#greg lestrade x reader

[saraakpotter]

imagine: meeting Sherlock for the first time and him not being able to 'read' you

*y\f\c= your favorite country

You were one of Lestrade's close friends. you worked as a detective inspector in another country but you had recently moved here and since you were a highly intelligent person he thought you and Sherlock should meet.

And today he decided to go to 221b and bring you with him so here you are, standing at a strangers door.

"this is absurd, why should i come again?" you asked

"for god's sake y\n can you stop nagging for a minuet and do what you're told to do?" he says tired of you constantly asking the same question.

"if you are asking me, no" you teased

"oh shut it" he says and you smirk.

The door opens.

"DI Lestrade!" the man says and Greg nod's walking in and guiding you in too.

"so, this is my friend y\n y\l\n. she moved here from y\f\c" Lestrade explained.

"oh! John Watson. pleasure to meet you." he introduced and you smiled shaking his hand.

As you entered the flat and sat down you saw a man with curly brown hair and a black coat sitting on an armchair, his eyes closed.

Lestrade pointed at the man.

"he is Sherlock Holmes. the man i was telling you about." he says and you nod obviously bored. with that the man opens his eyes and looks at Greg but then quickly glances at you.

"who is that?" he asks

"Sherlock, this is my friend, y\n y\l\n."

Sherlock remains silence, looking you up and down. after a while he raises an eyebrow.

he quickly looks at John.

new coat is sleepy just talked to an old friend has a date is nervous

He turns and looks at Lestrade.

annoyed same coat stressed has 2 mission reports to read has 6 missed calls

The words and random facts kept coming to his mind, he hadn't lost his observation skills.

He turns his look at you.

????

Was all he could see.

He rose an eyebrow and looked you up and down again.

"interesting" he muttered to himself

"what was that?" you ask

"nothing.....so, y\n, right? what do you do? as a job i mean." he asks making John and Greg smirk.

[downsobadforthatoneguy]

The Case of the Missing Trousers

Greg Lestrade x Holmes! Sister

wc : 1.9K

summary : breakfast at the lestrade house, only nobody told the lestrades

a/n: lowkey a crack fic disguised as a fluff fic. i love this man sm its embarassing

----------------------------------------------

The early morning sun started to peak through the curtains. Everything in the room was painted in its golden light. The room was silent, except for the light breathing and occasional soft sigh. Y/n was under a mess of blankets and sheets, tangled with her husband’s limbs. He always looked so peaceful in the morning. 

His hair was tousled and sticking up in all different directions. The rise and fall of his strong shoulders was deep and slow. He smelled faintly of wood and vanilla. 

Weekends were a nice break from the stress. Lestrade would never call himself a morning person. If it were acceptable, he would stay in bed until noon. 

Today was no different. It was a slow Saturday morning. Y/n cleared their schedule so her husband could finally get some rest. He had just finished closing three separate cases the night before. 

He let out a small grunt of annoyance as the light hit his eyes. Y/n pressed a soft kiss to his nose. 

“‘S too early,” he grumbled. His wife merely giggled and cuddled into his side. He let a small smile grace his lips as he tightened his arms around her middle. They remained glued together for another twenty minutes before Y/n pressed a kiss to the side of his jaw and untangled herself. 

The shower turned on and Greg sat up just in time to see clothes being tossed from the bathroom to the basket of dirty clothes in the bedroom. Before he could make a comment that would have Y/n Holmes flushing scarlet, the doorbell rang. 

“Babe!” Y/n called. “Can you go check the door? I have a new stand mixer arriving and I don’t want it sitting outside!” 

The brown eyed man yawned before getting up and shouting a half asleep ‘yeah’. He slowly walked down the stairs and approached the front door. He scratched the side of his head before opening the door. 

Rather than a large heavy package at his door, the inspector found a man in a long blue trenchcoat. 

“Morning Inspector!” Sherlock was cheerful, far too cheerful for seven thirty in the morning. Behind Sherlock was Mycroft, fighting- and losing- the smirk off his face. 

“It’s seven in the morning, why are you here?” 

