#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?”

Includes: Sherlock, John, Mycroft, Lestrade, and Moriarty.

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. 

Commited!Series:

The Longest Time - Greg has wanted you for the longest time.

You - You and Greg sneak a moment after spending some time apart.

Secrets - Greg doesn’t want to be a secret any longer.

Drunk Dial - Greg drunk dials your ex-husband after the Christmas Party

Crossing Lines - Your ex-husband shows up at Greg's apartment.

It’s three in the morning when the phone on Greg’s desk starts to ring. It’s his fourth weekend on shift as Gold Commander and he’s dealing with the paperwork from another major incident, because this is London and apparently you can’t go five minutes without one. He doesn’t even get to leave the Yard when something kicks off, instead he gets sequestered to the Control Room to strategically manage the event.

“Lestrade.” He mutters, cradling the phone under his chin as he continues typing.

“Hey it’s me.” You say and he finds himself smiling. “Look outside.”

He heads to the window, using his fingers to separate the blinds so that he can peer out the window. You’re standing on the steps outside, bundled up against the cold in your beanie and his grey scarf. You hold up two cups of take-out coffee and something warm just blossoms in his chest because despite the shit Castor’s throwing at the two of you, you’re both putting in the effort to make it work.

A couple of days after the confrontation at his apartment you’d found yourself transferred from the Yard to Whitehall CID, covering the night shift. You were appealing the decision, but the process took time. The result is you’re working opposite shifts and Greg’s covering weekends until further notice. It makes seeing each other tough but you refuse to surrender because this relationship, it means the world to the both of you.

You’re a sight for sore eyes. Your cheeks are flushed from the cool air, and you look beautiful under the lights from the sign. It’s been a couple of days since he’s laid eyes on you, and he misses you fiercely.

“Hi.” He murmurs, leaning in close.

The scent of his aftershave floods your senses, something masculine with a smoky undertone. The heat from his body rolls off his skin and it ignites something inside of you, because it’s been a few weeks since you’ve been with this man, and you miss the sensation of his skin pressing against yours. His fingertips guide your chin up so that your lips are inches apart, when he kisses you it’s soft and tender, everything you’ve been missing over the past couple of days. You moan into his mouth, and you feel him smile as his thumb chases along the line of your jaw.

“You’ve no idea how much I want to take you to bed right now.” He tells you, his nose trailing along the length yours.

“We both know it would take longer than the ten minutes we have.” You tease him as you hand him the takeout cup of coffee from the Costa vending machine in 24-hour Tesco Express.

One of the most challenging parts of working the nightshift finding places to get supplies at stupid o’clock in the morning.

“I don’t know.” He smiles, his fingertips trailing over the fabric of the scarf as he gives you a heated look. “I kind of like the challenge, me down on my knees…”

The blush that creeps up your cheeks is fucking adorable.

“I mean if you think you could do it in ten minutes…” You murmur, your gaze straying back to the building.

His fingers thread through yours as he draws you towards the entrance.

“Ten minutes.” He promises you. “Ten minutes in my office is all I need.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

Walking up the stairs, you kicked the door to the flat open and everybody inside turned to look at you as you leant against the doorway, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Took your time getting here.”

You said nothing and you stepped aside so Mrs Hudson could come in.

“(Y/N) how many times do I have to tell you, helmet off inside.” She scolded.

“I’ll be quick, what you want?” You asked.

“You got the text.”

You grumbled pulled one of your gloves off, reaching into your pocket your tossed the packet of cigarettes at Sherlock.

“Don’t give him them!” John scolded.

“Means he stops pestering me.” You shrugged.

You pulled your glove back on and looked around the room, walking over to Mycroft you leant forward and flicked his forehead making him roll his eyes.

Then you walked over and did the same thing to Sherlock.

“Who’s this stiff?” You asked John.

“Greg Lestrade, works for Scotland Yard.”

