A/N: Since Lestrade doesn't have a name and is originally referred to as G. Lestrade I decided I could come up with a new name for him in this story (I mostly name him Gregory but not this time). Also I decided that I won't be coming up with new names for 'Anthea' as I do it in Changing Habits.
There is a deliberate mistake in this story. You'll see what I'm talking about, but just in case I wanted to make it clear.
Beta: OneWhoSitsWithTheTurtles
Disclaimer: I suppose simple 'Not mine' should be enough.
A cunning brother and a matchmaking mother sometimes could be too much. And sometimes they could be just what Mycroft needed to diversify his life. And bring him happiness along the way. Probably.
Too Busy For Love
"So, you work for the government?"
"Yes. Just a minor position, though," Mycroft gave his usual reply, not feeling creative that day. All his creativity was forgotten when in the morning he got a phone call from his mother. Mommy, as the Holmes brothers were used to calling her, once again decided that it'd be a brilliant idea to interfere with the life of her older son. And even though Mycroft loved her dearly, he'd really appreciate it if she stopped inflicting her wishes upon him.
"How interesting." His interlocutor replied with a forced enthusiasm that hurt Mycroft's ears. He resisted cringing and instead smiled politely. "Do you like it?"
"Very," he replied and it was the first truthful answer he gave for the whole evening.
"That's great," the man praised, smiling earnestly. "I mean, it's wonderful when you actually enjoy what you are doing. What's the sense in pressing yourself into something you clearly don't like?"
Mycroft nodded in assessment, contemplating if he should just tell the man how much he was pressing himself into not leaving right at that moment. Mommy would be very disappointed if he did though – it was the only thing keeping him in the restaurant with a man he had only met that evening. Of course it was all his beloved mother's doing. She suddenly decided that he had been single for long enough and needed to find 'someone for himself' or a 'significant other', Mycroft didn't care which name she used this time. Personally Mycroft thought that the mere thought was ridiculous, but didn't dare to voice this. So the next day he found himself in one of the best London restaurants, alone with this stranger. Obviously Mommy considered him worthy of her older son's attention. Mycroft had to disagree.
"Am I boring you?" The man, whose name was Jeremy, asked, concerned.
"No, of course not." Mycroft's polite smile made an appearance again. "I was actually very interested in the story you were telling. Unfortunately unprofessionalism is a big problem of our time. It's no wonder it hurt your business."
His reply was smooth and straight to the point so his interlocutor nodded, pleased to see that Mycroft was actually paying attention to him, before continuing. Mycroft let his mind drift away again. He was bored and could only think of how much of a waste of time this was. Unfortunately there was no arguing with Mommy Holmes when she set her mind on something, which was 'best for her dear sons'. She was as stubborn as any of them. With dejection Mycroft thought that it was probably only the first date in a long chain of blind dates his mother prepared for him. Instinctively, he couldn't stop thinking that it was yet another one of Sherlock's plans to make his life hell.
With nothing better to do he turned his gaze to the man across from him and studied him carefully. The whole background check on him was lying in the top drawer of Mycroft's desk and he had studied it thoroughly in the morning, so he was deprived of the pleasure to make his own deductions because he already knew all the answers. The man was two years younger than Mycroft, approximately the same height. He was also handsome, with curly blonde hair, tamed with a touch of gel, grey blue eyes and regular features. Mommy obviously went with the traditional beauty stereotype with the first try. Unfortunately for her, she wasn't aware that Mycroft didn't find anything stereotypical attractive.
The man was also dressed stylishly, impeccably – to impress, so to say. Needless to say, Mycroft wasn't impressed in the slightest. The man was deadly boring. His nonstop story of how he became a successful banker helped the politician fool himself into imagining that it was yet another business meeting, because thinking of it as a date made his head hurt. At the same time he didn't know what else he could do not to die of sheer boredom. His mother surely wouldn't appreciate it.
"Is that…the British anthem?" Jeremy asked suddenly, pausing in his speech.
Mycroft's eyes focused on his face immediately, before he quickly looked down and pulled his phone from the breast pocket of his jacket. The look Jeremy sent him was pure irritation, but Mycroft ignored it; etiquette or not, his phone stayed on wherever he went no matter the time. He glanced at the screen, before standing up from the table.
