#diglestraderoleplays

[diglestrade]

Mutual Concern || theicemxn/diglestrade

[Text: Philip] Where are you? I thought we'd go and see the match today.

[Text from: Philip] Baker Street. Sherlock relapsed

By the time he had arrived at Baker Street, Sherlock had gone again. According to Mrs. Hudson, he and John had left shortly after no one but media magnet Charles Augustus Magnussen had visited Baker Street. Greg wondered what the hell Sherlock had gotten himself into this time, but once again, Sherlock didn't answer any of his texts.

He hadn't spoken to the younger man in months. For some reason, Sherlock was ignoring all his texts and calls. Even those that offered him cases. It was unusual. Sherlock hardly ever turned down a case. Either he was working on something, or John's union with Mary had upset him so much he had sunk into a deep depression. Frequent visits to Baker Street also turned out to be futile, as Sherlock was never home, according to Mrs. Hudson.

But Philip's text set all alarm bells off, and Greg turned to the one person who would probably know more about this.

He arrived at Mycroft's office at the Diogenes Club later that afternoon. Mycroft's secretary (he had her on speeddial -- not only because she was the first person he should contact in situations like these, but also because of those fine legs) had informed him he would be here all afternoon, so Greg had travelled to the gentlemen's club right away.

He found the secretary in her usual position; sat behind her desk, typing away on that phone of hers.

'Is he in?' Greg asked, skipping over the small talk this time. There was no time for flirting now.

The gorgeous brunette looked up, surprised that for once, she was not being woo'ed, but nodded and got up, knocking on Mycroft's office door and waiting for him to answer.

[diglestrade]

Slow Pace || xpathologist/diglestrade

For two months, Greg had been living in a dream. The idea that Molly Hooper was going out with him, calling him her boyfriend, hugging and kissing him every moment possible was still incomprehensible to him. How did he get so lucky? How was it possible that she choose him, over all those younger, attractive men out there?

But she had chosen him over Tom; a young lad, in his prime, a kind man who wasn't even that unattractive. Of course, Greg had always had the feeling Molly had started dating Tom because he resembled a certain consulting detective, but it was Molly herself who had realised she'd made a mistake and ended their engagement.

They hadn't started dating right away of course; that would be inappropriate. They had started slowly, going out on innocent dates, seeing each other whenever they wanted, but still keeping a certain distance. After all, she had only just ended her engagement and probably didn't want to rush into something new.

But since two months, they had decided to give it a try, and he had kissed Molly Hooper during a walk past the Thames after dinner and a show. He had kissed her again in front of her flat, wishing her a good night, and promising to call her again the following day.

It stayed with kisses, for Greg didn't want to rush things either. It had been years since his divorce now, and he'd had a few short relationships in the past few years. But none of them had really taken off, and for once in his life, he wanted to do something properly.

So when it came to sleepovers, they were always chaste and non-sexual. He would kiss and hold her, but never touch her without her permission. He would let her hand guide him to where his hands were allowed, and he would never trespass her boundaries. He would give her the privacy she needed when in the bathroom, and purposely turn away when she would change her clothes.

They didn't talk about sex, for Greg didn't want her to feel uncomfortable or think he wanted to rush things. But because of that, Greg felt more awkward and nervous about it all than ever. He had bought a new pack of condoms and a bottle of lube the other day, but hadn't mentioned it to Molly, afraid she would think he was hinting at it. When they had walked past a shopping window where a particularly nice set of frilly underwear was dressed on a mannequin, Greg had gone red in the face, too embarrassed to answer Molly's question if he liked that particular set. Yes, he had liked it very much, but he hadn't dared to say it, once again afraid that she would think the worst of him. Even Mary had managed to bring them in embarrassment, when she had teasingly asked if they had finally started to shag each other's brains out after all this time.

But he wasn't going to let that force them to take the next step; he would wait patiently for Molly to be ready. Tonight, she would stay at his flat for the weekend. He would cook them a three course meal, and they would stay in tonight, watching a film and sharing an expensive bottle of wine.

When the doorbell rang, he quickly washed his hands, and went to open the door, smiling wide as Molly stood on his doorstep, bag in her hand.

'Hello!' he said enthusiastically, stepping aside to her into the flat, but not letting her pass him before he had wrapped his arms around her and kissed her. 'How was your day?' he asked as he let go of her, closing the door and following her into the living room, dodging past her and into the kitchen to take the pasta off the fire.

[governmentofficial]

"No, Gregory. I do not mean bad in an erotic way. Well, unless you wish me to - in which case we can have a discussion about that later."

[diglestrade]

'I was joking. But -- what do you mean by 'bad', then?'

[brokendeductions-deactivated201]

Sherlock’s jaw clenched tightly, his eyelids falling. He bit his lip ‘til blood before attempting to speak again. “S—said-hurts.” The pain was spreading down the back of his neck now, most of it still focused in his head. “Head.” he managed. 

The man felt his head hit the pillow again and another short sob escaped from the back of his throat. This wasn’t like him.

[diglestrade]

Head? What was that supposed to mean? Whatever it was, it concerned Greg a lot, and he was out of bed at once, phone clenched between the side of his head and his shoulder as he put on his trousers.

'Head?' he repeated as he clumsily swayed on one foot as his other got stuck in his trousers. 'Headache?'

He finally managed to get his leg through and the rest of his trousers on, pulling a shirt from his wardrobe and pulling it over his head. 'What do you need me to do?' he asked as he quickly put on his socks and trainers.

[nw1lock-deactivated20140820]

"Yes, of course you can-" Sherlock felt an urge to roll his eyes but now wasn’t a moment for that, "Just that, I’ve overheard from several people that perhaps you could use some sort support, as a friend. And since I am here and am bored, I can be, or try to, be there" Sherlock extended his right hand and patted Greg’s shoulder lightly. "There, there"

[diglestrade]

Greg arched an eyebrow, looking rather bemused as Sherlock clumsily patted his shoulder.

'What do you want?' he asked at once. There were only a few occasions Sherlock had been kind to him, and most of those occasions involved the other needing something of him. 'I can manage -- I don't always need your help.'

[diglestrade]

'Priority boarding for flight BA0207 to Miami, starts now. Please keep your passport, boarding pass and priority costumer card at hand.'

Greg never flew first class, so he was rather confused when he realised they were supposed to get in the queue now. He padded his pockets nervously, suddenly washed over by that feeling of having lost all his papers, having forgotten he had given everything to Anthea only five minutes before when he had visited the loos.

[diglestrade]

notyouraveragesecretary reblogged your photoset

#thanks greg#guess what you're getting when you get home#hurry home

Is that a promise?

[governmentofficial]

diglestrade replied to your post:'Mister Mycroft, Mister Mycroft!' Rachel called as she came running into his study, clumsily carrying a long, thin package. 'Happy birthday!' she said as she raised the package, presenting it to him.

Rachel nodded. She had always called Mister Mycroft Mister Mycroft, and it felt a bit strange to call him something else. ‘Open it!’ she said as she bounced up and down, because she knew what was inside; a brand new umbrella!

Complying with the instruction given, Mycroft carefully tore the wrapping paper off the present. Ah, just as he had expected; a new umbrella. Presumably Gregory had suggested the gift after the dog destroyed the old one.

"This is delightful, Rachel. Thank you very much. I shall make sure that I use it at every available opportunity."