"What a…lovely home you've come by, brother dear." Mycroft stated as he picked up a dirty mug that had once held what he had assumed to be tea? Perhaps. He held the mug at arm's length, assuming that the state of the mug more than likely described the odor that permeated from the fermented tea. Sherlock barely hinted at the knowledge of the presence of his brother, decidedly transfixed onto the screen of his laptop of which he was reading at an almost inhuman speed. Mycroft grunted and gave a look of disdain at being ignored especially in the garbage heap his brother called home, he stepped forward and cleared a chair that sat opposite of Sherlock.
Mycroft meant to have with a chat with his brother, even if that meant having to sit in the middle of his mind and filth.
"You've gained two pounds since the last time you came to my flat," Sherlock stated without looking up, "diet not adhering to your lust for sweets again?" Mycroft clicked his tongue in annoyance, his hand on the handle of his umbrella turning a bone white while his other hand began tapping out a nonsensical rhythm on the armrest of the chair.
"Such observations are so petty, brother, perhaps you'd like to answer as to why you've made over seven fake identification cards in the past week?" Mycroft had finally spat out his reason for coming, a chastising visit that Mummy Holmes had threatened him to give his brother. Sherlock still hadn't looked up from his laptop, egging on Mycroft's annoyance even more, he could practically see the vein in his brother's neck begin to pop.
"Honestly, you're a thirty year old man with a mind that could make so many advances in the generation and yet, you choose to spend your time either on narcotics or loitering around the Yard." Sherlock finally looked up, he still didn't say a word as he promptly shut his laptop then stood up to make himself a cup of tea. Mycroft brought a hand up to his temple and began to gently rub the headache that had been plaguing him since he awoke this morning at three Am. He could distinctly hear the sound of someone exiting a cab outside but decided to think nothing of it, too many cabs in London as it is anyway.
"Speaking of The Yard, Detective Inspector Lestrade will be with us shortly." Sherlock said as he set the kettle on the stove top, quickly grabbing another chipped tea cup from the cupboard. A disheveled, nearly gray man burst through the front door at that exact moment, one look into his eye and one could deduce that he was thoroughly annoyed. Mycroft smirked, at least he wasn't the only one having a row today.
"Alright you bastard, give it up." And that was the moment Mycroft's smirk faded into a thin line, which in turn told Sherlock that he was thinking rather hard.
"Oh Lestrade, how wonderful to see you too." Sherlock smiled at the copper, flashing him a cheery grin knowing fully well how it would make Lestrade get into an even worse state. Mycroft however was still in thought, thoughts that directly related to the new addition to the room. Mycroft decided to play the game of deductions with himself because something about the detective inspector in front of him screamed for Mycroft's undivided attention.
'Noting to the wrinkled and cheap suit he has on, he is most likely a man with little free time to care about the state of his dress but just enough time to adhere to a code of professionalism which is where the suit comes in. The suits are wrinkled and cheap and new, yes new, he's just been promoted which is why he even put into the whole suit process. His hair is slightly graying but he's still a deep brunette, estimated amount of time until he's entirely gray? About two to three years, possibly only a year with Sherlock coming into the picture. The state of his wedding ring is the only neatly kept thing about him, which in turn means that his marriage is going quite well, however the graying in his hair would contend against that. Being a man with little to no free time would leave almost no time to a wife, who is in fact an on call nurse at one of the busiest hospitals in all of England, approximately by the state of the lines on the detectives face which remain from staying up to wake up or wait for his wife before leaving for the yard at more than likely three in the morning. In other words, the detective is in a soon to be failing marriage with his new promotion and newfound acquaintanceship with Sherlock, who no doubt would take all of the Detective Inspectors time. Free and busy. He won't be the one to cheat, judging by his stance he's a classic loyal husband, his wife however is a woman of an expectant amount of attention. She will be the one to cheat and leave, no doubt. Estimated amount of time before Lestrade's soon to be divorce: Approximately five to ten years. He'll hang onto it until it dies in his arms and blows up in his face. Conclusion: Detective Inspector Lestrade is a humble and loyal man with a soon to be failing marriage and a graying head to boot.' Mycroft thought while staring at the copper without realizing his impropriety, Sherlock had already guessed everything Mycroft had deduced about Lestrade. He was, however, curious about the sudden flush of Mycroft's cheeks, dilation of pupils and heightened breath, attraction clearly across his brother's eyes. Sherlock made an internal grunt at his disgust for his brother's sudden attraction but made no inclination that he cared.
"I wouldn't say it's wonderful to see me right now, Holmes, you know why I'm here." Lestrade said with his still prevalent annoyance, eying Sherlock and trying to ignore the way he wanted to punch him straight in the face. Sherlock's eyes glinted in sudden amusement, making Lestrade annoyed had become a new game of his and he certainly did play it often.
"Oh no, I'm afraid I don't know why you're here, care to elaborate for me?" Sherlock's words came out like molasses, coating the conversation in thick goo that Lestrade wasn't about to set foot into.
Mycroft sat listening to their conversation while staring at the Detective Inspector with great interest. Mycroft would never admit it, but he was deeply interested and possibly transfixed on the strange man before him.
"Just give me back my damn I.D., Holmes! I'm not playing games with you today, I have a case to be at in a half hour and it's half way across London." Lestrade breathed out, rubbing his temples just as Mycroft had done not even five minutes ago. Sherlock snorted with a boyish air and ran his hand through his hair, which needed a good cutting (or so Mycroft contested with him on many occasions.)
"Oh, you want your Identification Card? Why didn't you just say so? I'm not a mind reader, Detective."
