Hi again !

A lovely reader left me a review on the French version of this story, saying she would have liked to know more about what happened between Sherlock and Greg's night together and the seven years later.

This suggestion was interesting, and when inspiration comes to visit you, you don't slam the door in it's face ;)

I hope you enjoy this little companion scene :)

Flo'w

Sherlock woke up to the warm sensation of lips on the back of his neck. He opened his eyes and turned his head to see Greg smile at him.

"Morning", the older man said.

"Mmh" Sherlock only answered, and rolled on his other side to snuggle against him.

Since when did he had not have a night like this one? The warmth of another body against his, the deep, dreamless sleep, and the tenderness, instead of the cold walk home after meaningless sex, and the persistent sick feeling during the remaining of the night, wondering why he still did that with people?

"Whattimeisit?" he mumbled against Greg's chest, and the low rumble of the man's laugh vibrated through him.

"Half past ten", he answered, and Sherlock groaned.

"Already? God, I hate sleeping in..." he said, stretching his arms over his head.

Greg smiled. The sight was pretty delicious, and he leaned down to pepper he dancer's torso with slow kisses.

"Did you sleep well, at least?" he asked, lips hovering over his belly.

Sherlock shivered, his fingers tangling in the short strands of greying, brown hair.

"The night was nice indeed", he said, a touch breathless. "Come back up here?"

Greg complied with a large grin, and laid down on top of the other man.

"Nice?" he teased, "only nice?"

Sherlock smirked, lifting his chin to talk against Greg's lips.

"Mmh, don't want you to get too proud of yourself. I won't say you were the best shag I had in ages - probably the best one ever."

Greg chuckled.

"Can't say you were bad, either", he replied with a wink.

Sherlock's smile faded in the slow, soft kiss they shared. His heart was pounding slowly in his chest, God, what's happening to me?, the taste of Greg's tongue on his own was unhurriedly driving him mad, please, never let this end, the weight of his body was pressing his into the mattress, anchoring him to this strange, new feeling – he felt… wanted. Like he was not just a single-use sex toy, as some of his previous encounters had made him think.

Above him, Greg pulled back, watching him with a quiet smile.

"I was wrong", he said.

"About what?" Sherlock asked, a bit confused.

"The moment you're the most beautiful isn't when you climax. It's just now, when you wake up. When you're all sleepy with your hair even more tousled than usual, and you haven't regained enough of your consciousness to be distant again."

Sherlock felt his cheeks grow warm. He didn't know what to answer. I'm only distant because people are usually mean idiots. But you're not like them. I don't want to be distant with you.

Greg leaned down to kiss his cheek.

"So, since you don't like sleeping in, wanna get up now?" he asked, distracting Sherlock from his thoughts.

"Well, you promised breakfast, so…"

'That I did. And a shower, if you'd like", Greg said, and he rolled to the side to free Sherlock from his weight.

The dancer sat up, stretching his limbs and his back again with a light groan. Greg watched the tantalising roll of muscles under pale skin, and chuckled.

"Are you doing this on purpose? Because if you do, it's definitely working", he said with a grin.

Sherlock raised a brow, and walked to the other man with his cat-like strides, his hips slowly waving with the movement.

"It wasn't planned", he answered, his deep voice sending electricity through Greg's spine.

"Still working", Greg said.

They were face to face, their bodies only inches apart, lips hovering over each other.

"I'm so sorry", Sherlock drawled with a fake apologetic smile. "What can I do to make it better?"

"Would you mind if I joined you in the shower?"

"I'd mind if you didn't", the dancer replied with a wink, and he leaned forward to kiss him.

Greg arms immediately wrapped his waist, but he pulled back.

"Let's go do this in the bathroom, then."

Sherlock let his briefs slide along his incredibly long legs, uncovering his white, smooth arse, and Greg couldn't help but follow the movement with his eyes. The younger man got in the shower and turned towards him, opening the tap.

"Are you going to come in or you just wanna watch?" he teased, and it seemed to wake Greg up.

The policeman quickly got rid of his own pants, the sight of the water dripping and rolling on Sherlock's body being quite appealing, and entered the shower too. Sherlock lifted a hand to untangle his curls with his fingers and get his hair all wet, his gaze still fixed on Greg's, and the older man groaned.

"You're a bloody tease", he sighed, grinning, and he closed the distance between them to press his lips on Sherlock's.

