Work Text:
Greg still felt uneasy about this whole business, but he knew Sherlock well enough to know he wasn't going to just cooperate with them without prompting. Though he calls it a drugs bust, he knows Sherlock is sober; has been for months now as far as he's aware. Greg doesn't expect to find anything other than Sherlock's typical chemical mess.
When they enter, Greg is somewhat surprised at the small changes he can see in the apartment. Sherlock often gets after him for being unobservant but Greg knows him better than Sherlock thinks he does. He knows what he's like, how he needs to keep his flat exactly the same at all times. Something must be different. There's a book laying in the red armchair in front of the kitchen and an empty tea cup on the table beside it. Sherlock's microscope has been moved away from the oven and there's an open computer sitting on the desk in the living room.
"It's a bloody mess in here! It's like he doesn't even know how to clean!" Anderson called from where he was sorting through the kitchen.
"The guy's a freak, of course he lives like a freak," Donovan chimed in snarkily.
Greg rolled his eyes and ignored the sharp pang of anger in his chest that he felt whenever someone made fun of Sherlock. "Are you going to do your jobs or just stand there gossiping like school children?" he asked.
Stepping away from his two detectives, Greg stood in front of the pink suitcase, staring down at it and its contents. Though he hated to admit it, Sherlock's deduction skills would come in handy at this point in the night. As he flipped the lid closed he heard a door open and close somewhere in the apartment. There was a crashing noise from the bathroom.
"Sherlock! It is almost midnight, what exactly are you doing to cause this much ruckus!?" a male voice shouted from down the hall.
Donovan, Anderson, and the other technicians stopped in their tracks. The last thing Greg had expected was for Sherlock to have a house guest. If he had known, he surely wouldn't haven't let all of these people into the flat.
Uneven footsteps pattered through the flat and Greg held up a hand to his detectives.
"I thought you were the one telling me I'm supposed to be resting. Not much use if you wake me up at all bloody hours of the ni-" the man paused in his tirade as he walked into the living room, seeing the crowd of police throughout the flat.
"What the hell is going on here?!" he shouted.
Greg opened his mouth to say something, but truthfully he didn't have an excuse. So he sat there gaping instead. The man was short and stocky, with brown-grey hair and dark blue eyes. He was wearing only boxer briefs and a robe. Under his arm and around his shoulder was a thick, clean, white bandage.
"It's uh, a drug's bust," Anderson piped up and Greg looked over to glare at him.
"Drugs- ... Get the fuck out of here!" The man shouted. Though be was basically naked, he was still quite terrifying.
Greg motioned his technicians to the door, deciding it was surely not worth it to anger this man further. Anderson held up his hands in surrender but Donovan simply scoffed.
She crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her head, looking the man up and down. "Freak's got a side piece, huh?"
"Pardon?" the man said quietly and Greg swore that if looks could kill Donovan would be just another victim for Scotland yard to sort through.
"Who knew, a f*g as well as a r*tard."
"Get out," Greg demanded sharply. "Now. I've let your bullshit go for too long. Have a bit of respect."
Donovan rolled her eyes. "Yeah, whatever," she said, walking past Greg and the man without looking back.
"He's married too," Anderson called to Donovan, snorting as she let out a cackling laugh from halfway down the stairs.
"Go," Greg ordered.
The man was standing stock still, his breathing heavy and fast. Greg could picture steam coming out of his ears, and where it could have been silly like a cartoon, Greg was feeling the same anger.
He had put up with Donovan and even Anderson's bullying and harassment of Sherlock purely because Sherlock had asked him to let it go. He didn't need help taking on bad people, he had the wits and sharp tongue to take care of it himself. Where many people assumed Sherlock was cruel and had no filter, Greg had picked up early on that Sherlock only ever used his scathing remarks when it was warranted.
"What. Exactly. Are you still standing there for!?" The man yelled.
Before Greg could reply, another pair of footsteps clomped up the stairs surprisingly fast.
"I saw the police cars, what's going on?"
Now that was a familiar voice. "Sherlock, you can't keep taking evidence and storing it away in your flat. It's against the law," Greg scolded.