You nodded your head a little bit and looked him up and down from under the visor of your helmet and turned back to Sherlock.

“Stop texting me.”

“Stop ignoring me.”

You stuck your middle finger up at him and you made your way back to the door.

“Later!”

You jogged back down the stairs and they heard you revving your bike outside before you sped away.

“Who the hell was that?” Lestrade asked.

“That would be their sister, Sherlocks twin in fact.” Mrs Hudson smiled.

“Didn’t know you had a sister.”

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know.” Mycroft said.

The moment you left the flat you could feel your phone buzzing in your pocket, letting you know Sherlock was demanding you do something else.

So you chose to ignore it, and you went back to what you were doing.

For the next week you carried on ignoring your brother up until the point he came by your flat just as you were about to leave.

“What Sherlock?” You snapped.

“You know what this is.”

He held out a phone and you took it, turning around on your motorbike, you resting your back against the handles and a foot on the seat.

“Yeah I know what this is why.”

“I know you know, I want you to take me there.”

You handed the photo back to your twin, and you sighed a little bit.

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re heading there now, and we can’t get in without you. And whatever this is, it’s linked to our case and we can only find it there.”

“Sherlock is trying to nicely ask if you would please take us to the scrapyard you go to so we can have a look for ourselves.”

You looked at John and you shrugged a little bit, picking your helmet off the floor.

“Yeah okay. But you two owe me one, and I’ll be cashing it in at some point. Plus you can’t get in Sherlock but John can, people just don’t like you.”

You gestured for Sherlock to get on your friends bike and for John to get on yours and you gave him the spare helmet sitting nearby.

Heading to the scrapyard, you noticed Lestrade was waiting for you three, and you gestured for him to follow you around the corner where you stopped your bike.

You gestured to the large wall of junk.

“Have fun, don’t talk to anyone and don’t snoop.” You said.

“Wait, wait, you can’t just leave us here.” John protested.

“Why not?” You asked.

“John you’re looking for empathy in the wrong person. She has a better understanding of human emotions, but anything other than anger and you’re not going to get far.” Sherlock said.

“I swear to god I will break your nose again Sherlock.”

He shrugged a little and went quiet as he inspected the wall with John and Lestrade awkwardly looked around the scrapyard.

You heard some bikes coming closer, and you reached out, grabbing his jacket you pulled him back without looking up from your phone and they went speeding past.

“Blood hell!” He yelled.

You let him go.

“Don’t go standing in the middle of the track then.”

“Is this even legal?” He asked.

“Private land, so yeah.”

“Who owns then?”

You pulled something up on your phone and handed it over to him.

“I do.”

Lestrade inspected the documents and he handed the phone back to you.

“You still have to abide by traffic laws.”

“Not on land owned by me I don’t.”

You went back to scrolling through your phone and Lestrade crossed his arms over his chest as he looked at you.

Clad in jeans, boots, leather jacket, gloves and helmet.

There was absolutely no way he could pick a single identifying point about you, you just hid yourself away from the world behind your helmet.

“Who’s got access to the yard?” Sherlock asked.

“Bunch of people, go to the office at the front if you want anything I’m not your receptionist.”

With that you got on your bike and sped away, and that was the last they saw if you for the day.

Though Lestrade did start seeing more off you either at the flat or out and about.

And today was no different, you were sitting by a curb and he happened to be walking past so he stopped and looked at her.

“Hello (Y/N).” He smiled.

You put your phone away and looked at him, still wearing your helmet.

“Lestrade.” You greeted.

“I haven’t seen you around the flat for a while, did you and Sherlock fall out or?”

“I’m just ignoring him to be honest.” You shrugged.

Lestrade laughed a little and stepped back as you got off your bike and took they keys out and stuffed them into your pocket.

“Why you out this way?” You asked.

He held up a paper bag.

“Best coffee in the area. What about you? Thought you lived at the scrapyard.”

You hummed a little and shook your head.

