Two 221Bs as a response to A Scandal in Belgravia

[smallhobbit]

Fandom: Sherlock bbc
Rating: PG
Characters:  Inspector Lestrade, John Watson
Word Count: 221 x 2
Summary:  Written in response to the Laud Lestrade fest post  at dilestrade
Warning: Spoilers for S2 Ep1

What really happened after the Christmas party finished

“That didn’t go as I planned,” muttered John Watson as he undid Lestrade’s belt.  “And we haven’t got long before Sherlock gets back.”

He paused to let Lestrade pull his new Christmas jumper over his head.  Lestrade stepped out of his trousers and leant forward to unzip John’s jeans.  “It was a good idea of yours to tell him I was back with the wife.  Quickest way of finding out who she’s shagging this time.”

John chuckled and undid Lestrade’s shirt.  “I thought Jeanette would never leave.  She seemed determined to stay even after Sherlock’s description.”

Any further comments disappeared as Lestrade pulled John’s boxers down and started to run his hands over his body.  They tumbled onto John’s bed, Lestrade discarding the rest of his clothing in the process.  Their caresses became rapidly more urgent and it wasn’t long before both could feel they were close to climaxing.  One last squeeze and Lestrade arched and groaned in pleasure and John followed quickly afterwards.

Mrs Hudson’s voice drifted up the stairs.  “I’m putting the kettle on.  He’ll be back any minute now.”

They hastily got dressed and clattered downstairs, Lestrade waving to Mrs Hudson as he departed.

She looked reprovingly at John.  “That girl was completely mistaken as to who your lover is.  You really shouldn’t let Sherlock take the blame.”

blooms84 prompted "Lestrade either tries to help John understand Sherlock's weird new numerical system for rating cases or helps John drown his sorrows over having to put up with such nonsense. They poke fun at Sherlock and bond. Friendship preferred over slash here."

As Lestrade let himself into 221B he was immediately aware of the swearing coming from somewhere in the flat.

“John,” he called out.  He’d left Sherlock at Barts where he’d been engrossed in the effects having a cold had on a nose bleed.

“In here.”

Lestrade followed the voice into Sherlock’s bedroom.  “What are you doing?”

“Re-arranging his sock index.  Because if he is going to confuse me by telling me that an effing seven rated case is only a four rating, when a similar one last week was a seven then I am going to confuse his effing socks.”

Lestrade put his hand on John’s shoulder.  “You know I think you may be getting things a little bit out of proportion.”

 “I am effing well not.”  A sock with a discrete black stripe was paired with one with a wider stripe.

“Shall I put the kettle on?”

“I told Mrs Hudson what she could do with her cup of tea when she suggested one earlier.”

“Right.”  Lestrade made a mental note to ensure Mrs Hudson was bought some chocolates in the near future.  “Would a pint help?”

“Maybe.”  The doctor’s shoulders sagged slightly; the worst of his fury had dissipated.

Ten minutes later they were in the pub downing their pints.  Even Sherlock’s effing case ratings were improved by beer.