... and one time Greg did. Inspired by a post on Tumblr.

Author's Note:

Pairings: It's a surprise ;)

About: Yet another gif/post/thingy on Tumblr inspired my muse. And, as always, Johnny took it and ran with it. So it's just a bit of random fluff. Hate it or like it, it's up to you. You can find the post on my Tumblr.

Warnings: References and mild m/m sex, nothing graphic, mild language, general weirdness.

Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to the BBC, Mark Gatiss, and Steven Moffat. The original characters are the property of Arthur Conan Doyle. I own nothing but the plot and make no money from this story.


In a lot of ways, Greg was like the dad Sherlock never had. He looked after Sherlock; he made sure the genius' flat was relatively clean, that he had eaten at some point in the last two days, and that he hadn't got himself shot or high or collapsed from exhaustion.

When Sherlock first met Greg, he was still a junkie. He amazed the DI with his intelligence and deductive skills. Mycroft then kidnapped Greg and convinced him to help get Sherlock clean. And so Greg grabbed Sherlock, locked him up until he detoxed, and then offered to let him work with Scotland Yard.

After that Sherlock started working cases when Greg called or texted. Sometimes the DI visited if he hadn't seen Sherlock in a few days- just to check up and make sure the genius was alright. Greg never said aloud that he was checking up on Sherlock, but they both knew he was. Sherlock let it happen because Greg needed to do it... and because he kind of liked having someone other than Mycroft care about him.

Their first real "father-son" kind of moment came four months after Sherlock and Greg had met. Greg had just pulled up outside Sherlock's latest flat when he received a text from the sociopath;

I broke Mycroft's umbrella - SH

Greg sighed; he didn't know why Sherlock was telling him, or why he felt the urge to go in and tell the kid off. He climbed out of his car only to run into the older Holmes, who was exiting the building.

'Hello, Detective Inspector,' Mycroft said.

'Mr Holmes, hello,' Greg replied. He glanced down at his phone. 'Er, Sherlock just texted me.'

Mycroft raised a well-groomed eyebrow.

'He, er... broke your umbrella?' Greg ventured.

A small smile tugged at Mycroft's lips and he said, 'Well, Detective, it seems you've made an impression on my brother.' With that said, Mycroft turned and headed for the black car that was idling a few spots from Greg's.

'Uh... what?' Greg called after the man.

The elder Holmes turned and looked Greg up and down before saying, 'When we were children, and Sherlock did something wrong, he would leave notes for our mother stating that he'd broken the rules in some way. That way he didn't have to talk about it, thus eliminating his guilt.' He paused to smile slightly and Greg felt his heart skip a beat. 'It seems he trusts you, Detective Inspector.'

Greg stood there on the side of the street until Mycroft's car disappeared. Then he went upstairs and found Sherlock pouting on his small, torn sofa.

'Why'd you break your brother's umbrella?' Greg asked.

Sherlock frowned. 'I told you so we wouldn't have to discuss it.'

'Sherlock,' Greg sighed, sounding like a parent fast losing his patience.

'He was being annoying,' Sherlock murmured.

'That doesn't give you the right to break things,' Greg pointed out.

'I know, but I don't care,' Sherlock huffed. He sat up and eyed the DI. 'Now, do you have a case or not?'

'Have you eaten?' Greg countered. When Sherlock pouted, the older man said, 'That's the deal, Sherlock. If you haven't eaten I don't tell you about the case.'

'I can take care of myself!' Sherlock snapped. Greg just raised his eyebrows and waited patiently. 'I ate yesterday,' he sniffed.

'Right,' Greg said. 'Grab your coat. We'll get somethin' to eat and then I'll tell you about the case.'

No amount of whining or tantrum throwing could get Greg to change his mind. So Sherlock found himself in Greg's car heading for... somewhere, Sherlock wasn't paying attention.

He did eat, though. And that made Greg smile.


Greg got a lot of texts after that. Sherlock never wanted to talk about them, and unless they were really bad Greg didn't bring them up either. It seemed the genius needed an outlet- someone to tell his small problems to- and that outlet was Greg.

When an important text came through, Greg usually dropped everything to deal with whatever mess Sherlock had created. A lot of those messes involved Mycroft Holmes and the ever constant feud between the Holmes brothers.

