Johnlockstrade with vampire Sherlock, vampire John and lucky human Greg.
Greg Lestrade took another drag of his cigarette as their newest detainee was led away in handcuffs.  His shoulder and side still throbbed from their scuffle earlier. Greg couldn’t call it fight. He’d been in enough of those in his lifetime to know taking down someone with one right hook wasn’t a fight. He smirked as he thought of the look of shock on the man’s face before he’d dropped under Greg’s fist. Greg normally didn’t like using brute force against suspects, but the little shit had rammed him into the wall.
Taking in the blossoming bruise on the man’s face he knew his gym time with Toby was paying off.
“Nice work Lestrade.”
Greg jumped slightly at the voice, though by now he should be used to it.
“I should be thanking you,” Greg said with a tilt of his lips at Sherlock.
The man smirked at him and took a swig of his coffee.
“How are you John?” Greg asked without looking.
He knew the man would be there, on his left, the way he always was. John was just as bloody quiet as his husband.
“Doing well, and you? How’s the shoulder?”
Greg didn’t bother to ask how he knew. He’d gotten to used to Sherlock’s and John’s quirks in all the years he’d been working with them. Three years to be precise.
“Just a bit sore,” unable to resist he added, “You should see the other fella.”
Twin groans came from either side of him and Greg smiled.
“Well with that I think we’ll be off,” John said, though Greg could hear the smile in his voice.
“Tomorrow for statements.”
“After six of course. Your boss is strict, isn’t he?”
“Incredibly,” Sherlock said, with a sly smile at John.
Greg felt as if he were missing out on an inside joke, a common occurrence when he spent any length of time with Sherlock and John. It didn’t bother him in the slightest, he’d been married once. He knew how it went.
“Well until tomorrow Lestrade,” Sherlock said, tossing his empty cup at a bin a good ten feet away. It went in perfectly of course, didn’t even ricochet off the side.
“Night Greg,” John said with a smile.
Greg smiled back and watched to two of them walk off. Just before they rounded the corner out of sight he saw Sherlock take John’s hand into his own.
Sighing, Greg scanned the area, making sure his team was doing what they were supposed to.
“Oi,” he called to new officer clutching a pile of evidence bags, “Make sure the serial numbers match this time Evans.”
Seeing the man’s ears go red, Greg strode over to help him.
Greg sighed and stretched as he sat behind his desk at the Yard. The rest of the floor was quiet, with only him and Sally left working. Â Greg still had paper work and he waiting for Sherlock and John to put in an appearance so he could take their statements.
He texted them half an hour ago only to be told they were finishing dinner and would be there soon. Sherlock had texted him two minutes later and said they needed be quick as he and John had a show to attend.
Part of Greg was annoyed, the other part of him felt oddly comforted there were other people who kept hours as odd as his.
He sighed again and cracked his neck, trying to stretch out the near permanent kink that sat between his top two vertebra. He tipped his head back and luxuriated in the burning pull of his neck muscles. When he straightened up John was in the doorway, with Sherlock looming right behind him. Â They were both staring at him, their faces identically blank.
The hairs on the back of Greg’s neck stood up and he swallowed hard.
John and Sherlock moved forward in unison, gliding through the office door. Sherlock shut it behind him with a thud that seemed to resonate through the space. A space that suddenly felt very very small.
“Good night Greg,” John said smoothly, a thin smile on his face.
He slid into the seat in front of the desk, his eyes never leaving Greg’s.
“He isn’t pleading police brutality is he?” Sherlock said from right next to him, one long finger tapping last night’s arrest mug shot.
Greg smothered a yelp. Somehow Sherlock ha slid into his personal space without Greg noticing. Hell, the man’s coat was brushing his arm. He must be more tired than he thought.
“Err, no he isn’t. Thanks to this,” he tore his gaze from John’s and flipped to a photograph of his own bruised shoulder and side.
Sherlock hummed, bending over to peer at the picture. His curls bushed Greg’s cheek. Greg swallowed. Sherlock had always been inclined to invade people’s space, but that was usually when he was trying to intimidate someone. This was new. Â
Greg looked up to see how John was reacting to Sherlock’s odd behavior. John had leaned over the desk as if to better see the photo of Greg, but he wasn’t looking at the picture at all. Instead he was still staring at Greg; the same tiny smile on his face.