"I'm sorry, I have to answer it." And he was away before the blonde man could say anything.
A minute later Mycroft returned to the table; he didn't need to force his smile this time.
"I hope you'll excuse me, but I have to go."
"Something urgent?" Jeremy asked, the genuine concern in his voice only slightly covering up his annoyance.
"Yes, very. Don't worry about the bill; the owner is a friend of mine." Mycroft replied. He took one step away from the table, then hesitated and turned around to face the other man again. His face was a picture of remorse. "I'm really sorry I have to leave you like this. My brother got put in jail again. I have to make sure he'll stay there for a little longer than one day."
And he went away, leaving a confused man behind. Lovely, and he hadn't even needed to lie.
Half an hour later Mycroft arrived at the New Scotland Yard. Anthea, his PA, was already waiting for him there. She seemed to take a liking to that name; it had already been a month and she had not changed it. Mycroft was the only one who knew her real name so she disported herself by coming up with a new name every couple of weeks. She grew to like this one, though.
"Who was the one to arrest him this time?" Mycroft asked without a greeting.
"Detective Inspector Lestrade, personally," the woman reported.
"I thought he accepted Sherlock's insane methods."
"The reports probably didn't depict the tension in their relationship."
"Oh, so the DI thinks my brother to be very aggravating just like everybody else," Mycroft concluded calmly. "Well, I probably should have talked to him long ago."
Without any hindrances they were let inside and led to the correct department and to the office of the Detective Inspector Lestrade. Anthea knocked but Mycroft pushed the door open, careful not to touch more surfaces than was absolutely necessary, without waiting for an answer. Sounds of arguing coming from the other side of the door quieted and everyone turned to look at the intruders.
"Good evening, gentlemen. And a lady," Mycroft greeted in his usual calm manner. Three pairs of confused eyes stared back at him. "I'm here to speak to Detective Inspector Lestrade."
He announced to the three of them. A woman eyed him with suspicion, but Mycroft disregarded her as unimportant; he looked at the two men, waiting for one of them to take the claim of that name.
"That would be me," one man admitted, his voice sounded tired and he looked rather worn out.
Mycroft's eyes fixed on him instantly. His grey hair was the first thing that caught his attention. Alert hazel eyes was the second, then he took in his whole face, handsome in its own way.
"It's a pleasure to meet you." The politician nodded slightly, both of his hands clasped on the handle of his umbrella.
"Who are you? What do you want?" The woman asked, rather rudely in his opinion. Mycroft didn't spare her a glare.
"I'd like to speak to you. Alone," he addressed it to the DI, ignoring the presence of the other two people.
"Who are you?" Lestrade repeated the question; his tone was calm and pleasant unlike his employee's. He watched Mycroft curiously.
When the politician made no move to answer and just stared back, the DI gave in with a sigh.
"Donavan, Anderson, we'll talk later. You are free for now."
Mycroft heard the woman scoff and the man mutter something under his breath, but both of them left nonetheless. There was the sound of the door being gently closed and he knew that Anthea was waiting outside, sending the possible intruders away with a sweet smile.
Lestrade sat down behind the desk and gestured for his guest to take a seat on the other side. Reluctantly, Mycroft lowered himself in the chair, crossing his legs and tapping the tip of the umbrella over the floor once.
"My name is Mycroft Holmes," he introduced and watched how several emotions flicked over the DI's face. He analyzed them efficiently – surprise, obviously, interest and, of course, irritation.
"What do you want?" Lestrade asked and this time his tone was harsh as he knew, or at least he thought that he knew, the reason for Mycroft' visit.
"Your people arrested my brother today."
"Oh, no. I did," Lestrade said, leaning back in his own chair. "And I'm not letting him go before tomorrow."
"I understand," Mycroft replied with a small smile. "But I'd like to change that."
Lestrade chuckled humorlessly, his hazel eyes narrowing as he prepared for a verbal fight with the stranger.
"First of all," Mycroft was saying before the DI could interject. "I know that you also arrested John Watson. I'd like you to release him. I'm sure he hasn't done anything against the law. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"With the wrong person," Lestrade added sarcastically.