In the six months since John had moved in, Greg had received forty-three texts. Mostly they were about Sherlock upsetting John with his experiments, but they'd usually worked it out by the time Greg received a text.

One day, however, a simple text that spoke volumes made Greg's phone buzz;

I Had a fight with John - SH

Greg sighed and checked his watch. He'd been looking forward to watching the latest Ashes game but it seemed that would have to wait a little longer. He was closer to Baker Street than his own crappy flat and decided to swing past to make sure Sherlock and John hadn't killed each other.

When he walked into the flat it was to find Sherlock sitting cross-legged on the floor staring at the wall. John was nowhere to be seen and Greg rapped on the door with his knuckles.


'What do you want?' Sherlock murmured.

'Came to see if everythin's alright,' Greg said and entered the flat. He looked around. 'So... where's John?'

'I don't know,' Sherlock grumbled. 'He left.'

'And why did he leave?' Greg asked slowly. Sometimes talking to Sherlock was like pulling teeth; annoying, slow, and bloody painful.

Sherlock glared hard at the wall before saying, 'We fought because I used his bed to run an experiment.'

'What kind of experiment?' Greg asked. Sherlock huffed and turned to glare at him. 'What?'

'Why do you always speak to me like I'm a child?' Sherlock demanded.

'Maybe 'cause half the time you act like a child?' Greg ventured.

Sherlock blinked at him before scowling and turning away. Greg took that to mean "damn it you were right and I'm not going to acknowledge it". But he was used to that with Sherlock.

'Come on, Sherlock, I haven't got all day,' Greg said.

'Why do you care?' Sherlock asked.

''Cause you're my mate,' Greg shrugged. 'Yeah, you don't see me as a friend, but I see you as a friend so... just tell us what's up.'

Sherlock pondered the DI's words for a minute before saying, 'I wanted to see if masturbating in someone else's bed felt as good, better, or worse than doing it in my own bed.'

Greg choked on his own tongue and felt his face heat up. Oh he so didn't want to picture Sherlock masturbating!

'John came home and found me,' Sherlock continued. 'He was upset.'

'Uh... yeah, I'd be too,' Greg said.

Sherlock twisted around completely so he could look at Greg without hurting his neck. He raised an eyebrow and asked, 'Why?'

'Because that... you just don't do that in a mate's bed, Sherlock,' Greg said. 'It's... a private thing, alright?'

'But it was an experiment,' Sherlock said.

'Yeah, I got that,' Greg nodded, 'but John's upset 'cause you didn't ask him, and because you did something private and slightly disgusting in his bed. So you should change the sheets and apologise when he comes back.'

'Why?' Sherlock whined.

''Cause he's your mate and you don't wanna upset him,' Greg stated.

Sherlock blinked before tilting his head. 'Is this one of those "normal people" things-' he made airquotes around "normal people", '- that I have to do but have no understanding of?'

'Er... yeah,' Greg nodded.

'I see,' Sherlock mused. 'Fine, I will apologise. But I won't mean it.'

'Yeah, John'll know that,' Greg said, 'but the fact that you even bothered to apologise will make him forgive you.'

'I see,' Sherlock repeated. 'Fine, you can go now.'

Greg snorted and shook his head. 'Be good, Sherlock!' he called as he made his way down the stairs. He didn't get an answer. But really he didn't expect one.


I kicked Donovan for calling me "Freak" - SH

Greg groaned. Yeah, okay, he could get this one; Sally annoyed him when she called Sherlock "The Freak". But kicking an officer wasn't allowed. Kicking a female officer was even worse.

Greg sighed and rubbed his eyes. The man smoking beside him turned and asked, 'Are you alright, Gregory?'

'Yeah,' Greg nodded, 'just your brother. He kicked my sergeant.'

'I see,' Mycroft hummed. 'Perhaps because she called him "Freak"?' he asked.

Greg turned to look at the elder Holmes, his eyebrows going up. 'How'd you know that?' he demanded.

Mycroft smiled. 'When Sherlock was seven he was bullied by a boy named Brandon Nathanson. Brandon always called Sherlock "Freak". One day Sherlock couldn't take it anymore and kicked Brandon repeatedly until one of the teacher's dragged them apart. Since then, Sherlock kicks anyone who calls him "Freak".'

