warnings : suggestive, reader wants greg bad, nothing explicit tho cause i don't like writing that stuff, greg and reader have a baby, greg in a tank top and maybe slight cursing i don't remember, not proofread
a/n : bro the chokehold this man has on me is cray
wc : 1.1K
summary : greg is fixing things at home with his son resting on his hip, y/n can only focus on his big strong arms
Greg returned home from a long day at the yard. He draped his coat on the couch as he lazily walked into the kitchen. As he pulled his tie off, he glanced around the room, finding no trace of his wife. He made no move to take his shoes off, knowing he had work to do before he could fully settle in for the evening.
“Y/n,” he called softly as he climbed the stairs, conscious that his son might finally be sleeping after a particularly restless night. Receiving no response, he opened the door to his shared bedroom and his gaze settled on Y/n’s sleeping form.
He let a small smile grace his lips and he closed the door. His dress shoes clicked down the hall as he peeked into the nursery. At the sound of quiet babbling, he entered. His smile grew as he crossed the room and found his seven month old staring at the ceiling, kicking his feet and laughing.
“What’s going on, mate?” Greg asked as he picked his baby up. He had Greg’s doe eyes and his perfectly straight nose. The silver haired man pressed a quick kiss to the top of his son’s head and shifted to let him rest on his hip.
“Lets go downstairs before you wake mom up, huh?” He unbuttoned his shirt with one hand as he descended the stairs. Greg grabbed the baby carrier off the floor near the garage and set it on the kitchen counter.
His brown eyes scanned the kitchen before landing on the cabinet that needed fixing. With the baby still settled on his hip, he walked into the garage, retrieved his tools, and returned.
The baby fussed as he was set down and strapped into the carrier. “Just for a minute,” Greg mumbled as he pulled his shirt off, leaving him in his white tank top. He carefully pulled all the dishes out of the cabinet and set them on the counter opposite him.
His son was not having it, he started to cry as Greg continued his work. Setting the last dish down, he returned his attention to his little bundle of tears. “C’mon, mate. It was two seconds.” He smiled softly as he picked his son up, bouncing him slightly as he paced around the kitchen. The cries subsided and Greg returned to the cabinet, screw driver in hand. He shifted the seven month old to his hip and started replacing the damaged screws. His brows pinched together in concentration and he missed the way Y/n appeared in the doorway.
Y/n leaned against the doorframe, taking in her husband's form. His brown trousers hanging low on his hips, white tank top tucked in and secured by a brown leather belt. His hair was slightly mussed, she assumed he was probably running his hands through his hair on the drive home from work, as he usually did. His arms were flexed as he held the baby on his hip with one and tightened screws with the other. There was sweat starting to bead at the nape of his neck.
Suddenly Y/n felt the urge to give her son a sibling. He let out a small grunt as he tightened the final screw. Y/n could feel her cheeks growing warmer by the second.
He let the screw driver clatter to the counter as he turned to his baby. “We did it! Good job, mate!” He held his hand up for a high five, beaming with pride as a small hand collided with his large one.
Greg looked up as a soft sigh reached his ears. He smirked, taking in his wife’s gaze. He looked back at his son. “Time for a nap, I think,” He whispered as he watched a small yawn escape from his baby’s lips.
He smiled to himself as he walked past his wife, letting his warm shoulder brush hers ever so slightly as he retreated to the nursery.
He returned moments later, finding his wife sitting on the kitchen island, taking in his form with a devious smirk on her lips. He walked over, standing between her legs and planted his hands on either side of her.
“What are you plotting, woman?” He teased as he playfully cocked his head to the side.
She smiled and leaned in. “Oh, nothing.” She was centimeters away from his soft lips. He pulled back.
“Lying has never gotten you what you want, love.” He walked back over to the open cabinet and started putting the dishes away. Y/n leaned her head back in frustration and let out a small huff. She hopped off the counter and attempted a different move.
He was reaching up, his tank top stretching, letting his broad shoulders maneuver. His eyes widened as Y/n sat on the counter in front of him, lazily playing with her chain around her neck.
“Can I help you?” He asked, his eyes sweeping over her figure.
“I think he needs a brother, or maybe a sister.” Oh so we’re being honest now, Greg thought.
He leaned in close and said, “You’re far too eager, my love.” His breath ghosted over her ear and she fought back a shiver. Greg smiled as he proved his point.