“Seven in the morning is a perfectly acceptable time to accept callers.” Mycroft teased. 

Greg stared blankly, hoping he was just having hallucinations. “Goodbye,” He said and started to close the door. However, Sherlock was faster. He shoved his foot in the door and wiggled his head inside. 

“I would like to see you in your natural habitat.” 

Again, Greg stared. He let out a deep sigh as the brothers entered the home. 

“Are we at the stage where we no longer have to try to look our best when we see one another?” Mycroft quipped, looking Greg up and down. 

Greg glanced down, for the first time, he realized that he was wearing only a pair of pink boxers that had tigers on them. His ears decided that was the time to color match with his boxers. 

“I was asleep,” The D.I. defended. 

“Oh we can tell,” Sherlock replied as he walked around the living room. “Hair disheveled, pink lipstick on your collarbone, must’ve been a late night.” He turned and winked at his brother in law. 

Greg nearly choked on air. “What-”

“Please, Sherlock!” Mycroft explained. “There is no need to narrate. They are married, we all know what married people get up to.” 

“You’re the one who wanted to come and pay them a visit.” Sherlock said in an accusatory tone. 

“Did not!” Mycroft argued. 

“Did too!” 

“Did not”

“Boys!” Greg interrupted. “It is far too early to listen to you guys argue.” 

“And it is far too embarrassing for you to be greeting your guests in nothing, yet here we are.” Sherlock teased back. 

Greg let out a groan of annoyance. 

From upstairs the shower turned off. “Love, who is it?” 

“Your favorite brother!” Sherlock yelled up the stairs. 

“Mycroft is here?” She teased back. 

“Love,” Greg called up the stairs. “How do I get rid of two large rats?”

“You’re the man of the house, kick them out.” 

“Ah yes,” Sherlock started. “The man of the house. The floral arrangements look terrified of you.” 

“Oh shut up, will ya?” Greg started, he was still tired and Sherlock’s annoying comments were doing nothing to encourage non violent thoughts. 

“Leave him alone, Sherlock,” Mycroft agreed. “Just because Greg wants to redefine dressy casual,” He trailed off, trying to swallow a laugh. 

Y/n had no clue what was being said, but knowing her brothers, it couldn’t be good. Greg was perfect in almost every way. Her brothers dealt with his resemblance to a knight in shining armour by riling him up as best they could. She decided to give her husband some quiet by shutting her brothers up. 

“C’mon babe. Just drop your pants and assert dominance.” She teased. 

It wasn’t the silence she was expecting, rather, it was gagging and a series of ‘ew’s. 

Downstairs Greg’s entire face was now as pink as his boxers. He was ready to jump in front of a moving car when his wife appeared at the top of the stairs. She was wearing one of his shirts, some shorts, and pink socks. Her hair was wet and she looked like she just got done shooting a commercial for conditioner. 

In her hand she held a fluffy blue robe. She tossed it at her husband and watched as he nearly dislocated his shoulder in an attempt to put it on. He pulled the belt as tight as it could possibly go. 

"I see your wife wears the pants in this relationship." Mycroft mumbled quietly.

Y/n adjusted his collar and grabbed his hand, ignoring her idiot brothers. “Tea or coffee?” She asked, pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

He shook his head, but sent her a small smile. “Tea.” 

The group started walking to the kitchen, but before they could get there, there was another knock. 

Greg, on instinct, forgetting his predicament, turned around to get the door. 

“Hey!” John greeted, looking to the side. He turned to look at his friend as he continued talking. “Sherlock said something about-” He took Greg’s figure in. He stifled a laugh by forcing his lips together and frowning. “Brunch,” He finished. Greg rolled his eyes and let John enter the house. He was about to shut it when he heard a voice call “wait!”. 

He let out a breath and reopened the door. 

Molly stood in the doorway holding a container of bagels. “Hi I brought the- Oh!” She did a double take. “Didn’t know it was a pajama party!” There was nothing but sincerity in her tone. Greg gestured for her to come in. “Mrs. Hudson was right behind me.” 

“Of course she is.” He said, defeat looming in his voice. 

