Like a Boss

Title: Like a Boss
Fandom: Sherlock
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, Lestrade
Warning/Spoilers: None.
Word Count: 545
Rating: PG
Summary: Sherlock is restless, and Lestrade does a favor for a friend.
Notes: Playing icon prompts. Inspired by this icon.

John is out with some woman and Sherlock is restless. When he got like this before, there used to be one solution — one single, sweet, dark, seductive solution. When he gets like this now he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He’s still learning how not to be that Sherlock, the one that made Mycroft look so worried and Mother look so sad, the Sherlock he doesn’t want John to meet.

But that still leaves him restless.

He’s walked round Regent’s Park and is coming back to Baker Street when footsteps fall into pace beside him. He doesn’t start or panic, of course — for one, Sherlock Holmes never panics, and for two, he knows those footsteps. Well-made shoes, not expensive, worn for utility and comfort rather than to make any sort of statement about style.

(That they are stylish is another matter.)

He says, before his companion can speak, “If you intend to search me at least wait until we return to my flat.”

“Your brother,” says Lestrade in a gravelly, amused tone, “seems to think I have nothing better to do than be his personal sniffer dog.”

Sherlock glares at him. “He called you.”

“Said you were wandering around in the dark.”

“So of course you came to see.” Sherlock sniffs.

“I’m doing a favor for a friend.”

Sherlock sniffs again. “I had no idea you and my brother were so close.”

“It’s the kidnappings,” says Lestrade mildly. “Someone snatches you away in an elegant car often enough, you start having warm feelings towards them.”

“Bribery. Of course.”

Lestrade says seriously, “Are you well, Sherlock?”

“I’m bored.” They walk. Sherlock admits, grudgingly, “John’s out.”

“And you no longer know what to do with yourself when your audience is gone.”


“He’s good for you, you know. I’ve never known you to be so steady for this length of time.”

“And you think this is a positive thing.”

“Of course I do,” says Lestrade. “You may not believe this, Sherlock, but I do rather like you. Even when you act like a spoiled toddler.” He pauses. Sherlock buries his chin in his coat and his hands in his pockets. “Are you wearing a nicotine patch?”

“No,” Sherlock mumbles. “Ran out and haven’t got to the chemist’s yet.”

“Then, here.” Lestrade stops on the corner of Baker Street and Allsop Place, the flat still in the distance. He takes out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. “We’ll be bad together.”

Sherlock doesn’t take the offered cigarette just yet. “I’m meant to be quitting.”

“So am I.” Lestrade lights up and gives the cigarette to Sherlock. Sherlock hesitates, and then holds the cigarette to his lips. He can faintly taste the traces of Lestrade on the filter. He watches Lestrade light up a cigarette of his own out of the corner of his eye, a flare of flame from the lighter and then the orange-burning ember and a flick of ash.

“What should I tell your brother?” Lestrade says when they’ve smoked in silence for a while.

“Tell him whatever you like. He knows already.”

Lestrade smiles and has a drag. “I’ll tell him we were bad. Wrath of Mycroft be damned.”

Sherlock chuckles and smokes, and stands a little closer to Lestrade.


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