His quiet control is infuriating, he’s far too calm and composed for his own good.
Y/n peered up at him through her eyelashes. “Please?”
He planted himself in front of her and ran a finger over her jaw. “Well, since you asked so nicely.” He leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to Y/n’s lips. He pulled away too soon, Y/n’s lips still chasing his.
“Greg,” Y/n whined. “Don’t be mean.”
He smiled victoriously as he returned to putting the dishes away. “Tell you what,” He started, not looking at her pleading eyes. “Let me finish up and then you and I,” His eyes met hers, “can start coming up with a list of names. He started walking towards a dish set just out of arms reach, when Y/n grabbed hold of one of his belt loops. He turned and let her pull him in.
She let her fingers tighten their hold of the loops on either side of his waist and looked into his eyes, smile gone, the teasing replaced with want.
“Don’t take too long,” She said and pressed a soft kiss to his jaw before releasing her grip on his hips.
A/n: Suddenly had this idea even though I haven’t written anything for Sherlock before, but since I’ve been spending so much time at home, I’ve been re-watching a lot of shows! Anyways, I really like the direction this story ended up going, I may write a part 2 :) (Also think it’s been a long time since I’ve played Charades so sorry in advance)
Thank you @luna-xial for the help with the title!
Summary: Greg Lestrade is in a new relationship with y/n, and to everyone, they appear very happy together and very much in love. Surprisingly, Mycroft finds himself longing for something similar.
“What’s wrong with Lestrade?” Sherlock questioned, staring at the inspector instead of scrutinizing the crime scene for clues.
“What do you mean what’s wrong with him?” John asked looking up from the dead body.
“He’s happy, very happy…” Sherlock muttered, narrowing his eyes. Slowly, he stood from his crouched position, no longer interested in the case.
“And that’s a problem?” John questioned in disbelief, he didn’t quite understand what Sherlock was getting at. “Also, shouldn’t we be focusing on what happened here?”
“Already figured it out,” Sherlock stated, stepping over the body, trying to get closer to Lestrade. “Isn’t it obvious?”
John looked at the scene before him, dead body on the ground dressed in a mascot costume, the man had somehow managed to drown despite not being anywhere near water and his costume was still completely dry.
“No it’s not,” he said, throwing his arms up in frustration.
For a few brief seconds, Sherlock observed Lestrade closely, before a smirk formed on his lips. “Aha!” He laughed triumphantly. “Gordon’s been dating someone… a woman… considerably younger as well.”
John shook his head, “how can you tell?”
“Well, for one the dramatic change in attitude, plus telling by his clothes and hair he’s taken a new interest in his appearance, typical of those in a budding relationship.”
“And how do you know she’s younger?” John pressed.
“See how he keeps checking his phone,” Sherlock pointed out. “He’s using a messaging app used by young adults, rather than middle-aged men.”
“So?”
“So,” Sherlock elaborated, with an eye roll, “he smiles like an idiot every time he gets a new message, hence, that's how he and his new girlfriend are communicating.”
John watched as Lestrade checked his phone again, pulling it out from his jacket pocket when he assumed no one was looking. He really did smile like an idiot, grinning from ear to ear as he quickly typed his reply.
“Good for him,” he said sincerely, John knew how difficult it could be trying to date, especially with a job like his. He deserved to be happy, especially after that nasty divorce he went through.
Tucking his phone back into his jacket, Greg noticed the pair watching him.
“Any ideas as to what happened here?” He asked, approaching them.
“Yes,” Sherlock said spiritlessly. “But it’s rather boring and dull, I’d rather talk about the woman you’re seeing.”
“Oh, you already noticed that?” Greg rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “We’ve only been out a few times, we’re not exactly official yet.”
“Are you concerned about the age difference?” Sherlock interrogated, not caring how rude it sounded.
“Sherlock,” John muttered trying to urge his friend to shut up.
Greg just laughed lightly and shrugged, “honestly, I thought I would be, but I’m not.” Another big grin appeared on his face just at the thought of her. “I’m quite surprised by it all.”
“Well, why don’t you bring her for Christmas, so we can properly meet her?” John suddenly suggested.
Sherlock groaned loudly, he had forgotten all about the holidays, completely forgetting that his parents would be visiting.
.
.
.
Mycroft stood outside of his brother’s flat, enjoying a quick smoke, before joining in on the festivities. He could barely keep himself from rolling his eyes, if it weren’t for the fact his parents were expecting him, he wouldn’t have bothered to come at all.