He just waited in the doorway, accepting his fate. Mrs.Hudson approached, a casserole dish in her arms. She looked Greg up and down, noting his bare legs. She offered him a knowing smile. 

“Don’t worry, dear, my husband used to greet me this exact same way when he was alive.” Greg wanted to die. He closed the door behind Mrs. Hudson and looked at Sherlock expectantly. 

“Anyone else coming to my home this morning, or did you only invite the residents of London as opposed to the entire UK?” 

John cocked his head. “Sherlock invited? Wait no, he said Y/n invited everyone over for breakfast!” 

Y/n sent Sherlock an annoyed look. “Really?” She questioned. 

“Whoops!” Sherlock exclaimed cheerfully. 

Greg was ready to strangle the middle Holmes child. “Sherlock,” He started. “Just know that if there were no witnesses, I would strangle you with the belt on my robe.” 

“Do it.” Sherlock encouraged. 

Greg walked into the kitchen. He was moving to grab a cup of tea when Sherlock decided that it was time to step on the hem of the robe and see if Greg would notice. 

“Shit! Sherlock!” Greg managed to grab the robe before too much of anything could show. 

Mrs. Hudson, unbothered as ever, walked into the kitchen from the dining room. “Come on, my casserole is getting cold.” 

As everyone moved to go eat, Greg decided this was the perfect opportunity to sneak upstairs. 

“And where are you going, Gavin?” Sherlock greeted, standing on the bottom step, blocking Greg’s path to freedom. 

“Sherlock, move, I need my pants!” He attempted pushing past. 

“You won’t find any up there.” Sherlock said lazily. 

“In my room?” Greg questioned, not believing what he was hearing. “In my dresser? Where I keep my trousers?” 

“See, Gordon,” Sherlock started. 

“It's Greg!” Everyone in the dining room yelled. 

“Irellevant. Gyles, I have decided to use you for my human research.” 

Greg’s voice lowered. “What are you talking about?!” 

“You spilled something on every single pair of trousers this week. You're all out. The goal of this experiment is to see how people react when they lose a basic piece of their structure.” 

“Sherlock!” Greg groaned. “We’re not talking about skipping a morning run here, we’re talking about wearing pants!” 

“Not to you, Graham! To you, trousers are stability!” 

Greg ran up the stairs and into the laundry room. Every single pair of trousers was in the wash. His idiot brother in law was right. 

“I’ll kill him.” He muttered under his breath. 

“Oh do come on back down, Geoffrey! Mrs. Hudson’s dish is to die for!” Sherlock taunted. 

Greg solemnly walked downstairs. Sherlock was waiting for him at the bottom. 

“Anything exciting going on in there?” Sherlock teased. 

Greg shot him a dirty look. “Only plotting murder.” 

As Greg moved to walk into the kitchen, Sherlock did it. He stepped on the robe and pulled it back just enough that Greg was stripped of his robe, safety, and dignity. He turned around and froze. From the dining room he heard his wife's voice. “I’ll go see what’s keeping them.” 

She entered the room, Mycroft hot on her tail, both eager to see who would end up murdering who. 

She took in her husband, frozen in defeat. She looked at her brother, shit eating grin plastered on his face. 

Y/n wormed her way between her brother and her husband. She picked up the robe, dusted it off, fluffed the sleeves, and draped it over her man. His facial expression shifted from plotting the death of his brother in law to gazing softly into the woman he loved’s eyes. He was head over heels. Seeing her taking her time tying his robe extra tight made him stand a little taller. 

She finished tying it, and he wrapped his arms around her waist. “Well, had I known we could've ended up like this, I would’ve taken the robe off ages ago,” He teased. 

The Holmes brothers gagged as the DI continued flirting with their sister. 

“Well I told you to assert your dominance when they got here,” She quipped, a smirk appearing on her face. 

The silver haired man tangled his hands in his wife’s hair as he crashed his lips against hers. They continued until they were both gasping for air. Sherlock’s face had gone white as a sheet, and Mycroft looked as though he was going to puke. 

