Our souls collided before we met

Part 1

Chapter 1

A fateful meeting.

Note to the reader: on 3th January 1993 USA and Russia signed in Moscow the ratification of bilateral treaty on the Reduction and Limitation of Strategic Offensive Arms, named START II -

The air was crisp, the winter bite still strong with the prospect of snow in the weather forecast. The private jet landed on the airstrip the wheels screeching loudly in the cold air. There was no one to meet the plane or its occupants, as the plane, with the airport and the time was all classified as top secret. Privacy valued. In short, there was no landing. The jet came to a standstill and four people stepped out, three men and one woman. All three of them were British citizens, with no passports and no extra luggage. The only identification was the code names: Antarctica, Grey, Love and Sheffield. Antarctica was the last to leave, looking at the sky around him then back at the newspapers on a forgotten chair inside the airport. His eyes glanced at the date: 5 January 1993.

They were glad to be back on home soil, the mission in Moscow still fresh on their mind. They met other agents, from both Russia and Americans, negotiations for more treaties on a deeper level of secrecy. The four of them didn't glance at each other as they made their way to the four awaiting cars. Unbeknownst to them there was a mole amongst them. And it would cost them dearly.

Mycroft Holmes put his coat over his suit, taking the last of his belongings from his office locker, his wallet in his coat, the keys to his home in the other and picking up his small travellers bag he closed the locker with a soft click.

He took a deep breath before he left the room and the building. This week, the entire mission has been stressful, as always negotiations were tough especially with the Russians and Americans trying to outdo the other with biting remarks.

He longed for his home, his shower with endless hot water, he longed for his shampoo and luxurious soap with their distinct scent and chemicals to smooth his skin. He was tired of the plain soap and plain shampoo in the safe house in Moscow.

He made his was down the street thinking about his life and the mission. Already at the age of twenty-four he has accomplished much, he has been an MI6 agent since he was twenty and in Oxford. He loved his job, he loved the sense of power it gave him, his superiors were already impressed with his work, the way he easily and flawlessly handles stressful situations, the way he can detached from anyone, focus on the job at hand. He received his codename in the first month of work. Mycroft realised early on that stress was like fuel in his veins, the adrenaline like oxygen in his body, boosting him. It was wonderful. He may not be the biggest fan of the field but it was a wonderful foundation for the great future he will have in this career he had chosen.

He walked half a block to the nearest spot for the busses and taxis. He wouldn't dare to take a bus, a cab on the other hand, does sound a lot better than walking. The only thing he wanted to do was go home, he had enough of people.

The busses were all gone and the taxi's as well, all but one. The cabdriver was standing outside, his door half open and he was smoking a cigarette. He was talking animatedly to another man, a cop. One glance told him, the man was a Constable.

He was always able to read people and deduce, and his skills just improved since his training, so he was able to glance at both men and already now a lot about them both. The Constable was handsome, in fact he was very attractive, comfortable in his body, his smile and laughter was bright and contagious and Mycroft's mouth turned into a smile, he didn't knew what they were talking about, but seeing this man laugh, made him want to smile too. He was a few inches shorter than Mycroft, but he had long legs, strong, he obviously runs a lot.

Mycroft took a step closer and heard the cabbie call him 'Greg' Mycroft liked that, he looked like a man who needs a strong name like Greg, he bets it is short for Gregory.

Mycroft must have been more tired than he initially realized because when he looked at the man again, he was staring back, his head slightly tilted. The cabbie was still talking but Mycroft could feel the man was focused on him now. It was a bit disconcerting. Mycroft stared back which was a mistake, the man had the most expressive brown eyes he had ever seen. He always thought brown eyes were a bit boring, it was brown, dark brown or light, nothing spectacular but this man was taking that notion and smashing it. It was like liquid caramel and chocolate swirling around a black pupil surrounded by a layer of lashes, protecting the brown irises. It was mesmerising.

"Hey lad, want a ride?" The cabbie broke through his thoughts and he turned to him.

"Yes please, are you available?" He could see in his peripheral vision, the man's eyebrows rising at his reply.

