Greg woke up tangled in the bed sheets and completely alone. He pushed aside his momentary panic knowing that Sherlock and John lived here and he was in their flat after all, if anyone was leaving, it would be him.

His muscles quivered as he reached up to the head board and stretched that first good stretch of the morning, moaning happily. A glance at the clock on the bedside table told him it was half eight and he was extremely grateful that he had the day off, barring any emergencies that may require his immediate attention. It had been ages since he had a proper lie in, and a proper shag, and he enjoyed the bed for another thirty minutes until his bladder rudely reminded him that it was time to get up.

He found his clothes neatly folded on the dresser. That must have been John. He shimmied into his pants and ducked into the loo with the rest of stuff. A good long piss and a few splashes of cold water to his face revived him greatly. He took his time donning the rest of his clothes, unsure of what to say to Sherlock and John. Greg hated awkward mornings like this. What the hell do you say? "Hey, thanks for letting my fuck your amazingly hot boyfriend. Cheers for the shag. "

He stared at his reflection in the mirror leaning on the edge of the sink while running through the things he would say when he left the safe boundaries of the bathroom. "You're a fucking idiot, Lestrade." He whispered to himself. He wondered if he could slip out into the hallway and down the stairs without being seen. It was bad enough he would have to see them at crime scenes on the regular without having to see them here, right after they did that.

Greg quietly opened the door and tiptoed to the end of the hall but stopped when he saw Sherlock and John on the couch. Sherlock sat at one end, balancing what Greg figured was John's laptop on the armrest. He was typing alarmingly fast for only using one hand, the other wrapped around John's shoulders as the man snuggled in close, looking comfortable and happy.

Damn this old creaky flat! He cursed the squeaky floor as it gave away his presence just as he was about to step out. He froze and John blinked at him sleepily for a few moments before untangling himself from Sherlock's arm. Sherlock took no notice of either Greg or John other than he was aware he now had two hands to type.

Greg was embarrassed by the way John pretended to not see that he was just about to duck out on them. Instead of being upset, or suggesting he stay, or even ask why he was thinking of leaving, he simply came right up to him and placed a quick kiss to his lips and continued on into the kitchen, leaving him bewildered and confused.

"Tea?" John called.

Looking back at Sherlock, who still ignored him, he shrugged. Why not? This doesn't have to be awkward. "Sure."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and shifted his gaze to Greg standing in the doorway without actually turning his head.

"I mean, yes, John. Thank you." Greg corrected, finding his voice rather shaky. Sherlock seemed satisfied with the amendment and promptly went back to ignoring him. He decided that he would escape to the kitchen to help John, not that making tea was particularly difficult, but he wasn't sure if he could be subject to another one of Sherlock's glares within the next twenty four hours.

"Can I help?"

John gave him a sympathetic smile, knowing what a dick Sherlock could be. "No, thank you. I can manage." Then he winked, and Greg's stomach did a little flip.

While he watched John pour the water and brave the fridge for the milk, he leaned against the kitchen table, thinking, dying to know what was going to happen next.

John made it easy. Greg took the proffered mug and smiled before taking a cautious sip. "Thank you," he said, for more than just the tea.

"It's nothing." John, ignoring his own cup, stepped closer, putting himself between Greg's legs and angling his face up to press another gentle kiss his mouth. This time he was more prepared to respond and reciprocated eagerly, abandoning his cuppa on the table to pull John closer. Although they were both into it, the kiss never progressed further than a lazy snog.

"God, you taste good." Greg declared after a few moments. John hummed against his neck and answered him with tiny kisses to his flushed skin.

With a glance to the living room, he tightened his hold on John, hugging him close. "John?" The doctor looked up at him with half lidded eyes. "What happens now?"

John shrugged and burrowed his nose into Greg's neck. "You stay. Or you go. I'd like you to stay. If you can, I mean."

Oh, and did he ever want to stay. He wanted to stay forever. It may have been the most random chance meeting he'd ever had, despite the fact that he already knew Sherlock and John quite well. He just never expected to see them there.

"What about Sherlock?"

John rolled his eyes dramatically, peeking back into the sitting room. "He wants that too. You know him, he isn't great with sentiment."

If anyone were to ask him what he thought of Sherlock's display of sentiment before last night, he would have told them that Sherlock simply doesn't do that. Changing all of Greg's preconceived notions of Sherlock's ability to show emotion, the man had shown a great amount of sentiment the entire night, particularly as he cared for John and Greg afterwards.

"He seemed to be sentimental enough last night."

"It comes easily to him after a scene," John explained. "He is plenty caring outside of the bedroom too, you know, but often times the transition from science to emotion in that great big head of his takes some time." John wriggled up against Greg suggestively. "And some persuading." Greg couldn't help but grin at how much of a tart John was, but he loved it. He really did.

"I want to stay."

"Good." Sherlock nearly startled him out of his wits. Greg had assumed that Sherlock was still grossly involved with whatever was on his laptop, but he was quickly realising that he was just trying to look busy, and let John handle the "sentiment".

Stepping up next to the pair leaning against the table, Sherlock wrapped his long fingers around the back of John's neck to drag him in for a deep, slow kiss. Greg whimpered when John's grip on his shirt tightened as the two kissed right in front of him.

Sherlock drifted seamlessly from John's lips to Greg's to devour his new submissive's mouth with a fervor that left the detective moaning. The mouth soon began to wander; Greg figured that Sherlock occasionally got bored of just kissing. His jaw was peppered with kisses and he felt skin being pulled between gentle teeth. John was working the other side of his neck with kisses, licks and nips, the two of them keeping him squirming against the kitchen table, writhing for more.

Admiring a particularly red mark he had made, Sherlock smiled at Greg fondly, running his fingernail down the column of this neck and over the bite. For a moment, John and Sherlock met eyes, seemingly communicating wordlessly again. Greg took the opportunity to catch his breath and tried to stop looking so damn desperate.

"I believe I promised you your own collar." The statement was augmented by Sherlock firmly wrapping his slim hand around the front of his throat. Pale white flesh clashed dramatically against Greg's tanned skin. "With dark complexion like this, I think that white leather would look ravishing in contrast, something with a dark metal buckle. It would also match your stunning smile." Sherlock dragged his thumb along Greg's lower lip, pulling down slightly to catch sight of those pearly whites. John was grinning and Greg could only nod dumbly, wholeheartedly accepting anything and everything John and Sherlock had to offer him.

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