The arrangement was business, pure and simple. After all, since keeping track of Sherlock had somehow become Mycroft's number one job, it only made sense for him to establish regular contact with Inspector Gregory Lestrade, the only other man alive who could legitimately place "Sherlock's Keeper" on his curriculum vitae under "Postions Held." Sure, there was John, but Mycroft had deduced after his first and only covert meeting with the good Doctor Watson that he would sadly be thoroughly useless as a source of intel (at least as a willing one - Mycroft had gotten some very interesting information on several occasions from a microphone discretely placed in a striped jumper). Inspector Lestrade, on the other hand, was both privy to most of Sherlock's movements and sensible enough to see that Mycroft really did have his best interests at heart.
Soon after the upgrade of Sherlock's surveillance status to "Threat Level Orange" coinciding with the beginning of his association with John Watson, Mycroft also increased the frequency of his meetings with Lestrade from an occasional drop-in visit to a firm, weekly appointment. Somewhat surprisingly, Lestrade had expressed no objection to this arrangement, and, moreover, always seemed willing to drop whatever he was working on at the time to meet with Mycroft.
They would alternate the location of their little conferences between Lestrade's compact, but strangely homey office at Scotland Yard and Mycroft's posh headquarters overlooking the Thames. Today was no different, and so it was that Mycroft, it being his turn to play host, found himself pouring Inspector Lestrade a cup of Earl Grey and buzzing his secretary to bring in more of the biscuits the Inspector seemed to enjoy so much.
"So this Abbey Grange business?" he asked Lestrade, leaning back and sipping his own tea. "Is it dangerous?"
"Wouldn't have piqued Sherlock's interest if it weren't," the Inspector returned dryly, "But he seems to have a hold on things."
Mycroft sighed and remarked, "Well, I suppose that's the best I'm ever going to get. Let me see, when was the last time you spoke to him?"
Lestrade paused for a moment, as if recalling, then responded, "A couple days ago. He flew into my office in a whirlwind, commandeered my computer yelling something about Australia, and dashed off again just as quickly."
Mycroft sighed again and did his best not to look put upon as he said, "Same old Sherlock, then."
Lestrade then inquired, "When was the last time you saw your brother?" Upon spying Mycroft's archly lifted eyebrow, he amended, "Officially, I mean," acknowledging the fact that Mycroft was more than capable of "seeing" Sherlock without it being a mutual arrangement.
Mycroft shrugged a little and guessed, "Last week, perhaps? He has been increasingly petulant towards me of late, so I have seen even less of him than usual." Mycroft hadn't meant to express his worry on the subject to the Inspector, but it had carelessly slipped out.
Lestrade simply smiled understandingly and said comfortingly, "I shouldn't worry too much about it. Neither he nor John have looked like they've been getting much sleep recently; I shouldn't be at all surprised if there are matters at home to be worked out which have nothing to do with you."
Mycroft frowned a bit and placed his teacup back on his saucer, noting, "I said once that John Watson would either be the making of my brother or make him worse than ever. We may have reached the point where fate decides which it is."
Lestrade laughed suddenly and observed, "I don't think fate could hope to have a hand in anything involving those two; Sherlock wouldn't hear of it. More likely, with the way they've been mooning over each other these past few months, it was only a matter of time before at least one of two of the greatest detective minds I've ever had the privilege to be acquainted with noticed what the rest of us have known for ages."
Mycroft smiled appreciatively and replied, "Well put, Inspector. But what exactly do you think is going on with the two of them? Sherlock would never dream of telling me, and I highly doubt either of them would find it any more necessary to broadcast it to you."
This caused Lestrade to turn and stare out one of Mycroft's large, glass windows for a moment or two in thoughtful contemplation, until his face lit up and took on a strange, calculating expression. He then turned back to Mycroft and stated seemingly casually, "Well now, you and I can both agree that the outcome of this matter could have very serious consequences for national security."
"Of course, of course," Mycroft agreed with a wave of his hand, secretly dying to hear what the Inspector had in mind. "Sherlock is often in the direct employ of Crown; if he and John were to form a romantic attachment, there would be a serious chance that he could share with him sensitive information far above a civilian's security clearance. The results could be catastrophic."
"Exactly what I mean," Lestrade replied, trying somewhat unsuccessfully to stifle the conspiratorial grin that kept creeping onto his face, "Which is why I believe we should find out once and for all exactly what is going on."
"Excellent idea, Inspector," Mycroft said, beaming. "So glad that we are of one mind on this matter. Rest assured, I shall put my best men on it!"
"Actually," Lestrade interjected, "I was thinking that we could probably handle this one personally. Not involve unnecessary personnel in such a sensitive matter, that sort of thing."
"We?" Mycroft asked, surprised, "What were you thinking?"
"A good, old-fashioned stake-out," the Inspector declared firmly. "With all the creative ways you've tried to spy on Sherlock in the past few years, maybe he won't be able to foresee something as simple as two men sitting in a car watching him."
Mycroft stared at Lestrade for a few moments, then nodded decisively and said, "Very well, Inspector, I think I would enjoy very much to go on this "stake-out" as you call it. When do we start?"
"Tonight?" Lestrade suggested. "I don't have anything going, and it is Friday night."
"Ah yes, Friday night - date night," Mycroft responded knowingly. "If they are romantically involved, they could very easily have something planned."
"Oh, that is, if you don't have any other plans?" Lestrade asked, suddenly looking worried.
"Fear not, Inspector, I am yours for the evening," Mycroft responded laughingly. "In anticipation of our impending nocturnal adventure, however, perhaps we should adjourn this meeting to make arrangements and stock up on supplies."
"That might be wise," Lestrade agreed, standing and shaking Mycroft's hand warmly before turning to go. "Thank you once again for your hospitality, Mycroft."
"Any time, Inspector," Mycroft responded cordially, as hebegan to clear up the tea things.
"Oh, and Mycroft?" Lestrade added, his head popping back through the door as if something had just occurred to him.
"Yes, Inspector?" Mycroft inquired.
"Since we shall be sharing a small car and a quantity of unhealthy snacks for a prolonged period of time this evening, perhaps it would be best if you called me Gregory."
Mycroft laughed out loud at this, having expected something more weighty to have been the reason for the Inspector's return, but responded smoothly, "Very well, Gregory, I shall see you tonight."
Lestrade grinned and, with a slight tip of his hat, departed, permanently this time.
As Mycroft returned to his task of putting the cups and saucers in the small sink for his secretary to take care of later, he inexplicably found himself humming some tune - Wagner, he guessed, or perhaps Mozart. Curious, he thought to himself, that the idea of spending the night in cramped quarters with Inspector Lestrade - Gregory, he corrected - should have him in such a good mood. Yes, very curious indeed.
