Detective Inspector," he murmured. "Remember the collapsing client when I had to run out in a bed sheet?"

"Leaving me here all alone, yeah," Lestrade said. "Wait, you didn't pause to put pants on that time and ended up leaving the flat. That's how John worked it out."

"I wound up in Buckingham Palace in that sheet," Sherlock said. He reached under the sheet and pulled, trying to convince his lover to move. "John asked me if I had on any pants. I wasn't going to lie about it."

"You are incorrigible," Lestrade murmured. "You come up here for a minute."

They both paused at a knock on the door. "Sherlock, who are you talking to?" John asked through the door.

"Myself," Sherlock replied. He settled onto Lestrade's hips and smirked down at his lover. "Is that a problem, John?"

"No, it's just, if you want to talk, you know I'm here, right?" John asked.

"Of course I do," Sherlock said. "Good night, John."

There was a pause. "Night," John finally said.

Sherlock leaned down and whispered into Lestrade's ear. "He'll be there for a few minutes," he said. "I don't know why, but he always stands outside my door for five minutes at night."

"He's just worried about you," Lestrade replied as quietly as he could. He flicked his tongue over Sherlock's neck and turned his head to press a kiss to the soft skin. "We all are, you know."

"I'm fine," Sherlock said. "I really don't understand what the big deal is."

"I know you don't." Lestrade cupped the back of Sherlock's head, letting his hands slip up into the dark curls, and pulled him in for a kiss. Sherlock opened his mouth almost immediately and surrendered. Lestrade took the opportunity to roll them so he was on top and held Sherlock in place as he broke the kiss. "How quiet can you be?"

"That all depends on what you want to do to me," Sherlock replied. He nipped Lestrade's jaw and trailed back to his ear. "What were you planning?"

"I wanted to ravish you," Lestrade said. "But with John here and not knowing about us, I think that should wait until we're at my flat."

"Does that mean you won't suck me?"

"Do you want John to find out about us?"

"I'll use a pillow," Sherlock said. "You did say this was my present, Greg."

"It's against my better judgement, you know," Lestrade sighed. Nothing brought Sherlock to life more than a blow job. He could never keep quiet and, as much as Lestrade liked to have the younger man under him moaning his name, he wasn't too keen on trying it out with Sherlock's flat-mate in the flat. It would be different if they were alone, but he thought it was too dangerous to try. Right up until Sherlock shifted beneath him and went limp. "Sherlock."

"Pillow," Sherlock replied, grabbing one from the other side of the bed.

"You're explaining things to John if he finds us," Lestrade said.

Sherlock smiled. "Where's your spirit of adventure?"

"I think I lost it when I fell for you."

"Oh no, Detective Inspector, that's when you found it," Sherlock almost purred.

Lestrade sat up. "What have I told you about using my title in bed?"

"To do it more often." Sherlock wrapped his hand around the proof. "It makes you so very aroused, Greg. Do you have naughty fantasies about me in handcuffs?"

"I think about you in handcuffs all the time, but there's nothing naughty about it," Lestrade grumbled. He trailed his hands down Sherlock's stomach. "Those gloves of yours, on the other hand."

"Do you have a leather fetish?" Sherlock asked, arching up into the touch. "I have some leather pants in the wardrobe, Greg. Would you like me to model them for you?"

"Not right now," Lestrade replied. He knew he had to do something to shut Sherlock up, so he shoved his better judgement to the back of his mind and took Sherlock's erection deeply into his mouth.

With no warning, Sherlock didn't have time to get the pillow over his mouth, and he moaned loudly. Lestrade winced but didn't stop moving, even though he did check to make sure that the pillow was up over Sherlock's face.

The light flicking on almost blinded them both. Greg blinked a few times. "I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to have that gun, John," he said blandly.

"Lestrade?" John lowered the gun and stared at the scene in front of him.

"John, while I appreciate your protectiveness, your timing requires some work," Sherlock said, moving the pillow back to the bed. "What are you doing in here with your gun?"

"I heard you moan and thought you were in trouble. I thought I was hearing voices, but didn't want to disturb you again," John said.

"In all your time and experience, you cannot differentiate between a pained moan and a sexual one?" Sherlock asked. He looked up at his lover. "There are days I despair, Greg, I really do."

"I thought you left, Lestrade. Wait, Greg?" John asked. "Since when do you call him by his first name?"

Both Lestrade and Sherlock looked at John. He looked back at them and, for the first time, seemed to realize that the men in the bed were naked and rather tangled in the bed clothes. Then his eyes fixed on their groins, his face turned a very dangerous shade of red, and he ran out of the room.

"Well, that went well," Sherlock commented. "Do you want to close the door, Greg?"