“Shall we?” Greg asked and led his wife to the dining room. “I heard Mrs.Hudson’s dish is to die for.” They left the brothers gagging in the kitchen.

[angellily920]

Corn Mazes and Cuties (Greg Lestrade x Reader)

Pairing: Greg Lestrade x reader

Words: 954

Warnings: None. Just sweet Greg Lestrade and cute fall vibes

A/n: It's been a while since I've written anything and it's fall so this happened. First time writing Lestrade, so be nice!

     Greg was lost. Completely and utterly lost. When Sherlock suggested they go to a corn maze to test their skills, Greg was not prepared for the challenge ahead of him. He had lost John, Sherlock, and Mycroft, and now he was standing in the middle of what seemed like an elaborate plan to make him upset and feel dumb. He fumbled with the paper in his hands and scanned the possible paths. It didn’t make sense. The wind pierced through his coat, and he rubbed his hands together before blowing into them. Sniffling briefly, he started down a random path.

     “Stupid Sherlock, stupid corn maze, stupid-” As he was rambling, his eyes locked onto the paper, he bumped into you, causing you to clutch onto his coat to prevent yourself from falling, his hands immediately flew to your waist. His map forgotten, and diving toward the ground.

     You exhaled, your breath coming out in a soft puff of white, before meeting his eyes. “I…um…hi”

     Greg’s eyes widened slightly before shaking his head. “I’m sorry, love. Didn’t mean to clobber ya.” His fingers tightened for a moment against you before he cleared his throat and gently let go. “You alright?”

     “Yeah, I’m okay. I lost my friends though…” You huff and shove your hands into your coat pockets. “They left me high and dry.”

     He chuckled softly, his fingers itching to touch you again. “I know how you feel.” His eyes scanned you over quickly before he kneeled down to grab his map. “Do you…want to pair up? Two brains are better than one. And I can fight off any crazy monsters. Hypothetically, I guess. I don’t think this maze has any scare actors.”

     “It doesn’t, but I’d love to pair with you.” You look at his map and frown. “Though I think we should use my map…yours isn’t right.” Hands him the one from your pocket. 

     Greg compares the two before exhaling. “That dirty little bugger…no wonder I couldn’t find my way out. My friend gave me the wrong one.” Sherlock would be given a heavy lecture when he made his way out of here. Greg crumpled the map before shoving it in his back pocket. “Don’t worry love, I’ll get us out of here in a jiff now that I have the right map.”

     “You good at reading maps? I feel like I’m going to explode when I look at one.” You laugh softly and warmth tingles throughout his chest at the sound. 

     “I know my way around one. I’m Greg Lestrade by the way.” He stretches out his hand, and you shake his hand as you tell him your name.

     “Greg Lestrade? Have I seen your name in the papers?”

     His cheeks redden and you both begin to walk down a path. The way his name rolled off your tongue short circuited his brain for a second. “Yeah. I’m a detective inspector over at Scotland Yard. I was dragged out here by my friends. They say I work too much.” He chuckles and kicks up a few leaves.

     “Well, I’m glad they did. Or else I would be stuck in this maze all alone. And I wouldn’t be meeting such a cutie.” 

     You smile at him, and his heart beats a little faster. He hasn’t exactly spoken to many women recently, and he feels like an inadequate teenager. His ears feel unusually warm, and he laughs as he looks down at the worn path. He’s afraid that if he looks up, his face will erupt into a parade of red. Shrugging, he walks a few steps and fiddles with the map. 

     “Ah, you’re very kind, love. Not sure many people think a graying detective like me is a cutie, but I’m flattered.” He wets his lips with his tongue and huffs out a small breath before looking at you all rosy cheeked. “You’re pretty cute yourself.”

     Warmth crawls up your neck. “Thank you.”