“I don’t, but I’m only here cause damn bike broke down, waiting for someone to bring some stuff to fix it.”

“Well I can wait with you if you’d like, this isn’t really a great place to be broken down in.”

“Don’t you have places to be?”

He shook his head.

“Day odd actually, so I don’t.”

You shrugged a little and gestured to the coffee shop he just came out off and you both walked inside and you ordered a drink then sat down.

Lestrade sat down opposite you, and you pulled your gloves off, setting them aside then you pulled you helmet off and set that aside too.

Glancing at your bike, you picked up a menu and read through debating on something to eat.

“Keep staring, maybe it’ll make it less creepy.” You said.

He quickly looked away.

“Sorry..”

You smirked a little bit and set the menu down, leaning back as you folded your arms over your chest.

“Expect me to look like some monster?” You asked.

“N..no..” he mumbled.

You smirked a little more.

“Are you embarrassed detective?”

“No…”

He looked at you but quickly looked away once more.

You thanked the man that brought your coffee over, and you glanced at you bike to check on it.

“So, Lestrade, if it’s your day off, why come all this way for coffee?”

“I was avoiding your brother too and he knows where I live.”

“First mistake, never let Sherlock Holmes know where you live.”

“He knows where you live.”

“He knows where I keep bike and my tools and all, not where I live, Mycroft keeps that hidden for me.”

Lestrade looked at you.

“So you have two flats?

“Yup, pretty handy actually.”

“And you just happen to have two flats?”

“Mycroft went into government work, Sherlock solves cases to pass time, I own a series of houses and business across the city.”

“How did you manage that?”

“We come from a wealthy family and I wanted to expand my money and spend life actually having fun unlike my stuck up brothers.”

Lestrade smiled and chucked a little bit, nodding his head.

“Doesn’t it keep you busy?”

“Nah, just hire a few people to handle everything, I only come in when there’s real big issues.”

Lestrade nodded again.

“Didn’t think you would be a landlord and business person.”

“You think I got my money from crime?”

“No.”

You hummed a little, nodding your head as you sipped at your coffee.

“Go on, tell me what you found when you searched my name in your system.”

“How did you..?”

“Mycroft.”

“Of course. I didn’t find much, a few DUIs, and something about vandalism?”

“Oh yeah I smashed up one of my bars because I wanted to redo it. The person that rents it didn’t like and it tried to have me done for forgetting I own the place.”

Lestrade nodded his head a little and you leant back in your seat again.

You and Lestrade continued to talk until your friends arrived and you left.

And you began to see him more often, usually by accident, but sometimes he would come just to talk to you.

And since you enjoyed making him embarrassed, you had no issue with this.

It had become a game to you at this point, see how embarrassed you could make Lestrade before the pair of you parted ways.

It was like clockwork for you now, but you had been busy for a few weeks now and hadn’t seen him.

You were working on your bike and you were sitting on the floor when you heard someone approaching.

“Thought you were avoiding me.”

You looked up and pushed yourself from the ground, wiping your hands on your jeans.

“I’ve been busy, what’s up?”

Lestrade sighed a little bit and you gestured for him to sit on the step while you leant against the wall next to him.

“Divorce finally went through a few weeks ago.”

You nodded your head.

“At least you can put yourself out there again you know? Find someone better and all that.”

“I don’t know if I want to.”

“You don’t have to, completely your choice what you do, but the way I see it is make the most of this.”

Lestrade looked at you before looking away.

“Look Greg, at the end of the day you can sit and mope around about it, or you can start meeting people, getting a feel for things. No one says you got to date them, but you’ve basically been single for like a year now, just get back into the swing of things. Get a feel for what kinda person you’d date and crap like that.”

Lestrade nodded a little.

“I understand what you’re saying, I guess… I wouldn’t know where to start.”

You grinned a little and clasped your hand on his shoulder.

“Shove some drinks down you and you’ll be right as rain.”

