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Well, don't!

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“Where’s Lestrade?”

John looked up from his laptop. “You know he’s finishing off that fraud case. You know, the one you turned down because it was ‘boring’?”

Sherlock didn’t move from his position on the sofa, the ‘marble statue’ one except to open his eyes and flick them over to John. He sighed petulantly. “It was boring! Lestrade should know by now not to try and give me cases like that. And I did tell him who the culprit was, didn’t I?”

John smiled slightly, which turned into a frown when he glanced at his watch. “Hold on …” he said slowly, “…Lestrade was supposed to back an hour ago. He said it wouldn’t take long to arrest the guy.”

Just then, the front door slammed shut and they heard heavy footsteps on the stairs. Sherlock suddenly sat up, eyes wide open. “Something’s wrong. Lestrade?”

“Sh’rl’ck?” The voice was slurred and Lestrade appeared in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe, one arm around his waist. He had a cut on his cheek and they could see a flash of red when his suit jacket drifted open. Sherlock stared, feeling panic welling up as John leapt to his feet and ran over to Lestrade, saying “Shit, Greg, what happened?”

Lestrade allowed John to guide him to the sofa to sit next to Sherlock. Lestrade sank down gratefully on the comfortable surface, wincing as John took off his jacket and they could see the stain on his shirt. John took off his shirt and exhaled in relief when he saw the wound was just a graze. He bandaged the wound carefully, giving Lestrade a soft kiss as he finished. Sherlock, who had been sitting as still as a statue came back to himself and his hand gently pulled Lestrade’s head to rest on his shoulder, his face tucked into Sherlock’s neck, his back slightly against Sherlock’s chest. Lestrade relaxed his weight and took a wonderful breath that smelled of tea and cinnamon and that wonderful scent of Sherlock. Sherlock’s long pale fingers rested in the silver strands of Lestrade’s hair as he started, his speech still slurring some words,

“Mr. Wolfson had a kn’fe. Somehow .. ow, John, somehow he knew the game was up. I know you’re derisive of Sally, Sherl’k, but she saved my life tonight. It was only us two and he’d pulled on me before I knew. I was able to react so it was just a graze, but Sally slapped handcuffs on him before I c’ld blink. She gave me painkillers, John so I’m good, just” he yawned, “tired. She took him off to the station so I could come back here for you to bandage me. It just took longer … than expected to … find a cab, and then …” his voice was trailing off slightly, “the traffic was horrible…”

“Oh no you don’t,” John said pulling Lestrade up. “We’ll all go to bed, okay? Just come with me.”

Somehow, with both supporting Lestrade, they managed to guide him to their bedroom and all get changed into pajamas. They lay down, Lestrade in the middle on his uninjured side, facing Sherlock. John leaned over and kissed Sherlock, his mouth comforting, saying “It’s okay, I’m a doctor, Greg’ll be okay.” His arms than encircled Lestrade’s waist and a soft kiss was placed on the nape of his neck. “G’night Greg.”

“Night, John.”

Sherlock’s fingers came up and softy traced Lestrade’s cheek. “Greg …”

Lestrade smiled drowsily at the vulnerable look on Sherlock’s face, his heart filling with love for the both of them, thanking the universe that this whatever-it-was the three of them had worked. “I’m fine Sherlock, I won’t leave you two.”

Sherlock tucked himself into Lestrade, kissing him tenderly, their lips brushing each other. He pulled back only far enough to say “well, don’t!” in what should have been stern, but came out sounding like a plea, the breath brushing against Lestrade’s face. Lestrade buried his face against Sherlock’s shoulder, lips brushing his neck and murmered “I won’t. G’night, Sher.”

“Goodnight, Greg.”