     Greg keeps light conversation as the both of you make your way through the maze, your hands brushing against each others occasionally. The exit comes into view and he puffs his chest out slightly as he leads the way. He turns back to look at you, a smile plastered on his face, only to be short lived when his foot comes in contact with a stray pumpkin and goes toppling down. The cold dirt and leaves kick up in a small cloud and Greg groans softly. If his face wasn’t red before, it definitely was now. Heat crawled up his skin in embarrassment as he looked up at you. You were trying your hardest to contain your laughter as you stared down at him, flushed cheeks and wind tossed grayed hair, but you couldn’t hold it in. Your laugh rang throughout the maze, and he couldn’t find it in his heart to be upset.

     “Are you…” You stifle soft laughter. “Are you alright?”

     He dusts off his jacket as he stands up, before glaring at the little orange pumpkin. “Bruised my ego mostly.” He breathes.

     “Are you sure?” You step forward and gently dust off his shoulders before adjusting his scarf.”

     Greg’s heart starts that crazy drum solo again. He swallows slowly and looks down at you. “I’m fine, love. Though I do think you owe me a hayride for laughing at me.”

     You hum. “Oh yeah? I think I can do that.”

     He tangles his fingers with yours in a bold move and you don’t pull away. 

     “Lead the way dear Detective Inspector.” You squeeze his hand and he gently squeezes it back.

     “You don’t have to tell me twice.” He tugged you toward the hayride with a giant grin. Maybe he wouldn’t have to scold Sherlock after all…

[astudyinshenanigans]

*Little Y/N is busy drawing*

Greg: Wow, that’s a brilliant butterfly, kiddo!

Little Y/N: It's not a butterfly. It's a moth. Chrysiridia rhipheus. The Madagascan sunset moth.

Greg:  Oh! Right. Moth. Of course. How do you… tell the difference?

Little Y/N: Butterflies have club-shaped antennae. Moths have feathery antennae. It’s a primary morphological distinction. It is diurnal, which is unusual for the order Lepidoptera, but its wing venation and frenulum are definitively moth-like.

Greg just stares, completely out of his depth. Sherlock, who has been observing from his chair, allows himself a proud smile.

Sherlock: You see, Lestrade? Precision. That’s what’s always lacking in your case reports. You call a moth a butterfly. The details matter. They always matter.

[justanothergoldfish]

Greg Lestrade x reader

Handsome stranger - part two -

pt. 1 pt. 2 pt. 3

warnings: swearing, drinking

words: 2200

A/N: there will be a third part. I love Greg too much. Also in this part, reader is definitely written from a female POV. If i hear one complaint about my interpretation of Scottish English I'm burning down the internet.

---

It didn't take long for your boss to show up at the bar after that interaction. 

“Seriously? Ain't he a wee old for a lassie like you?” he asked, his eyebrows furrowing together. With a feign look of innocence you shrugged, “What are you talking about?”

“I heard ya, young lady. Drooling over that poor fella.”

Hearing him call you out so shamelessly made it impossible to stay serious and to not grin like an idiot. 

“Oh can't I have some fun? Hey, maybe he'll tip nicely, alright? I'm just… boosting your business. Sales, you know?”

Gary rolled his eyes and shook his head, and you could almost hear him think ‘You're a hopeless case’ as he nudged towards the kitchen. “Go help the lad in the back, aye? I'll take it from here.”

You too rolled your eyes and clicked your tongue. “Hey, just to make this clear; men are like wine, they get better with age. Guess you might've gone bad.” you groaned in annoyance, throwing the linen cloth from your apron onto the counter before heading into the kitchen.

“Oi, remember who's paying your bills, lassie!” Gary called after you, his voice a bit elevated, earning a huff from you. It was all friendly banter, but it still made you pout, not to be able to serve Greg and have some fun conversation. You had been looking forward to another chat with this gorgeous man from London, he seemed… Interesting. 

~

After what felt like a thousand peeled potatoes later, Gary returned and slumped himself into a corner in the kitchen. 

“I feared the day would come…bloody shite…” he mumbled, looking pale as a ghost. The man shook his head, staring into the steamy kitchen air. 

Without looking at him, you already guessed what happened. “What's wrong? Someone discovered that the ‘monster’ is just a hungry dog you've sat out in the forest?” 

Gary's eyes drifted over to you. “That fella you've been drooling over… He's an Inspector.”

Oh shit. 

