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
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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.
