Title: Teaching Love
Author: Tiffany F
Pairing: Sherlock/Lestrade
Fandoms: Sherlock
Rating: AO
Disclaimer: Don't own and claim nothing but the plot.
Warning(s): None
Summary: Sherlock breaks into Lestrade's flat and finds the older detective doing something odd. Being Sherlock he starts asking questions and ends up with far more than he ever expected.


It had been a long day of paperwork and cold cases. Lestrade always felt guilty working on the cold cases without Sherlock around. The self-styled consulting detective was always trying to get into the cold case room, convinced that he could solve them for the Yard, but the bosses had enough trouble with Lestrade letting an outsider onto active crimes. They had drawn the
line at the cold cases. Sherlock wasn't allowed into the room, no matter how much he demanded access. Lestrade knew that, if Sherlock really wanted it, he could just go to his brother and get into any file he wanted after that, well, if Mycroft was in a good mood and willing to give his younger brother what he wanted. That wasn't always a sure thing with those two, and Lestrade had seen some pretty spectacular fall-outs from fights between them.

He ate more out of habit than anything else, not wanting to get sick and not knowing what the night could bring, or the next day. If he was really honest, what he needed was a date, but it was just too much work for what he really wanted. Lestrade missed having someone in his bed. Taking care of himself was getting old, and he knew that he would have to find someone eventually. That was the other problem with his job, even with the new attitudes towards alternate lifestyles, Lestrade would have to hide anyone he was dating. He didn't like it, didn't think it was fair, but was used to hiding the fact that he would rather date men than women.

Lestrade made sure everything was secure for the night and went to shower. As he was washing and letting the hot water soothe his tense muscles, he started to think about a man he'd seen on the TV a few nights back. Lestrade had no idea what the man was saying, there had been subtitles for the Japanese that was being spoken, but he'd been too fascinated by the face to try and read what the interview was about. Lestrade would admit he didn't know much about Japan, but he'd always been under the impression that, as a people, they were small. The man on the telly had been, it looked like, almost equal to himself in height, broad shouldered with some of the smoothest features Lestrade had seen in a while. The dark eyes had been what really caught and held Lestrade's attention for the longest time. They seemed to hide a secret, but they were intense and also seemed to look through him at the same time. He'd never really considered himself a man who focused on eyes before, but the man's on the telly had held him almost spellbound. It only broke when the man finished the interview and picked up a guitar. Lestrade hadn't understood the song, but he had been able to feel the emotion behind it and wanted to hear more. He just wasn't sure how to go about doing that.

His body responded to his thoughts and he gave in. Knowing that he would fall asleep quickly, Lestrade toweled off and went into his room, pausing only to dig some lube out of the beside table. He settled into a comfortable position and debated on whether he wanted to tease himself for a bit before he got off, or just go for it fast and see how long he could hold off. He wasn't aching, yet, so he decided to tease a little and he could always change his plan a little way through. Laying the lube to the side, Lestrade closed his eyes and focused back on the mystery man from the TV. He groaned softly when he ran just the tips of his fingers up the side of his erection, circling the tip and gathering the liquid there to make the down stroke a little easier.

"What in the world are you doing?" a sharp voice asked from the dark of his room.

"Sherlock? How the hell did you get in here?" Lestrade flipped the covers over his lap and sat up, turning on the bedside light.

"You didn't do up all the locks, Lestrade. What were you doing?"

"Getting ready to go to sleep. What are you doing here? Where's John?"

Sherlock sat down on the end of the bed, almost sitting on Lestrade's feet in the process. "He kicked me out of the flat," he said. "He called me a freak and kicked me out for the night. I couldn't think of anywhere else I could go, so I came here."

"Why would John call you a freak?" Lestrade's body protested the interruption, but subsided painfully. He sat up and crossed his legs, more to protect his feet than to give Sherlock any more room at the foot of the bed. "What kind of experiment were you doing this time?"

"I wasn't," Sherlock said. "He was watching something on the telly and I commented how unrealistic it was, how the detectives were stupid not to know that it wasn't the father who killed the grandmother, but the step-son who wanted to hurt his father by taking away his mother. John got mad and started yelling at me and, when I told him that it was perfectly obvious, he called me a freak and told me not to come back until tomorrow morning."

Lestrade closed his eyes and sighed. He knew there had to be something else going on, because John had one of the more even tempers when it came to dealing with Sherlock, well, most of the time, and to kick him out of the flat was fairly major. "Sherlock, he didn't have a date over, did he?"

"I don't know," Sherlock said. "I didn't see anyone if he did."

"All right, you can stay on the sofa tonight. You know where the blankets are," Lestrade said. "Just don't make a mess in the kitchen or bathroom, and you know what I mean when I say that, Sherlock. Let me sleep."