He laughed and shook his head as he looked up at you.

“That’s your solution for everything.”

“I have issues.”

He smiled a little bit and you looked at him.

“What is it?”

“What if there is a women I’d like to be involved with but not sure how she would take the news?”

You hummed a little and took a small breath.

“Yeah that ain’t my thing, ask him.”

You whistled to get the attention of the biker that just pulled up and you waved him over.

“Ry is this Greg, he needs relationship advice and I suck at that so like help him.”

With that you walked away back to your bike, to carry on fixing it.

When you were done, you put everything back in the tool box and you poured some water some the bottle and wiped them on your shirt to clean them.

Pushing your bike next to the other, you walked back over and grabbed your tool box, setting it by the stairs and both men went quiet and looked at you.

“What?”

“Nothing, I’ll take this up I need to grab something anyway.” Ry said.

You shrugged and tossed him the flat key and you leant against the wall as you took your phone out your pocket.

You stood there quietly for a few minutes and Lestrade stood up, so you put your phone in your pocket and looked at him.

“Leaving?”

“Something else actually.”

You looked at him, and he just looked away with a small huff.

Smirking a little, you grabbed him by his tie and pulled him down to be eye level with you.

“W..what are you doing..?”

“What you’re apparently to chicken shit to do.”

You leant forward and connected your lips with his before you pulled away and left him go, putting your hand on his chest to pushing him back a step.

“Seriously Greg, you need to just be confident for once.”

“I.. how..?”

“Ry texted me when he went upstairs.”

Lestrade nodded a little and he took a step back over, taking your face between his hands he kissed you again.

Then he pulled away.

“Is that confident enough?”

“Try again.” You smirked.

He smiled a little and leant down again to kiss you, and you placed your hand on the back of his head to hold him there before a little longer before you let him move away.

“So… do you want to get something to eat..?” He asked nervously.

“And there goes all that confidence.”

He huffed a little and looked away and you smirked at him.

“Go on, lead the way.”

pairing: gina lestrade x gn!reader

tags: wholesome fluff, established relationship, japanese!reader

when gina first met you, she immediately assumed that you must know ryunosuke and susato, since you're from japan as well, but that wasn't quite the case

though as you begin to get closer to gina and eventually start dating her, she introduces you to her friends and you get to meet the two of them!

gina struggles a bit with calling them her friends, just like she struggles to call you her significant other, as she worries too much about you not reciprocating her romantic feelings, despite the two of you already dating

gina might not look like it, but she worries quite a lot! most of her worries concern your relationship, as she knows you'll eventually return to japan and finish your studies there

gina dreads the day that she'll have to say goodbye to you. but after dating you for a while and seeing that you take this relationship seriously, gina decides she'll follow you to japan!

while you finish your studies in london, she'll save up some money and study as well, so that she can eventually move to japan with you, so she can continue to stay by your side…

So, here it is, another part! Still have no clue how long this series will go, this part took forever to write, I kinda just go whenever I have inspiration, so we’ll see.

Synopsis: Greg comes over for a visit and Mycroft notices some changes in you.

Same Page Masterlist:

You were already fast asleep on the couch, your favorite fluffy blanket draped on top of you by the time Sherlock said goodbye to John and made his way inside Mycroft’s house.

Mycroft was on one knee next to the couch, his hand absently brushing your hair away from your sweaty forehead.

“Is she alright?” Sherlock approached his brother quietly, not wanting to disturb the scene in front of him.

Mycroft’s mouth twisted as he stood, removing his hand from your head.

“I think so. She really wore herself out today, I hope she didn’t make herself sick.”

“Has she ever…”

Mycroft shook his head, anticipating his brother’s question.

“She’s never run away from me. She has tried to come after me before when I tried to leave for work a few times, about a year ago. I tried to leave her with several of your…friends. Molly, Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, even John. She wouldn’t have it.”

Sherlock frowned, “She’s never been particularly clingy with you before.”

