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fic: In Transition (part 4 of 7)

Title: In Transition (part  of 7)
Author: fengirl88
Rating: NC-17, eventually
Fandom: Sherlock
Pairing: Sherlock/John not-very-established relationship, Sherlock/Lestrade complications, Sherlock/John slash, finally
Warnings: sexual content, some drug references, and Lestrade still swears rather a lot.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.  Just playing with them.  Again. 
Spoilers: Bits of A Study in Pink.
Wordcount:  around 2700 for this chapter.

Summary: John has never been so happy.  Sherlock has never been so confused.  Sex has never been so awkward.

beta'd by ginbitch, without whom this chapter would not have got itself written.  Fact.

Chapter 3: Lestrade
The Writing's On The Wall


Chapter 3: Lestrade


The Writing's On The Wall



For the last few days he's had that feeling again. You always know. Someone following him. Gives him the creeps. Mrs Jennings downstairs said she'd seen a suspicious-looking man in the alley by the bins on Monday. He called it in, told them to make a note of it at the local police station. No good being careless about these things.


He's jumpier since the Hughes case, he knows that. Doesn't like it, but no point pretending it's not happening. No point beating yourself up about it either. It'll pass eventually. He's had this sort of thing before after cases where he's come a bit too bloody close to the pearly gates. Takes a while to wear off. Just one of those things.


He knows it's worse right now because he's tired. Another case refusing to break, nasty double murder in Paddington, so he's not sleeping well. So strung out tonight he even cracked and tried to ring Maurice, see if he could go round there and crash, maybe they'd have sex, Christ knows he could do with something to take the edge off. Just got the answering machine though.


Maurice is probably doing as he was told, out there looking for somebody new. Or he's found someone already and is too busy shagging to answer the phone. Thinking that doesn't do anything to improve Lestrade's mood.


If it hadn't been for bloody Sherlock, maybe he and Maurice could have made a go of it. Maurice is a decent bloke, even if he is in the City. Affectionate, too. Good in bed. Nice-looking. Not the sharpest knife in the box, but you can't have everything, and nobody needs more than one mad genius in their life. If that.


He is not going to put that sodding Schumann CD on again.


Well past the age when it's OK to wallow in sad music and get maudlin about the man that got away.


If he wanted to do that he'd just go the whole hog and put on Judy bleeding Garland. Or Rufus Wainwright, whose weird voice grows on you more than you might expect. Another Maurice thing, that. Stop it, Lestrade.


Five years. Five years of stupid pointless hanging around for whatever scraps Sherlock fucking Holmes deigned to throw his way. Five years of teasing and mind-fucking and being made to feel a complete prat around Sherlock, and everybody knowing, or it felt that way at least. Not one bloody shred of dignity left, except that he's never said the word. One half-decent legover on the blasted sofa in 221b Baker Street and one frankly weird encounter in his own bedroom, being jumped by Sherlock for reasons he still doesn't understand. Not much to show for it after all this time.


Christ, he's had enough of this. He's thought that before, sure, but this time -


Oh Jesus fuck. A ring at the door. Only one person that'll be, at one in the morning, and he doesn't usually bother to ring.


His timing really is exceptionally off tonight.


What the fuck is it now?” Lestrade snaps, opening the door.


And good evening to you too, Inspector,” Sherlock says, coming in without waiting to be asked.


The words are typical enough, but the tone's a bit less cocky than usual, Lestrade notices. That, and the fact he rang the doorbell rather than just breaking in, suggests there's something up. Not sure what it is though.


Sherlock, I'm very tired and I don't recall asking you to come in,” Lestrade says.


Sherlock would usually make some crack about Lestrade's lack of manners here, but he doesn't. Odd. He looks a bit – well, uncertain. Which is not like him at all.


Doesn't actually apologise or anything, obviously. No need to look out of the window for night-flying pigs just yet.


What do you want?” Lestrade says impatiently. The quicker they get this over with, whatever it is, the quicker Lestrade can get to bed and at least try to sleep. Should have been there by now if he hadn't been moping around about Maurice.


But then Sherlock would just have caught him in his pyjamas, or in bed, and that doesn't seem like such a great idea.


Funny how the things you fantasise about often don't, in real life.


Sherlock's not saying anything. He's pacing around Lestrade's sitting-room looking like he's carrying on some mad conversation in his head. Probably is.


If you just want to exercise, could you fuck off and do that somewhere else? I'm going to bed,” Lestrade says irritably.