"Tell me what you were doing when I got here."

"Sherlock, I'm not in the mood for you winding me up."

"I'm not. I'm curious. I've never seen anyone do that before. What was it and why were you doing it?"

Lestrade's brain stuttered a few times. "Okay, first of all, genius, it's something that all guys do, so I can't believe that you haven't," he said.


"Sherlock, you have to have had an erection at some point in your life. It's impossible to get through your teenage years without them," Lestrade said, trying not to blush.

"Oh, yes, that does happen occasionally," Sherlock said. "I usually just ignore my body and it goes away fairly quickly. Is that not what I'm supposed to be doing?"

"You can, but that just leads to frustration most of the time, not to mention pain at times," Lestrade said. "What I was doing is a more natural response to it."

The younger man studied him for a minute. "I thought you needed to have two for sex to work," he finally said.

"That's the preferred method, but when you don't have a partner, your hand can be a good enough substitute," Lestrade said. He really just wanted to crawl under the covers and hide, but knew that Sherlock wouldn't leave until he had all the answers he needed. "Friction feels good, Sherlock. That's all that really matters."

Sherlock nodded and looked at Lestrade closely. "Go on."


"Finish up. I want to see what you do."

"Sherlock, I am not jerking off for you."

"Why not?"

"First of all, it isn't proper," Lestrade said firmly. "Unless you're sleeping with someone, pleasure is a solo activity. It's not hard to figure out, you know. I'm surprised you haven't already."

"I notice that the idea does excite you," Sherlock said with a nod at the covers over Lestrade's lap. "Do you like being watched? I believe that's on the list of sexual kinks near the top."

Lestrade finally gave in and let his face drop into his hands. "Sherlock, you're not supposed to show up and demand to sleep with your friends. It makes things awkward."

"How does it?"


"How does it make things awkward?" Sherlock asked. "You say it's natural and something that everyone does, you obviously want to do it tonight, but you won't do it with me in the room. It's illogical, especially as my presence seems to be intensifying your emotions."

"Only the frustration," Lestrade sighed. "Sherlock, I had a long day and wanted to relax before I went to sleep. Then you showed up."

Sherlock studied him for a long moment. "You worked at your desk all day today, which means you were working on cold cases. Why didn't you call me? I could have helped you solve them."

"You know why. It's more than my job is worth to let you near the cold cases. I have enough trouble justifying bringing you into the active ones." Lestrade adjusted his blankets so he was a little more covered. "Look, if we're going to talk, could you let me get dressed and we'll go have tea. Have you eaten tonight?"

"Of course not. I'm not hungry."


"I ate something this afternoon. I'm not starving myself. I'm not hungry. I want to see what you were going to do to yourself."

"I'm not an experiment."

Sherlock stood up and took off his jacket, his coat and scarf missing and probably out in the sitting room. "Do people normally kiss in this sort of situation."


"You say you won't continue on your own, so it seems that if I want to find out what this is all about, I have to be a more active participant," Sherlock sat down closer to Lestrade and studied him. "I want to know, Lestrade."

"What makes you think I find you attractive in the first place? Maybe I don't even like guys in my bed."

"Please, I've heard stronger bluffs from idiots on the street trying not to be arrested," Sherlock sighed. "If you did not find males sexually attractive, you would not still be sustaining an erection with me sitting here. Whether you find me attractive or not is a point I can't be more sure on until we progress a little into the experiment, but I believe the odds are in my favor at this point."

Lestrade thought of his mystery man on the telly and compared him to the man sitting in front of him. Sherlock was stunning, especially his eyes. They never seemed to settle on one color and were so focused on everything around him that it was amazing. His face was sculpted and pale and, without thinking about it, Lestrade reached out and ran a single finger along Sherlock's cheekbone. Sherlock leaned into the touch and closed his eyes. "Sherlock, have you ever been touched?"

"I don't like people to touch me," Sherlock replied. "You know that."

"So what was that?"

"I guess I like it when you touch me."

"Tell me this is more than an experiment to you, Sherlock." Lestrade pulled his hand back and looked at the younger man. "I won't touch you again until I know that much. I'm not letting you use me, not like this."

"It would be a sort of experiment, Lestrade, because I won't know what I like until you do it to me," Sherlock said. "I am here with no preconceived notions at all, nothing that I like or don't like, so you can do anything you want to me. Doesn't that excite you?"

"Actually, yes," Lestrade said with a small smile. "I just want to make sure you don't use me."

Sherlock reached out and mimicked Lestrade's touch to the other man's face. "It seems that you will be the one using me," he said. "I can't promise that I'll want more than this one night, Lestrade, but I'll be open to whatever you want to do to me. I've never wanted or needed to be touched before. I never knew that this was possible. I am curious."

