John groaned as his alarm woke him. 6am. Bloody hell. They'd closed a case the night before and he hadn't got to bed until after one am, and hadn't slept until much later. He should never have agreed to take the early shift at the surgery. He rolled out of bed, silenced his alarm clock and dragged himself to the shower. A good hot shower was what he needed, to try and wash away the memories of last night.
Once he was showered and dressed he slipped quietly down into the kitchen and made himself a tea. He walked gingerly into the living room and saw that Greg was still sprawled out on the sofa. Of course he was. It was 6.30, no-one sensible was awake at that time. John sipped his tea and watched the other man sleep. Greg had slept in his boxers, covered in a blanket. He was stretched out on his side, long legs dangling off the edge of the sofa. John watched his chest rise and fall, took in his rumpled hair and parted lips. John almost groaned. He was so stupid. It should have never happened. Sherlock had been whizzing around like a whirligig, all day, full of excitement at a solved case. Excited enough that he even agreed when John suggested they have a celebratory Chinese, and invite Greg along. After the meal they'd gone back to Baker Street for a drink and, as per usual Sherlock dropped into a dead sleep as soon as he hit the sofa, the manic energy that had kept him functioning for the last few days on power naps and double espressos completely deserting him. Greg and John between them half dragged, half carried him to his room and dumped him on the bed. The two men retired to the sofa to finish their drinks, chatting and laughing at the ridiculous dance Sherlock had led them on for the past few days.
John wished he could say he wasn't expecting it, but the atmosphere in the room had been building since they put Sherlock to bed. So, after a particularly extended bout of hiccuping laughter, when Greg leaned across and kissed him, to be honest it wasn't that much of a surprise. What did surprise him was the electricity that had run though his body when their lips touched. John was straight, had always been straight. Not even the years in the army had made him question it. But when Greg's lips parted and tongue slid out running along John's lips, John didn't hesitate to respond, opening his own lips wide and welcoming Greg's questing, stroking tongue. It was only when they broke apart and John looked into Greg's eyes taking in the flush on Greg's cheeks, his heavy breathing and dilated pupils did John's brain kick back into gear. Oh my God. That was Greg. Greg! My mate, my colleague A MAN. Jesus. What was he doing? It only got worse when Greg grinned at him and suggested that they might want to "take it upstairs". John moved backwards so quickly he fell off the sofa spluttering denials and refusals. Greg's face fell. He started mumbling apologies and grabbing his belongings, about to dive out the door. John sighed again. At least he'd convinced Greg that travelling half way across London in the pissing rain at one o'clock in the morning was not a good idea. That everything was "all fine" enough that Greg could kip on the sofa. John rubbed his face with his free hand, he could have handled the whole thing so much better. It wasn't like Greg had been out of line, he'd just mistaken John's slight drunkenness and giggly high from exhaustion and celebration for desire. Because that was what had happened. That was why John had spent the evening looking at Greg for a beat too long, sitting closer than he normally would. It was why John reacted like he did to the kiss instead of pushing Greg away immediately. That was the reason. Wasn't it?
John suddenly realised he was being watched, he turned to the kitchen and saw Sherlock, wrapped in a blanket and quietly observing him. John mentally smacked his head against a wall, he'd been watching Greg sleep for several minutes, with every thought being broadcast across his traitorous face. John raised a finger to Sherlock in warning, walked past him through the kitchen, picked up his bag and coat and walked out the door. Only when he got out of the door to the street did he release the shuddery breath he'd been holding. Shit.