Yesha Collins

PLEASEEE TUMBLR USER JUSTANOTHERGOLDFISH RELEASE PART THREE TO THE GREG LESTRADE FIC AND MY LIFE IS YOURS /lh

Hello love, I'm sorry but I got so busy with work, i completely shut off for a good while..

Maybe I'll get back to that story another time, after all, Lestrade does need more love!

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. 

Handsome stranger

pt. 1 pt.2 pt. 3

warnings: mentions of alcohol/drinking

word count: 950

A/N: this plays during the events of the episode 'Hounds of Baskerville'.

---

It was a rather slow afternoon, all the guests had settled in this morning. You checked the guest book and there were no more reservations booked for today. Since most guests were currently out with Fletcher, the guide for the Hound of Baskerville Tour, it was finally calming down in the “Cross Keys” hotel and bar. There was finally time to refill the ale and the fridge for the sodas. 

This entire story about this monster had brought in a lot of customers in the last month, which is why you were helping Gary, the owner and a family friend, out. He'd asked you to work for him part time so he had more time for management and the paperwork.

Billy stuck his head out from the kitchen and gave you an exhausted look. “You alright up front? We're busy prepping dinner back here, but if you need help just call, okay?” the ginger haired boy panted, wiping his hands on a towel. You just chuckled and nodded along, it was adorable how the staff was still treating you like a raw egg. 

“I'm fine, don't worry. Not my first time being a waitress” you smiled, patting his shoulder before he looked up to the bar. “Ah, customer.” he said, quickly nudging to the door as he retreated to the kitchen. 

You turned around to see a middle aged man with ashy gray hair and a beige, loose jacket. He wore a black button shirt and anthracite pants, on his face a black pair of sunglasses. 

Yeah, definitely a foreigner. 

You tightened your apron as you walked up to the bar, supporting yourself on the edge of the surface with both hands. 

“Hi, welcome to the Cross Keys.” you smiled as he looked around, hands buried in his pockets. 

“Mmh, nice cozy place, innit?” 

Ah, so he's from London. 

“Most definitely, Sir. Away from all the city trouble, it's pure heaven.” You smiled at him and he took off his shades, letting his eyes get used to the light in the room. 

Once they had adapted, he looked directly at you. Big mistake. His eyes were a gorgeous shade of chocolate brown, practically making you melt away at first sight.

No, get it out of your head. He's way too old and probably married.

“You don't happen to have any single rooms available for tonight, do you?” He asked, putting his hands back into his pockets. 

Or maybe not married. 

You pretended to check the bookings, chewing on your lip as you tried your best to look very focused in order not to smile. Despite his age, he was definitely a sight for sore eyes. 

As soon as you had yourself back together, you nodded and looked back up at the man. 

“Actually, we do. That'll be 120£, breakfast is already included and served in the dining room from 7.30 to 9.30 in the morning.” 

The man nodded and pulled out his wallet, “Sounds good. I'll take it.” he says, his voice dropping lower than before. It distracted you to the point you almost gave him the key without having him pay, hadn't he already reached out the money to you. 

“Oh, and your ID please.” you added, taking the money and putting it into the cash register. 

“Sure, one second.” He pulled out the card and placed it on the counter, shoving it over to you. As you took it, you quickly read through his information, calculating in your head. 

So he's 49, damn, from London. 1,80m tall… Gregory Lestrade… handsome man, handsome name. 

Gregory Lestrade. 

You pulled yourself out of your thoughts and cleared your throat, writing down his personal information into the guest book and handing the card back to him. 

“The rooms are upstairs, around the corner on the left.” you said, taking some of the already polished glasses and one by one wiping them down again, just to look busy and to have an excuse to stay up front for a while longer.

“Came to see the creature?” you grinned, and Lestrade seemed to be in thought for a moment. He took the key with the room number and his ID from the counter. 

“Sort of…” he grins to himself, leaning against the bar, hoping to catch a glimpse into the guest book. 

“I'm actually looking for.. uhm, a friend.”

You raised an eyebrow, wiping down another glass. “Oh, a woman?”

Lestrade can't help but huff. He shakes his head as he wets his lips, “Tall man with dark curly hair, probably wore a dark coat, collar turned up for the dramatic effect. Occasionally acts like a drama queen though.” 

Yeah, that rang a bell. 

“With his shorter boyfriend?”

Lestrade took a seat on a barstool, snorting at your confident words. He tries his best not to grin and laugh out loud. 

“Yeah, his, er… boyfriend.” He mumbles in amusement. “So they are here, good. Listen, I'll bring my bag to my room and I'll be right back for a drink. I'll probably need it.”

You put the glass down and tucked the cloth back into the belt of your apron. 