"Then it's Greg," Lestrade said. "No last names in here, Sherlock. If we're going to do this, we're going to use first names."

"How interesting," Sherlock said. He looked off into the distance. "This means that we're going to be more intimate than ever."

Lestrade leaned forward and tilted Sherlock's head back towards him. "That is what sex usually leads to, yes," he said. "You're going to have to open up to me, Sherlock. I know you and know that you usually keep things to yourself, at least until you're ready for your grand unveiling."

Sherlock looked into Lestrade's eyes. "Do you know why I do that?"

"Your upbringing. It doesn't take a genius to tell that you're from an upper class family," Lestrade said. He smiled. "Your dress, the way you talk, your manner. It screams upper class. You were probably taught at a young age to keep your emotions wrapped up tighter than a roast ready for the oven."


"You've never had tied roast?"


"I'll make it for you one day. My point is, Sherlock, that this is just the way you were raised and that's how you're always going to be."

"There was some of that, yes. My family never showed emotions, Greg. There's more than that though." Sherlock's lip curled up a little. "Emotions interfere with the work. To be emotional means that I cannot think. I trained myself not to feel to be able to think more clearly. Do you see?"


"No, I don't regret it. I like who I am, and if people can't accept me then that's their problem."

"You like being called a freak?"

"They don't matter. Let them be petty if it makes them happy." Sherlock moved closer and rested his head on Lestrade's shoulder. "I think it would hurt if you were to call me that though. Does that mean anything?"

"Depends." Lestrade shifted until he could hold the younger man in a loose hug without his arms going to sleep. "How did it feel when John called you a freak?"

"It puzzled me. I don't have enough data to figure out why he would do that so suddenly. I wanted to stay and talk with him, but he pushed me out of the flat before I could gather my coat and scarf. Luckily it's fairly warm outside."

"He really threw you out of the flat?"

"Yes, he did. I didn't want to hurt him so I didn't fight back. I let him believe he was stronger than me."

Lestrade was about to say something when his cell phone beeped. He stretched an arm out for it, not wanting to lose contact with Sherlock. "It's from John. He's at Bart's looking for you."

"Let him look. He deserves a little guilt after what he did."

"That's mean."

"So is shoving me out of my home like he had every right to do it."

"Stay quiet, you." Lestrade started dialing John's mobile. "You can get undressed if you want, but don't make any noise. Do not touch me until I hang up this phone or you will be out on the sofa all night."

Sherlock smiled and slipped back to undo his shirt. Lestrade had never seen him in that shade of blue before, and thought that it really made his eyes stand out a little more. "John."

"Lestrade, hi. Look, I did something really stupid tonight and need some help," John said.

"What happened?"

"Sherlock happened. I was watching a Marple I'd been looking forward to for months and he spoiled it for me. This was on top of him not leaving the flat for three days and cluttering the kitchen with some sort of chemical work that means I can't cook anything but tea," John said. "I guess I just lost my temper and told him to get out."

"Sounds a bit harsh."

"You've never lived with him."

"John, I had him stay with me for six months once. I know exactly what he's like to live with. I also know you can't move him if he doesn't want to be moved."

"I never knew he lived with you."

"It's not something he talks about much. What happened? Where is he now?"

Sherlock smiled at that and slid back onto the bed silently, wearing only his pants. Lestrade grinned at him and focused back on the conversation with John.

"I kicked him out. Literally. I didn't realize it until I tried to text him that his coat is at Baker Street with his cell phone in it," John said. "I've been to as many of his favorite haunts as I can think of, and he's not at any of them."

"Have you called Mycroft?" Lestrade asked. "Sherlock might have gone to his club."

"I didn't know Mycroft has a club," John said. "Where is it?"

"I'd call first, if I was you. It's a queer place, that club."

Sherlock almost choked trying to hold his laughter in. He could just imagine the look on John's face at that sentence. The man was already nervous around Mycroft, and his brother did seem to be gay, even if he didn't mean to. Sherlock knew that it was true, that Mycroft preferred men when he decided that he needed to satisfy some urge within his system, but he didn't know if that meant he was gay or just leaning towards gay. Such definitions always managed to puzzle Sherlock, so he never really thought about them. Plus, the less he thought about his brother naked, the better. He shuddered and slid down under the covers a little more.

"You've been there, then?" John asked.

"Several times. I do know you can't get them to open a door without an invitation from a member. That's why I said you should call Mycroft, not just go to the club and demand to see him. The man might not even be there. It's late."

"Lestrade, you haven't seen Sherlock, have you? He didn't go to the Yard?"

"I've been home for the past four hours, John," Lestrade said.

