Tues, 2pm- See V.T.?

Sherlock had almost cancelled the tea appointment with Victor at least twice a day since the time was set. After 16 years and all that had happened, what exactly was he expecting from this meeting? He was hardly the same person anymore, and chances were Victor wouldn’t be either. And, even if they were, things would not be the same.

Recalling the details of their relationship was… interesting. Most memories where filed away the day Victor had fled the country, and had not been sought after since then.

At 1:58, Sherlock arrived at the coffee shop on Euston, sitting himself down at a table near the window and ordering two cups of tea.

Waiting is heinous.

Mistaken Identities

“Do I know you from somewhere?”

The question was innocent enough- she looked very familiar. The most frustrating part about her was he couldn’t figure out why she looked familiar. For some reason, she reminded him of John..but didn’t know why..maybe she was a client of his and Sherlock’s..but Sherlock didn’t seem to fit with her.

Greg frowned when confusion clouded over her face- no, they probably didn’t know each other.

“Right..sorry, you..just looked..looked like I knew you from somewhere.” Greg made a note to himself to never go to this coffee shop again- in fear of running into her again, repeating this awkward situation, and that was a pitty too, it was just down the street from the Yard.

“I should probably stop bothering you now,” he said, still searching her face, trying to find something that could trigger a memory of her, but nothing. Probably one of Laura’s distant cousins or something obscure like that, if anything.

Family Secrets

 Sherlock had been more than slightly surprised to be invited to a family dinner at the Trevor residence. Things had been going well, though - three months in and still enamoured - so it wasn’t completely unheard of. ‘Meeting the parents’… What an odd concept. For someone to want -Sherlock- to meet their parents, even moreso.

Meeting them initially had been awkward, as expected, although no-where near as bad as Sherlock had expected. Given the severe manner in which Victor’s father and brother seemed treated his sexuality, he’d expected much the same treatment himself, but it had been easy to write off the discrepancies as societal niceties. Once the necessary smalltalk was over, they’d all sat down to dinner (roast lamb, vegetables, home-made sauces; quite an effort), the mood still awkward but not so bad that any of them would ever draw attention to it.

Things had change rather severely when Sherlock brought up a certain anecdote about waking late in bed together, rushed embraces and missed first classes, when Mr Trevor had asked about his last romantic tryst.

The room had fallen silent, instantly. Then, all of a sudden, it exploded again, with both Mr Trevor and Hamish yelling in turn, Mrs Trevor trying to keep things quietened but too much in shock herself to be efficient.

/Why wouldn’t you tell them we’re together? I thought we…/ Sherlock’s train of thought was cut short by Victor’s father turning his ire to Sherlock, 'faggot’ and worse falling from his lips, designed to wound the soul. (They did, but he would never give the old man the pleasure of knowing.)

The patriarch had surely intended for Sherlock to leave, tail between his legs, crying.

It was clear Victor had told him very little about Sherlock, if that was the case.

“Well, I may be -gay-, Mister Trevor, but I still think I hold superior ground; at least I’m not an abusive father to someone else’s child.” He practically spit the words out, taking a moment to glance around, surveying the sudden and absolute silence. This observation of social phenomena was cut short as Victor grabbed his arm, eyes wide in shock and confusion, silently begging Sherlock, we have to go now, and you need to explain.

“No wonder you like your Uncle Asher so much,” Sherlock continued (impossible to stop now, the words are on the tongue waiting to get out), “it figures you would, genetically speaking if nothing else; seems your mother had good taste for one night at least.”

Meet up in Aisle 5

It had been a perfectly nice day off, apart from the day being a bit drizzly and dreary, but Lestrade didn’t mind. Determined to have a nice day off, he wasn’t bothered that the power went out for a good two hours or the fact that he accidentally forgotten to close a window, letting rain come into his bedroom. But the last straw was when the new cat, Muddle decided it would be great fun to topple over the food and water bowls while Greg’s back was turned as well as dump and drag her litter box across the flat. 

And that was also the reason why Greg found himself down aisle five of Tesco on his day off collecting cat food and any form of cleaning supplies that could remove a stain that seemed to be embedded into the carpet, and wine. Lots of wine. 

But then his day started to turn around when he spotted a somewhat familiar face. The one he had met in the coffee shop a few weeks ago. Smiling as he approached, his mind went blank, but it was too late to turn back, he had the other’s attention. 

“Hey, uh..Vincent..Victor! Victor, hi,” he said recovering from his slip-up, thankful to find a friend..or were they considered friends yet? Anyway finding someone that was familiar.