Mentioning bed seems to have an effect, because the next thing Lestrade knows he's up against the wall being kissed by Sherlock, a hard uncomfortable awkward kiss.


Ow,” Lestrade says, pushing Sherlock away and licking the blood from his own lip. “You bit me, you fucker!”


Sherlock comes back for another go, and Lestrade finds himself fighting quite hard to get away. Not how that scene played out any of the times he's imagined it, but he's really not feeling like this right now.


Just his luck. A bulletproof wank fantasy crosses over into real life and Lestrade's not in the mood. Brilliant.


Sherlock, what are you playing at?”


Stupid question really. But what is he?


Sherlock suddenly starts pacing again and talking nineteen to the dozen, words spilling out and tumbling over each other so fast Lestrade can't get half of it. Bits of it he grabs as they go past include keep thinking about you, nothing happening, all the time, no good and frustrated.


If Lestrade's just been told what he thinks he's been told, he really shouldn't have been.


Another bloody fantasy coming home to roost. And this one was seriously fucking embarrassing even as a fantasy. The one where sex with JW is really crap and Sherlock is driven into the arms of the only man who has ever -


This can't really be happening, can it?


He looks at Sherlock, who is looking pretty wild. Hair dishevelled, lips red and swollen, cheeks flushed, pupils dilated. Yup, all present and correct. And Lestrade's fairly sure that pressure against his stomach when Sherlock kissed him wasn't just his belt buckle.


A bit of the jigsaw suddenly falls into place.


Have you been stalking me?” Lestrade demands.


Sherlock now looks guilty as well as randy, upset and confused. It's quite a complicated look.


Not stalking,” he says. “Wanted to see you. Just – I kept -”


Lost his nerve. Incredible. Explains a lot though.


How many nights has this been?”


All this week,” Sherlock says. “Maybe a bit longer.”


Hanging around by the bins. Jesus.


Why are you doing this?” Lestrade says.


Sherlock shoots him a look that is 100% How can you be so fucking stupid?, but doesn't say anything.


Lestrade sighs. He can see he's going to have to do all the work here. Department of No Surprise.


Does he know you're here?” he asks.


Sherlock winces. Shakes his head.


Does he know about – the other time?” Lestrade persists, struggling a bit to find a good form of words for that time you sucked me off for no apparent reason.


No,” Sherlock says, sounding pretty miserable.


Are you going to tell him?”


Fuck no!” Sherlock says, sounding alarmed now. “You're not going to, are you?”


For whatever reason, that really gets Lestrade's goat.


Serve you right if I did,” he snaps. “Actually I can't be bothered, so you're in luck.”


Sherlock looks relieved. Never has had any sense of morality, only a sense of consequences, and even that is pretty fucking intermittent. Drops in and out like a faulty broadband connection, and it looks like the server's crashed at the moment.


Why do I keep thinking about you?” Sherlock says petulantly.


How the fuck should I know? It's not my fault,” Lestrade says.


Been like this since that thing with the gunman,” Sherlock whinges.


Oh, you mean that thing where you almost got me killed?” Lestrade flares up. “Well, yes, for some people that might get them thinking a bit. Not you, though, surely?”


I thought maybe if we had sex again I could get it out of my system,” Sherlock says, as if patiently explaining some terribly obvious piece of reasoning.


Lestrade is briefly lost for words. Only Sherlock would think it's just fine to come out with something like that.


A very small part of his mind notices that once upon a time he'd have taken Sherlock up on that suggestion and dealt with the fallout afterwards. Now he doesn't want to. Which must be progress, of a sort. But there isn't time to think about that now. Or to ask himself how much of Sherlock's attraction, for him, was always that he was the one Lestrade couldn't have. Think about that later.


Sherlock's looking at him expectantly, waiting for Lestrade to jump to it and give him what he came for.


You do know I'm not going to do this, don't you?” Lestrade says. Nonsensical thing to say when the answer is so obviously no, but it seems to need saying.


Sherlock looks puzzled. But then he never does understand why people don't just give him what he wants. And if he goes on pushing long enough they usually do, in the end. As Lestrade is uneasily aware.


Sherlock moves in on him again, less forcefully this time but more insinuatingly. Slides his arms round Lestrade's waist and starts breathing heavily in Lestrade's hair. Distracting.


Lestrade disengages himself with some difficulty and retreats to the armchair – not risking the sofa thank you very much.


Did you hear me?” he says, wishing his voice didn't give him away so obviously. “I said I'm not going to do this.”