John was silent for a minute. "He's there, isn't he. You two have been winding me up."

Lestrade looked at Sherlock and raised an eyebrow. Sherlock snorted silently and looked back, silently asking for permission to make a noise. Lestrade shook his head. "He's in the shower," he said. "He turned up here wet and miserable and I wanted to make sure he didn't catch cold."

"It's not raining out. How on earth did he get wet?" John asked.

"He muttered something about idiots and the Thames," Lestrade replied. "He's not hurt, don't panic about that, but I'm going to keep him here tonight since he's obviously not welcome in his own house."

"Lestrade, I was mad," John said. "You staged a fake drugs bust to drive home a point with him once. You know how he is."

"Course I do, but I don't know how you are," Lestrade said. "Man admits to physically removing his flat-mate from their flat, how do I know it's not going to go further and end up a full out domestic? You need a chance to calm down and Sherlock will be safe enough here on my sofa for the night. Won't be the first time he's slept on it."

"Neither of you could bother to call and tell me where he is?"

"You're the one who made him leave in the first place. How I was I supposed to know that you'd be worried about him? Sherlock doesn't have his cell phone, so he wouldn't have been able to call anyway," Lestrade said. "Probably a good thing he didn't have it on him, with the dunking he took. Would have had to get a new one. Go home and get some sleep, John. Things will look better in the morning."

"Yeah, sure they will. Tell Sherlock that I just wasted the better part of four hours searching for him," John said. "I doubt he'll care, but it'll be something for him to puzzle over for the rest of the night."

"If you were really worried about him, you wouldn't consider the hours wasted when he refused to come home," Lestrade said. "Talk to you later, John." He put the phone back on the bedside table and looked over at Sherlock. "Well, that was fun."

"It was enlightening," Sherlock said. "John is such a bundle of guilt at times that I don't understand how he keeps moving about. It's fascinating to have such a study of human emotions that close that I can study at any time. What's this for?" He held up the lube. "I almost lay on it when I joined you under the sheets."

Lestrade flushed red and took the bottle. "It's to ease the touch so you don't get friction burns where it'll hurt," he said.

"But you said friction is good."

"It is, but you don't want to irritate the skin. Look, women make their own lubrication naturally most of the time. Men do a little, depending on how excited they get, but for two men to screw they have to have help. That's what this is for. You don't have to use lube, but it's by far the best option for sex."

"Where do you use the lube?"

Lestrade flushed red. "I cannot believe you don't know this already. Wouldn't it be useful for a case or something?" he asked. "How is it you've never come across any of this information?"

"I'm not sure. However, as promised, I'm here to learn. You can do whatever you want to me, Greg. I promise to object if I find something distasteful."

"Some of this is going to be messy," Lestrade cautioned.

"It certainly cannot be messier than my experiment with the pig and the harpoon."

"That's a point." Lestrade took a deep breath, checked to make sure he hadn't gone insane - though he wasn't sure exactly how he would know if he had or not - and leaned down to press his lips to Sherlock's. When the younger man didn't pull back or make any sound of protest, he deepened the kiss, opening his mouth slightly and lipping lightly at Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock seemed to realize that he was expected to respond in some way. He ran his fingertips over Lestrade's neck and up into his hair as he opened and started to kiss back.

Sherlock did start when Lestrade's tongue slipped into his mouth. Lestrade held him in place and explored, tasting as much of Sherlock as was possible at the angle they were kissing. "That was interesting," Sherlock murmured when they broke apart for air.

"Interesting good or bad?" Lestrade asked. He had really enjoyed it and wanted to do it again.

"My body feels warmer than it did before you kissed me," Sherlock said. "My pulse is faster than it was and there seems to be a growing heaviness in my groin."

"That's good, Sherlock. That means you want me to kiss you again."

"I think you're right."

Lestrade didn't wait for Sherlock to say anything else. He leaned down and sealed their mouths together, tracing with his tongue until Sherlock opened for him and set to work teasing Sherlock's tongue into his own mouth. He could tell that the younger man was studying and trying to learn with every small move either of them made. Lestrade forced the thought to the back of his mind that it was Sherlock's first time kissing anyone, touching anyone, and just focused on making the sensations as good as possible for his partner. He would love to be able to use the term lover, but wasn't going to go there until he was sure what Sherlock wanted.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked softly when Lestrade pulled back for a second time.

"Breathing and this," Lestrade replied. He kissed the corner of Sherlock's mouth and started pressing kisses slowly along his jaw and to his ear.

"Breathing is boring," Sherlock murmured. His hands were back in Lestrade's hair, petting him softly. Lestrade had never had a lover do that to him before, and found that he really liked the sensation.