Greg blinked. 'Oh, er... right.' He sighed again and took a last drag of his cigarette before grounding it out. He was standing outside Scotland Yard with Mycroft. He'd left for a ten minute break and Sherlock goes and kicks Sally. 'Well, I gotta go deal with your brother.'

'Do tell him and John I said hello,' Mycroft smiled.

Greg felt his heart skip a beat at that smile but managed a nod. 'Right, will do,' he said. 'I'll see you later.'

'Goodbye, Gregory,' Mycroft replied and watched the DI walk into the building.

One elevator ride and a few steps later, and Greg found John standing between Sherlock and Sally, while DI Dimmock held the woman back.

'Lemme go!' Sally shouted. 'Stupid Freak! I'll knock you out!'

As soon as "Freak" left Sally's mouth John had to restrain Sherlock, who growled and lashed out with his legs.

Greg quickly jumped between them and shouted, 'Oi! Both of you, cut it out now!'

The onlookers quickly scampered away- or at least found hiding spots so they could continue to eavesdrop- while Sally stopped fighting Dimmock and Sherlock glared at the woman.

'Sally, I told you to stop calling him "Freak",' Greg said. 'So stop it!'


'Stop!' Greg ordered.

Sally scowled and wrenched her arms away from Dimmock. Greg turned to Sherlock.

'You!' he said and Sherlock looked at him. 'Don't kick people, especially not my officers, or I'll ban you from cases for a month.'

'What?' Sherlock practically shrieked. 'You can't do that!'

Greg folded his arms and said, 'Watch me.'

Sherlock looked him over carefully before scowling.

'Right, so you two apologise,' Greg ordered Sally and Sherlock, 'and shut the hell up, got it?' When neither of them spoke, Greg shouted, 'Got that?!'

'Yes,' Sally said while Sherlock scowled. 'Fine. I'm sorry... Holmes.' She spat Sherlock's last name like it made her physically ill.

'I'm sorry too...' Sherlock murmured, though he didn't look it.

'Good.' That was good enough for Greg. 'Now all of you piss off.' He walked into his office and slammed the door shut. Groaning, Greg fell into the seat behind his desk . 'I don't get paid enough for this shit,' he grumbled to himself.


I lost my shock blanket - SH

That one really made no sense. Greg was in the kitchen. Sherlock and John were in the sitting room. How hard was it for Sherlock to shout that? Greg's flat was small, after all.

Greg put down the spoon he'd been using to stir the spaghetti sauce and walked into the sitting room. 'Sherlock, what the hell?' he demanded.

Sherlock pouted up at him. 221 was being fumigated for bees- Sherlock had brought one into the flat in a jar... that was followed by twelve others, a hive, and soon the bees got loose and terrorised everyone. It was a bad time for Sherlock to learn that John was allergic to bees. But a hospital trip later and the self-proclaimed sociopath had learned his lesson.

Mycroft wasn't about to offer his Kensington House as a place to stay, mostly because he knew Sherlock would refuse. Mrs Hudson was staying with her sister, and Sherlock and John didn't have any friends apart from Greg and Molly. Molly was in Ireland visiting her mum, so that left Greg's crappy little flat and pull-out sofa.

'I lost my shock blanket,' Sherlock pouted.

'Your what?'

'The orange blanket I was using six minutes ago,' Sherlock explained. 'I had it wrapped around myself because it's cold here and your blankets are itchy. I stole it from the last crime scene because I set fire to my blanket and-'

'Yeah, alright,' Greg cut in while beside Sherlock John snickered. 'What'd you do with it?'

'I didn't do anything,' Sherlock huffed. 'I went to the bathroom, I was gone five minutes, and when I came back it was gone.'

Greg blinked at him before looking at John, who was grinning. 'Er, Sherlock...' the DI said slowly, 'you ever think that maybe, just maybe, John took it?'

Sherlock frowned. 'Why would John take it?'

''Cause he's pissed off that he has to stay here after you infested your flat with bees?' Greg tried.

The genius turned to look at his flatmate, who tried in vain to clear the smile from his face. After a few seconds Sherlock said, 'John, did you take my shock blanket?'

'Erm... little bit, yeah,' John nodded.

'Did you or didn't you?' Sherlock demanded.

'Yes,' John grinned.


'All the reasons Greg said,' John explained, 'and... I was cold.'

'But you're not using it.'