"Sure laddie, get in." The cabbie turned to Greg. "Chat later hey, and congrats again." Greg just nodded and stepped back as he watch the young man and driver get into the car, his eyes on the man. Mycroft didn't dare to look at him again, instead keeping his eyes in front of him as the car reversed and drove off. Greg stepped back into the road, watching the car disappearing into the streets.

It was only when the car stopped at the first traffic light that Mycroft took his first deep breath, he didn't even realize his breathing was swallow and by the sound of it, he even skipped a few beats. It was strange, something he never had experienced before, an unfamiliar feeling that he couldn't dissect as much as he wanted to.

Greg was happy, this was his last week on the streets from next week Constable Gregory Lestrade is Sergeant Gregory Lestrade. Yes, the man got promoted to the Criminal Investigation Department. The CID, Sgt Lestrade from the CID, it even has a nice ring to it. He did it all of that at the age of twenty-seven, but he is hard working and driven; if he keeps it up he will be a detective before his 40th birthday.

That put a smile on his face and even though he met some great people on the street, and some good friends, he would miss them but ultimately it will still be the same streets they live in, the same streets he vowed to protect, he would just do it in a different capacity.

Johnnie was a cab driver and he and Greg had got to know each other well over these past few years.

They got talking about the future and his career when this young man stepped up. He was tall, the three piece suit looking spectacular on him, even at that young age. His hair was ginger, with hints to a dark auburn, it was; well to be honest, sexy as hell to Greg. He had a small duffle bag and the most surprisingly was that he was twirling an umbrella. The best part was when their eyes met to Greg it was something out of a film, it was as if time slowed down and the man was staring through him, burning through his eyes right into his soul. It was eternal; it was as if he was marked, in a good way.

By the time he got his mouth in working order to talk to the man, the young man was already in the cab. Johnnie was saying something about seeing him later but he didn't really hear. He watched as the cab reversed and drove off, he stepped out into the street; somehow feeling as if was making some kind of mistake.

By the time Mycroft arrived home Greg was firmly planted in his mind, it didn't matter how hard he tried he just couldn't shake the image. Once inside he felt great again, the feeling of being home in his own sanctuary comforted him. It did. It was his place, private and secluded and no need for masks and pretence.

He didn't even bother with opening curtains downstairs in his living room, the housekeeper can do that. He was so preoccupied with thoughts of showering and having a nice long nap that he didn't even register the slight draft of the curtains moving in the corner. Evidence of a half open balcony door instead he just climbed up the stairs to his bedroom.

Emptying his entire bag into the laundry basket he put out some casual clothes on the bed. The bathroom was big and inviting and he turned the tap, the hot water steaming the bathroom up immediately. Mycroft quickly undressed and got in the shower. Feeling his body relaxes under the hot spray, he allowed himself to relax; he had a gruelling few days and he is aware of the mole, he is not supposed to, yet he is. Washing his hair he forced himself to stop thinking about work, to stop thinking about anything and just relax and clear his mind, which is a problem because every time he closed his eyes, he would see a pair of brown eyes. He briefly wondered what would've happened if he spoke the man, ask about his day, way he was so happy since his laugh was so carefree and joyous.

No.

He opened his eyes. He can't think of that, he needs to focus on his career on the mission; he does not have time to indulge in brown-eyed boys and fantasies like that. He quickly washed and got out the shower.

He looked in the bathroom mirror, what if he just finds out the man's last name, or maybe why he was so happy. He shouldn't, but what harm can it do?

He quickly dressed and put the towel back in the bathroom. The moment he stepped out of his room, he sensed something was wrong. The hair on the back of his neck was rising and he could feel it, he wasn't alone. He had two choices go back in his bedroom and lock the door, calling for help or he must try to get downstairs where his weapon was, and get help.

The decision was taken out of his hands when the moment he turned he felt the sharp pain. His hand grabbed it, it was a small dart. Pulling it out he tried to get back to his room when he saw the figure coming down the hallway, he tried to look up, but his eyes were blurry, the last thing he remembered was the impact on the side of his head. The bastard drugged him and hit him over the head.