"There's so much more we can do than just kiss," Lestrade murmured. He shifted to bring their bodies more into line and lowered down carefully. Sherlock hissed and arched up. "Like that, do you?"

"Why does it feel so good?" Sherlock asked.

"This is why people are willing to kill for sex," Lestrade replied. He hated to lose the sensation of fingers in his hair, so he slid down slowly and pressed a kiss to the middle of Sherlock's chest. "When it's someone you care for, it feels even better."

"You like my hands in your hair," Sherlock said. He kneaded at Lestrade's skull and smiled at the soft moan it caused. "Now I know how to calm you down."

In response, Lestrade bit a nipple and rode through the small arch the action got him. "How would you explain that to my people, you wanting to touch my hair?" he asked.

"I told you, I don't care what they think, Greg," Sherlock said.

They were interrupted by the cell phone ringing. Lestrade groaned and moved to the side to answer it. "Lestrade."

"Good evening, Detective Inspector," Mycroft said. "Before you deflower my brother, I would like to ask as to your intentions towards him."

"Mycroft, if you've put those bloody cameras back in here, so help me, I don't care if you are the British government, I'll take the story to the papers, I really will."

"Of course the cameras aren't back in your bedroom, that would be spying on one of the Yard's best officers, and we don't want to do that, now do we?" Mycroft said.

"Then how do you know what's going on?"

"I have my ways. Will you answer my question?"

Lestrade handed the phone off to Sherlock. "Your turn," he said.

"Good evening, Mycroft. I'm impressed. It only took you an hour to find me this time," Sherlock said.

"You shouldn't run away from home like that, Sherlock. People will worry."

"Oh god, John's rung you, hasn't he? What did he tell you this time?"

"This time?" Lestrade whispered.

Sherlock shook his head and mouthed later. "I didn't run away from home, Mycroft. What I'm doing is none of your business, so I'm going to hang up now and turn off Lestrade's mobile until we're done. Don't know how long it'll take, I'm in the mood to learn as much as I possibly can. Might take days."

"Childish as always," Mycroft sighed. "John's just worried about you, Sherlock, as am I."

"I wasn't attacked, Mycroft. I came here after walking for several hours and arrived perfectly sound. Lestrade, Greg, was helping me out when he told John that I had been in a fight. Had I known he would run crying to you, we wouldn't have bothered," Sherlock said. "I was physically removed from my home tonight, Mycroft, I think I have a right to be upset about it."

"That was childish of the both of you and I'm extremely disappointed in the Inspector," Mycroft said. "I expected better of him. We need to talk, Sherlock."

"I'm busy," Sherlock said. "Good evening, Mycroft. Don't bother to call back."

He clicked out of the call and handed the phone back. "They can talk to each other," he said. "Maybe Mycroft can get John calmed down. Either way, can we put your phone on vibrate until later tonight? I really do not want to be interrupted again."

"I'm on call," Lestrade said.

"Give it here then."

"What are you doing?"

Sherlock was into the settings menu and working quickly. "There, each of your Yard contacts, plus the lines that they have called from in the past have your usual ringtone. Any other phone call will have a different tone and we can ignore it." He handed the phone back and kicked the covers down to the foot of the bed. "I want to learn, Greg. I want to feel what we were doing a bit ago and not be interrupted again."

"I think we can do that," Lestrade said. He put the phone back on the bedside table and moved back over Sherlock. "Come here, you."

Sherlock's mouth was already open when Lestrade's lips touch his. He deepened the kiss and then turned control back over to Lestrade. The older man took the chance to find out what Sherlock's hair felt like, sliding his hands up into the dark curls. Sherlock's long fingers slid up and down Lestrade's bare back, mapping and learning the texture and feel of his skin. They broke apart and Lestrade started kissing down towards Sherlock's chest and smiled against the skin when Sherlock's hands ended up back in his hair. "You really do like that, don't you?" Sherlock asked softly.

"It's something no one else has done, and you have really good fingers," Lestrade replied. "Can I take these off?"

"Yes," Sherlock replied. He braced himself and raised his hips so Lestrade could slip off his pants.

"Are these silk?" Lestrade asked.

"Of course," Sherlock replied. "What else would you expect me to wear with my suits?"

"Do you always wear silk boxers?"

"Oh no, Greg; sometimes I don't wear anything at all."

Lestrade had to pause for a deep breath to try and get his control back. The thought of Sherlock without pants on when he was at a crime scene sent a bolt of arousal through him. He also started damning the coat for covering Sherlock's arse from view. "I may never be able to watch you work again," he managed.

"What are you going to do about it?" Sherlock asked, smirking down at the older man.

