So yeah, here you go, angsty post-reichnbach fic with a bit of smut. Just John/Greg though. Maybe I’ll make this something longer too.

Wounded and Worn – When Greg finds him wandering the streets and takes him home, John doesn’t expect to find Mycroft there too.

teaser below the cut

The car pulled up to the curb. John blinked at it, not one of Mycroft’s thank God, but he was surprised when the window rolled down and Greg appeared. “Get in, John, you’ll catch your death out here.”

Would that be so bad? Thought John as he moved automatically to get into the car. It was raining and cold and like usual he was underdressed for the weather. Greg’s car was warm and dry and he was surprised that the car’s clock showed it was nearly midnight.

“What are you doing out so late?” He asked as they drove through the dark streets.

“Had some paperwork to catch up on. You can spend the night with me.”

John wasn’t inclined to argue. Baker Street felt haunted these days, which was why he’d been walking anyway. His knee twinged and he rubbed it without thinking. He’d never been to Greg’s flat before as Greg climbed the stairs and got the door. “Make yourself comfortable,” he said, going into the kitchen to turn the kettle on.

Looking around, John took in the flat. He knew Greg and his wife had divorced sometime the year before and the flat certainly shouted bachelor. He found himself deducting as he looked around, though he was surprised to see an expensive looking bottle of lotion sitting on a bookshelf. That certainly didn’t look like it belonged to Greg Lestrade.

“Here,” Greg came out of the kitchen and handed him a mug. John somewhat wished it was something stronger, but he really didn’t need to drink right now. If he did he might never stop.

“So, this is where you live?” he said lamely, not knowing what else to say.

“Yeah,” Greg reached for his soaked coat and hung up behind the door.

 The action reminded John again of Sherlock and he winced. Then he blinked, seeing the other coat hanging up. “That’s…not your coat.”

“This? No, it’s not.” Greg hung up his own coat, knocking over the umbrella.

John froze, then stood so quickly he knocked over his tea. “He’s here?”