A/N: And so the conclusion of the case and this particular story :-)

"So how's the leg?" John asked conversationally, when Greg returned.

"Not too bad, stiffness is easing."

"Really?" the doctor smirked.

"Oh go on, get it out. If it wasn't for you I'd have got laid tonight you bastard. Well, if we hadn't done ourselves an injury first. Single beds aren't great for sex when you're not a student anymore."

"Seriously? Scotland Yard's finest and a bloody genius didn't think to use Sherlock's room which has a double bed you could use without interruption? Got carried away presumably. So tell me again how it's my fault you didn't get it on?"

"Ah! I guess it wasn't exactly planned. I'm just going to…"

John held up his hands, warding off whatever he thought Greg was referring to, with a smirk.

"Please, whatever. Just be quiet about it yeah? I would like some sleep tonight."

Sherlock was correct, he really did need sleep more than strenuous activity, which was probably another indication that he wasn't as young as he used to be. He just hoped that he'd be able to keep up with the younger man, now it seemed they were really going to do something about the attraction that had been simmering for the last three weeks. Sherlock didn't seem worried, so maybe he should stop stressing over it too. He was pretty fit still. The aches in his body at the moment had more to do with the beating he'd suffered than his age. Feeling slightly more cheerful he stepped under the hot shower and took care of the one remaining thing that would prevent him sleeping.

John was already snoring when he stepped back into the bedroom. He could slip out, across the corridor and knock on Sherlock's door - he knew the detective would still be wide awake - but then he'd just ensured it would be an hour or two before he was good to go again. Smiling to himself resignedly he slipped under the duvet and picked up his phone to check he'd set his alarm. There was a text message from Sherlock.

I'll try hard not to be too irritating in future - SH

Greg chuckled, wondering if Sherlock's habit of signing his initials at the end of his text messages would change if this became a proper relationship. He typed a message back, worried the kiss would be too much but sending it anyway.

Thanks for trying. I'll try to be more tolerant. G x

Go to sleep and stop worring - SH x

A message from Sherlock wouldn't be right without those initials he thought.

The next morning Greg and John were leaning against the car chatting quietly when Sherlock swept up, coat flying and eyes wild. Greg noticed that he was wearing his shirt with two extra buttons undone, proudly displaying the massive bruise on his neck that marked him as belonging to someone. It gave Greg a massive kick to know it was him.

"I remember what was missing from Josie's noticeboard," he declared gleefully. "It was the vampire film that brought it to mind. Darksiders! There was a flyer pinned on the bottom corner for a website called Darksiders. I joined up last night as an author. They collaborate on dark fiction that explores death and dying, suicide a specialty, and run by none other than Dante."

"Let me guess - black screen, white rose, puddle of blood? We think Josie was a member. Kate is getting us access today."

"So why are we not on our way already?"

"Because, you idiot, we were waiting for you," Greg said fondly.

Sherlock snatched the ignition keys from him, opening the passenger door with a flourish and closing it once the DI had settled himself into the passenger seat. John looked amused at this strangely chivalrous act from the detective.

"I have to get my own door then? No special treatment for the blogger, just the boyfriend?"

Sherlock tugged the rear door open, standing to attention.

"If you'd care to get your arse into the car Watson, we can be our way. There's a crime to be solved you know?"

The atmosphere in the office was entirely different with a jovial and excited Sherlock bouncing around the place. He even deigned to have a proper conversation with Kate, although Greg noted the detective touched him on the arm numerous times reasserting his position as lover, and at one point even gripped his hand briefly. Kate thought it was highly amusing of course, and when Sherlock bounded off to the coffee machine with John she grinned at the DI and asked "finally?"

"I think so. Giving it a go anyway."

She kissed his cheek and wished him luck, genuinely pleased for him.

"Let me know how it goes. I want all the gory details."

The login access for the website was approved and Sherlock spent half an hour browsing before he declared he had seen enough, and was ready to solve the case for them. Greg and John exchanged a grin.

At three o'clock on Wednesday afternoon he called everyone together in the office to unveil his findings. In typically dramatic style he paced the tiny office two steps forward, two back, waving his arms and delivering deductions at a rate of knots. Greg only listened to half his exposition, too distracted by the way he moved to focus on his words. He loved to see him like this; he always had, he realized, for as long as he'd known the detective. He'd seen the man at his lowest ebb, high on coke or heroin - sometimes both - and filthy from days lying on a grimy mattress in some crack house or other. Once he'd even carried him practically comatose from a dilapidated house and had driven him to A&E to have his infected arm treated and his crashing come-down managed. He always forgave him and welcomed him back to the Yard when he was well because he needed his help, but he needed to know this brilliant man was safe even more. Funny how in all that time Sherlock had needed him but had kept it well hidden.