Mycroft nodded. He wasn't going to challenge that assertion. Not when he agreed with it wholeheartedly.
"But I guess I can let him go." Lestrade said and there was the tiredness back in his voice again. His shoulders slumped a little and he let himself relax more in the uncomfortable chair.
"That would be very good. As for Sherlock…"
"Your brother?" Lestrade asked as if to specify, but Mycroft could tell that in that one word he expressed all his unwillingness to help the older Holmes drag the younger out of prison.
"Yes, my annoying brother. I know you are going to release him tomorrow but I was hoping that after some persuasion you'd agree to keep him there for a few more days," Mycroft said smoothly and watched with satisfaction as those hazel eyes widened slightly in surprise.
"You want me to keep your brother in jail for longer than necessary?" He asked incredulously.
"Since nothing else helps, I hope that he'd learn this lesson the hard way," Mycroft nodded. "Not that it'll actually help."
"Of course it won't," the DI agreed and for the first time smiled openly and warmly at his visitor.
"In a single cell," Mycroft interjected. His tone made it clear that this was the point he'd be very insistent about.
Lestrade agreed. Then he just smirked at Mycroft. And Mycroft suddenly had no idea what to do. The smirk and the sly glint in the DI's eyes made the man's face more alive and younger and handsome. So the politician just stood up, leaning on the umbrella gracefully.
"It's a pleasure to deal with you, Detective Inspector Lestrade."
He thought it made a nice ending to their meeting, but then the DI was standing as well and extending his hand for a handshake. There was a moment of silence as Mycroft regarded the hand and the man it belonged to, but then he gave in and carefully shook the DI's hand. It wasn't soft, skin calloused in contrast to Mycroft's own, but it was warm and felt nice.
"I'm looking forward to seeing you again, Mr. Holmes," the DI said as Mycroft was leaving.
He rather liked how formal in formulation and absolutely informal in intonation it sounded.
This one was plainly stupid. Mycroft realized it after the first minute of the conversation. He wondered briefly what his mother was thinking when she sent this man his way. Probably, she relied on the fact that he was considered quite a 'catch' by modern standards. Mycroft was never the one to like standards. Especially not the ones that proclaimed the bulky body building type the ideal man. He certainly didn't agree with this. Also, to Mycroft's further torture he was so stereotypical that he actually was brainless, which was very unfortunate, seeing that from all body builders Mommy Holmes came across the most stupid one. Maybe she shouldn't have tried all that in the first place.
"Policy sounds fun," the man, Jake – Mycroft didn't bother to memorize his last name –said. Why any of the men decided that work was an ideal topic for the first date escaped his understanding.
"It is," he replied. Then frowned. "What exactly do you do for the living?"
"I'm an actor. You know, play in films. Best roles only."
Thank you for elaboration, Mycroft resisted commenting and nodded instead. What type of films required such a man as a leading actor? He could come up with only one idea, but his mother wouldn't…Oh, but she couldn't…Oh, but she definitely could. And she did. She set him up on a date with a porn star. Just wonderful.
"Thank you for coming," was the first thing Lestrade said when Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were within earshot. He sounded only a tad bit apologetic for involving them into another case so soon.
"It's not a problem," John replied warmly, but his smile disappeared as soon as he took in the crime scene. The expression on the consulting detective's face contradicted his companion's words.
"What's wrong with him?" Lestrade frowned and asked the doctor as he watched Sherlock circle the body. The detective didn't spare anyone a glance and even passed Anderson without a sarcastic remark. His behavior seemed outside the norm; well at least what counted as the norm for the eccentric sociopath.
"He's still sulking," John answered casually, eyes following his friend. "For the arrest thing."
"Oh…" It was all Lestrade could give him as an answer as he surely wasn't sorry for that.
"The only reason why he agreed to help is that he thinks that you are not the only one to blame," the doctor continued saying as he glanced at Lestrade. "You are lucky he blames everything on his brother or else you wouldn't get his help for a couple of months." John chuckled. "Their rivalry is so absurd. Mycroft wouldn't do something like that," the doctor was still laughing as the easy expression on Lestrade's face froze and his eyes left John's to stare at the ground.