Instant panic broke out internally at his revelation and you basically dropped everything. “A Health Inspector? Bloody christ Gary, I don't have a fucking food or beverage certification! I'm only supposed to help you out until you find someone else! What am I supposed to do?!” you hissed, crouching down in front of him. 

Gary sighed and waved it off. “Not a Health Inspector. A Detective from Scotland Yard.”

Was that better or worse? 

It took a few moments to calm down and collect your thoughts. 

“So? What now?” 

With a groan, Gary buried his face in his hands.  “We told him everything, I can never look that man in the eyes again… He's only staying for one night, aye?”

You got back up and crossed your arms. 

A Detective from Scotland Yard? This man got more interesting by the minute. 

“Looks like I'll take it from here again. I'll make sure he’ll have a pleasant time and won’t close down your business.”

~

As you came to the front, you saw Greg leaning against the counter, scrolling through his phone. He nipped on his beer and locked his phone as you approached with light steps. Even though he had scared the shit out of the owner, he seemed so… relaxed. 

Once you cleared your throat you decided to speak up to him again. 

“So… You're a Detective? Is that what brought you here? Are we in trouble?” you tried to jest as he locked his phone and gave a reassuring smile.” I'm on holiday, no need to panic. I think the owner’s already learned his lesson and if I learned one thing in life it's to never mess with a lady who pours my beer.”

The way his eyes creased when he carried that beaming smile, it was honestly heartwarming. 

“You're a smart man then.” you chuckled, grabbing a small chestnut wood bowl and filling it with a bag of mixed nuts and crackers from one of the cabinets. 

“So, a Detective from London, all the way out here in the Dartmoor in our humble village,” you grabbed a tall glass and poured him another, noticing his drink was nearly finished, “You probably brought some exciting stories along. Care to share?”

Greg huffed as he supported himself on the counter with both arms in front of his chest and adjusting his seat on the barstool. “Rather gory than glory, trust me. Sure you can handle it?”

The teasing smirk on his face made your heart flutter and cheeks redden as you tried to contain yourself and served him his beer and the complimentary snack bowl. 

“You surely know the key to a man's heart. Thank you, love.”

Greg took a few peanuts, juggling him in his hand ever so slightly. 

"You'll probably hate me for questioning you about your job on your holiday, but I have to know. Have you ever seen a dead body?”

Greg munches on his peanuts as he nods along. Knowing that the hotel owner would scold you for just standing around and chatting, you decided to clean up a bit and do some side work during the talk.

“I've seen some, yeah. Part of the job.” He finally says after swallowing. 

From one of the drawers you gathered a bunch of paper towels and a tray of cutlery. Rolling silverware seemed like a perfect task to do right now, surely the conversation would make this eternally hated task probably more bearable.

Greg observed your hands working on the roll-ups with precision and skill as he took one of the crackers into his mouth, chewing on it while watching you.

“So, did you ever… shoot someone?” you asked, spreading out the next paper towel. 

For a moment, he went back into his thoughts. He chewed on the inside of his cheek before taking a sip of his beer. With the back of his hand he wiped off the foam from his upper lip and gave a half nod, half headshake. 

“Fire a gun at someone, yes. Killed someone, no. I think that answers your question?”

You raised your eyebrows and agreed with a simple nod before moving on to the next question. “Can I see your ID?”

The man grinnes and grabbed another peanut from his bowl, “You've seen it already.”

“Aw, not your personal ID, your police ID, you know what I mean” you mused. 

He chuckled as he reached into the inner pocket in the lining of his jacket and got it out, holding it up in front of your face.

“Wow…  Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade… Scotland Yard…“ you read off the card quietly, seemingly impressed before looking back up to him, meeting his brown eyes. 

“It's not as impressive as you think. Lots of paperwork” Greg explained as he stuffed his ID back into his inner pocket and straightened his jacket afterwards. 

“But- my turn to ask a question. I don't even know your name.”

“Then find out? You're a Detective working for Scotland Yard, I'm sure you've got your sources.” 

His expression instantly gave away that he was more than up for the challenge, despite being on holiday it seemed to be worth the effort. 