He sighed, knowing that he couldn’t postpone this much longer. Eventually, his mother would track him down and he’d be scolded like a child for making everyone wait.
Just as he was about to put out his cigarette, a taxi pulled up to the curb, and a woman, who Mycroft didn’t recognize, stepped out of the vehicle.
His eyes narrowed in suspicion, he knew everyone, and he literally meant everyone, his little brother was acquainted with. Rapidly, Mycroft assessed the stranger, she appeared relatively harmless, worked as a daycare worker or teacher perhaps. She dressed quite nicely and sensibly for the weather. Telling by the hair stuck to her jumper, she either had a cat or dog at home.
“Merry Christmas!” She greeted, waving at him cheerfully.
Mycroft nodded his head in acknowledgment, saying Merry Christmas back in rather bleak fashion. His eyes darted back towards the taxi as another person got out.
“Merry Christmas!” Inspector Lestrade waved.
The couple approached him, and Lestrade made quick introductions, “Mycroft, this is y/n.”
She extended her hand out, “Nice to meet, Mycroft.”
Mycroft took in several more details, before finally accepting her hand, like the shade of her nail polish to the choice of her shoes.
“Heard you’re smarter than your brother,” she complimented. “That’s pretty impressive.”
“I suppose,” Mycroft commented dryly.
“Well, we better go say hello to everyone else,” Lestrade said, nodding at Mycroft before taking y/n by the hand and leading her towards the door. The poor fool was smiling so big that it made him look completely mad.
“Aren’t you coming?” Y/n called out to Mycroft, her eyes filled with excitement before Lestrade knocked on the door.
“I’ll be up in a moment,” Mycroft said, taking out another cigarette and lighting it.
.
.
.
As Mycroft entered the flat he noted that Mrs. Hudson and his parents were in the kitchen chatting away and preparing food. Molly sat watching Sherlock play violin awestruck. John and his date stood close by whispering to each other. And then there was y/n and Lestrade standing by the fireplace completely in their own world.
After saying a quick Merry Christmas to his parents, Mycroft sat alone on the couch. He wasn’t planning on staying long, just long enough that his mother wouldn’t complain about him leaving so early.
From the other side of the room, Lestrade groaned as his phone started ringing, giving his date a quick kiss, he excused himself taking the call in the hallway.
Y/n stood by the fireplace, her nails anxiously tapping against the side of her glass. Her eyes scanned the room until she spotted Mycroft sitting alone on the couch. “Mind if I join you?”
Mycroft nodded, scooting over a bit. He sat with his legs crossed, elbow resting on the arm of the couch with an umbrella in hand.
“Not planning on staying long?” She joked, gesturing to the umbrella.
Mycroft half smiled, “Just prepared to leave early, should things go awry.”
Y/n chuckled and continued to sip on her drink. They sat next to one another, in comfortable silence, while she patiently waited for Greg to return.
“Your brother plays very well,” she whispered, watching Sherlock who seemed like he was elsewhere mentally.
Mycroft was about to respond until he was suddenly interrupted.
“Sorry, love,” Greg said, abruptly re-entering the room walking towards y/n. “That was work, afraid I have to go in.”
“That’s alright,” she reassured him, standing up and wrapping her arms around his neck. “It can’t be helped.”
With that she pressed her lips against his, Lestrade was quick to return the kiss, placing his hands on her waist.
Mycroft found himself looking the other way, uncharacteristically bothered by the display of affection taking place before him.
“I’ll call you tonight,” Greg murmured quietly, before he reluctantly pulled away from her, and grabbed his coat.
“Merry Christmas, everyone!” He shouted as he rushed out the door.
Y/n clasped her hands together, looking around the room, “Well, I suppose I should go too.”
“Oh, don’t be silly, dear,” Mrs. Hudson tutted, waltzing into the living area carrying a tray with tea. “At least stay long enough to have something to eat.”
“Guess I could keep Mycroft company awhile longer,” she smiled, taking her seat back on the couch next to him. “If that’s alright with you?” She asked him.
“Be my guest.”
The rest of the evening progressed full of merriment, food, drinking, and Christmas carols.
At some point, Mrs. Holmes started sharing stories about Mycroft and Sherlock from when they were children. Which everyone found quite amusing with the exception of her sons, who shared an unamused look as she continued to describe the time she found them covered in some type of slime after a failed experiment.
