Mycroft got better and better with each passing day. Lestrade made sure to keep the fridge full and made Mycroft eat with him every time they were home at the same time. Colour has slowly started to return to his cheeks and he gained back the weight he had lost during his stay at the clinic, due to the first, dreadful phase of withdrawal. His migraines grew rarer and rarer and he seemed content more often than not. Lestrade was very satisfied with his progress, especially because he never had to “catch” Mycroft again. He made sure Anthea got rid of each and every bottle of liquor at Mycroft’s office and also got her to watch over Mycroft during work, so he could never sneak a sip. Sherlock was all too happy to follow his brother’s every movement on CCTV whenever he had the time.
Mycroft did not relapse over the next three months. Things got easier as they continued living together. Lestrade learned the benefits of not having to pay rent and having a flatmate who didn’t mind him working crazy hours (day or night). Shockingly, their slots of free time sometimes coincided with each other. Whenever that happened, they shared a meal. Lestrade cooked more often, though Mycroft was rather good at it, but he always cooked spicy Asian dishes, so if Lestrade wanted to have some fish and chips or something equally pedestrian, he had to do them himself. Sometimes they just settled into the armchairs in the living room and read the paper together and bickered at the poorly written articles, or watched the news – Mycroft LOVED to point out how old some of them were, while Lestrade filled him in on the freshest details of his ongoing investigations.
Of course it wasn’t smooth sailing all the way. At first, Mycroft was often late from their shared dinners. But then, when he saw that it annoyed Lestrade, he became extremely punctual. He made sure that he always showed up at the pre-arranged time, or sent a message by Anthea if he couldn’t make it.
One evening, Mycroft had just rushed in and sat down at the dining table when Lestrade came out of the shower, naked save for a towel around his waist. He had completely forgotten that they had agreed on having dinner at eight and was expecting Mycroft for 8.30 instead.
Lestrade was shell-shocked, then he realised his mistake and started to stutter.
‘I… fuck, sorry, I misjudged the time. No food I’m afraid…’
Mycroft’s eyes tinkled with a humour Lestrade rarely saw in them.
‘Shall I have you for dinner then?’
Lestrade definitely felt his cheeks flame up at that implication. He tried to muster up some indignation to tune out the fluttering he suddenly felt in his belly.
‘Shut up, you wanker! You are way too punctual anyway, and always so smug about it too…’ The good-natured bickering turned into more mutual jokes and eventually, Mycroft got to making dinner while Lestrade dressed himself as quickly as he could. They were completely at ease for the rest of the evening, cooking spaghetti alla carbonara in perfect unison.
Thinking back to it now, it was weirdly domestic and perfect. Of course it had to go to hell.
It happened after a long night with his colleagues from the Yard. Lestrade had admittedly drunk more then was advised, so he wound up having a conversation with the new blond secretary of the homicide department. At first it seemed like the girl was genuinely trying to get to know him, but of course it soon turned out that she was actually just looking for a convenient bed, seeing as she lived very far out in the suburbs, so she asked Lestrade if she could crash at his place. Lestrade didn’t have the heart to say no.
He felt bone-crushingly tired as he led them out of the pub and hailed a cab quickly. Once they had been seated on the backseat, the girl started snogging him enthusiastically, which was admittedly a pleasant surprise, though Lestrade had already started to console himself with the thought that at least he could sleep next to a warm body.
Re: FILLED: Restore Us To Sanity Part 7/?
Mycroft did not relapse over the next three months. Things got easier as they continued living together. Lestrade learned the benefits of not having to pay rent and having a flatmate who didn’t mind him working crazy hours (day or night). Shockingly, their slots of free time sometimes coincided with each other. Whenever that happened, they shared a meal. Lestrade cooked more often, though Mycroft was rather good at it, but he always cooked spicy Asian dishes, so if Lestrade wanted to have some fish and chips or something equally pedestrian, he had to do them himself. Sometimes they just settled into the armchairs in the living room and read the paper together and bickered at the poorly written articles, or watched the news – Mycroft LOVED to point out how old some of them were, while Lestrade filled him in on the freshest details of his ongoing investigations.
Of course it wasn’t smooth sailing all the way. At first, Mycroft was often late from their shared dinners. But then, when he saw that it annoyed Lestrade, he became extremely punctual. He made sure that he always showed up at the pre-arranged time, or sent a message by Anthea if he couldn’t make it.
One evening, Mycroft had just rushed in and sat down at the dining table when Lestrade came out of the shower, naked save for a towel around his waist. He had completely forgotten that they had agreed on having dinner at eight and was expecting Mycroft for 8.30 instead.
Lestrade was shell-shocked, then he realised his mistake and started to stutter.
‘I… fuck, sorry, I misjudged the time. No food I’m afraid…’
Mycroft’s eyes tinkled with a humour Lestrade rarely saw in them.
‘Shall I have you for dinner then?’
Lestrade definitely felt his cheeks flame up at that implication. He tried to muster up some indignation to tune out the fluttering he suddenly felt in his belly.
‘Shut up, you wanker! You are way too punctual anyway, and always so smug about it too…’ The good-natured bickering turned into more mutual jokes and eventually, Mycroft got to making dinner while Lestrade dressed himself as quickly as he could. They were completely at ease for the rest of the evening, cooking spaghetti alla carbonara in perfect unison.
Thinking back to it now, it was weirdly domestic and perfect. Of course it had to go to hell.
It happened after a long night with his colleagues from the Yard. Lestrade had admittedly drunk more then was advised, so he wound up having a conversation with the new blond secretary of the homicide department. At first it seemed like the girl was genuinely trying to get to know him, but of course it soon turned out that she was actually just looking for a convenient bed, seeing as she lived very far out in the suburbs, so she asked Lestrade if she could crash at his place. Lestrade didn’t have the heart to say no.
He felt bone-crushingly tired as he led them out of the pub and hailed a cab quickly. Once they had been seated on the backseat, the girl started snogging him enthusiastically, which was admittedly a pleasant surprise, though Lestrade had already started to console himself with the thought that at least he could sleep next to a warm body.