“Great idea. I've just opened a brand new keg of Guinness if you're interested? I'll be here if you need anything else, Mr. Lestrade.” you smile sweetly, taking his appearance in once again. 

Lestrade turned his head back to you as he walked to the door with an amused grin. “Guinness sounds wonderful, and you can just call me Greg, love.” 

Watching him go, you just stood there behind the bar, staring and smiling in awe like a dork. 

Greg Lestrade.

Mycroft Holmes x reader

Broken promises

warnings: eating disorders, smoking, unhealthy coping skills

word count: 800

---

You stared at your phone in disbelief, reading through the message from Sherlock again.

‘Mycroft is smoking again.’ 

Oh, the frustration was just bubbling up again. Not just frustration, but also disappointment. 

He had promised you. 

Promised to stop.

Your eyes flew over the message again before you locked the screen. As soon as you had received that text, you had gone out to the Diogenes Club and were currently sitting in Mycrofts office, waiting for him to come back from wherever he was again. 

Just as you slid your phone back into the pocket of your jacket, you heard the door open, the sound of footsteps nearing and stopping right behind you. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure of you stumbling in here, unannounced?”

There was a lace of sarcasm and annoyance threaded into his distinctive voice that you definitely picked up, but you couldn't have cared less about not notifying him about it. 

There was a scent of smoke filling up your nostrils which only made you even more mad. 

“So it's true.” you mumbled, crossing your legs, still not looking at him. 

The long silence that followed was only disturbed by his growling stomach. 

“Care to elaborate?”

He asks, quickly trying to cover the sound of that as he moves over to his desk, casually leaning against it. 

“You're smoking again. I can smell it from here, don't even try to make up some story.” 

Mycrofts eyes narrowed at your words, his arms crossing in front of his chest. He raised an eyebrow and looked down at you, the fact that you didn't even look at him surely didn't go unnoticed by that smart mind of his. 

“Are you my physician now?”

He asked with an unreadable expression plastered onto his face. 

That was when you finally decided to look up to him, the disappointment written all across your visage. Oh, he hated that look on your face, not that he'd ever say it out loud. 

“You promised you'd stop.”

Mycroft pursed his lips for a moment, shifting against the desk more comfortably as his stomach growled again. 

“Circumstances change.”

He said, more like a sigh. His eyes drifted away into the air. 

“Oh, so a promise means nothing then? Is that all you've got to say to this?” 

You saw him cringing internally at your tone, but his expression stayed the same.  If anything, you swore you saw him roll back his eyes a tiny bit. 

“You sound like my mother.”

“I sound like a friend!” you immediately snapped back. There was this uncomfortable silence again, he knew he had no argument against this, even less against you. 

His stomach growled again, so he tried to suck it in, leaning forward a bit and pressing his arms tighter against his torso. 

“Are you swapping out your meals for cigarettes now?” you remarked in annoyance. And suddenly, his expression shifted. He could feel his throat close up immediately. As he opened his mouth to speak, there was no sound coming out. Mycroft tried to swallow, his throat becoming all dry, his face turning pale. 

You didn't need to hear an actual answer, he already gave it away. What you had said as a joke was a fact. 

A wave of shock and worry overcame you, suddenly remembering all those little hints Sherlock had dropped talking about his diet. Your eyes went wide for a second at the realization. Licking your lips you thought about how to approach this topic. 

“Okay… How- how about this, I've got this recipe I've wanted to try out. Why don't you come around tonight and we'll eat together? And if you want to…. Talk about this situation, you can do that too.”

Mycroft scoffed at your words, finding his voice again. 

“There is no situation, and I certainly don't need any help.” he said, a lot less confident than usual but still trying to convince himself. 

He shook his head, turning away to fidget with a few papers from his desk. He wanted to look at anything but your face right now, knowing that somehow you could always see through him, and it scared him. Mycroft Holmes, the big bad shark in a world of goldfish, and yet you could read him better than Sherlock could sometimes. 

His stomach rumbled again, the feeling almost made him feel nauseous from hunger. He felt the need to just light another cigarette, but knowing you'd smack it out of his hands anyway kept him from giving in to his urges. 

Your expression softened a bit, watching him struggle to keep himself together was a rare sight that made you worry. 

“I cannot watch you starve yourself, but I can't just stand there and do nothing… My offer stands.” you sighed softly, getting up from the chair you've been sitting in. 

The second you opened the door, you heard his voice again, somewhat more vulnerable than before.

“Is 20:00 fine?”

You felt the corners of your lips turn up softly, a glimmer of hope and relief sparkled in your eyes as you looked back to him. It felt like weight being taken off your shoulders. 

I'm Yesha, I've just started watching BBC Sherlock lately, currently on S3.