Silence weighed down upon the man as he stepped into the building; a bit restless, somewhat disheveled, and having absolutely no idea why he was here. He had just gotten out of the office when a sleek black car pulled up and the door opened, the woman inside asking him to join her. Anthea, she had called herself. Well, he supposed it wouldn't hurt and saw no way around it, so he did as told.
He hadn't predicted they'd end up here, in an elegant area filled with well-to-do gentlemen reading the paper and a silence that weighed on his shoulders, making him feel ten years older. He didn't wait long before he was shown through and into an office, the door shut behind him. He sat down in a chair facing the desk and sighed, relaxing despite himself. It had really been a long day at work. This room was at least marginally better in the way of oppressive silence, but it still felt awkward. Another five minutes passed and he was somewhat (almost) dozing off.
"My apologies, Detective Inspector. I was held up dreadfully late."
The man started and turned around, standing up on impulse; in front of him stood a well-dressed, jovial-seeming man. He was a bit more weighty than lean, with a pleasant, yet not heartfelt smile, dressed in an immaculate suit and an umbrella on his arm. He shut the door and sat down in the chair behind the desk before gesturing his guest to do the same.
"Ah, it's okay, I was just admiring—"
"No doubt you're asking yourself why I brought you here, and under such circumstances. Before I go on, I must ask you keep this a secret from Sherlock. He and I have such a—well, a strained, relationship, we'll say."
"Sherlock?"
The man shifted slightly, confusion showing so blatantly on his face a five-year-old could read it.
"My apologies. I am Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock's elder brother. I had hoped to meet the men and women my younger sibling worked so hard to belittle in a different manner, but circumstances have forced this hand."
Circumstances?
"Ah, I'm—"
"Greg Lestrade, Detective Inspector at New Scotland Yard. Yes, I know."
Mycroft gave Lestrade another of those smiles; jovial, yet slightly disdainful.
"Right, should have expected that. So what's this about?"
"Oh, just getting to know you. And I have a request."
"What's that?"
"Please, "And Mycroft leaned on his desk, elbows on it as he folded his hands in front of his mouth, "keep watching over my brother. I have many issues with him, but I do care deeply about him, and he will never accept my help."
Lestrade was somewhat unnerved by the look the man gave him, but nodded anyway. What else could he do? Obviously Mycroft was someone influential, and it was always good to stay on the good side of a Holmes.
"Excellent. Now then, I believe that you should be getting some sleep, Detective Inspector."
"Lestrade. Please, call me Lestrade." Detective Inspector sounds so formal.
Mycroft blinked for a second, observing the man over his hands, and once more Lestrade felt the analytical questioning that Sherlock had given him so many times.
"Very well. We'll be seeing each other again, I presume. Good night, Lestrade."
Lestrade stood, and nodded at Mycroft before walking out of the building and getting back in the car, telling Anthea his address. As they drove off, he couldn't help but look at the building, wondering just what he had gotten himself into. Mycroft seemed harmless enough. But he was a Holmes, and there was always more than meets the eye.
Lestrade shook his head, got out and headed into his flat, settling down on the couch and rubbing his eyes. He'd dwell on the absurdities of the people he worked with later. Right now he was going to sleep, dwelling on the question of why someone would carry an umbrella when there wasn't a drop of rain in sight.