Mycroft gave a slightly sardonic smile, “Yes well, there are a lot of things about her that have changed.” He sighed. “I suppose she thought that if she left me alone, the way-“ if Sherlock didn’t know better, he would’ve thought Mycroft almost chocked on the words before continuing, “the way she left you alone before—well, you know—that I would’ve done exactly what you had done. She thought she’d lose us both, I suppose.”

Sherlock stared down at you. You looked so peaceful, so unlike anything he had seen from you since he’d been back. It cut him deeply to think that you actually felt responsible for your brothers’ safety. That was his and Mycroft’s job, to look after you.

“She didn’t blame herself for-“ Sherlock didn’t even want to finish the sentence.

Mycroft turned to look at him, and Sherlock almost recoiled at the look in Mycroft’s eyes. He looked…heartbroken. Almost…vulnerable. Almost.

“Yes. She did. After she got over the shock, and the denial, that’s all she could think about for months on end. She kept asking me what I thought would’ve happened to you if she-“ Mycroft swallowed, “if she hadn’t left you alone that afternoon. If she’d let John leave and remained nearby to make sure you were alright. If she’d been more attentive to your needs, your feelings. I didn’t know what to say to her. I couldn’t tell her that you weren’t actually depressed…” Mycroft trailed off, breaking eye contact with his little brother.

Sherlock was horrified. He now understood Mycroft’s pain, his hesitance to breech this subject. A small, selfish part of Sherlock was now glad that it had been Mycroft, not himself, that had been here to deal with the tsunami of a wake that his death had left behind.

Neither brother spoke for a while. There was nothing left they wanted to say. Not about this.

A knock on the door cracked the still air, and Mycroft stiffened when you flinched awake.

“Myc…”

Mycroft rested his hand on your shoulder, “shh, it’s nothing, get some rest alright? Sherlock is here with you.”

Mycroft stood to open the door, surprised to see Lestrade standing there.

“Inspector,” he greeted cordially.

“Sherlock…shared his little secret with me earlier,” Greg said awkwardly. “I thought I would come and see how Y/N is now that…”

Mycroft nodded slightly. He didn’t quite understand the relationship you had with all of Sherlock’s friends, but he was glad you had so many people that cared about you.

“I see, unfortunately she’s resting right-“

“Greg?”

Mycroft turned to see you, wrapped up in your blanket, a slight smile gracing your lips.

Lestrade grinned back at you.

“Hey N/N, are you alright?”

Mycroft stepped back while Greg embraced you, glancing sideways when Sherlock stepped up next to him.

“I’m ok,” came your muffled reply.

No one in the room really believed you, but no one was going to speak up about it either.

“What are you doing here?” You asked Greg as he stepped further into the house and shut the door behind him.

“I’m here to see you, of course,” he smiled down at you, and Mycroft was surprised when you smiled back, albeit a bit wearily.

The smile dropped quickly however, and your eyes seemed almost haunted as you choked out your next words.

“Have you known about…”

Greg shook his head quickly, “No, no I haven’t. I found out just after John.”

Your relief made Mycroft feel uncomfortable, and more than a little guilty. He had thought this might happen, that you might form some kind of bond with the ones that had been truly deceived. He had somewhat expected it.

What he hadn’t expected was the twist in his gut that came now. What was it?

It took him a few moments to realize the true meaning of this unfamiliar feeling, and when the realization hit it was like a backhand across the face.

Jealousy. He was jealous.

But why? Why should he care about the bonds you forged with the ‘Baker Street Crowd’, as he thought of them?

The answer was simple, really, but Mycroft didn’t want to believe it.

As hard as the last two years had been, as uncomfortable as he was in his position as caretaker…

He would miss it.

He would truly miss the way you ran to him for every problem, the way that you looked at him like he was Superman, capable of solving every trouble and pain that shook your whole world.