Mycroft risked a quick glance at y/n who was hiding her laughter behind her hand. Watching her react so lively made him smile to himself, not that it lasted long. As soon as he noticed, he returned to grimacing as his mother started another story, this one was about when. Sherlock had borrowed his clothes and pretended to be his big brother for a whole week.
.
.
.
“Why don’t we play a game,” John’s date suggested.
After some debate, the group finally settled on playing Charades. Somehow Mycroft had been roped into being y/n’s partner. Although She seemed rather pleased by it.
“Merry go round!” Sherlock shouted, staring at Molly, and becoming more irate by the second. “Ferris wheel! Clock!”
“Times up!” John announced, sounding rather pleased.
“Well, what was it?” Sherlock demanded.
“The solar system,” Molly muttered quietly, handing him the card.
Sherlock scoffed, “Who needs to know anything about the solar system! This game is ridiculous! Utter waste of time!”
“Stop being such a rotten sport!” His mother reprimanded from the kitchen, where she was helping Mrs. Hudson tidy up.
“Well, Mycroft and y/n it’s your turn,” John said, holding out the cards to y/n.
Mycroft watched her movements intently, “a book, two words…” he furrowed his brow slightly as he watched y/n imitate the action of stabbing or perhaps using a spear? Then a subtle smile appeared on his face. “Moby Dick.”
Y/n bounced up and down clapping excitedly, “you got it!”
Mycroft chuckled, feeling rather pleased with himself, and for a brief moment, he had forgotten that you weren’t with him. That y/n wasn’t in fact his date. He had been having such a good time that it had seemed to have slipped his mind.
His smile faltered, feeling rather odd about whatever he was feeling, but he hid it well, especially as she showered him with praise.
As John and his date took their turns, the game seemed to fade into the background. In his own head, Mycroft was having a rather difficult time trying to process what he was feeling.
He didn’t understand at all what he found so agreeable about her, why her company didn’t aggravate him. Typically, he became at least moderately annoyed being around anyone for such a long period of time.
Y/n gently placed her hand on Mycroft knee, “are you alright?”
Mycroft quirked an eyebrow in response, caught off guard that she noticed a change in his behavior.
“You’re just somehow quieter,” she explained, tilting her head.
“It’s nothing,” Mycroft replied with a small smile. Even despite all the confusion he felt, he managed to enjoy the rest of his time with y/n.
Finally, the night was coming to an end. Being the gentleman that he was, he stood outside with y/n as she waited for a cab.
“I had lots of fun tonight,” she shared suddenly. “Thank you for including me.”
“Of course,” he nodded, once again smiling all of a sudden.
Soon the taxi approached, and Mycroft got the door for her. He felt a sinking feeling in his gut, he wanted her to stay just a little longer, or he wanted to join her on her ride home. However, neither option was appropriate.
“Good night, Mycroft,” she said, as she climbed into the backseat.“And Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, y/n.”
...
Walking into his large home, Mycroft removed his coat hanging it up on the rack and placed his umbrella by the door.
He didn’t understand why this bothered him so much. Mycroft had encountered plenty of other happy couples before, but none of them had ever left him with this feeling of jealousy and loneliness.
As much as he tried to deny it, he knew deep down he envied Lestrade, which for Mycroft, was a hard pill to swallow. Before y/n, he practically pitied the detective. But now the inspector had something that Mycroft wanted.
What was so bewildering about it, was that he had never wanted something like that before. He never cared for or wanted any type of companionship or relationship. It seemed so frivolous,
But now his mind wandered to the what if’s, such as, what would it be like to not come home alone.
Despite his better judgment, Mycroft gave into his imagination. The downside of having a mind like his is that was how he could picture things so clearly in his head.
He could practically see her now, slightly tipsy, clinging to his arm with one hand for stability as she removes her shoes. Then, he would hear the soft pitter-patter of her bare feet as she made her way to the bedroom.
Mycroft started to loosen his tie as he walked towards his room.
As he would enter, he would find her jumper and leggings strewn about on the floor. But instead of making it an issue now, he’d ask her to pick them up in the morning.
Mycroft headed towards his closet, undressing and putting on his pajamas.
As he would step back into the room, y/n would pop her head through the door of the master bathroom, with a toothbrush hanging out of her mouth. She’d smile widely at him before finishing. “Almost done!” She would call out to him.
