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[personal profile] turante
I got absolutely sick of this sitting in my WIP folder, so I'm kicking it on stage for all the world to see (at least those masochistic enough to want to read it).

Rating: Pg-13
Characters: Lestrade, Sherlock, Mycroft
Word Count: 660
Summary: Quitting smoking with Sherlock was a warpath, an adventure and a secret affair. It was exciting and it could get him in trouble in five different ways, and that was probably why Lestrade went along with it in the first place.
Title: An Unconventional Affair

The first thought that occurred to Lestrade was that it wasn’t even the strangest place they’d done it. He took a deep breath and looked down to the constant flow of humanity walking below them, unaware of the two observers on the roof.

Sherlock grinned at him and stretched his arm, offering him the cigarette that had just filled his lungs with smoke and tar and solvents that the man could recite by heart. Poison, yes, but irresistible. So Lestrade accepted the offered cigarette and took a drag from it, closing his eyes to revel in the sensation and savour the moment.

It always felt a bit like cheating, meeting secretly with Sherlock like this, to give in to the temptation of nicotine one last time.

It wasn’t just the nicotine, he knew, because that was what the patches were for. But the patches couldn’t satisfy his desire for a filter between his lips, for the smoke in his lungs and the knowledge that each puff took him a step closer to his grave. It just wasn’t the same.

Quitting smoking with Sherlock was a warpath, an adventure and a secret affair. It was exciting and it could get him in trouble in five different ways, and that was probably why Lestrade went along with it in the first place.

Lestrade had thought he had what he had always wanted: a good rank that allowed him to escape the confines of a desk whilst having decision making powers; a stable, committed relationship and healthy habits... except that the truth wasn’t as romantic as that. His job meant being swamped with paperwork, his relationship forced him to deal every day with his past and his failures by learning from his mistakes, and healthy habits meant saying goodbye once and for all to red meat, smoking and the other things that were good. It all felt so overwhelmingly boring at times, and Sherlock was the exact opposite: he was the excitement, the unpredictability, the risk he wanted at times. He was controlled danger, at least when they met for these secret encounters.

The consultant detective looked down on the crowd; the building was good for observing people and noticing details without being seen.

“The other day a witness turned up saying that he saw a non black cab stop before the crime scene. Do you know how many cabs there are in London? And how many of those are not black?”

“A minority, surely,” the man pointed at the three black cabs in a row that passed the street. “I’m sure I could quote you an approximate number.” Lestrade couldn’t tell if he was being condescending because he was relaxed by the nicotine or because he was bored. To be frank, he didn’t care.

“Still too many to check one at a time,” he sighed, it wasn’t the witness’s fault for not noticing the exact colour of the car, but still it was better than nothing. They shared the rest of the cigarette in silence, Lestrade absorbed in thoughts of his case, and God only knew what Sherlock was thinking about.

When it was just ash and a stub, Sherlock snub the cigarette out on the wall circling the roof and put it into a ziplock bag. “Cannot leave evidence lying around,” he said grinning, making Lestrade laugh.

Then they got off the roof separately, and Sherlock called to him, “Shower before meeting Mycroft, and wash your clothes.”

“I know.”

It was like an affair, and entirely as dangerous. It wasn’t any less intimate just because there was no sex involved, that didn’t make it less wrong, and Lestrade knew it, but they couldn’t stop.

One day, and Lestrade was sure, Mycroft would find out about them, and it was going to be a mess, but until then he couldn’t help himself from following Sherlock on roofs, in secluded alleys and abandoned buildings, courting death and danger one cigarette at a time.
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