Sherlock apparently hears this as some kind of invitation, because his next move is to try to sit on Lestrade's lap. There's a bit of a struggle and Sherlock ends up on the floor. Think he banged his head on the way down, going to have a nasty bruise there later. But he's not put off. Take more than that, Lestrade thinks, gripping Sherlock's wrist and trying to pull his hand away from its current location between Lestrade's thighs.


Why don't you want to?” Sherlock demands, baffled. “You always want to.”


Lestrade's too busy trying to breathe to answer that one for a bit. And it's not easy to maintain he doesn't want to when he's already sporting quite an erection. As Sherlock can't really fail to notice.


I said I'm not going to,” Lestrade manages eventually.


Sherlock seems tempted to accuse him of quibbling about details, but doesn't actually go there.


Why not?” he says again.


A short question with a long answer, as it turns out.


Lestrade, slightly to his surprise, is up out of the armchair and shouting at Sherlock, who is still on the floor.


Because I have had enough. I have had it with you, Sherlock. I'm not some – some blow-up doll you can come round and shag because you're having a crap time in bed with bloody Watson. I'm not your stopgap. I'm not your fucking agony aunt, or your nanny, or your keeper, or your sex therapist. And I am sick to death of you thinking you can use me for whatever you feel like and then just bugger off back to your boyfriend or whatever else is going on in your life. I deserve better than this. I've wasted enough of my life hanging around waiting for you to treat me like a human being and I am not going to do it any more because you are NOT WORTH IT. Now fuck off back to Baker Street and for Christ's sake grow up.”


Sherlock looks a bit shaken by this, as well he might. But not for long, being Sherlock.


You're jealous of him,” he says, as if trying the flavour of something he hasn't eaten before.


Which really isn't the point, though Lestrade can't deny it's been a factor.


He sits down again, feeling a bit shaky after all that shouting.


I can't stand the guy,” he says. “But you're not doing right by him.”


Sherlock looks like he does know this really, but doesn't want to admit it.


Lestrade breathes deeply for a bit. Then he says “You want to be with him, right?”


Sherlock nods. Doesn't say anything.


So why do you think it's OK to lie to him?” Lestrade asks.


He'd be cross if I told him,” Sherlock says.


Your emotional inadequacy really beggars belief sometimes,” Lestrade says, feeling himself getting angry again. “Cross is when another kid in the class nicks your pencil-case. Not when your partner goes off and shags someone else.”


He wonders what he was ever doing with this hopeless case of arrested development. However brilliant and gorgeous Sherlock is – and he is both these things, no question – emotionally he seems to have got stuck quite a few years below the age of consent. Even these days.


Time to leave this fucked-up boy, Lestrade. See if you can find a grown man to play with instead.


Look, Sherlock,” he says wearily, “if you and John are having problems you do what grown-ups do. You talk about it. You try to work things out. You tell him what you want. You ask him what he wants. You do not come here and expect me to sort it out for you, or to shag you and take your mind off it.”


Sherlock has been squirming with embarrassment for most of this. Looking like he's trying to fold himself up and slide under the sofa. Perks up a bit at the mention of shagging.


But I liked having sex with you,” he says, as if that somehow makes everything else Lestrade just said irrelevant.


Sherlock, you're with someone else. And the last time I looked, that was not an open relationship.”


Sherlock looks mutinous but he doesn't contradict Lestrade about that.


You never used to say no,” he complains. “Is it because of Maurice?”


Lestrade has seldom felt so close to hitting him, but he manages not to.


You can't keep coming round here and jumping me every time something goes wrong with John,” he says. “Or every time you're bored because he's gone out for the evening.”


Sherlock looks like he still doesn't really see why not.


But it's good with you and it's not good with him,” he says, as if that changes everything. “And there are things we haven't done yet I thought we could do -”


Go home, Sherlock,” Lestrade says. “Go home NOW.”


He's surprised himself at how fierce he sounds.


Sherlock, being Sherlock, makes one final pass before he gives up, and gets another nasty crack from the edge of the bookcase when Lestrade shoves him violently away. There's blood on the carpet, and Lestrade is contrite, though firm about the fact that Sherlock is still leaving as soon as he's patched him up. Which doesn't take long.


Don't I get a goodbye kiss?” Sherlock asks.


No.” Lestrade doesn't crack a smile. “This hasn't been good for either of us, Sherlock. Time for me to move on. Time for you, too.”


And Sherlock goes.


Leaving Lestrade mopping thoughtfully at the blood on the carpet, and occasionally running his tongue over the sore place on his lip where Sherlock bit him.