Rather than replying verbally, Lestrade opened his mouth and flicked his tongue over the tip of Sherlock's erection. Sherlock's eyes went wide and he stared down, not quite believing what had just happened. "You like that?" Lestrade asked, breath puffing over the heated skin.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting ready to do something called a blow job," Lestrade replied. He sat up enough that he could put some weight on Sherlock's hips and leaned down again. "Don't hold back on me, Sherlock. If you need to come, then come. I think you're probably gonna be good for a couple tonight without any strain at all."

Sherlock had no idea what Lestrade was talking about, and was about to ask when Lestrade's mouth closed over the head of his erection and all thoughts went out of Sherlock's head. He tightened his grip on Lestrade's hair and forced his eyes open. He wanted to watch and catalogue everything that was happening to him. Lestrade had his eyes closed and he was moving more from the waist than he was the neck, taking a little more of Sherlock's erection into his mouth on each downward movement. Sherlock was puzzled as to what the point of the exercise was, other than the wet warmth surrounding his erection, when Lestrade's tongue got involved. The younger man's eyes closed and his head fell back against the pillow, all thought of memorizing gone into the sea of sensations.

Lestrade glanced up and almost stopped moving when he saw the look of bliss and pleasure on Sherlock's face. He had never once, in the years they had known each other, seen that look on the younger man's face. He moaned softly, the sound transfered to Sherlock's erection and he arched up as much as he could with Lestrade's hands on his hips. Lestrade pulled back for a minute, his hand stroking while he swallowed and tried to get a little control back. He couldn't remember the last time he felt as aroused as he did at that moment.

"What's wrong?" Sherlock asked, his body moving on it's own. He couldn't remember the last time he felt such pleasure, so out of control, so detached from his own body. It was a wonderful sensation, one that he knew he would never be able to replicate on his own, but he knew that he wanted to feel it again. Maybe if Lestrade was willing, he would have help. "Why did you stop?"

"Trying to get some control back," Lestrade replied. "Seeing you like this, Sherlock, is undoing all my control."

"Isn't that a good thing?" Sherlock asked.

"I could hurt you," Lestrade said. "I don't want to hurt you, Sherlock. Let's get some of this tension out of you and we'll keep going."

"What else is there to do?"

"You would be surprised." Lestrade bent back over and took just the head of Sherlock's erection into his mouth and sucked. When he was moderately sure that Sherlock was floating on a sea of pleasure, Lestrade reached for the lube bottle and slicked a single finger and reached down to just touch and caress the opening to Sherlock's body.

Sherlock wasn't expecting the touch and his climax washed through him so fast that he almost blacked out from the sensation and did go limp back onto the mattress. Lestrade swallowed what had ended up in his mouth and pulled back. "How was that?"

"What was that?" Sherlock murmured.

"I'm getting you some sex books," Lestrade said. "You can get all the terms from them and shock John at the same time. That, Sherlock, was an orgasm. It's the whole point of sex."

"It's powerful," Sherlock said. "What about that touch you used?"

"Like that, did you?"


Lestrade smiled and leaned back up for another kiss. Sherlock met him eagerly and slipped his fingers back into Lestrade's hair as their tongues moved together slowly. Lestrade's arousal was starting to feel painful and he pulled back before he started to just thrust against Sherlock's hip. "Stop me if you don't want to continue," he said softly.

"What are you going to do?"

"Touch you and get you ready for the next step," Lestrade smiled. He reslicked his finger and, after getting Sherlock's legs into a better position, started to slowly stroke the opening to Sherlock's body again. The younger man moaned softly and relaxed into the touch, but could feel heat starting to move through his body again. He started when the same finger pushed into his body, eyes opening wide. "Does it hurt?" Lestrade asked.

"No, it feels odd," Sherlock replied. "Unexpected. How does this give pleasure?"

"You need to relax or I'm not moving anywhere without hurting you," Lestrade said. "That's it, stay relaxed. I know it's an odd thing the first time, but I wasn't sure how to warn you about it."

Sherlock's mouth quirked up at the corner. "That would be awkward phrasing because I want to shove a finger in your arse just doesn't convey what it feels like," he said. "Is this all there is?"

Lestrade pulled his hand out, added lube and pushed two fingers in. "Nope, I'm going to keep going with fingers until your muscles are relaxed enough that my cock is gonna fit in you," he said.

"Really?" Sherlock twisted his head and looked down. "That seems to be an impossibility, Greg. I cannot believe that you will fit in there."

"I didn't say it would be pain free." Lestrade twisted his fingers a little, searching for Sherlock's prostate. "That helps though."

Sherlock tried to catch his breath. He hadn't been prepared for the bolt of sensation that shot through him at the touch. "Could you do that again, Greg?"

