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fic: Consequences (9/9 and Final Note)

Title: Consequences (part 9/9 and Final Note)
Author: fengirl88
Beta: blooms84
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Pairing: ?Lestrade/?John/?Sherlock
Disclaimer: These characters are still not mine.  No matter how hard I stare at them.  
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: sexual content, fallout from threesome, angst, violence (though not especially in this part)
Summary: John is confused again and this time it's not about Sherlock
Wordcount: 1746 for this part
A/N: This all started because of blooms84's The Unbearable Fineness of Lestrade.  The threesome of which this is the fallout is (more or less) the one described in  Triple Jump.  Thanks to everyone for comments and encouragement; particular thanks to blooms84, beta and cheerleader extraordinaire.  
Lestrade's reflections here borrow a comment from darthhellokitty on Triple Jump; thank you!




Part 9





Sherlock looks rough, Lestrade thinks. Sherlock looks like shit , actually. Bedraggled. Unshaven, hair standing on end. Obviously still in yesterday's clothes. His eyes are bloodshot. Cheekbones look sharper than ever, is that even possible ? There's almost nothing of him, seen sideways. Lestrade wonders how long Sherlock hasn't been eating, though he knows Sherlock doesn't, much, even at the best of times.


John looks – shocked, as if he's seeing Sherlock properly for the first time in days. Might be true, Lestrade thinks. Seems like John's been going round in a fog since that business of the threesome. Having an embarrassing crush on someone you used to loathe probably does have that effect.


Got it out of his system now, though. Best medicine for that sort of thing, a damn good shag. Deals with the sexual tension and brings you back down to earth. John had been a bit awkward and tense at first this morning, wasn't sure what he'd got himself into. And so relieved when Lestrade had set him straight that Lestrade might almost have been miffed about it if it hadn't all been so funny .


- I don't know what you're laughing at.


- At you , you idiot. Shitting bricks 'cause you think we're supposed to be a couple or something now. It's just a shag, for pete's sake. A very nice shag, not sorry it happened, but that's all folks. Now give us a hug and get dressed or we'll both be late for work.


The hug and what followed had made them late for work anyway. Oh well. Can't be sensible all the time.


Sherlock's staring at John, obviously trying to read him and equally obviously getting absolutely nowhere. Doesn't look at Lestrade at all. Probably trying to pretend he doesn't exist.


Did you get my other messages?” Sherlock says. His voice is cracked, sounds like he hasn't had much to drink in the last twenty-four hours either.


Yes,” John says, stonily.


A hundred and fifty-four of them, give or take.


You didn't answer,” Sherlock says, sounding – well, more baffled than anything else. Stupid fucker.




This is clearly going to be a long one.


I'm going to make a cup of tea,” Lestrade says. “Anyone else?”


They ignore him. Still staring at each other.


Lestrade makes his tea and sits down in his favourite armchair. Might as well be comfortable. In normal circumstances – whatever the fuck those would be, probably aren't any for this sort of thing – he'd just make an excuse and leave. But John had been quite clear that he wanted Lestrade there for his talk with Sherlock. Not so clear whether what John really wanted was someone to protect him from Sherlock , or to protect him from himself . Possibly both. Probably both.


You slept with him?” Sherlock says to John.


Slept with him, yes,” John says. “And had sex with him.”


Lestrade winces. Sherlock had that coming, but still.


Sherlock doesn't say anything, but he looks like he wants to say a lot .


You did too,” John says, sternly.


You told him that?” Sherlock says furiously, rounding on Lestrade.


Didn't realize you hadn't told him yourself,” Lestrade says calmly. “He deserved to know, though, don't you think?”


Sherlock looks to be struggling with that one, but doesn't say anything.


Seems to me we're all square,” Lestrade says. “If you can say that about a triangle.”


Sherlock glares at him. Jokes about geometry still not flavour of the month, then.


What I mean is, time to start over,” Lestrade says. “You – or just possibly we – need to work out what the ground rules are for the next bit.”


Yes,” John says. “That is what needs to happen now.”


There's a long silence, and for once Lestrade is not going to be the one to break it.


Nor, it seems, is John. Waiting for Sherlock to crack. And he does . Amazing.


Do you want to be with him instead of me?” Sherlock asks. Sounding so completely wretched that Lestrade's surprised John doesn't just hug him right there and then. Surprised, and impressed. But then John is more stubborn than pretty much anyone Lestrade's ever known. Even with Sherlock.


I wouldn't be here if I did,” John says.


Sherlock doesn't say anything, but he looks like he's just been told the firing squad's gone on strike.


I want to be with you,” John says. “I love you. But I can only stay with you if I know I'm free to go.”


But I can't live without you!” Sherlock says. It comes out like something he didn't mean to say but he just can't stop himself.


John's face darkens. Lestrade knows without being told that John's going to be allergic to that sort of talk. Given Harry Watson's drinking. Addict in the family, you develop a pretty strong resistance to anyone trying to make you feel responsible for whether they live or die.


I told you, we're not playing that game,” John says. His voice is hard, angry. “And it's not true anyway. You did before we met and you will again if you have to.”


Sherlock doesn't say anything. Still looks pretty wild.


If we're together it's because we want to be,” John says. “Not because we have to be.”


I want to be,” Sherlock says. Sounding very lost.


Yes, I know,” John says. And hugs him, at last.


Sherlock clings to John so tight Lestrade thinks he might actually break something. But John's tougher than he looks.


Do you want to – get married or something?” Sherlock says into John's hair.