“Good, give me until tomorrow morning’” Greg grinned, looking at you all over again. Now that made your cheeks flush a bit, hopefully not enough to be noticeable in the dim light of the bar.  His smile made you completely forget about his age for a moment. Not that you truly cared. He was a fine man with an exciting job and probably made good money, what was not to like? 

You tried to get a glance at his hands as discreetly as possible. 

No ring, good. But it was visible that he'd been wearing one until recently.

Maybe that was your chance to get to know him better personally. 

“So, why does a handsome detective go on vacation all on his own?”

Greg can't help but smile bitterly to himself at your words, fidgeting with the beer glass in his hands. He felt flattered by your words, and after divorcing his wife, your words were like a balm to his sore heart. 

“Handsome, huh? Can't say I've heard that in a while” he said almost sheepishly before taking a deep breath, staring at the foam of his beverage for a moment. 

“Yes, i uh.. I'm divorced. Just happened a few months ago.”

You saw the sorrow creeping up in his face and tried to offer a shoulder to cry on as you sat away the tray of rolled silverware. 

“You know, bartenders are perfect to pour your heart out to, if you wanna get it off your chest?”

Greg hummed, his eyes scanning the liquors on the wall behind you. 

“Need something stronger for the nerves beforehand?” you asked, already reaching for a shot glass. 

He couldn't help but smile at your words, “You're a mind reader, my dear. Pour me anything.” 

After scanning through the variety of liquors the bar had to offer, you filled the shot glass with a clear, yellowish liquid and set it down in front of the Detective before returning to your tasks. 

Without any hesitation, the man downed his drink in one go and licked the excess off his lips. 

“That's a good one. Elderflower?”

You nodded and let him reach the empty shot glass over to get it cleaned in the sink. “Owner made it himself last year. Tastes awfully sweet but don't underestimate the alcohol.” 

“You've got quite the taste, eh? Well… pouring my heart out to a bartender, I'm not gonna pass on that opportunity.” He braced himself mentally and propped up an elbow on the counter, his warm eyes drifting off as he started to explain. 

“Been married for years, but due to the job, my ex-wife and I sort of drifted apart. We've been fighting constantly, thought it was getting better only to find out she…”

As hard as he tried to say it out loud, the words just got stuck in his throat. Not that he had to finish the sentence for you to understand. You shook your head, not understanding why people were that way. 

That was fucked up. And as hard as he tried to find his words, you tried to be empathetic but couldn't help to automatically think out loud “What a bitch.”

Greg blinked a few times at your blatant words before the corners of his mouth curled up into a smile. He'd always felt his heart break at the thought of his failed marriage, feeling like it was his fault. He should've had more time for her, he should've showed her how much he loved her, but for the first time, he saw it all from a different perspective as you continued, “Communication problems or struggling to sort out your work - life balance don't justify cheating. Nothing does.”

You cleaned his shot glass and set it away to dry, still shaking your head. You kept on rambling about how wrong this all was, and it made him change the entire way he'd felt about this divorce prior to this conversation. 

Once you noticed how quiet he'd gotten, you too stopped talking and mustered him for a moment. He didn't say anything for a while, he just stared at his glass with a smile, realizing the final straw, his ex-wife's infidelity, was her choice. He never wanted to fight, he never wanted to neglect her or make her feel unloved. 

For the first time since the divorce he could look back at the situation without feeling like a miserable man who had thrown away his marriage himself. Your words had made him realize that this wasn't on him. 

“Greg? Are you alright?”

Finally, his eyes met yours, the outer corners of them creasing as he gave you a warm, honest smile. 

“Pour me two more of those shots, love” he said with an undertone of relief. 

So you did. Two more shots, onto the counter.

He took one of them and gestured for you to grab the other one for yourself. 

“Oh, I can't, not while I'm on shift-”

“Noone's looking. I'm off duty, I won't arrest you.” he says with a reassuring nudge to the other shot. 

If your boss knew… 

Ah, screw it. 

So you looked left and right quickly before clinking your glass against his, hoping no one would ever find out about it. 