Greg met his eyes and smiled back as best as he could. Sherlock’s coat collar scratched against his neck, and John leaned even closer, his eyes boring into Greg’s. He felt Sherlock turn his head, and then two pairs of eyes were focused on him.
The air felt thick and only an ache in Greg’s chest made him realize he’d been holding his breath.  He let it out in a stuttered hiss, and John’s eyes seemed to brighten.
“I think Sherlock wants some attention,” John said, his voice smooth and soft.
Greg found himself turning his chair toward Sherlock before he knew what he was doing.
If John’s eyes were a slow smolder, Sherlock’s eyes were a wild fire. They were the palest Greg had ever seen him and blazing with an emotion Greg couldn’t, no wouldn’t name.
“Just relax Greg,” John whispered, “It’s only Sherlock and I, just relax.”
“Shhhh,” Sherlock’s voice was almost a growl, and Greg shivered.
“Just relax,” John said again.
One small hand cradled the back of his head and Greg vaguely wondered when John had moved.
“Nice and slow,” John said.
Greg got the impression he was talking to Sherlock, but he kept his movements slow as he reclined against his chair.  John’s fingers flexed in his hair.
Sherlock’s eyes shifted to John and he smiled. The smile was sharper than Greg was used to too. He’d become accustomed to Sherlock’s smirks, and smaller genuine smiles. This was a wide grin he’d never seen before. There was something…off about it. Greg couldn’t put his finger on what it was.
Sharp was all that came to mind, but that didn’t make any sense. Sherlock’s eyes met his again and any unease he had faded away.
It was just Sherlock and John after all, there was nothing to be afraid off.
“Very good, Greg. Perfect,” John said.Â
Greg smiled lazily at the praise. Sherlock’s smile widened and he leaned closer. His hands landed on Greg’s thighs and gave them a squeeze before spreading them, making space for him to side between. The detective leaned closer and closer until his eyes became black smudges in Greg’s vision.
John’s fingers tightened in his hair and guided his head back until their eyes met. John was standing behind his chair, his eyes darker than Greg had ever seen them. He was smiling warmly at Greg, another wrong smile on his face. Greg wasn’t bothered by it.
It was just John after all.
“Alright?” John asked, his voice rough.
“Yeah,” Greg breathed.
The breath turned into a moan as Sherlock’s lips met his neck.
“Just relax, you’ll enjoy it I promise,” John said, his fingers petting through John’s hair. “Nice slow breathes for me.”
Greg complied. Something was coming, something he knew he would enjoy. He simply had to wait and relax, just as John wanted.
He felt Sherlock open his mouth against his throat, and the anticipation swelled, sparking down his limbs and curling low in his gut and cock.
“Fuck!” Sally’s sharp cry and a distant shattering sliced through the air.
Greg blinked hard, it felt like things were moving quickly around him. He blinked again and his office came into a view. Something was poking him in the arm.
“There, I told you he’d wake up if I kept poking him.” Sherlock called over his shoulder.
One long arm was stretched across Greg’s desk and Sherlock was jabbing him in the forearm over and over. Greg blinked at him, his brow furrowed. Something was off.
“Had a nice nap Lestrade,” Sherlock said, his tone sharp.
“Sherlock,” John’s reprimand drifted in form outside Greg’s office.
Greg blinked again and world seemed to align.
“Sorry, sorry. It’s been a long day,” Greg said scrubbing a hand down his face.
“I can imagine,” Sherlock said, nodding to the picture of Greg’s bruises that were strewn across the desktop. “I take it there’s no case of police brutality.”
Greg’s head snapped up sharply at Sherlock’s words, déjà vu tickling the back of his mind. Sherlock gave him a placid smile and feeling passed.
“No, the case is as good as closed,” Greg said slowly.
He would head home as soon as he was finished here. He’d clearly been at it for too long.
“Ready Greg?” John said, coming through the door. “I was helping Sally clean up a mug she broke,” he said at Greg’s questioning look.
So that was the crash that had stopped…stopped what? His thoughts fizzled out like a spent match.
“Yes, you’re statements,” Greg said, shaking his head. “John, I’ll start with you?”
Clicking his pen, Greg prepared to take notes, ignoring the prickling at the base of his skull.