"Sometimes, I'm doubtful, Holmes." Sherlock smirked at the comment, Mycroft, who was quite tired of being ignored, coughed exaggeratedly. Lestrade's eyes suddenly flashed to the dignified man sitting in one of Sherlock's chairs, looking incredibly out of place in the cluttered apartment.
"Holmes, who's the suit? Did you get yourself in another jam? You know I can't get all of the Yard to come save you every single time you decide to piss off a crazed politician."
"Mycroft Holmes, sir, it is a pleasure to meet your acquaintance." Lestrade's eyes buggered out of their sockets, his mind fishing for answers as to who this man was that was shaking his hand right now.
"Holmes, as in-"
"Yes, Sherlock and I are related, brothers to be precise. Disgusting circumstances, I assure you." Mycroft glared at Sherlock, who had walked out of the room to go do God knows what. Lestrade's eyes were now the size of dinner plates, he could feel his mouth run dry at the idea of two Holmes.
"Christ, there's more of you lot? Listen, one Holmes is enough to age me but if I have to deal with two I might just jump off the roof of the Yard."
"I assure you, Detective, my brother and I are fortunately different in almost every way." Mycroft was sweating lightly, for reasons he wasn't too sure of and probably didn't want to extrapolate. Mycroft could feel the dilation of his pupils, the quickness of his breathing and the ever-growing knot balling up in his stomach. Although Mycroft was no expert in the matter, he could tell the warning signs of physical attraction with ease.
Blissfully unaware of the unsettling feeling beginning in the stomach of the only civil Holmes Lestrade had ever met, he smiled warmly and sat down in the opposite seat of Mycroft. He'd get his damn Identification Card if it took him all day, Holmes didn't have one over him.
"So Mr. Holmes, what brings you to your bastard of a brothers crack den?" Lestrade joked, thumbing the fabric of the armchair absently. Mycroft let out a puff of air from his nose and smiled, he stared into the eyes of the Detective for any motives however. He didn't just tell anyone his plans without first understanding their want with it, but judging by the relaxed expression and sitting position, Lestrade was just making conversation.
"Please, call me Mycroft, Detective Inspector. I'm here for a similar predicament that my brother has put me in, he's made over seven fake Identification cards within the past week. And I do in fact agree with your crack den comment, absolutely dreadful living conditions he's put himself in, I don't know how he can live here." Mycroft said, one hand firmly sliding on the handle of his umbrella, trying not to let his uncomfortable feelings show.
"Call me Greg, please, I'm not used to the whole Detective Inspector title yet." Lestrade smirked, he was obviously proud of what he's accomplished but he wasn't a man to let that get him in over his head.
"I think that I shall have to bring my formality into context when I tell you that I must simply call you Gregory to be able to put up with myself." Mycroft's eyes were now completely smitten by the man before him, he couldn't look away from him if he tried. Suddenly, Sherlock emerged from where ever the Hell he'd gone to with Greg's wallet in hand and all seven of his faked identification cards. Sherlock's eyes instantly locked onto Mycroft and what had entered his mind as only a theory had enhanced itself to certain knowledge. Sherlock was instantly amused, his eyes brightening and a sharp smile graced his features, his brother would never hear the end of this observation.
"Oh Lestrade, here you are, in perfect condition as always." Sherlock handed Greg his wallet and looking at Mycroft's eyes as they followed Greg's every movements.
"Good, didn't have to tackle you or lock you up this time." Greg joked and looked up at Sherlock, completely oblivious to the obvious eyes that tracked him, studying him.
"My dear brother, you seem to be staring at something with evil intent." Sherlock's eyes glinted and he smirked with a knowing evil that only he could make, Mycroft took his eyes off of Lestrade and glared with a terrible anger at Sherlock.
"Just deciding when I should call someone in to change this horrible wallpaper, believe me, it will be soon if I can help it." Mycroft knew Sherlock knew what his body was betraying him with, his anger was pooling inside him with each second Sherlock gave him that smile.
"Oh yes, the wallpaper, of course." Sherlock said skeptically, Lestrade had a confused look on his face but wasn't looking too far into the brother's conversation.
"Well, best be scooting, I'm sure I'll see you soon Holmes. Pleasure to meet you, Mycroft, now if you'll excuse me." And just like that, the attractive man that had been clouding Mycroft's mind for the past fifteen minutes, left just as abruptly as he came.
"Attraction, dear brother, does not suit you."
"Children are meant to be seen and not heard, Sherlock." Mycroft's headache was brought back with a vengeance, he promptly stood up, dusted himself off and made his way towards the door.
"Do you not want these then? Because I will happily keep them." Sherlock said, waving the fake identification cards like a fan on himself, Mycroft grudgingly walked swiftly towards his brother. Taking the cards with an angry hand, Mycroft then again turned toward the door.
"Obviously, you've already deduced Lestrade, but there's something you'll have to do deep research to find out. He's far more interesting than he lets on, I've learned from experience, don't let his little normality fool you. Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade is anything but ordinary." Sherlock told his brother, suddenly taking this moment to become serious and address something to his brother.
"You almost sound as if you care, brother." Mycroft said, facing the hallway not daring to turn around to face his brother.
"Maybe this is one of the few times I actually do, Mycroft." And with that, Mycroft walked swiftly out of the ghastly apartment while pulling out his phone. He dialed the only number that he ever memorized while still walking out of the building, his umbrella held firmly in his hand for fear that he could get jumped in this hell hole.
"Yes Sir?" A woman's voice came from the phone, soft and delicate as usual, she sounded a bit annoyed at suddenly not being able to text.
"Anthea, bring the car around."
"Yes sir, it's already outside."
"Good and Anthea, get me everything you can on a Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade."
"Already started sir, it'll be on your desk by this morning."