BBC Sherlock Imagines

Lestrade: Timing

Request for myfirstnameisagent

~

(This whole story will be in Greg's POV)

After not seeing (y/n) for two days in a row at work, a new record, Greg decided he should go check what was up. It wasn't like her to miss work, and even more unlike her to not alert him about it. He pulled up to her house, noticing her car was in the driveway. Her shades were drawn and garage door closed, but he knew she was bundled up inside somewhere, probably reading a book or watching some cheesy chick flick. Greg walked up to her front door and gave 3 light knocks. He heard a man's voice, some footsteps, and at last the door opened to reveal Sherlock Holmes.

"Ah, Gilbert, wasn't expecting to see you here," he greeted. Greg groaned at the mistaken name.

"I could say the same," replied Greg suspiciously. Sherlock gave him an odd look, not sure what he was getting at.

"(Y/n) come out, it's only Lestrade!" he called behind him into the house. Greg looked eagerly behind him, nervously clutching the bag of her favorite snacks he had brought her. She appeared from around a corner dressed in sweats and a sweatshirt. Her hair was thrown up in a mop on her head and tiredness tugged around her eyes like she had just woken up from a nap.

"Sherlock what are you doing? Let the man in," she ordered, sending Greg a small smile. A small spark lit up in his stomach at the sight of it.

"You mean he's staying?" Sherlock asked in disappointment. "But we were in the middle of our reading time," he complained, slamming the door behind Greg and stomping into the living room.

"Babysitting for John today?" asked Greg, chuckling lightly at Sherlock's behavior.

"Something like that," she responded, eyeing the bag in his hands. "What's this?" she asked, ripping it out of his hands and peering eagerly at the contents inside.

"Well considering you haven't been to work in two days, I thought you were either dying or being held captive, so I thought to come check up on you and bring some reinforcements," grimaced Greg, his palms beginning to sweat slightly. (Y/n) didn't say anything, which was very abnormal for her since she always had something to say, but just sifted through the snacks slowly. "So which was it?" asked Greg, trying to diffuse the awkward silence that filled the entrance way. She looked up, her (y/e/c) eyes grazed over in a trance.

"Sorry what?" she asked, snapping out of it. "Oh, right, uh I was just feeling under the weather," she explained leading him around the corner to the kitchen and living room area. Sherlock sat in the corner armchair, book in hand, and glanced up momentarily when they entered.

"I'm guessing he was holding you captive here," teased Greg, taking the beer from (y/n)'s hand she offered.

"More like the other way around," she confessed. "Let's just say he's the only reason my fridge is full." Greg felt his shoulders drop at the thought of Sherlock doing (y/n)'s grocery shopping. And then so did his heart when he realized that she had probably spent the past two days holed up here with him "reading books" and all.

"So you two were just... reading?" asked Greg, trying to be nonchalant.

"Reading and cleaning - my two favorite things," she confirmed, going to sit on the couch and patting the seat next to her.

"I know," sighed Greg under his breath. He really did know - she was always talking about the books she was reading. She complained about the characters, praised the author, and sent him random passages and quotes that she found amazing. He wondered if she did the same with Sherlock now... Not that it mattered. Greg and (y/n) were nothing more than good friends, just like they had been for the past 2 years. He came and sat down by her as she flipped on the TV to a rerun of last week's football game.

"You still going with us to the game on Friday?" Greg asked. By "us" he meant him and a few of their coworkers from Scotland Yard, but he only cared if she went.

"If she even makes it to Friday," muttered Sherlock, face still buried in his book. (Y/n)'s head shot towards Sherlock, but he pretended not to notice.

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Greg, eyeing the two of them. (Y/n) bit her lip, her eyes now deadlocked on the game.

"Yes, what is that supposed to mean (y/n)?" asked Sherlock, trying to bite back the anger in his voice.

"Sherlock!" snapped (y/n). She got up from the couch, and Greg noticed tears falling from her eyes. She headed towards the bathroom, and Greg tried to follow.

"(Y/n) what's going on? Are you okay?"

"Don't," commanded Sherlock. He had looked up from his book, locking eyes with Greg. "Just.. give her time."

"Sherlock what the hell is going on," asked Greg, standing over him.

"I don't think it's really my place to tell you," he said, purposely avoiding eye contact.

"So now you decide to be courteous after you already brought it up and made her go and cry like that."

"If it wasn't for me you would never know," he stated matter-of-factly.

"Wouldn't know what?!" Greg asked exasperated.

"It's called a cerebral lymphoma brain tumor." Greg turned around and found (y/n) leaning against the archway. "And apparently it's been growing in my brain for the past 9 months." She looked at Sherlock. "Leave," she ordered him. He swiftly moved up from the chair, brushed his lips lightly against her forehead, then was out the door. She smiled slightly at the gesture, then remembered where she was and what she was about to tell Greg. "I just found out, well two days ago, when I went to the doctors after work. You know how I was having those headaches and a lot of pressure in my head, and well, turns out it wasn't just because I wasn't getting enough sleep or dehydrated. I'm-" her speech broke off, and she bit her lip hard as she looked at the ground, trying to summon the courage to finish her sentence. "I'm dying Greg."

~

3 months later

Epilogue

Timing is everything. There are good times to fall in love with someone, like when they're pouring your coffee and laughing and you realize they have never looked more beautiful, and there are bad times to fall in love with someone, like when they are taking their pain pills for the second time that day, or just waking up from a 12 hour sleep, or fighting for their life. Greg Lestrade fell in love at the wrong time, but with the right person.

That day he walked into her house he had been planning to, well first grill her on why she had been gone for two straight days from work, then somewhere in between their laughs and such, ask her out. He could tell you he had most definitely not been planning to walk in there and learn that she had a few months to live.

She had made it 2 months and 20 days.

Not a second went by that she didn't cross his mind. Not a second went by that he didn't regret not telling her how he felt. Because she didn't know that he loved her, but not in the way she thought; he loved her smile, he loved her eyes, he loved her feisty attitude, he loved the way she screamed at the tv, he loved that she could wrestle down a maniac to the ground without breaking a sweat - he loved her.

But timing did not love him.

A/N

Please don't murder me for writing two sad stories in a row.

But on a happier note - isn't protective best friend Sherlock who reads books with you just so cute?

Did you guys watch the Grammys? My girl T Swizzle was fire as usual *a million heart face emojis*
Same with Sam Hunt and Carrie Underwood. In case you guys didn't know, which you probably didn't, I am a country FANATIC. But I also have a sweet spot for oldies and alternative rock.

Thank you guys so much for reading! I love you all.

You truly are the best children a mother could ask for.