Mycroft turned out the light and climbed into bed. Despite having such a large bed to himself, he always slept on one side, never really spreading out.
He pictured what it would be like for y/n to join him in bed. She’d gently kiss him good night, before resting her head against his chest. He imagined what it would be like to hold her, feel the warmth radiating off her form, to caress her back in a soothing manner until she fell asleep.
Mycroft groaned loudly, rolling over and burying his face against his pillow. There was no point in indulging himself with these fantasies any longer. No matter how clearly he could picture it, this alternate life, there was nothing he could do to change his reality. She simply wasn’t his.
summary : greg is on an adrenaline high after winning a soccer match and it's driving his roommates crazy
a/n : so self indulgent i can't, i have so many thought about this man
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“Greg, are you really going to leave this mug in the sink?” John asked, washing his cereal bowl.
“No time, I have to get to class!” Greg shouted as he ran out the door. “I’ll do it later!” The door slammed shut behind him.
John groaned as he began washing his roommate's dishes for what felt like the millionth time that week.
“You know, John,” Sherlock started, appearing from the living room. “I wonder how long he would go without doing dishes if you just stopped doing them. I suspect at least a week and a half.”
“Not now, Sherlock, I’ll talk to him about it later.”
This was it, a tie game and time was running out. A header was just dropped in the corner. He reached the ball first, before he could second guess his actions, he swung his leg into the ball. His heart hammering in his chest was the only reason he knew time didn’t stop. The ball was just out of reach from the goalie. He scored. The whistle blew. Game over.
Greg’s body was faster than his brain. He was running across the field, before he knew it, he pulled his shirt clean off over his head.
In the stands, Sherlock shook his head in disgust. “A primitive display, truly.”
“Oh, shut up Sherlock and just be happy for our friend!” John replied back, clapping for his friend.
Next to John, stood Y/n, her eyes trained on the shirtless midfielder running around looking for her. His eyes finally found her and he was beaming. His face was practically radiating light. His teammates had all shed their jerseys in solidarity and were jumping on him. Greg Lestrade had never felt more alive.
“What a game!” He exclaimed as he opened the door to the apartment. He held it open as his roommates and girlfriend entered. He closed it just as Sherlock cleared the entryway, almost catching the tall man’s scarf in the hinge.
Greg scooped Y/n up in his arms and spun her around. “We won! I can't believe it!”
Y/n giggled as she pushed Greg’s damp curls out of his eyes. “You did it, baby, I’m so proud of you!” She pressed a kiss to his jaw as he set her down.
“Gross.” Sherlock hung up his coat as he turned from the gross display of affection.
Y/n stayed in the brown eyed boy’s embrace for a few more seconds before breaking away. “It’s pretty late,” She started, meeting his excited eyes.
Before she could finish, Greg cut her off. “Stay!” He exclaimed abruptly. “Stay with me, we can talk, eat something, study, whatever!”
She tilted her head gently and gave him a smile. “You know I have to go back home.”
“Well, then I’ll walk you!” He said, grabbing his hoodie that he had left on the couch a few days ago and handing it to his girlfriend. She accepted it gratefully and the pair took off towards her dorm. Before they were gone, John heard Greg say “Race to the end of the hall?” and the sound of rushed footsteps.
It had been two days since the soccer match and Greg was still buzzing with excitement. They had all weekend off and he used all his pent up adrenaline to get the apartment spick and span.
At first, it was a nice surprise. John woke up the day after the match to find all the dishes washed and the living room spotless. On a normal Saturday, Greg wouldn’t be up until noon, so John was flabbergasted when he saw Greg in the bathroom cleaning the shower.
All the rooms were clean and every surface was shining. In two days, Greg had mopped every floor, fixed every loose cabinet, gone grocery shopping twice, and scrubbed every surface in the apartment. By day three, it was too much. Sherlock was on the couch, purposefully knocking things to the floor to watch Greg turn around and put it back. John was attempting to read his textbook for his exam on Thursday without strangling his roommate that kept talking as he completed task after task.
“Do we need more milk? I can go to the sto-“
“Greg, you just bought milk.”
“Then do we need more turkey? I can he-“
“Greg, we do not need anything from the store.”
Greg let out a sigh and walked into the living room. He looked around before dropping to the floor.
“One. Two. Three.” John looked over the coffee table to see what his roommate was doing. “Four. Five. Six.” Pushups, of course he was doing pushups.