He didn’t want that to go away. He didn’t want you to form a bond with Lestrade, or with John, heck, even with Sherlock, that would rival the one that you had with him.

He hated feeling this way, thinking this way. It was selfish. It was wrong.

But he couldn’t help it.

You had grown up so much closer to Sherlock, and he hadn’t cared for so long.

But now that he knew what it was like, to be so close to you, to be the big brother that you wanted to comfort you…

He didn’t think he could go back to the way things had been like before.

“How long can you stay?”

Your voice snapped Mycroft out of his reverie, and he had to swallow his annoyance at Lestrade’s response.

“Hey, I’m here for as long as you need me,” he turned to look at Mycroft, “as long as it’s ok with your brother.”

No. It wasn’t.

Mycroft bit back this response when he saw the pleading look on your face when you turned to him. He forced a polite,

“Yes, of course.”

Whatever you needed.

…

‘As long as you need me,’ turned out to be the rest of the afternoon, and after mere minutes of watching you and Lestrade catch up, Mycroft disappeared into his office under the excuse of getting some work done. He hated the way you seemed to be getting alone with Lestrade, especially right after you had just run away from him to be with John.

He was noticing a pattern.

You were beginning to gravitate towards the people who had shared in your pain, the people who had also been lied to. The people whose grief had been real. It was probably good for you.

But that also meant that you were gravitating away from him. The liar. The faker.

The betrayer.

Would you ever look at him the same way again? That look of complete and utter trust, the one he had slowly become dependent on over the last two years. He needed you. He needed you to need him.

He hated feeling this way.

He hated himself for it.

…

You finally told Lestrade that you would be fine if he left, once it was close to dinner time. He said his goodbyes, and finally left to join his wife for dinner, with a promise of, “I’ll see you later.”

Something about Lestrade’s visit seemed to have energized you, which made Mycroft nervous, especially after your tiring excursion with John.

So when you asked Mycroft if you could make dinner tonight, something you’d not done in over two years, he was hesitant to say the least.

“Are you sure you’re not tired? You’ve had quite a day.”

You nodded resolutely, “I’m fine. Please Mycroft?”

You were as stubborn as Sherlock when you made your mind up, and Mycroft figured he would win no brownie points with you by arguing. So he relented.

“Would you like any help?”

You shook your head firmly, “I can do it.”

…

Mycroft didn’t stray far from the kitchen, ready at a moment’s notice for you to call out to him for help.

But you didn’t.

In fact, you seemed to be completely capable, even enjoying yourself, alone in the kitchen.

Mycroft hated it.

He wanted you to get better, he really, really did, but he didn’t want that to mean that you completely pulled away from him. And he felt now like that was what was happening.

Not that he’d ever admit how he felt. Not to anyone. Even himself.

After dinner, you insisted on cleaning up, and Mycroft was truly amazed at your new energy level. He supposed that’s what he deserved for underestimating you.

After dinner and cleanup, you headed towards the stairs leading to your room.

Mycroft stepped forwards, “Are you going to bed? Would you like help?” With your lower energy level, due to your usual lack of sleep and irregular eating habits, he was shocked you were still standing, much less ready to walk up stairs.

You didn’t even meet his eye as you shook your head firmly, “I’m fine. Tell Sherlock I said goodnight. Is he going back to Baker Street?”

Mycroft was taken aback, “I—I’m not sure. Do you want him to?”

You shrugged, still not meeting Mycroft’s eye.

“He can do whatever he wants.”

You walked up the stairs without another word.

…

“I’m worried about her.”

Sherlock frowned at his older brother.

“You’re worried because she doesn’t have separation anxiety?”

Mycroft sighed, “I’m worried because of her complete change in personality. It doesn’t make sense, and it isn’t healthy.”

Sherlock shrugged. “And what she was doing before was healthy? Maybe this is a good thing, maybe it means she’s healing.”

Mycroft shook his head, “Or maybe it means she doesn’t trust us enough to tell us how she really feels..”