"You're incredible at times," Lestrade said. "You really are, do you know that?"

"Of course I do. But I love it when you tell me." Sherlock rolled onto his side and reached down to stroke his erection while he watched his lover moving around the room.

"That's not what I meant and you know it. You want the light on then?"

"Might be fun," Sherlock said. "It means we could see each other. I think I'd like to have that stored."

Lestrade sighed. "If I'd known you wanted that, we could have had the lights on all these years, you know," he said. "Lights on isn't a kink, you know." He crawled back onto the bed and leaned in for a kiss. "Having your flat-mate bust in and catch us, that's a little strange, having him stay to watch would be kink."

"I have done research, Greg," Sherlock said. "I wanted to make sure that I wasn't going to scare you away."

"I've been with you for five years, Sherlock," Lestrade pointed out. He batted his lover's hand away and took Sherlock's cock in his hand. "It's going to take a lot to scare me away, you know. If you want to try something, you can tell me about it. We should be able to talk about anything when we're away from the job."

"After the last case, I didn't want to bring anything up," Sherlock admitted. "I thought that you might think that I wanted something that you couldn't give me."

"Oh, Sherlock." Lestrade gathered his lover up in a hug and held him tightly. "I won't beat you, you've had enough pain in your life, but anything else you want, we can talk about. I'm not going to leave you, Sherlock. Nothing you have done drove me away, nothing you will do will ever drive me away. You save that to your hard drive, genius, and never ever forget it."

"Can I have my own team to work with?" Sherlock asked, pulling back just far enough to be able to see his lover's eyes.

"Oi, it doesn't work like that," Lestrade laughed. He kissed his lover deeply and sighed. "I think the mood has been killed for me, love," he said. "Let's have a lie in tomorrow and then spend the day at my flat. I'll make you scream."

Sherlock smiled and kissed Lestrade again. "I'll look forward to it."

John was in the sitting at the table in the sitting room when Lestrade stumbled out of Sherlock's bedroom the next morning. He flushed red again at the sight of the detective inspector and tried to focus on his paper. "Morning."

"Morning," Lestrade replied. "I just came out to see if there was any coffee made."

"Yeah, help yourself."

"Are you going to be okay?" Lestrade asked. He poured coffee into two mugs and added sugar to one of them. "Not with me, I mean with Sherlock. He's worried."

"Sherlock Holmes doesn't worry about anything," John said.

"John, have you ever thought about looking down past that front he puts on and seeing what's really there?" Lestrade leaned against the counter and sipped his coffee. "Oi, Sherlock, get out here. I'm not going to wait on you hand and foot. John, nearly one hundred percent of what you see of Sherlock is Sherlock and you have to just accept that for what it is. Annoying, inconvenient, noisy and childish. But buried deeply within that brain is a heart to rival his ego."

"You shouldn't tell tales out of school, Detective Inspector," Sherlock murmured from behind him. He picked up his coffee mug and pressed a kiss to his lover's neck. "I thought you planned to spend the day spoiling me."

"I promised to make you scream, Sherlock, there's a difference," Lestrade said. "John, I'm serious about this. Think about it and let me know if you want to talk about anything. Because you know that Sherlock isn't going to talk to you."

"So, wait, you mean he really isn't a self-absorbed egotistical prat with a god-complex?" John asked.

"No, he is that," Lestrade smiled. "Always has been and always will be. That's one thing I love about him. He's consistent. He also knows how to keep work and personal separate, and that's not something everyone can do."

Sherlock smirked, put his empty mug back on the counter and vanished back into his room. "Did you want me to pack those leather pants, Greg?" he called.

"Yeah, and your gloves," Lestrade called back. "I don't have handcuffs at my flat though."

"You should," Sherlock grumbled. "We'll just have to improvise."

Lestrade rolled his eyes. "You do realize that John is about to die out here, right, Sherlock?" he said.
"He has an overly vivid imagination," Sherlock said. "Most of the time that's a good thing, but in instances such as this, it can be a burden."

"You know, you did tell me you were married to your work," John managed. He was having a hard time catching his breath and cursing the images that were running through his head.

Sherlock reappeared in the kitchen and looped an arm around Lestrade's waist. "I am. He's the one I'm having an affair with. Don't tell my work where to find me for a couple of days. It's terribly jealous. Let's go, Greg."

"I haven't had breakfast yet."

"You don't want to. I have some experiments in the fridge at the moment."

Lestrade swallowed hard. "That's a point. We'll eat when we get to my flat. See you later, John. Happy Christmas."

John watched the pair of them leave and then buried his face in his hands. Maybe he could move to the states or something. Somewhere in the world, life had to make sense. He only had to find the place where it did.