What was that proverb again? Be careful what you wish for, because you may get it.


If his fantasies are going to make a habit of coming back to haunt him like this, he'll have to be a bloody sight more careful what he fantasises about from now on.

...his luck really isn't in tonight )

Previous: ( ... an entirely unlikely friendship. )


( 16 comments — Leave a comment )
Sep. 30th, 2010 01:56 am (UTC)
This scene with Holmes/Lestrade. Is. Just. Priceless. Due mostly, of course, to your usual fine talent, but also due a bit to the fact that I was just lately thinking that Holmes really needs to be taken down a peg or two! Not only in your story, but in several others that are either recently completed or on-going. Even in the TV eps, there are moments when I just want to slap the exasperating, demanding, selfish son-of-a-bitch, and surely I'm not the only one who feels this way?

I wonder - have you given much thought to writing Watson/anyone-who-isn't-Holmes? I think that would be so amusing. Lestrade certainly deserves the satisfaction of a lover who knows what he's about and can appreciate him. ::covers eyes so as not to see Lestrade/Hall approaching from the future::

A brief explanation: I'm not always so unsympathetic toward Holmes, but my pain meds are messing with my patience, I'm afraid. It's times like this that I wish I could write, but that's not going to happen, so I appeal to you, who do it so well.

Sep. 30th, 2010 02:12 am (UTC)
thank you very much! I should not still be awake at this hour but this was very nice to get, so I'm glad I am. I haven't thought about Watson/other but there have been some nice Watson/Lestrade pairings around. I like thirdbird's story "G", for example, and one by sarren called "Common Interest", where John and Lestrade go to a football match together. and etcetera55 has done a very interesting OT3 on Lestrade/John/Sherlock.

sorry to hear about the pain meds - that sounds tough.

thank you again very much for commenting!
Sep. 30th, 2010 06:41 am (UTC)
I was cheering Lestrade on through this whole chapter :D
He's finally on the mend (?)

I love this 'verse so so much and was so excited to see you'd posted again this morning :)
Sep. 30th, 2010 09:51 am (UTC)
thank you so much! ♥ I am so glad you do. *glows*

I am glad you were cheering him on - he needs it! yes, he is on the mend but it will take a while, and the mending goes past the scope of this fic. probably needs another one...
Sep. 30th, 2010 04:00 pm (UTC)
probably needs another one... YES PLEASE!
Sep. 30th, 2010 04:03 pm (UTC)
Oh and thank you for reccing my fic above *beams*
Sep. 30th, 2010 06:56 pm (UTC)
you're welcome! recced it below too...

re. the other Lestrade fic - it is starting to bite my ear, so I expect it will happen. *grins*
Sep. 30th, 2010 07:02 pm (UTC)
*grins back*
Can't wait!
(Deleted comment)
Sep. 30th, 2010 09:59 am (UTC)
thank you very much! no, it's not an easy choice at all, but I am rooting for him in this chapter. he's making a different choice here from the one he makes at the end of Close Analysis, which is to take what he can get, and I think that's a good sign.

*hugs you back*

the OT3 I mentioned, Because Sometimes Three Isn't A Crowd, is at etcetera55's lj here:


there is another very nice one by sarren called Making Room here:


and there is also crocodile_eat_u's long fic Collide, which is heading for an OT3 but hasn't quite reached that point yet. it has Lestrade being in a relationship with a violent partner and John and Sherlock rescuing him.

Sep. 30th, 2010 02:28 pm (UTC)
Lestrade is fab, so in character. I love that he has the maturity to deal with Sherlock, which I think qualifies him for sainthood IMHO. Great story.
Sep. 30th, 2010 06:50 pm (UTC)
oh thank you! what a lovely comment! so glad you liked it. *beams*
(Deleted comment)
Sep. 30th, 2010 06:55 pm (UTC)
thank you very much indeed! ♥♥

oh my goodness Lestrade and Clara? hmm, spontaneous combustion could result, and possibly not in a good way. think both of them are rather too firmly on their respective teams for this to work...
(Deleted comment)
Sep. 30th, 2010 07:03 pm (UTC)
now that I /can/ see - at least once she gets over being pissed off with him on John's behalf. I love both these characters far too much really, so it would be nice if they /could/ be friends... hadn't figured Clara for a biker girl though. you live and learn.
(Deleted comment)
Mar. 13th, 2011 08:48 pm (UTC)
thank you very much! *glows*
I love writing Lestrade - it's all Rupert Graves's fault, of course...
( 16 comments — Leave a comment )


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