John frowned and searched the DI's face. Suddenly Sherlock's angry ranting after he was finally released didn't seem so bizarre anymore.
"He wouldn't, would he?" John asked almost hopefully. When he didn't get an answer and just a resigned glance from Lestrade, he sighed and turned to look at Sherlock again. "I can't believe Mycroft would ask you to keep his brother in jail."
"In his justification I have to say that I wasn't against that idea."
"That's why I was let go so quickly?"
"Yes. We agreed that you were an unwilling participant."
The doctor just sighed at that.
"Since when are you so friendly with Mycroft Holmes?" He asked suspiciously with only an ounce of teasing.
"I'm not. I just met him a few days ago."
"And after only a few days you are already conspiring against Sherlock together?" John bit his tongue not to say "May we expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?" quoting Mycroft's words to him. Lestrade might take it wrong way, just like John did on his first meeting with the older Holmes.
"It's not a conspiracy," Lestrade retorted; it was obvious he didn't like the subject. "But I'm not going to lie and say that it didn't bring me an immense pleasure to aggravate Sherlock Holmes like that."
"Of course," John sighed again, it seemed he was doing it a lot since he met the consulting detective.
"Are you going to just stand there and chatter or do you want to hear what I've got?" They heard Sherlock's irritated voice.
"Just so you know," John said to the DI before they came up to Sherlock. "There is going to be revenge."
Mycroft had had a very bad feeling since early that morning. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Sherlock was finally free and over-exaggerating his suffering while thinking of a plan to make his brother suffer – it was one of his favorite pastimes after all. Not that Mycroft minded much, he rather enjoyed their little war if not for the fact that it always upset Mommy. In addition to this he had to suffer through another date.
The man, a foreign professor of sorts, appeared to be a decent interlocutor. In addition to that he was easy on the eyes and had good manners. All in all it could have been a nice evening if Mycroft wasn't waiting for a trick since the moment he woke up.
"You look tired," his date, Alexander, commented. "It must be because of your hard work."
"My work?" Mycroft tensed a little, covering it up with a move of lifting his cup and taking a sip.
"Well, you work for the government, don't you?" Alexander asked casually. "Mrs. Holmes said so."
"I do. Nothing big though."
"Really? You don't have an air of a man who is sitting in his office all day dealing with boring paperwork that no one actually needs." The man said with a charming smile. Then he turned his head to the right to watch the other people in a café.
Mycroft took this moment as a chance to study him. Despite all the pleasant attitude and easy humor and charm, Mycroft didn't like him; even if he tried to do it just to please Mommy. Something was so wrong with this man. The way he constantly looked around, not in a relaxed manner as a person who has nothing better to do would; his eyes were alert all the time, his sharp gaze scanned the crowd. His left hand was lowered to his jacket pocket every second minute and Mycroft knew that he was trifling his phone. He was nervous but was covering it with confidence – almost successfully.
His eyes, a nice blue color, slid back to Mycroft and he smiled. The corners of his lips almost trembled with an effort to keep the smile as the politician's eyes bore into his.
"How about a walk?" Mycroft suggested.
The man relaxed as Mycroft smiled at him, but when they exited the café and found themselves on the crowded street, his nervousness reached a whole new level. Holding a mental map of London in mind, Mycroft led them from one street to another, taking turns which might seem occasional but in truth were planned in advance. They maintained a light conversation in which none of the two held any interest.
Mycroft took the last turn, leading them to a small side alley and congratulated himself with the accurately accomplished task.
"What's that? Something must have happened…" Alexander trailed away as he looked ahead, his left hand back in the pocket.
"It's just a crime scene." Mycroft explained, his eyes searched for a familiar feminine figure of Anthea among the crowd. He spotted her immediately.
"It was a wonderful evening," he turned to his date. "But my work calls for me. I'll see you very soon."
With those words and a final smirk Mycroft turned on his heels and headed to his PA.
"You asked me to come here, sir?" She clarified.
"Yes. Did you see the man I came with?"
