Greg Lestrade has been in a foul mood for a while now. Everyone has an opinion on what he needs... only one person knows what he wants. Rated M for swearing, m/m sex.

Author's Note:

Pairing(s): Mycroft/Lestrade, Sherlock/John

About: Greg is a bit depressed, a bit down in the dumps, and everyone in his life thinks they know what he needs. But only a certain person knows what Greg actually wants.

Ownership: Original characters are owned by Arthur Conan Doyle, these versions are owned by Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss. I just get to play.

Mrs Lestrade Tells...

Henriette Lestrade thought Greg needed some time; some time to get his priorities in order. When Greg came home around Christmas to ask if she really was cheating on him (something he suspected even before Sherlock stated it) she said yes. She said it was his fault, he was never there for her or their daughter. Lorelai heard her parents arguing even from her bedroom.

'How can you do this to me, to us?' Greg asked.

'Us? What us, Greg?' Henri demanded. 'All you ever fucking do is work!'

'Don't blame me, Henri, you're the one cheating!' Greg shouted.

Henri sighed and folded her arms. 'Greg, all you ever do is work. You spend six days at the Yard and the rare nights you do get off are spent at the pub with John bloody Watson.'

'John's a good mate,' Greg tried.

'Yeah, and you'd prefer spending time with him.' She looked at Greg then, eyes accusing and posture hard.

'Jesus Christ, Henri, you've never got over that, have you?' Greg said and placed his hands on the counter. He tried to calm his breathing and himself. 'Just 'cause I like blokes too doesn't mean I wanna jump every guy I see.'

Henri scoffed. 'Like blokes too...' she muttered. 'Too, Greg, or only?'

Greg sighed and turned away. 'For God's sake, Henri...' he trailed off and looked back at her. 'You know I'm bi.'

'More like eighty percent gay,' she said and Greg glared at her. 'Don't deny it, Greg, just don't,' she continued. 'You'd dated twenty men before we got together and two women, how is that bi? And whenever we watch movies you leer at the blokes. That's a preference, not a fifty-fifty liking.'

'Is that was this is about, me liking blokes too?' Greg demanded. 'I've told you I'd never cheat on you.' He glared at her. 'You never said the same.'

'I'm not ashamed of cheating, Greg, I needed comfort and you're never here.'

'Comfort or sex?' Greg snapped.

'Both,' his wife said, 'and you're not here for either.'

'Why couldn't you just talk to me about it?' Greg asked. 'If you were so unhappy with our sex life you could've just said something!'

'What sex life?' Henri shouted, fingers curled into fists. 'We don't have a sex life and haven't since Lorelai was ten!' She looked away, jaw tight. 'Just another reminder that you don't like women.'

Greg ran a hand over his face and tried to stop from shouting back. Both of them screaming their lungs out wouldn't help the situation. 'Henri, you knew I was bi when you married me, when you dated me. I've never cheated and I wouldn't now. Just because I like blokes doesn't mean I don't love you.'

'So you don't miss it, huh?' Henri asked.

'Miss what?'



'Well do you?' Henri asked, staring at him with hard eyes. 'Do you miss it?'

Greg didn't want to lie. He couldn't lie. 'Yeah, I do,' he said, 'same way everyone married misses sex with other people. Doesn't mean I'm gonna go get it.'

Henri just shook her head and Greg leaned against the counter. He wanted a drink, a fucking cigarette, a... Greg really didn't know what he wanted.

'You need time,' Henri said and Greg looked up at her. 'We need time.'

'Time?' he said, confused.

'Apart,' Henri said. 'Sleep on the couch tonight but... I think you should move out, Greg.'

Greg stared at her, mouth falling open. 'You're kicking me out?'

'S'not like you're ever here anyway, what difference will it make?'

'You... you want a divorce?'

'I didn't say that, Greg,' Henri sighed, suddenly looking far older then Greg had ever seen her. 'We just need time to work out what we want.'

'I know what I want,' Greg tried, standing straight, eyes pleading. 'I want my wife.'

Henri just shook her head slowly. 'I'll get your pillow.'

And that, it seemed, was that.


That night on the couch was followed by seven more before Greg moved out and got a shitty little place near Scotland Yard. After that there was drinking and arguments and Lorelai crying. And then papers that were brought with a, 'You've been served,' by a man who gave Lestrade a soft look.

Greg stared at the papers for hours, ignoring his mobile and landline and Sally Donovan. It wasn't until his boss came in to yell that the tears burned behind his eyes.

One look at the papers and the Chief smiled sadly and said, 'Get yourself home.'

Greg stood slowly and collected his stuff before shuffling to the elevators, looking every bit the trodden down wreck he was.

That was when it started.

Author's Note: Just something I came up with... well, aren't all fanfics something someone comes up with? I dunno...

So I've been taking random quizzes online and it seems that 9/10 times I am Moriarty. So leave a bad review and I'll turn you into shoes... just kidding... or am I?

Okay, this is a very short story with only eight very short chapters. I've already finished it and a chapter will be uploaded daily. Please enjoy :)