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fic: Structures of Living

Title: Structures of Living
Author: fengirl88
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Pairing: John/Lestrade
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: none
Wordcount: 826
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine.
Summary: If anyone had told him six months ago that he’d be shacked up with John Watson, even part-time, he’d have said they’d lost their marbles.
A/N: A postscript to the Trouble With Harry series, from Lestrade's point of view. Fill for the "curtainfic" square on my trope_bingo card.



Lestrade lets himself into the house and starts putting away the shopping: the usual Saturday morning haul of second-hand books from the charity shops in Camden High Stree, fruit and veg and deli stuff for a picnic lunch. It doesn’t look like today’s picnic is going to be in bed, though you never know your luck.

He wonders how John’s getting on.

If anyone had told him, six months ago or even three, that he’d be shacked up with John Watson, even part-time, he’d have said they’d lost their marbles. But the house is full of John’s stuff, clothes and shaving-kit and the funny kinds of tea he likes, and the books he keeps acquiring. Every now and then Lestrade tries looking stern about the books, mostly for the pleasure of having John tease him out of it. Could be a problem eventually: but even thinking like that is a luxury he couldn’t have imagined having, once.

He’s still not sure how long they’ve got. How long before the strain of managing two relationships gets to be too much for John. Sherlock hasn’t made a fuss about it, which is also surprising. His idea in the first place, of course, but that’s never stopped him complaining before if things didn’t go the way he wanted. Seems like it really does suit him, having John at 221b half the time but not being a couple. Takes all sorts.

Be nice to have John here all the time, but Lestrade knows you can’t have everything. And this is a fuck of a lot more than he ever thought he’d get. They’re all right for as long as John is.

Pity they had to run into Sarah like that this morning, though.

Running into John’s exes is a bit of an occupational hazard, though they usually take it in their stride. (Running into Lestrade’s exes tends to result in John dragging him home for a possessive shag, which is fine by Lestrade.)

But Sarah… Of course she’d jumped to the wrong conclusion straight away, seeing the two of them out shopping together like an old married couple. Thought John and Sherlock had split up, and then when she found they hadn’t, she’d jumped to the other obvious conclusion, that John must be two-timing Sherlock. Can’t blame her for having a dim view of human nature – or of the Watson family in particular. Being married to Harry would do that, right enough.

Saturday morning, though. Lestrade sighs. Shifts clashing all week, he’d thought today would be a quiet one, just pottering about doing domestic things, shopping, cooking, watching the telly. If John’s trying to explain their three-sided arrangement and getting an earful about the trouble with Harry, he could be gone for hours yet.

Soup, Lestrade thinks. There’s always something soothing about it, chopping onions and garlic and veg, making up stock if he hasn’t got any on the go (which he mostly hasn’t, the job being what it is). Frying gently and stirring and seasoning and then letting the whole thing simmer while he puts some music on or half-listens to the radio, with the smells of cooking, comforting and warm, curling around him. He’s never been any good at baking, which is a shame, but this is the nearest he can get to it.

It’s a quarter to two when John gets in, looking like he’s been pulled through a hedge backwards. He sniffs the air like a bloodhound on a trail and says “Please tell me that’s ready.”

“Ready when you are,” Lestrade says, pulling him into a hug.

John kisses him as if he’s starving, which he probably is.

“Mm,” Lestrade says, kissing him back. “Missed you.”

“Yeah,” John says, and hugs him tighter.

“Rough, was it?”

“You have no idea,” John says.

Lestrade thinks he probably does, but he’s not about to argue.

“OK,” he says. “Rations for the troops, coming right up.”

John staggers to the sofa and plonks himself down on it with a heavy sigh.

“You do know I love you, don’t you?” he says.

It catches Lestrade by surprise every time, that glow inside at the words, but he says “Yeah, as a matter of fact I do.”

John closes his eyes and breathes deeply. Sounds like it’s still combat breathing, Lestrade thinks: in for four, hold it for four, out for four. That’ll change once he’s got some soup down him.

“I love you too, by the way,” Lestrade says, ladling soup into two big mugs. “Watch you don’t burn your tongue on this, it’s hot.”

John opens one eye and grins at him. “You don’t say.”

“Basic precautions,” Lestrade says. “I’ve got plans for you later, don’t want you unfit for duty.”

John laughs at that. He has a nice laugh, and Lestrade likes hearing it.

“Afternoon in bed?” John says, blowing on his soup to cool it down.

“Sounds good to me,” Lestrade says, feeling the glow of contentment spread wider.

***

Title taken from U.A. Fanthorpe's poem Atlas.





Also posted at http://fengirl88.dreamwidth.org/136933.html with comment count unavailable comments.

Comments

( 2 comments — Leave a comment )
catko
Nov. 1st, 2013 03:01 am (UTC)
I was so excited to click over. SO excited. I love this series so much. Quite charming, warming.

But...now you got me wanting more. Soup and romance, what could be better!
fengirl88
Nov. 1st, 2013 10:07 pm (UTC)
*beams*

thank you very much! I wasn't really expecting to write more of this series, but that's the joy of bingo fills for you...
( 2 comments — Leave a comment )

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