Anthea craned her neck to look around him. When she nodded he continued:
"Tell the enforcement to get him. Before he makes a phone call." With that instruction Mycroft ducked under the yellow tape, ignoring the shouts of a woman, Sergeant Sally Donavan, his memory supported from the research on the police team of DI Lestrade.
He knew his order would be executed pronto; he disregarded the matter completely.
"Good evening, gentlemen." He greeted cheerfully, addressing only the three men who mattered at that moment.
Mycroft got three different reactions in return: an immediate glare from Sherlock, angry and resentful as ever, a surprised look from DI Lestrade, maybe even pleasantly surprised, and a tired sigh from John as the doctor rolled his eyes.
"What are you doing here?" The consulting detective asked harshly, standing up from his crouching position over the body.
"I came to see you. Since lately it's the only place you can be found. A crime scene," the last word was added with barely noticeable disdain as he looked around. When Mycroft's gaze settled back on his brother, he gave a cold smile. "Apart from Mommy's house at least."
"And jail," Sherlock added with a snarl.
"You are still angry about that?" Mycroft drawled. "It was my small revenge for you persuading Mommy to start matchmaking. Did you suggest that it'd be a nice new hobby?"
"I just hinted that your birthday is in two weeks." Sherlock commented innocently.
"Of course, and she decided that I needed to find my 'other half' before that. And what about setting me up on a date with a spy?" Mycroft lifted one eyebrow and glared down at Sherlock.
"Revenge for the jail thing," the younger Holmes shrugged.
Mycroft just nodded.
Lestrade watched the interaction between the two brothers with contained curiosity. It was a wonder to see someone who viewed Sherlock as an equal and, what's more unbelievable, the person who Sherlock Holmes himself thought to be his equal in intelligence and wit.
"What's going on?" He asked John quietly, not wanting to interrupt the two brothers.
John sighed yet again, this time more with aggravation than with tiredness, and started an explanation.
"Sherlock reminded their mother that Mycroft's birthday is coming. And she believes that in this age every person should have a stable relationship. So she decided that there is no better present than a good lover. After which she proceeded to plan a series of blind dates for her son. Needless to say, Mycroft wasn't very happy with this arrangement. The rest you witnessed personally. Well, probably except the last person Mycroft went on a date with…who appeared to be a spy. Now that I think about, how did Sherlock find him...?"
"Him?" Lestrade asked after a minute of silence during which John probably contemplated his last question. The DI would have been interested in that as well if not for a more important matter.
"Oh, yes. Mycroft isn't interested in the opposite sex," this was said even more quietly. John didn't want the older Holmes to think they were rumoring about him. Even though it was exactly what they were doing.
"Interesting…" Lestrade murmured.
"Interesting? Why?"
"No reason."
John wasn't persuaded as the DI's eyes didn't leave the figure of the older Holmes.
"You work in policy, aren't you?"
Mycroft cringed at the incorrect sentence structure. It got on his nerves worse than his date's manners did. There was a certain charm to this man – the simplicity of his character, his calm and honest nature. It was like a breath of fresh air after the disastrous previous dates. If not for the total lack of any social skills. Mycroft wasn't asking for much, was he? Just a simple knowledge of etiquette would be enough, and an ability to formulate his thoughts without abusing English.
"To put it simply, yes. I am a politician," he replied, turning his head away, so that he wouldn't have to witness the abuse of basic social norms his date was displaying.
"Cool," the man said and Mycroft couldn't help but take a large gulp of his wine to make the evening pass faster. It was pure torture. "I have my own business."
"How interesting," the politician commented. His eyes wandered briefly back to the man across from him, and then slid back to his glass.
"You don't have to say that. It's a boring job and I know it. As well as yours. You don't have to pretend that you are interested."
Ignoring the flaws in the man's grammar, Mycroft looked up at him. At that moment he decided that this man deserved to be called by name – Gregory, if he still remembered correctly. His eyes, light green with freckles of hazel, looked back at the politician, earnest and open, and understanding.
"I'm sorry," Mycroft said, showing more of his real self on this date than at any others. "It is quite boring."
Gregory chuckled at that, nodding.