"Are you listening Lestrade? Am I boring you?"

God, it was probably his over active imagination, but his name sounded wicked whenever it fell from Sherlock's lips now. He flushed, looking up into Sherlock's annoyed expression. He was about to apologise when the detective gave him a mischievous wink.

"Get on with it you clown. Christ, we'll all be asleep before you get around to telling us how he did it."

"Daniel Taylor has wasted a great deal of police time. Josie Long was not murdered at all, the original conclusion was correct. There's an outside chance her death may have been suicide but was most likely a tragic accident - too much alcohol, combined with sleeping pills and a hot bubble bath. Who puts bath oil into a bath in which they intend to die? I can find no evidence at all to suggest Josie would end her life - had she been suicidal someone would have noticed, but everyone without exception said how happy and positive she was, and how enthusiastic she was in her studies. She wasn't lonely or isolated, had a great social life, and was making plans for the future. She was passionate about her hobby though - writing - and was keen to explore dark fiction, which is how she came to know Daniel Taylor. His website was created for authors who loved to write about death and the futility of living. Josie's 'suicide note' was one such piece, her collaborator none other than Dante himself. "

"So why claim he killed her?"

"Notoriety probably. Possibly some misguided stunt to drum up publicity for his website by using Josie's death. There was no foul play here, just an immature man's desire to be in the spotlight for a murder that was never committed in the first place. His lack of compassion is astounding."

"I'm glad in a way," Kate said. "It's been hard enough for Josie's family dealing with the original verdict without all this. It's good to know we didn't miss something and get it terribly wrong. I'll see he's brought in and we'll see what we can charge the little shit with."

By seven in the evening they were in a city centre pub well on their way to being merry. Greg had discovered it had an excellent jukebox stuffed full of British punk and early eighties pop classics, and had dropped almost ten pounds into it selecting his favourite tracks, including the one he'd come to think of as 'their song'. Not that he'd admit that to anyone, not even his- boyfriend? Lover? More than a one night stand, that's for sure. Sherlock found the place rowdy and bewildering, but whenever he looked lost or uneasy Greg would seize him in a passionate snog and he'd be ok for a while. No one paid them any attention this time. John, Patten and Kate had found a table in the corner and were chatting about life in general, leaving Sherlock and Greg to slip out into the beer garden to share a cigarette.

"You know I'm going to mess this up, don't you? I will refuse to change and you'll get frustrated and it'll all end before it's even begun properly. You'll still let me work if that happens, won't you?"

Greg smiled at the anxiety in the detective's tone, happy to know he wasn't the only one with fears. He couldn't in all honesty see how they were going to make it work but it felt like an exciting challenge to be met head on, rather than an intimidating obstacle to be avoided.

"God help me, I need you at the Yard. If it comes to the worst, I'll make you work with Donovan."

"That's dreadful, but it's one way of making me try harder I suppose. Can we not mention it at the Yard yet?"

"Fine by me. You get enough abuse, you don't need extra shit for dating me. Complicates things at work."

"I'm not ashamed, if that's what you're thinking? Is that what we're doing though? Dating?"

Greg hugged him, plucking the cigarette from his lips so it wouldn't waggle ash all over him as Sherlock spoke. He finished it, not speaking for a minute or two. Sherlock almost vibrated with anxiety beside him, waiting for a response.

"We're feeling our way through something new. If we cock it up then we'll get over it. If we don't, then one day in the future we'll be comfortable sharing it."

Sherlock kissed him, the bitter taste of smoke tainting their lips. His hand slipped into the back pocket of Greg's jeans in a familiar way, and they returned to the rest of their group inside like that.

"Why are you smiling?" Sherlock asked curiously.

Greg wound his arms around the other's waist and kissed his neck over the second beautiful mark he'd made on his ivory skin just below his ear.

"Because Mr Holmes, there's this fucking gorgeous bloke I know who has a room to himself and a comfortable double bed, and if he's really good he might get to share it tonight."

"Maybe we should slope off now Lestrade and see just how good I can be?"

Greg chuckled at the husky use of his name. It was tempting but he wanted to stay for a while to celebrate the successful conclusion of their visit north. He would also have to make time to say goodbye to Kate as they would be setting off for home early the next day. One or two drinks always seemed to help them get over their inhibitions too...

"Patience love, we have all the time in the world."

The End. Maybe.