Okay, this is a bit of fluff for my lovely beautiful friend TigerHearts, who wouldn't stop pestering me till I agreed to write something about Lestrade, the very attractive Detective Inspector. So this is for her. So she'll shut up and let me work on my other projects instead of distracting me. Although now that I've written this, I really want to write a series of like drabbles about Lestrade and my OFC, Ella. Hmm. For anyone who reads this little story and this note up here, leave me a review saying whether or not you'd want to see more of the pair. I'll take everyone who has an opinion into consideration. Maybe even take some requests. Anywho. I own nothing except for Ella. In this bit, Lestrade is not married. That is all. Enjoy.

Gregory Lestrade was used to coming home late in the evening. He'd been working for Scotland Yard for practically twenty years now and in his tenure he'd worked every different shift they'd ever come up with. Ever since making Detective Inspector five years ago, those shifts had become more like forty-eight hour shifts at times. It had taken a bit of a toll on him for a while but eventually he adjusted and thanks to a somewhat strong dependence on coffee, he'd managed to do his job the best anyone before him had. Sometimes his success was attributed to that mad man, Sherlock Holmes, and he was okay with that. All that mattered to him was that the criminals were behind bars. He didn't try to dwell on the methods used to capture them. They were legal…usually. Either way, he slept just fine knowing that a case was closed and the people of London weren't in danger. Or at least less danger than before.

It was three in the morning when he came home after a week of chasing a child molester. The bastard was sitting in holding cell, waiting to be transferred. Part of him hoped some of the men in the cell with him decided to give him a bit of biblical justice. His conscience would have no problems with that notion. He quietly let himself into the flat, locking the door behind him and kicking off his shoes. He left the lights off. He'd learned how to maneuver through a dark flat well over a decade ago. When got to the kitchen however, he flipped on the lights and went over to the cabinet. Pulling out the bottle of scotch, he poured himself a glass and took a longer drink than he probably needed. The glass was emptied and he quickly poured another, drinking slower this time. His back leaned against the counter as he felt the day - hell, the whole week - catching up with him. His eyes closed and he pinched the bridge of his nose, the glass still in his hand.

"Greg?"

He opened his eyes and smiled tiredly at the blonde woman standing in the doorway. "I woke you, didn't I?"

"Yes but that's how it's supposed to be." Elizabeth Mercer, or Ella as she preferred, had been what he looked forward to coming home to for the past year and a half. She was teacher; she worked at a private school teaching year 10s. She was four years his junior and looked about ten years younger than that. He'd met her through John Watson of all people. Apparently, she'd had a thing with a cousin of his a while back that had almost been serious. At least, serious enough for her to be brought to family affairs. Things between her and the bloke had ended but she'd taken a liking to John and kept in touch with him over the years. He owed the good doctor quite a bit for introducing him to the woman.

Her bare feet were quiet against the tile of the kitchen as she walked over to him. Her hair was a mess, most likely because of the fact that she went to bed at a normal hour like the rest of the city. She was wearing one of his shirts, a sight he always found welcoming when he came home. He'd gladly admit she looked far better in them than he ever did. But then again she had a pair of legs that were graciously showed off in his button-ups. She grabbed the glass from his hand and took a small sip of the amber liquid before setting it down on the counter. Her fingers laced through his as she pulled him out of the room. "Come on, love."

Greg put up no resistance as they left the kitchen, hitting the lights as they went. She led him down the hall to their bedroom. While she slid back underneath the blankets, propped up on an elbow, he started to change out of his work attire. He traded the slacks for sweatpants and his button-up for a t-shirt before sliding in next to her, his arms easily wrapping around her waist. She quickly curled up against him, her head resting against his chest. His fingers played with the tips of her curls as she glanced up at him. "Rough day?"

"Yeah," he answered, meeting her hazel eyes and smiling nonetheless. "But it's getting considerably better."

"Good," was all she said as she reached and softly pressed her lips to his. His hands cradled her back as hers rested on his chest. After a moment, she pulled away, tucking her head under his chin and hooking a leg between his. "Now, get some sleep, inspector. Some of us have jobs to do in the morning."

A light chuckle echoed in his chest as he pulled her closer, kissing the crown of her head. And soon enough it was silent in the flat, save for the soft sounds of breathing and a certain inspector snoring quietly.

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