'My arse was cold,' John said and lifted himself off the sofa. Sherlock's blanket was folded beneath him.

'John, give that back!' Sherlock demanded.

'No,' the doctor said.

'It's my blanket!' Sherlock said.

'So? You're not usin' it.'

'I was using it.'

'But you aren't now.'

'Give it back!'




Greg sighed as two of the most intelligent men he knew were reduced to squabbling infants. When Sherlock launched a pillow attack and John retaliated with his army training, Greg had to step in. He grabbed Sherlock around the waist and hauled the skinny man off his friend-not-boyfriend.

'Let me go!' Sherlock ordered, though he sounded more like a ten-year-old than a grown man.

'Not until you two stop it,' Greg said. 'Act like bloody adults, would you?'

'Tell John to give my blanket back and I will,' Sherlock stated while flapping about.

Greg sighed and dropped Sherlock on the other side of the coffee table. He turned back to the doctor and said, 'John, give Sherlock his blanket back.'

'Why?' John asked.

'Because it's my flat and if you don't I'll call Mycroft and have him come over and sleep the night,' Greg said.

John didn't even have to think about that; he pulled Sherlock's shock blanket from under himself and threw it at his flatmate. 'Baby,' John muttered.

Sherlock poked his tongue out before wrapping the bright orange blanket around himself. He plopped back onto the sofa, drew his legs to his chest, and sent John a scowl. John flipped him off and Greg rolled his eyes.

'You two behave or no dinner,' Greg stated.

'Yes, Mother,' Sherlock said.

'Mummy Greg,' John snickered.

He and Sherlock laughed together while Greg retreated back into the kitchen. I'm surrounded by fuckin' lunatics, he thought as he jumped to salvage dinner.


I Slept with John - SH

Oh, Greg so didn't need to know that! No, he did not. He. Fucking. Didn't. Need. To. Know. Thankyoutheveryfuckmuch!

Greg groaned and slapped his mobile back against the bedside table. It was early, he could tell by the light streaming through the bedroom curtains. Greg's body ached in all the right places and he felt relaxed like only a night of really good sex could make you feel.

All of that was shattered by Sherlock's sudden need to inform Greg about his sex life. So okay, yeah, Greg- like everybody else- totally thought Sherlock and John were in love with each other. And if they weren't shagging, they would be at some point.

That didn't mean Greg actually wanted to hear about it. And why was Sherlock telling him, anyway? He only ever texted to a) annoy Greg or b) confess to some minor crime he'd committed.

Well, sleeping with John wasn't a crime... unless John didn't know they'd slept together. No, that was stupid. John wanted Sherlock, end of story. For all his "I'm not gay" speeches, John totally wanted a piece of Sherlock.

Okay, so... it was annoyance. Sherlock was trying to annoy Greg. Greg got that. He hadn't had sex since seven months before his divorce. And that had been nine months ago. So yeah, Greg could get Sherlock wanting to rub his sex life in Greg's face.

Greg groaned again and buried his face in the soft, silk-covered pillows beneath his head. God, Sherlock was just... just weird. Greg should just forget it. Ignore Sherlock and John and the fucking text. 'Cause he didn't need images of the two men going at it in his head thank you very much.

When Greg groaned a third time in the space of ten minutes, his bed partner rolled over and said, 'What's wrong?'

'Your brother,' the DI muttered.

Mycroft Holmes chuckled and pressed a gentle kiss to Greg's shoulder. The simple act had Greg moaning in an entirely different way. 'I apologise, but you know what he's like.'

'Mm,' Greg hummed. He turned slightly to peek at Mycroft with one eye. 'It's fine, mostly. 'Cept when he tells me he shagged John.'

Mycroft blinked before saying, 'Well, it's about time.'

Greg chuckled. 'You said that about us.'

'Yes, well I wanted you from the moment we met. But you were annoyingly married.'

'Mm, I was, wasn't I?' Greg hummed. 'Not now, though.'

'No, now you're all mine,' Mycroft said and ducked down to kiss Greg gently. Things soon grew heated and Greg forgot all about Sherlock and John and the sex they were having as he had fantastic, mind-blowing sex of his own.


A few hours later Mycroft convinced Greg to text Sherlock. So, for the first time in their weird relationship, Greg confessed something to Sherlock;

I slept with Mycroft - GL

And he felt quite good about it.