Sherlock came sliding through the doorway, his hair ruffled and scarf missing. "Last I remember you weren't aware the suitcase even existed," he exclaimed with a shrug.
"That is against the point! Just text me next time! Let me know!"
"Sorry, hold on. You caught a case?" The man interjected, sounding interested.
"Yes, a few hours ago. Another one of those suicides. Figured I should let you sleep, I could have updated you later. Speaking of, why are you up now? It's nearly midnight."
"That's what I said. This man and his morons said it was a drug's bust." The man motioned to Greg.
"I'm sober!" Sherlock shouted, offended.
"I know that! But you're also stubborn as Mycroft and I know you don't answer your phone so this seemed like the quickest way." Greg shrugged in defeat.
"Sherlock, next time just tell the yard what's going on. It's not so hard, you keep me up to date on all your cases all the time," the man pleaded with him. He moved to the kitchen to put the kettle on. "Care for a cup?" he asked Greg.
"No, my wife's at home waiting for me," he replied.
"No she's not," came Sherlock's reply from the couch.
"No she's not."
"So that's a yes then," the man made the decision for him. "Sherlock, you've yet to introduce us."
"OH of course! Detective Grey Lestrade," Sherlock said, motioning to Greg.
"Greg," he interrupted.
"This is my husband, John Watson," he said with a smile.
"The famous Dr. Watson! I've heard world's about you. It's an honor to finally meet you," Greg exclaimed.
"You as well," John said, "I appreciate all you've done for Sherlock and I over the years. Don't know where we'd be without you."
"It really isn't a bother. I'm happy to work with Sherlock any day."
"Hm. That's not what you said last week. I specifically remember you saying I needed to, to quote you, "shut the fuck up, or leave me alone"."
"Yes, well that was rude and I didn't mean it."
"It was warranted, don't worry."
"Sugar in your tea, Greg?" John asked from the kitchen, interrupting the two men's bickering.
"One spoon, please and thank you."
"Cream and Sugar in mine," Sherlock called.
John brought their tea over without prompting. "I know how you take your tea, love." He sat down on the couch beside Sherlock, leaning into him slightly.
"So are you back on leave then?" Greg asked. Over the 6 years he'd known about Sherlock and John, he had yet to meet John before this. He knew all about his career in Afghanistan and was always looking out for Sherlock when John was away.
John grinned. "No, actually. I was discharged. Turns out taking a bullet to the shoulder puts you off your game for a little while." He motioned to the bandage Greg had noticed around his shoulder earlier.
"I'm sorry to hear that, but I guess something good did come of it."
"Yes it did," John remarked, slipping his free hand into Sherlock's. "Besides, this means I can finally knock some sense into Anderson and Donovan. I'm assuming that was them earlier?"
"Anderson and Donovan were here?" Sherlock asked hastily. "What did they do?"
"Don't worry about it darling, Greg and I handled it," John said consolingly.
Sherlock hummed contemplatively, leaning back into the couch from where he'd tensed up and slid forward. "In regards to the case..."
"It can wait until the morning. For now, enjoy the rest of your night gentlemen. Thank you for the tea John," Greg said, sitting his cup down and making his way to the door.
"I hope to see you around more often Greg," John remarked kindly.
"You as well."
In the morning, Greg was sat at his desk when Sherlock showed up, hand entwined in John's, hair impeccable as always.
"We attempted to make contact with the killer earlier but were unsuccessful."
"For the record it wasn't official, we just staked out an address after sending a text to the dead woman's phone," John explained. He hesitated for a moment. "Actually now that I say it out loud it sounds a bit not good."
"Don't worry about it, I've gotten used to Sherlock doing what he wants," Greg said, waving the two men off.
Just then Donovan poked her head through the doorway. "Hey boss," she trailed off after seeing John and Sherlock. "Freak," she greeted. "Freak's whore."
Sherlock flinched and squeezed John's hand.
"I don't believe we've formally met. John Watson, Captain of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. And Sherlock's husband." He held out a hand.
Donovan's eyes widened in surprise and horror. She made a squeaking noise. "Husband?!" she choked out.
"You heard me."
"You would do well to treat John with respect, you'll be seeing a lot more of him from now on," Sherlock stated.