“That doesn’t make sense. I’ve seen her with you,” Sherlock cleared his throat uncomfortably, “I’ve never seen anyone trust someone as much as she does you.”

Mycroft hung his head, something that shocked Sherlock.

“That was before she knew how much I’ve lied to her.”

…

Sherlock decided to head back to Baker Street that night, despite Mycroft’s protests.

“What if she wakes up again and needs you?”

“She was fine tonight, Mycroft. You need to let her be fine.”

Though Mycroft would never admit it, that comment had stung. Was he really so desperate for his little sister’s company that he refused to let her be alright?

No, no that wasn’t it. He knew his little sister, had spent the past two years getting to know her better than she knew herself.

He wasn’t accepting this new side of you, not because he didn’t want to, but because he knew it couldn’t last. Not yet, anyway.

This kind of improvement would take time, and a lot more work than had been accomplished in the few days that Sherlock had been back.

You still needed your big brother.

And he was going to be there for you.

…

To Mycroft’s surprise, the night passed without incident, and so did the next morning. You let Mycroft cook you pancakes, but you seemed particularly silent that morning, not even asking him if Sherlock was going to be there that day.

Eventually Mycroft decided to leave you to your own devices, and he went to his office to get some work done.

A few hours went by uninterrupted, until Mycroft realized it was nearing lunchtime. He was desperate to keep you on your eating schedule, especially while this energy of yours lasted and you seemed to have no objections to food, so he shut down his work computer and left his office to find you.

He expected to find you on the couch, watching something or perhaps reading.

What he didn’t expect was to find you sitting on the floor next to the stairs, your back against the wall and your knees pulled up against your chest. He rushed to your side, and your head jerked up when you saw him standing next to you.

“Mycroft…” the croak in your voice, along with the tears sliding down your cheeks, struck Mycroft right in the gut. How long had you been sitting there like this, while he was busy not paying attention to you?

“Sweetheart…” Mycroft kneeled on the floor in front of you, tilting your head up so that you’d look at him, “what happened?”

Despite his efforts, you tilted your eyes down to avoid his gaze.

“I-I was just trying to go up to my room…but I guess my crazy day yesterday finally caught up-caught up to me because I just-just fell down and I couldn’t find-find the strength to get back up.”

Mycroft began looking you over worriedly.

“Are you ok? Are you hurt?”

You put your hand against his chest and pushed him to arms length, “Mycroft, no, it’s ok. I’m fine.”

He sighed, “Why didn’t you call for me?”

You shook your head, still desperately avoiding his searching gaze.

“I’m fine.”

Mycroft sighed again, “You’re sitting on the floor because you can’t stand.” He brushed your hair away from your face, “You know it’s ok to need help, right?”

Your lip started quivering, and you finally lifted your gaze to meet Mycroft’s. He forced himself to keep eye contact, despite nearly flinching from the look in your eyes. It wasn’t that broken-glass look he had seen so often, but you looked so…

Sad. But more than that, you looked alone.

You broke eye contact, casting your eyes towards the floor and leaning against Mycroft’s shoulder.

“I can’t need help all the time.”

Mycroft winced.

“You don’t need it all-“

“Yes I do!” You sat up suddenly, looking up at your brother. “You haven’t gone to work in-in two years, Mycroft! And don’t think I don’t notice how tired you get, I know I’ve-I’ve kept you up with my stupid nightmares.” You were crying now, and yelling, and Mycroft was at a loss for what to do. Every time he thought he had you figured out, every time he was sure you couldn’t surprise him anymore with your emotions, you peeled back another layer and he was lost again. He wished he could understand your feelings, he had tried so many times, but it just wasn’t him.

“Please don’t say that.” Mycroft’s voice was soft and even. “I chose this. I want to be here for you.”