"Also, I'm very sorry to say that this is not going to work. You are a good man, but I don't think that we are …compatible," maybe not the best choice of words, but at least it gave the right message.
"Seems so…" the man sighed. "That's a shame. I like you."
"Well I can never offer you more than my friendship, but if you ever need help with your business…" Mycroft slid his business card over the tabletop to him.
Gregory took it carefully, looked it over, and glanced back at Mycroft with uncovered curiosity. A simple white card with just the initials MH written in curvy neat font and a number was an interesting sight.
"This doesn't look like a card of a simple politician," he commented.
"Possibly," Mycroft retorted with a smirk as he stood up, ready to leave. "Goodbye."
He left the restaurant, greeted with a black car waiting at the entrance, Anthea already inside waiting for him to deal with yet another crisis. It may seem boring to others, but Mycroft loved his job.
"So now we've got two freaks instead of one?" Sally asked, putting in the phrase as much sarcasm as she could muster.
Lestrade quieted her with a stern glance and then his eyes returned to reading old reports on his desk. They were supposed to help them solve their new case but were still yet to appear helpful.
"He's not as eccentric as his brother," the DI commented, at the last moment replacing 'crazy' with a more appropriate word.
"He's as arrogant," the Sergeant retorted.
"Maybe," Lestrade replied. "I don't know. He seems…nicer."
Sally just snorted and he was sure it was his words she found funny and not a murder report she had in her hands. He decided to ignore it. Unfortunately he understood where her mistrust of his judgment came from – the DI's preferences was not a secret to his colleagues.
His thoughts were distracted though by the sound of his phone, signaling a new message – how Lestrade didn't want to read it.
"It's from the freak, isn't it?" Sally asked, her tiredness making her even more spiteful than always.
"It's from Sherlock," the DI replied without a single glance at the phone screen. They both were exhausted from reading and rereading the documents for hours; none of them believed that it'd help anymore but they didn't have any other options. Or they did, but none of the two wanted to ask for his help.
"Just delete it," Sally suggested, but she didn't sound convincing.
Stilling himself for a whole day of psychological abuse, constant taunts and reminders how he is unable to 'solve such an elementary case,' Lestrade reached for the phone and opened the text.
'You need my help. SH'
I wish we didn't, Lestrade thought and started dialing the number.
"So, politics? Sounds interesting."
The ever proper Mycroft Holmes felt like banging his head on the tabletop. One more date, one more idiot, one more talk about policy. Plus Mommy Holmes, the controlling woman she was, pressed him into leaving his phone with Anthea. So without any means for communication, cut off from the world, in a company of a careerist who obviously was already contemplating how he could use Mycroft's social position to his benefit, he was suspended to another evening of mental torture.
"Not really. The most boring job in the world," Mycroft replied, his tactic for the evening: to contradict everything his date said.
"I'm sure it's not that bad."
"It is," the politician said with a smile.
"I've started my own political career not long ago," the man said, not paying much attention to Mycroft's previous answer.
"Better leave it while you still can."
"I enjoy it. Actually, I was thinking," he leaned forward to Mycroft with a sly smirk, which didn't suit him at all. It looked downright awful. "As men of policy we could get on well. In more ways than one."
And after that came a wink. Mycroft didn't bother hiding his wince.
"I'm sorry for intruding," came a voice from behind him.
Mycroft recognized it even though he had heard it only twice before. At the same time he felt this person lean over his back, one hand on the back of his chair, palm of the other hand flat on the table. The politician willed himself to stay calm even though his heartbeat doubled against his will.
His date, a nameless man since he didn't deserve the honor of his name been remembered, glared at the intruder.
"Excuse me?"
"No, you excuse me. I'm whisking away your date." Lestrade said and then turned to Mycroft.
"Whisking away?" The politician repeated, one eyebrow raised in amusement.
"Doesn't it sound good?" Lestrade winked at him, heating up Mycroft's amusement even more. But then his expression changed, serious and wary, he said. "Your brother is in trouble."
"How serious?"
"Very. Well, maybe not that serious…I'm not sure. But I need your help. I can't find him."
Mycroft made a move to stand up, Lestrade taking a step back to give him space and moving back the chair for him.