“It’s fascinating," Sherlock stated as Greg finished his 43rd push up.
“Forty Five. What is?” Greg asked.
“That the kinetic energy you accumulated from the adrenaline brought on by the most recent match is still flowing through your body.”
Greg ignored his roommate and concentrated on his workout.
He was on push-up 72 when he heard the familiar sound of a key fitting into a lock. He bolted up and rushed to the door.
Before checking to see who it was, he pulled the door open, revealing Y/n.
His smile grew bigger and he pulled her into a warm embrace.
“Hi! You look lovely! Hi! What’s going on? Come inside!” He shut the door and held her hand. “Would you like something? Coffee? Tea?” He questioned as he led her into the kitchen. “John? Do you want anything? Sherlock? Coffee? Tea? Biscuits? Ground beef and ri-“
“Get him out of here!” John snapped suddenly.
Greg’s head snapped up. “What? I’m just being helpful!” He defended.
“Yes, I’m sorry. You’re just trying to be helpful but it’s been three days of non-stop movement!”
“No it hasn’t.”
“Sit on the couch, Gregory.”
Greg walked quickly to the couch. He bounced his knee before standing up and walking around the coffee table.
John turned towards Y/n and sent her a pleading look. “Please. I beg. Take him on a walk.”
Y/n glanced over at Greg.
He was still beaming. “I don’t know how to stop.”
She laughed and pulled him towards the door. “C’mon babe, let’s go.” The pair bounded off out of the apartment.
As they crossed the quad, Greg felt his body stop vibrating. “I’m sorry,” He said after a while.
Y/n stopped walking. “Babe, what are you sorry for?” He turned his body to face her.
“For being too…” He couldn’t think of the word. “I don’t know. I just, I couldn’t control my body. I thought we were going to lose and in my head I was ready to be upset. Then we won and,” He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
She took a step closer and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Greg, you have nothing to be sorry for.” She started lightly trailing her fingernails up and down the nape of his neck. “Your body reacted to an event, it happens. It’s not your fault.”
He rested his forehead against hers, letting his body finally reset.
“Can I tell you a secret?” He whispered.
“Tell me.”
“The last three nights I’ve been doing pushups in my room and rearranging the furniture instead of sleeping.”
Y/n let out a small giggle and leaned her head back. “Oh, Greg,” she breathed as she calmed herself down. He smiled at her, not his bright, beaming, adrenaline induced smile, but a soft, gentle smile. “Ready to go back?”
Greg nodded in response and they slowly walked back to the apartment.
The next afternoon John returned from his class and found Sherlock sitting on the couch. “It’s quiet in here, Greg must still be in class.” He let out a breath and muttered, “God help whoever sits next to him.”
Y/n opened the door a few minutes after John had settled in the living room. “Hey guys! Is Greg here?” She asked.
“No, I figured he was with you or in class.”
Y/n looked between the two friends. “No, I haven’t seen him today,” she muttered.
Sherlock looked around the apartment. “Nothing has been moved since he disappeared into his room last night. Not the norm since his kinetic burst.”
Y/n didn’t wait another minute before checking his room. She darted down the hall, calling his name. “Greg?” She pushed the door open and her eyes landed on the lump underneath a pile of blankets.
Greg was passed out, arm hanging off the side of the bed, face buried in the pillow, snoring softly. Y/n walked over slowly, as though any sudden movement would disturb his peace. “Greg, honey?” No reply.
“It appears his body has forced a reset.” Sherlock analyzed.
“Rest is probably the best thing for him,” John agreed.
Y/n laid down next to him, tucking his arm under the blanket. She curled into his side and brushed a stray hair out of his face.
The next morning Y/n awoke to a pained groan in her ear.
She opened her eyes and found her boyfriend’s eyebrows pinched together and his eyes squeezed shut.
“Good morning sleeping beauty,” She teased.
He let out a hum of protest. As he tried burying his head into his girlfriend's shoulder, John walked into the room with a glass of water and some painkillers.
“Mate, next time you win a match, you can stay with her, got it?” He said as he set down the glass. Greg let out another groan of annoyance.
“Ah, it seems that domestication has overridden the adrenaline, I wond-” Sherlock's observation was cut off as a pillow collided with his face.
“Let me sleep,” He mumbled into Y/n’s shoulder. She let out a quiet laugh and ran her hands through his hair.