Soon, the slow and tender kiss became more heated and hungry, and the morning erections they had almost forgotten about were back quite eagerly. Their hands gripped where they could on wet skin, trying to get their bodies even closer. Greg crowded Sherlock against the cold tiles on the wall, earning a moan as he lightly thrust his hips.

"Greg…" Sherlock started, trying to speak without breaking the kiss.

The other man smiled and nipped at his lower lip. His right hand released Sherlock hip from the tight grip he had on it, and slipped it between them. With only fingertips, he stroked Sherlock's hard length, and the dancer leaned into the touch, wanting more.

"What do you want?" Greg asked softly, his lips moving to his ear.

"You…" Sherlock could only reply, the teasing fingers distracting him.

Greg chuckled.

"Okay, then how do you want me?" he asked again, licking at Sherlock's jaw.

"I… Oh God, Greg!"

"Sorry", Greg grinned against the lobe of his ear he had just bitten at.

Sherlock hesitated, unsure if the other man would agree, but the tender smile Greg gave him convinced him to try.

"Would you… I… I want to take you."

Greg's breath seemed to stop for a second, and he pulled back from Sherlock's neck to catch it back, pressing his forehead against the dancer's temple.

"God, the idea of you inside me… Yes. Please", he almost moaned.

They switched positions and kissed again while Sherlock's hand travelled to Greg's arse. The policeman arched off the wall to allow access and soon, fingers started working him open slowly. The kiss became messy, all tongues and teeth and ragged breath as the anticipation built between them.

"Sherlock!" Greg suddenly cried, and the dancer grinned wickedly against his lips, crooking his fingers again to graze on Greg's prostate.

"Feels good, hmm?" the younger man asked, slipping his fingers out, and Greg groaned. "Want more?"

"God, yes", Greg panted. "Condom. Bottom drawer under the sink. Now."

Sherlock chuckled, a bit proud to have made Greg unable to make sentences. He quickly fetched a condom and slid it on before getting back in the shower. Greg had had time to turn toward the wall, and was bracing himself against the tiles. Sherlock swallowed hard. He seized the older man's hips, lined himself and pressed the head of his prick against the entrance.

"God, Sherlock, get to it, I can't wait anymore", Greg moaned, pushing back.

The dancer complied, and both men groaned at the sensation. Sherlock let his forehead fall on Greg's shoulder blade, and he kissed the warm skin. He pulled out almost entirely and pushed back in slowly, again and again, relishing the feel and the sounds Greg made, setting a torturous, tantalising pace, until the policeman couldn't take it anymore and started writhing.

"Sherlock", he whimpered, "please, please-"

The dancer then quickened his thrusts, gripping Greg's hips for leverage, pounding inside harder, faster, the water still pouring on them, mixing with their sweat. The older man tilted his hips back, trying to find that perfect spot, and as Sherlock slammed inside, he felt it, electricity crackling through him, and he shouted. Sherlock grunted and thrusted again, hitting it dead on.

Greg let one of his hands fall off the wall to his aching prick and started stroking himself, and Sherlock's hand joined his, twining their fingers.

"Sherlock-", Greg choked, but couldn't finish.

They were both on the very edge, and Sherlock quickened the pace again, groaning at each thrust of his hips, until he felt Greg clench around him, and he continued, as deep as he could, his gut tensing.

Finally, Greg cried something vaguely akin to Sherlock's name as he came, and it was enough for Sherlock to follow.

They breathed hard for a few moment, unable to speak. The dancer softly pulled out and dumped the condom into the bin. He came back under the water, which was getting cold, and wrapped his arms around Greg's waist, pressing himself against his back. He kissed his nape, nuzzling in the short hair.

"We should probably wash ourselves", he mumbled, and the policeman let out a giggle.

"I think that was the purpose of showering", he replied, "better do it quickly if we don't wanna end under ice water."

XXX

Eventually, they were clean and dressed, but they gave up on going out for breakfast, since it was almost half past eleven. They settled around the kitchen table with tea, toasts, and scrambled eggs with bacon. They ate mostly in silence, sharing only smiles and glances, until Greg set his fork on his empty plate and crossed his hands under his chin.

"So… Um…" he hesitated with a crooked grin, "do you think you'd like to see me again? I had a great time with you, and I'd really like to know you more."

Sherlock took a sip of tea before answering.

"I… I'm not saying no, Greg..."

"But?"