You shook your head, “But it can’t always be like this. Sherlock’s here now, I should-“

“Should what?” Mycroft raised his voice, “should magically get better? That isn’t how it works. We all want things to go back to how they were, but these things take time. You have to be patient.” He sighed, “where did this desperation come from anyway?”

“When Greg and I were catching up…he was talking about some of the cases he’s been on recently. It made me realize…that’s what Sherlock wants to be doing. That’s what you want to be doing. Your work. You shouldn’t have to spend all your time looking after me, you-you guys have lives too. I’ve been selfish.” You looked up. “I’m sorry Mycroft. I’m trying to do better.”

Mycroft felt like he’d just swallowed glass. He tried to swallow, tried to breathe, tried to speak, all of it just left him with a scratchy lump in his throat, and nothing would work properly. You stared up at him, blinking slowly, waiting for his response.

“Don’t…” Mycroft cleared his throat. “Don’t say that. Don’t every say anything like that again, do you understand?”

You were confused, “I only meant-“

“No!” Mycroft regretted his tone when you flinched in his arms, and he softened. “No. This isn’t your fault. I know you’re trying your hardest, but I would stay home with you for the rest of my life if I thought that I could help you in any way. You are more important to me than anything, especially work. And Sherlock feels the same way, I know he does.”

You pondered this for several seconds, before meekly asking, “Are you angry with me for running away?”

Mycroft sighed, “No. I’m not. I was very worried, but I’m not angry. I know why you left.”

You sniffled, “I’m not sure I know why I left. I was angry, but…I don’t ever want to leave you like that again. Even though you-you lied…you’re by brother, and I trust you.” You smiled weakly at him, and he felt his spirits lift. “I really, really trust you. And I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, “You don’t have to apologize. But thank you.”

Mycroft slowly got to his feet, lifting you in his arms. “I think you should get some rest. You look exhausted.”

You leaned against his chest as he carried you upstairs, and when he laid you on your bed you reached out and grabbed his hand.

“Mycroft? Will you stay with me?”

Mycroft smiled down at you.

“Always.”

Taglist: @navs-bhat

@isabellavere

@chaoticglitterkitten

Silence seemed to fill the room, like a bubble it expanded, stealing the air and everything else with it.

When you'd agreed to help Sherlock you hadn't thought it would be, like that. All he'd said he needed was someone who fitted the recent victim profile, and you had, down to the odd shaped scar at your elbow and the mole on your thigh. Laying the bait was fun, you'd gotten swept up in the romance and thrill of pretending to be someone else. The thrill of helping to catch a killer.

Greg would never have agreed to it.

You'd known that. Which is why you hadn't told him and which was why you imagined Sherlock hadn't discussed it with him and why afterwards Sherlock had laid the blame at your feet for not telling him. It was why now, in the quiet of the office, you could hear John down the corridor shouting at Sherlock about putting other people in danger.

It had meant to end with one of two things. Either a confession or the killer accidentally revealing a cache of trophies. Hard evidence that would add to everything Sherlock already had.

It wasn't supposed to have ended with you being dangled over a crumbling bridge, before almost drowning in the freezing waters of an English river. They had the right idea about witches. That's what the young man had said to you as he tightened the ropes around the chair you were bound too.

"It looked bad." Greg broke the silence and you were pulled from the memory of river water rushing around your head. His eyes were on your hand and you noticed that it was trembling. You clenched your fist hard to hide it.

It looked bad because it was bad. You could have died. You could see Greg wrestling with emotion. Not quite knowing how to put into words the similar weight you were feeling in your chest. You could have died.

"Hey," You said rising from your seat, tugging the blanket around yourself and the oversized clothes donated from forces lost property. You sat down next to him taking his hand. "It was bad, I didn't expect-" You paused and swallowed, looking away from him as shame welled a little inside you.

"I'm okay. I promise. Just shaky, I'm sorry."

Greg gritted his teeth and you could tell he'd just stopped himself from telling you that you didn't have to apologise. He was also clearly stopping himself from saying he told you so.