“Atta girl. To the gorgeous, wise lady pouring my drinks.” he mumbled in a low volume before both of you downed your shot, while his words almost had you choking on the drink. 

He sat down his glass with a sigh and mustered you with care. “You know darling, I think I should come around more often."

[neveragent]

What Pov should be next?

Bradley Bradshaw

Jake Seresin

Yelena Belova

Bob Reynolds

Greg Lestrade

Mycroft Holmes

Gavin Troy

Dewey (Dwight) Riley

Rhett Abbott

Voting ended onJun 27, 2025

Also, feel free to take a look at my new project

The story that won:

Bob Reynolds

Small talk

[lacelynpage]

You fall asleep in an odd spot ~ Sherlock Preferences

A/N: HELLO DARLINGS!!!! I’m SO sorry its been so long. Life got really chaotic but I trying to find time to writ more. I have missed you all sooo much. I hope you enjoy what I cooked up for today. See you all again soon hopefully lol.

Sherlock: 

Being with Sherlock involves a lot of late nights. When you're on a case the two of you can easily stay out till the sun starts to spill over the horizon. Exhaustion is your nearly constant companion. So it is not uncommon for you to fall asleep on the cab ride back to Bakers street. After your head is resting comfortably on his shoulder he will gently intertwine your fingers. Running his thumbs over your knuckles soothingly. It is one of the few truly tender things he does, and it means the world to you.

John:

Sleep isn't always your best friend. Most nights your body would, rather cruelly, keep you awake. Force you to think about your whole life till you spiraled into anxiety. John understood that struggle and would often stay up with you, making tea and sitting with you. It led to some of the deepest and more honest conversations. However, your bodies were still both achingly tired in the morning. So when John came to pick you up on your lunch break for a date one day after a particularly long night. He wasn't surprised to find you sound asleep on your desk. With a gentle touch he woke you up, telling your coworkers you weren't feeling well. The two of you spent the rest of the day together, cuddled up and fast asleep.

Mycroft:

Late hours were the norm in your house. Both of you commonly work odd schedules as contacts from around the world update you on various projects. On a bright Sunday morning Mycroft awoke to find you missing from the bed. Assuming you had simply gone to bed later and woken up early he walked down to the kitchen. The sight that greeted him was odd but not unfamiliar. You sat at the small breakfast table in the corner, head resting on the keyboard of your laptop. A few papers and a now very cold cup of coffee to your right. Gently, he woke you and ushered you into bed, calling Athena to cancel all morning meetings. The two of you needed some recovery time.

Greg:

It was cute really, well Greg thought it was cute at least, that you could never make it through a movie in the cinema. No matter how much you wanted to see the movie, every time you would drift off. Popcorn left to get cold in your lap as your head lulled back. While the end credits rolled he would nudge you awake with the most childish grin on his face, making you groan in frustration. He would always give you a summary on the car ride home, which you appreciated. 

Moriarty:

You were not one to let your guard down easily, Jim knew that. No matter how tired you were, sleeping in public wasn't an option. However, there was one exception, the plane to Dublin. Something about flying home relaxed you, made the worries and enemies slip from your mind. Softly you rest your head on Jim's shoulder and let sleep overtake you. He would work quietly, kissing your head whenever you stirred slightly to adjust. These plane rides were often the quietest moments in your life together, you both treasured them.

[unusuallysubtext]

Your Sherlock Life

Guys, I'm pretty free tonight. Or any time. Send asks with an intro of yourself or an oc and I'll pair you with BBC Sherlock characters (romantic or platonic, whatever you want), and headcanons.

If youre stuck on what to write, here's a list of (hopefully) helpful stuff:

Love language (either platonic or romantic: gifts, holding hands, touch, forehead kisses etc)

Dying your hair/piercings/nails

Fashion style

Ideal home (type of house/family dynamic)

Things you're into (hyperfixations)

Things you're good at (hobbies, skills)

Ideal future (marriage? Kids? Having a little bakery in the middle of london?)

Let me know if you want a male/female/doesn't matter pairing.