"I'm truly sorry," Mycroft appealed to his date. "I have urgent business to take care of. I don't think we'll ever meet again. Good bye."
On his way to the car he glanced at Lestrade from the corner of his eye.
"What happened?"
"We asked for his help on a case. Well, more like he imposed his aid…you know how he does it. During the investigation he decided that it'd be a good idea to go undercover. Now, I have no idea where he is."
"It's not the first time he's done this."
"I know," Lestrade's attention was diverted by a black car for a moment, but he followed the example of the older Holmes and climbed inside. "John is worried. He says something is wrong this time."
"John is not with him?"
"No. He's at the Yard right now."
Mycroft simply nodded and looked out of the window. Sherlock always got in trouble – just couldn't stay away. In some sense, his older brother understood this addiction, but he never rushed into anything without thinking it through first. He got his fill of adrenaline from chasing Sherlock and making sure he got out alive from yet another dangerous adventure. Sherlock preferred to say that he didn't need the constant supervision, but Mycroft had not once considered taking the surveillance down. This time, unlike many others, he was on the phone with the surveillance team the moment he got his phone back, giving orders to find his brother. He sounded cool and strong but did not feel it, calling the enforcement he used for his personal use and directing them to the old warehouse where the band's hideout was – Sherlock had to be there.
Less than an hour later, mission accomplished, Sherlock irritated but less aggressive to his brother's care, was relating to Lestrade how he deducted that the criminal wasn't working alone but with associates and how he found the place. Over his shoulder Lestrade caught eye of the older Holmes, collected as ever. But there was sincerity in the crook of his smile and barely noticeable laugh lines around his eyes. The DI smiled back and nodded in a goodbye as Mycroft slid in the car, which drove him away.
It was getting ridiculous, Mycroft decided. He had lost count of which blind date this one was, but at least Mommy promised that this one would be the last. He decided her change of heart had a lot to do with Sherlock repaying his debt for saving him. Neither Holmes liked being indebted, especially not to a member of the family. They knew too well it would end in a disaster.
Mycroft didn't have his phone on him again, which was very unfortunate because his date was late; and it didn't make his mood any better.
"Good evening, Mycroft."
The voice behind him greeted and the man in question got a sudden feeling of déjà vu. He didn't need to turn around this time though as Lestrade circled the table and sat in a chair across from him.
"Is there another emergency?" Mycroft asked, not letting himself worry yet, until he got a confirmation.
"No. Sherlock is safely at home, probably still chastised by John. I like that doctor. He keeps your brother in control. Most of the time," he added thoughtfully. "And there are no big cases in my department, so I got off work early.
"Not early enough, though," Lestrade continued glancing at his wrist watch. "But I think you can excuse my tardiness because of the shock I went through when I got a phone call from a Mrs. Holmes."
"You got a phone call from..?" Mycroft didn't get to finish the question as Lestrade beat him to it.
"Oh, yes, your mother, apparently. Imagine my surprise." The DI chuckled. And then his hazel eyes looked straight into Mycroft's grey ones, all the humor gone from his tone. "It seems, Mr. Holmes, I've got a date with you.
"If you are against it though…" He said after a long minute of silence, during which Mycroft only stared at him speechlessly.
"I don't mind," Mycroft interjected. "Only one condition though."
"What will that be?" Lestrade asked, curious but more relaxed now that he knew he wouldn't be rejected immediately.
"Your name," Mycroft said. "In all the reports I read it wasn't mentioned even once. Always just Detective Inspector G. Lestrade."
That was the cause for a lot of frustration for the politician. Not in any report he got was Lestrade addressed by first name, probably because no one in the Yard had actually called him by his first name.
"That simple?" The DI asked, feigning disappointment at Mycroft's task.
Mycroft only shrugged and waited.
"Gale Lestrade." He said, leaning back in the chair. "Nothing extraordinary. Are you disappointed?"
The question seemed to cover much more than Mycroft's reaction to the name.
"No, not at all," Mycroft smiled, thinking that this date should be the best of all. And also the last blind date he'd ever go on.
A/N: If you liked the story, please waste a minute of your time and leave me a review:)