Chapter 1: The flight

"You don't like flying, do you?"

Greg Lestrade turned to his fellow passenger, an uneasy smile forced onto his handsome features. "No, no, where'd you get that idea?" The 48-year-old District Inspector was knackered, barely getting any sleep from the 12-hour flight between London and Los Angeles.

"You wanna know the secret of successful air travel?" The American businessman smiled back at Lestrade with white teeth, "After you get where you're going, you take off your shoes and socks. Then you walk around the rug barefoot and make fists with your toes."

"Fist with my toes?" He noted an edge of excitement in the businessman's tone.

"Maybe it's not a fist when its your toes.. I mean like this…" The businessman flexed his fingers to demonstrate. ".. but with your toes."

Lestrade drew his eyes to his fellow passenger's fingers, absentmindedly noting the visible tan line on the man's finger where a wedding ring was supposed to be. A recent divorcee? As soon as the thought started to form in his head, Lestrade immediately squashed it. He resisted the urge to rub his face with his hand. Bloody hell. Years of working with Sherlock Holmes were starting to rub onto him apparently.

"….work out that time zone tension you know? Better than a cup of coffee and a hot shower for the old jet lag. Trust me, I have been doing this for nine years."

Lestrade hummed. He peered out of the small window and was relieved to note that the plane has finally come to a stop, he loosened his iron grip on the seat arm.

"And you know…" The businessman suddenly freed his seat buckle and leaned into Lestrade's personal space, spreading his smile wider. "Even better yet, a nice massage would surely relax you…"

With a fluid motion, Lestrade unbuckled his seatbelt and stood up. His firm body stretched while he reached for the overhead luggage compartment, the handgun under his jacket peeking out as he knew it would.

The businessman reared back as if he caught fire.

"Don't worry, " Lestrade grinned but his stern eyes told a different story. "Just doubling as the Air Marshal for today to earn my seat, that's all." He extracted his duffle bag with one swift pull. "I am a cop. I have been doing this for 19 years."

The businessman stared at him with wide eyes.

Lestrade gave his last acknowledgement and turned. But before he could even take more than a few steps, he found himself colliding into a softness that suspiciously felt like.. "Oh.. I.." Lestrade fumbled, a hint of warmth creeped at the tip of his ears.

The polite apology was not even properly formed, when the young blonde-haired woman who bumped into him suddenly slipped him a piece of folded paper into his front pocket. Lestrade watched dumbfoundedly as she tossed him a smile with unspoken promises and left him as quickly as she had appeared.

Not even bothering to confirm what the paper said, Lestrade just shook his head, allowing himself to chuckle dryly. He should not have removed his wedding ring out of spite. Even in this disheveled state, apparently everyone, including men, all somehow fancied him. Lestrade ran his fingers through his silver hair. No, they fancied his appearance. He mentally corrected. Lestrade knew he aged well. Too well. Rather than crumpling, his handsome boyish face only matured into a more distinguished look. Years of his job at Scotland Yard had also kept him fit and trim. He was easy on the eyes, but none of these strangers had seen the commitment and devotion he had for the duties of his job. The passion to serve the greater good was his core and his essence. None of these people but his wife of 19 years had known of the extent he pledged himself to protecting people... And imagine that, his wife was quickly going to turn into an ex-wife… But could he blame her? Spending countless dinners by herself. Abandoning carefully created weekend plans at a text message from his team. Housing junkies and the homeless that he had brought home for the night because he couldn't just leave them be. Washing his bloody shirt not knowing whose blood it was from…. And at that train of thought, Lestrade sobered. Closing his eyes, he granted himself a second to drown in hurt and betrayal. Sherlock's stinging but true words ringing in his ears. She had cheated… repeatedly… the PE teacher… Lestrade inhaled sharply before he resolutely squared his shoulder. His brown eyes opened and refocused as he walked surely, even if every step was meant to meet his final chapter with Holly.

Mycroft Holmes despised errands. But being the British government, he had very little choice. If the errands meant to further his greater goals, to garner those favors, then they are necessary evils for him to undertake. He closed his eyes, his fingers steepled under his angular chin. He repressed a curl from forming at his mouth. And this particular last minute errand had been one he was waiting for quite a while. Mycroft had already known exactly how he was going to utilize this favor.

"Mr. Holmes? We will be landing 15 minutes."

Mycroft opened his eyes in acknowledgment. "Anthea?"

The security detail nodded. "She has already swiped the hotel to prep for your arrival. Sir. The ambassador of Japan is en route and expected to be on time. Would you…"

"No need. Take me to the Nakatomi building first."

The security detail hesitated. "This was not on the schedule…"

Mycroft eyed his new security detail coldly. If it weren't for the minister of defense's last minute meeting, he would have arrived with Anthea hours ago. "Change my agenda and tell Anthea we will be 45 minutes behind for an errand."

The security detail swallowed and nodded before quickly scampered way.

Mycroft closed his eyes again. This time, he physically relaxed and sank into the posh seat of the private jet that came with his job. Mentally, he added another item for the new recruit onboard training in his mind palace.

Enveloped in the last rays of afternoon sunshine, the private jet finally slowed and prepared to descend into Los Angeles International Airport.