Sometimes, people don't do what you expect them to.
The first time Sherlock saw the signs, he spoke the words casually, told Lestrade that his wife was cheating on him. Lestrade was a smart man, he would realize that she was a liar and a cheater, and he would divorce her and accept Sherlock’s advances. When all that happened was Lestrade looking at Sherlock funny when he attempted to flirt, Sherlock withdrew. He relapsed, faded into hiding.
Four months later, he resurfaced. Except this time, things were different.
She was cheating again, that much was for certain. Sherlock hated it, hated the way he saw Lestrade and saw him smile, convinced that things were on the mend. Lestrade was far too good for someone like her, and if he was not going to do anything about it, Sherlock would. This time he went to her, kept his identity hidden yet threatened her all the same.
It was Christmas, less than a year later, that Sherlock worked up his courage to tell Lestrade. He didn’t flinch, didn’t hide. Was cool and detached, factual and unemotional. Lestrade looked hurt, looked wounded, and Sherlock knew it was his fault. But Sherlock could not do anything about it, couldn’t offer comfort. He didn’t want to risk the rejection that he had witnessed earlier, didn’t want to risk Lestrade withdrawing from him altogether.
Sherlock wasn’t exactly certain what to think when he saw Greg was no longer wearing his wedding ring. Two weeks later, he overheard him telling John that the divorce had gone through, and listened to John making the appropriate sympathetic noises. He spent an evening tracking Greg to his new flat, watching him get moved in, setting his belongings up so it was as close to his prior home as it had been.
Greg said nothing when the photo of his ex-wife vanished off of the mantle. Maybe he didn’t notice, or maybe he knew Sherlock had destroyed it, had banished the poison from Greg’s flat. He had deserved so much better than her, he deserved Sherlock. Now that there was that opportunity, however, Sherlock had no idea what to make out of it.
It was three months later, a normal day. Sherlock entered Greg’s office, settling down into the chair and waiting for the DI to notice him. John had been summoned for an extra day of work (boring) and Sherlock was stuck in the middle of a case by himself, with no answers. He was determined to wait until Greg gave them to him, gave him the access to the victim’s family that he needed.
“Sherlock,” Greg said with a groan. “What are you doing here?”
“I need the file,” Sherlock told him impatiently.
“No,” Greg replied. “Not this time.”
Sherlock wasn’t a child. He wasn’t going to whine. He was going to pout, however. Greg looked up, watching him, and sighed. He leaned back in his chair. There was something in Greg’s eyes that made Sherlock’s stomach flip, and he felt like his skin was tingly, on fire. “Come here.”
Immediately Sherlock stood, wary, but stepped closer to the DI, staying approximately twenty five centimetres away. Greg stood, his head tilted to the side. “It’s been three months,” Greg offered.
“Three months?” Sherlock asked innocently, as if he did not know what Greg was referring to. It was not the direction he had anticipated the conversation going.
“Mhm,” Greg agreed. He gently grabbed the lapels of Sherlock’s coat, pressed him against the wall, and kissed him. Once he pulled back, Sherlock stared at him, dazed.
“That was...good,” Sherlock said, his mind consumed with the desire to push himself back against Greg and kiss him some more.
“Good.” Greg grinned. He pressed himself back against Sherlock and kissed him senseless.
Sherlock likes Lestrade, but he’s married. He hates Lestrade’s wife because he knows she’s cheating on Lestrade, and he hates how she can easily throw away what Sherlock has always wanted. He confronted L's wife and tells Lestrade about his wife infidelity on Christmas. After the divorce is finalized Sherlock doesn't quite know what to do now that Lestrade is single. Lestrade makes the first move instead.
Prompt: After they went into the worm hole, Tony and/or Loki fall into a parallel universe in which Avengers is a Disney movie. Everybody just started SINGING. Chitauri attack, the townspeople sings. The chitauris sing some weird marching song (A Thanos Worth Fighting For? LOL) Natasha sings forlornly about Barton and her song broke the mind spell. Steve sings about teamwork. Everybody SINGS. (Bonus if at the end Tony DOES need someone to kiss him and it's Loki because ahem true love's kiss)
Steve singing about teamwork is something I need to see before I die.
Can I prompt a Heist!AU? With catwoman— I mean, phantom thief Loki and batman *cough* I mean, secret agent or detective Tony Stark? Has this been done before?
hachimitsulemon replied to your post: good boys don’t sneak into school after hours ...
NNNNNGH. *shakes computer until more fall out*
"What's up."
Raleigh looks up from the book he has propped open between spread legs, something thick with tiny print. He's wearing a band t-shirt, one that Chuck has never heard of and his jeans are veering dangerously into this side of too-tight. "You're late."
"You didn't have to wait," Chuck grumbles, averts his eyes and drops his backpack. The grass is damp but he sits next to Raleigh anyway, careful so that their shoulders are inches apart. "So."
Raleigh raises an eyebrow. "So?"
"You texted and told me to come. I came. So?"
"You're so obedient, Hansen." Raleigh laughs and Chuck stiffens mid-scowl when a hand rests on his thigh. "But hey, do you know someone called 'Trevin'?"
"Why? Did you piss anyone off lately?"
"I don't know." Raleigh's voice flits between blades of grass and Chuck blinks, itches to remove the hand. "Tendo said someone been asking around about me."
"Well, if they find your body in a dark alley, I promise I'll cry at your funeral."
Raleigh pouts and jabs a finger into the crook of Chuck's ribs, breaching those few inches Chuck has painstakingly put between them. Up close, his eyes are electric blue, framed by gold-tipped lashes and the kind of spark that makes Chuck thinks irrational thoughts. Like I could kiss you, just like this and you smell like pancakes and I love you, idiot.
He swallows thickly, could've sworn that Raleigh's eyes darken in that half-second, drops to the exposed column of his neck but the moment is too fleeting for him to be sure.
Raleigh prods at him again. "I'm gonna come back and haunt your bathroom."
"Creep." Chuck jerks away, flicks bits of dirt at Raleigh's hair. He still has trouble breathing right but what little space between them gives him leverage. "Always knew you're a fucking pervert, Becket."
"Yeah. But," Raleigh's smile is sunshine warm when he continues, "you still love me, right?"
Chuck translate the stutters in his heart into an eyeroll, swallows down the words clamouring at the back of his throat because Chuck has a lifetime of practise in denying what he feels. A few more years wouldn't have made any difference, especially when Raleigh could've had anyone who isn't Chuck. Who's better than Chuck in all the ways that count.
They spend seconds in the quiet lull, Raleigh's palm pressing down printed words and head tilted back to stare at Chuck with a mix of expectation and something unidentifiable (but gentle, always gentle). Chuck looks away and clears his throat, starts humming a half-remembered melody into the inches between them, the stretch of soft notes strung up into whispers.
Raleigh watches him with those electric blue eyes, quiet and unwavering.