"Sure." Lestrade pressed a kiss to Sherlock's knee and started to work on stretching him seriously, making sure to hit his prostate as much as possible. He wanted to kiss the younger man, but had to be focused on what he was doing so he didn't hurt Sherlock. The view from his position made up for a little of that loss, however, as he was able to watch what seemed to be Sherlock's mind quieting down, his face relaxing into lines of bliss as he was stimulated in ways he never had been before.

"How many fingers is that?" Sherlock asked after a while, his breath deep and breathy.

Lestrade bit back a moan at the tone. "Three. I can use another if you want me to, or we can get down to business and see how much I can make you scream."

"You're the expert here," Sherlock said. He reached down and ran his fingers through Lestrade's hair. "Whatever you want to do."

That was all the invitation Lestrade needed. He pulled his hand back and moved away from Sherlock's hand - as much as he hated to do that - and picked up the lube again. Sherlock watched as he coated his erection with the slick substance, and shifted into position. "This would be easier with you on your hands and knees, Sherlock, but I want to be able to see your face. Are you willing to try this position first?"

"How many different positions are there?"

"So getting you those sex manuals," Lestrade muttered. He lifted Sherlock's right leg and held it up and back.

"I'll look forward to them," Sherlock said. He felt Lestrade's erection touch him and almost froze at the touch. He forced his body to relax and went as limp as he could on the bed. Lestrade smiled at him and Sherlock realized he had never seen such a soft look on the detective's face, and never one directed at him. Then the head of Lestrade's erection breeched him and Sherlock's body tensed up anyway.

"It's okay, relax, it'll pass," Lestrade murmured, rubbing the skin under his hand. "It happens, just relax. I'll wait as long as it takes."

"Knew you would have trouble fitting," Sherlock gasped. He had good control of his body and forced the muscles to relax. Lestrade felt the tension ease and pushed forward slowly, always stopping as soon as Sherlock tensed up around him, moving slowly until he was encased completely within the younger man's body.

"Just takes time," he said, panting. It had been a long time since he had been with a partner, and Sherlock was extra tight around him. "How's that feeling?"

"Odd, but it doesn't hurt," Sherlock replied. "What now?"

"Now we get to the fun part," Lestrade smiled. He leaned in and kissed Sherlock softly, just teasing at his lips as he pulled back a little and rocked forward. Sherlock, who hadn't known what to expect, moaned and reached up for the man above him, wrapping his arms around Lestrade's shoulders and holding on tightly.

Lestrade kept up the rocking motion for a while, moving slowly, trying to get Sherlock's body used to the new activity, and when Sherlock's hips rocked back to meet one of his moves, Lestrade groaned and thrust in fully for the first time. Sherlock cried out, everything tensing for a moment, and Lestrade realized that he had to have hit the right angle on accident. "Here we go," he murmured.

Sherlock wasn't sure what he meant and muttered when Lestrade moved out of kissing range. He liked kissing Lestrade, something he wouldn't have thought possible. All thoughts died when Lestrade started to thrust into him fully, each move forward pushing Sherlock's body a little on the bed. He moved back against Lestrade, not sure why, but his body was in control and it wanted to try and take the invader as deeply into it as possible. Sherlock wasn't going to complain about it because his mind was hazy, empty and quiet. More pleasure than he ever felt before was racing through his body, tightening things that had never before shown any interest in being tight, and he wasn't sure what else he was supposed to do.

"Touch yourself," Lestrade whispered. "You'll like it." He paused for a moment so he wouldn't over-balance and guided one of Sherlock's hands to his own erection. "Here, wrap your fingers around it and stroke up and down."

"That's it?" Sherlock asked, muzzy.

"For this, you don't need anything fancy." Lestrade shifted back a little and braced his weight before thrusting forward sharply. Sherlock cried out softly as his prostate was hit and started to try and move his hand the way that Lestrade had told him. He'd never touched himself before and wasn't sure exactly what he was doing, but it felt good, so he didn't worry about technique and focused on moving as closely in sync with the thrusts into his body as possible.

"Greg, feel hot," he gasped, trying to catch his breath.

"Let it happen, Sherlock," Lestrade replied. "Come apart for me."

Sherlock wanted to say that he didn't know what Lestrade was talking about, but the heat pooled in his stomach seemed to have a life of it's own, and it exploded out of his erection in a hard climax that wrenched a scream from Sherlock and left him limp on the bed gasping for breath. Lestrade hadn't been expecting the extra tightness around his erection and gave into his own climax, flooding Sherlock's body before slumping down on him. Sherlock managed to make his arms move and wrapped them around the body on top of him, holding on tightly.

"Greg," he whispered. "That was amazing."