John pulls back, scowling. “We're not nearly ready to have that conversation.”


Sherlock looks a bit crestfallen, but hugs John ferociously again.


Lestrade tries to work out whether John has now finished his talk with Sherlock and whether it's therefore time for him to go. He's starting to feel a bit like a spare prick at a wedding. Even if it is too early for Sherlock and John to be having that conversation.


It's pretty obvious that the relationship between those two is not going to accommodate a third party, not on a regular basis. Might be able to cope with occasional visits from a third person, though Lestrade's not even sure about that. It's true there was a time when Lestrade would have liked a serious long-term thing with Sherlock himself, but that's clearly never going to happen. And though sex with John was really unexpectedly good, because he's much more fun in bed than Lestrade would ever have imagined, that's as far as that goes.


Making a threesome work physically is a fuck of a lot easier than trying to get three people's emotions under control, Lestrade thinks. That really is herding cats in bed. Don't try this at home , as the children's TV presenters used to say.


Sherlock is kissing John now, quite seriously, and John is kissing him back and making little noises in his throat that Lestrade recognizes as his cue to leave the stage.


OK, I'm off,” he says, getting up. “Bit of a short night last night -”


Sherlock breaks off the kiss in order to glare at Lestrade. John pulls Sherlock's head back down and kisses him again.


Be seeing you then,” Lestrade says.


At which John pulls away from Sherlock and comes to hug Lestrade apologetically. “Thank you,” he says, and kisses Lestrade on the cheek.


Don't mention it,” Lestrade says, giving him an affectionate slap on the arse.


Sherlock is fidgeting about impatiently, obviously wanting to get back down to serious business with John, but he can see something's expected of him at this point. So he hugs both of them, rather awkwardly. Long arms are an advantage for that sort of thing.


You ,” Lestrade says. “Behave yourself, if you can.”


I'll try,” Sherlock says. “I really will try.”


Lestrade thinks he means it, too. As much as Sherlock is capable of meaning any such thing.


Fuck knows what Sherlock trying to behave will actually look like. But that's not Lestrade's problem any more.


One of the things about being grown-up is knowing when it's time to leave.



There's music coming from an open window next door. Must be Mrs Turner's married ones . Opera queens, Lestrade thinks. Might have known it. Sounds quite nice, though, and he stands still for a bit in the street, listening.


Women's voices, three of them he thinks, weaving around and around each other till you can't tell which is which. One voice, singled out for a moment, and then a new tune, just two female voices this time, not weaving any more but in harmony, in rhythm with each other. It breaks off, and there's a man's voice, just a short line, and a woman's voice answering, two notes, like a sigh. World-weary. Resigned. And the love duet begins again.


Well, can't stand here all night listening to that . He looks up at the window of 221b, now almost in darkness. Sort of flickering light, candle or something. Huh. Go home, Lestrade .


It's been a bloody weird interlude, all this, but Lestrade's surprised to find he feels – sort of OK about it, actually. Letting go of Sherlock. Letting go of whatever might have developed with John. Just as well Mycroft did back off, because Lestrade really wouldn't have wanted to have John round his neck if Mycroft hadn't .


Lestrade's looking forward to a nice long meditative soak in the bath and a quiet night in. Glass of whisky, maybe two, but not more. Something mindless on the telly, or maybe a DVD. Die Hard would be good. Something uncomplicated, with lots of action and no romance. Bruce Willis in a vest, Alan Rickman in a silly accent. Just the ticket. And then a good night's sleep, in his own bed. Without either of those idiot children from 221b, never mind both at once.


He's had enough messing with geometry to last him for a very long time.




Final note: What Mrs Turner's Married Ones Were Listening To


Warnings: operatic lushness, shameless self-indulgence, seriously overblown dramatic ending, sudden appearance of three women's voices in a fic that hasn't featured ANY, Richard Strauss...


http :// www . youtube . com / watch ? v = OYZliEez 2 Vk & feature = related








Oct. 24th, 2010 03:32 pm (UTC)
Damn, tech problem has hit again. But I have crumpets and toasted cheese. I will attempt to eat them calmly until this is resolved.

PS One calm bite of crumpet and all is well! [Starts reading]

Edited at 2010-10-24 03:33 pm (UTC)
Oct. 24th, 2010 03:51 pm (UTC)
Crumpets, part nine, and Rosenkavalier. This is one hell of a good Sunday afternoon.

Sherlock trying so hard to get it right, and John standing his ground to win on his own terms, and Lestrade calm and steady and doing the right thing so that they can get on with it. Which is perfect, because the Marschallin should be the hero.
Oct. 24th, 2010 03:59 pm (UTC)
thank you SO much! /very/ happy with this comment. *glows*

the Marschallin IS the hero - I was absurdly pleased when I thought of the scene in these terms and also slightly embarrassed because the Strauss is SO lush and glorious.

as with the Old Bad Songs it was actually thinking about the music that gave me the resolution for the fic, at a time when I wasn't sure how I thought it should turn out!
Oct. 24th, 2010 04:30 pm (UTC)
When I went downstairs to wash up, I found myself humming, in the way one does when one has to get halfway through the tune to work out what it is: "Yet now I see I'm all alone/But that's the only way to be..." It was Meet on the Ledge, of course.

Lestrade is an unbearably fine Marschallin.
Oct. 24th, 2010 04:49 pm (UTC)
listening to Meet on the Ledge now, for the first time in a long while. thank you!

your comment about Lestrade pleases me more than I can say. ♥


scallop voices


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