"But I don't know where this could be going. We've only been one night together, and we met when I was drunk and – and I'm sorry for what I did that night, by the way – and I'm not that often in London, since the ballet company moves a lot, I'm actually leaving for Russia in two days and – "

"Whoa, slow down!" Greg interrupted, suppressing a chuckle. "I just said I'd like to see you again some time. Maybe when you come back from Russia? That way you have time to think about it, if you need."

"I… Yes. That… That sounds good", Sherlock nodded, and Greg smiled.

"Then I'll wait for you to call or text me when you come back", he said.

Silence settled again, just a tiny bit awkward, but Greg suddenly chuckled.

"God, I still can't believe it."

"What?"

"This whole situation! Running into you yesterday was a hell of a coincidence. But I'll have to thank my son Michael to have been sick that exact night, otherwise you'd have met my ex-wife."

"Which would have been a lot less interesting", Sherlock grinned. "So you have two children?"

"Yes. Michael is 12, and Lily 9. Does… does it bother you, that I have kids?"

"Why would it bother me? I admit I'm not exactly fond of children, but I'm not really fond of adults either. I'm… a bit of a sociopath."

Greg chuckled.

"So long as you're fond of me…" he winked, and Sherlock laughed.

They ended spending the afternoon together, curled on the couch, chatting and snogging without listening to the movie on the telly. At one point, they ordered food from the Chinese down the road, deciding 5pm was a good time to have lunch. When the sky started to darken, Greg suddenly glanced at the clock and sighed.

"Already… Sherlock, I'm afraid it's time… I'm on duty tonight, and I have to leave in fifteen minutes."

"Oh. Do you want me to go right now?"

"No, no, you can leave with me. I can even drop you home, if you want."

"I live on Baker Street. That's almost on the way to Scotland Yard", Sherlock said.

"Then I'm just going to change clothes, and we'll go?" Greg asked, and the dancer nodded.

A few minutes later, Greg came out of his room in his uniform, and Sherlock swallowed hard. Last time he had seen him dressed like this… The policeman noticed the expression on the dancer's face and laughed.

"What?" he asked, and Sherlock blushed.

"I just remembered why I threw myself at you two nights ago. Sorry about that, again."

"Why did you, then? And you're forgiven, by the way."

"You're very sexy in this uniform", Sherlock answered with a grin, "and when I'm drunk, I lose control very easily…"

They got in Greg's car, and this time, it was really quiet. A companionable silence stretched between them, and occasionally, Greg did let his left hand land on Sherlock's thigh instead of the gearshift. When they were in front of a café named Speedy, Sherlock asked Greg to stop the car.

"I live just here, in 221B", he said, gesturing toward the dark door with golden numbers.

Greg nodded, and lifted a hand to Sherlock's nape. He tangled his fingers in the wild curls, and lightly pulled the man to him.

"Goodbye, then?" he murmured against his lips, and Sherlock kissed him softly.

"Goodbye."

"If you get drunk in Russia, don't get arrested by a sexy policeman in uniform, okay?" Greg teased, and Sherlock chuckled.

"Don't worry. They'd have a hard time being as sexy as you. And I'm not that much of an alcoholic anyway", he winked.

Greg smiled.

"Good", he said, and planted a last kiss on Sherlock's lips. "I really have to go now."

Sherlock nodded, and climbed out of the car.

Greg sighed as he locked his door. This night shift had been quiet. Boring, actually. He hung his coat and kicked off his shoes, and went to his room to change into pyjama pants. He came back to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water before he sank in the couch and looked at his phone. He raised a brow, seeing he had a new message. Hadn't heard it buzz. He opened the text, and his heart seem to miss a beat.

Just off the plane. Have you already eaten, or would you like to have dinner with me? – SH

Greg groaned in frustration. Sherlock had sent that hours ago, and he hadn't seen it, and spent the whole night doing nothing because apparently, London's criminals had all taken a day off. And now it was 3am, and Sherlock was probably wondering why he hadn't answered, or worse, he had considered Greg didn't want to see him. Why didn't you buzz, you stupid thing? Greg silently asked his phone, and then hesitated to reply to Sherlock. Maybe he would wake him… Oh, hell, who was he kidding?

Sorry I didn't answer, I was on duty again… I hope I don't wake you up, sorry if I do. I'm off tomorrow, text me if you're free?

He set his phone on the coffee table and stood up to go refill his glass. When he came back from the kitchen, he found a new text, and fumbled to open it.