Sherlock smiled and ran a hand up into the inspector's hair. It seemed that the older man wasn't going to be talking for a while. Sherlock didn't mind too much, it would give him a chance to think about everything that had happened to him that night. He smiled. He would have to hold Lestrade to his promise of some books on the topic. There was a lot to learn, and Lestrade was right, it would be useful for investigations. Not to mention nights spent like this in bed with Lestrade.

Sherlock was on the sofa when John got home from the surgery the next evening. He didn't even look up from the book he was reading when John asked if he wanted tea or dinner. John sighed and went into the kitchen to make tea and found that the chemical experiment was still set out over everything.

"You couldn't even be bothered to clean up in here?" he asked.

"I'm waiting for a chemical compound to cure," Sherlock replied absently, turning a page in his book.

"Sherlock, you can't keep using the kitchen for a chemical lab. That's what Bart's is for."

"This is more convenient," Sherlock said. "Hah."



John glanced out and saw Sherlock making a note on the page in the book he had on his lap. "Research for a case?"


"Sherlock, why didn't you tell me you lived with Lestrade for six months?" John asked.

"Did I? I don't remember that."

"Okay, Sherlock, what are you reading?" John stormed over to the sofa and grabbed the book. He took one look at the cover and dropped it on the floor. "The Gay Kama Sutra?"

Sherlock smiled. "It was a present," he said picking it up. "I'll have to mention that page ten looks interesting."

"Mention.... What are you talking about?" John asked.

There were footsteps on the stairs and Lestrade was in the door before Sherlock could answer. "John," he said moving around the smaller man. "Hey love, how's the reading going?"

Sherlock leaned up for a kiss, which Lestrade was happy to give him, and moved his feet so his lover - they had decided that when they woke up - could sit down next to him. He shifted so he could wrap an arm around Lestrade's shoulder and massage the back of his head. Lestrade moaned softly and leaned into the touch. "I might have to start paying you to come and do this after meetings, Sherlock."

"You don't have to pay me, I'll be happy to any time you want," Sherlock replied. "Here, look at page ten."

Lestrade took the book and felt his eyebrows go up. "That might be a little advanced for you right now, love. Do you really want to try that position."

"You're the one who said I should read this book," Sherlock pointed out. "It's been very helpful, and it doesn't blush when giving me the answers."

"Okay, you know what, what the hell happened last night?" John asked, looking at the pair of them.

"Nothing much," Lestrade said. He flipped to an earlier page in the book. "What about this one?"


"Sherlock, I'm old. I don't bend that easily any more."

"This one then?"

Lestrade turned the book in his hands a few times. "That one might work, if we have a rope or belt to help out," he said. "You're going to want to try as many of these as possible, aren't you? What did I let out last night?"

"I have about twenty years to catch up on," Sherlock replied. "It seems only fair that you help me out, Greg."

The sound of John sputtering made them both look up. "John?"

"You're just winding me up again, aren't you?" he asked. "I know Sherlock and there's no way that he would be doing this for any other reason."

"I think he's jealous, Sherlock," Lestrade said. "Maybe I got something that he's been wanting and didn't have the nerve to try and get. Should we go back to my flat?"

"Let me get some clothes," Sherlock said. "Won't be a minute."

Lestrade looked up at John. "It really wasn't necessary to call Mycroft last night, John," he said. "I'm disappointed in you."

"What else was I supposed to do?" John asked.

"Trust me and Sherlock to know what we're talking about. They had another row last night when Mycroft rang through. I was half expecting to be abducted from the Yard today to go and talk to him."

"He was here," Sherlock called from his room.

"Bugger," Lestrade muttered. He stood up and hurried towards the bedroom. "What did he say?"

"I wasn't really listening," Sherlock said. "Something about using protection and not being stupid. He also said that I could do better. That was when I asked him to leave."

"You could do better," Lestrade said. "I'm old and I'm not in your class, Sherlock."

Sherlock slipped a hand up into the silvering hair. "That's true, you're so far ahead of me I don't know if I'll ever catch up," he said. "But I'm willing to try."

"Sappy," Lestrade cautioned.

"We're alone."

"I'm here," John commented. He was off balance. He had no idea how Sherlock and Lestrade had gone from whatever they were to apparent lovers.

Sherlock sighed and pulled Lestrade in against him. "I think I need to clear one thing up," he said softly. He leaned in and kissed Lestrade softly. Lestrade moaned at the emotion he could feel in the soft kiss and wrapped his arms around Sherlock.

"There is a bed here," he murmured against Sherlock's lips.

"I thought I was supposed to be the eager one," Sherlock smiled. "John, excuse us." He pushed the door shut and turned his attention back to his lover. "We can start here and move to yours later if you want."

"Sounds good to me. I don't think I'll ever get enough of you."

"The feeling, Detective Inspector, is quite mutual."