You don't wake me. I usually don't sleep much, and jet lag isn't helping. I am free tomorrow as well. But I'm quite disappointed to not have seen you tonight… - SH

Well… Need help to sleep? I wouldn't say no to you in my bed…

That's what I was hoping for. Here in fifteen minutes. – SH

Greg grinned helplessly. His night was suddenly way more interesting. He spent said fifteen minutes trying not to pace in front of his door. Suddenly, there was a light knock, and Greg opened the door feeling like a child at Christmas.

He barely had time to gasp before Sherlock's lips were on his own, and his hands lifted to the dark curls of their own volition, holding Sherlock in place. Eventually, he needed to breathe, and he pulled back, smiling widely.

"Now that's a nice greeting", he said, and the dancer grinned.

"Couldn't wait more", he answered.

Greg pulled him inside and locked the door again. Sherlock was even more beautiful than he remembered, he thought as the man was hanging his coat next to his.

They spent the night together, and the next day, and before they realised time was passing by, they were spending most of their free time together, sleeping at Greg's place most of the nights, and thinking of each other the remaining of the time.

It had been almost four months, and Greg was quite happy with the situation. They didn't really talk about it, but why say aloud something you could say with a soft kiss and a lingering gaze?

They were curled on Greg's couch on a Friday night, the dancer's head pillowed on the policeman's chest, listening to his quiet heartbeats. The muted telly was the only source of light, the slow stroke of Greg's fingers deep in dark curls the only movement, and the whisper of their breath the only sound in the room. They only wore their underwear, not having bothered to dress again after they had made love – because they couldn't just call it sex anymore – and their skin was warm against each other.

Greg couldn't tell how long they had been there, just being together and doing nothing else than savouring it, when Sherlock moved. Nothing large, just a slight turn of his head, a soft press of his lips on Greg's torso, and an imperceptible sigh. The older man lightly tightened his arm around Sherlock's back, and it was enough for Sherlock to bury his face in Greg's chest.

"Sherlock?" the policeman whispered, concerned.

"Mmh" was the only answer, but Greg didn't let go.

"You alright?" he asked softly.

"Yeah. I just… I don't want to go."

Greg raised a brow.

"Go where?"

Sherlock let out a small chuckle before he kissed the policeman's chest again, and lifted his head to meet his eyes in the dimmed light.

"Anywhere, that's the point. I want to stay here with you."

Greg opened wide eyes.

"What do you mean? You want to move in here?"

"What? No, I – that's not – I meant… You said your children would be here tomorrow. I'll have to leave and I… I just don't know how I'll manage to sleep without you", Sherlock mumbled, his cheeks flaming red.

Greg let out a short laugh.

"God, Sherlock, don't sound so dramatic. You could stay, you know. It's been almost four months since we're together – we never really discussed it, but this doesn't look like a sex relationship anymore."

"I…" Sherlock hesitated. "What are your children going to say?"

"About you being my boyfriend?"

"Am I? Your boyfriend?" Sherlock asked, biting his lower lip.

"Do you want to be?" Greg replied with a sweet smile, and Sherlock nodded. "Then you are", the older man said, leaning up to kiss him.

They forgot the conversation for a moment, lost in the tender dance of their lips together. But eventually, Sherlock pulled back and frowned.

"What are your children going to say?" he repeated, and Greg shrugged.

"I've dated a bloke a few years ago, so the fact that you're a man won't shock them. I think Michael won't care, and Lily… well, now that I think of it, she'll probably be jealous."

He intended it as a joke, but Sherlock pursed his lips.

"Because I'm 'stealing' you from her?" he asked, embarrassed.

"What? No!" Greg laughed, "Just the opposite. I'm stealing you from her."

Greg happened to be right. When Jennifer dropped them on Saturday morning at Greg's flat, Michael only raised a brow, said hi a bit awkwardly and asked Sherlock's name. Lily blushed, squeaked, giggled, and asked a lot of questions ("Wait, you're my dad's boyfriend?! That means I won't ever marry you?"), making Sherlock go as red as her ("Erm, yes. What?!").

When Lily finally accepted the fact that Sherlock wouldn't have married her even without being with Greg, because he was twenty years older that her, among other reasons, she decided she was delighted. She got to call him 'Sherlock' instead of 'Mr Holmes' and could endlessly talk about ballet with him while Greg and Michael watched rugby games or Bond movies, and she found that it was a situation akin to perfect.

Aaand that's it! For good, this time, I think. :)

Thank you for reading and for your lovely reviews on the first chapter !

Please drop me a line if you liked this one as well!

See you soon ;)

Flo'w