Chapter 1 – Silver Fox meets the Ice Man

It was 6 PM when Greg Lestrade made his way back into his office to finish up the report of that night's case. Sherlock Holmes once again had saved the police by solving the case, deducing his way through the crime scene. It was clear who had done it, and the suspect was taken into custody.

Greg sat down in his leather office chair, rocking the back of it back and forth as it squeaked. He hated to fill out the reports. It meant he had to compile all of the reports of the other agents, and then had to add his own in full detail. Sherlock Holmes always deduced so fast, it was impossible for Greg to keep up with him. Nonetheless, he had to write down Sherlock's exact train of thoughts to maximise their chances of locking the suspect away for a good share of years.

He stopped rocking his chair as his phone vibrated and lit up. He retrieved it from his pocket and read the text.

[Suspect has confessed.]

Three words that made his night. He smiled and put his phone away. The faster he finished the report, the sooner he could go home.

He worked on it for an hour, until suddenly the knocking on his hardwood door echoed in his office. He checked the time. 7.30 PM. Who would visit at this time? The building must have been closed down a little while ago. Suspicious of the situation, Greg slid his hand to the gun on his belt. Another knock filled the silence of the moment.

"Come in," Greg finally said, awaiting his visitor. The door opened slowly but without hesitance. In the darkness of the hallway, he could not make out the face of the person in the doorway. "Step into the light."

And so the person did. A man, suited up and looking well-cared of, a poker face, yet showing enough emotion to let everyone from a 100 metre distance know he was not amused, took his presence in the room. He placed his black umbrella against the wall next to the door, and hung his coat up. Without a word, he came to sit on the chair at the other side of Greg's desk. Greg did not recognise the man and so he never took his hand of the gun.

"Mycroft Holmes," said the man finally, his voice low and steady. He had seen that the detective inspector kept his hand near his hip and understood that he came across as a threat. "Sherlock Holmes's older brother," he therefore added. Greg let go of the gun.

"Sherlock has a brother?"

To Mycroft, this was not a very clever question, and so he sighed and rolled his eyes.

"God, yes. I just introduced myself, didn't I?"

"You two are alike when it comes to attitude," mumbled Greg, closing the most recent file and moving it to the side. He could see Mycroft's eyes following it. "Why are you here?"

Mycroft looked up at him.

"For that exactly. The file. You must… do away with the case."

Greg's eyes widened and he put the file in his drawers instead, locking it and putting the key in the inside pocket of his jacket.

"Are you here to bribe me? A detective inspector of Scotland Yard?!" He shook his head, quite angrily. "You better leave now and I will not charge you!"

Mycroft chuckled and kept his composure.

"I am from the government. Look me up in your system." He leaned forward and placed his card on the desk. Greg took it and inspected it closely, and then he ran the number through the database. He saw Mycroft's profile come up and looked from the picture to Mycroft, and once more. Then he closed the page and slid the card back.

"Fine, I believe you. Now why would I do away with the file? Who gave you such orders?"

"A higher power," answered Mycroft as he returned his card into his wallet. "I have a letter, too." He handed Greg the letter. "I only came here to bring you the announcement. Do away with the file."

Greg held up his phone.

"The suspect confessed."

Mycroft nodded and stood up.

"The Secret Service will take care of him, do not worry. All you have to do is destroy the file. You have 24 hours."

Greg opened the letter. Everything was right: the font, the layout, the logo, the format, and the signature.

"And what if I don't make it in 24 hours?"

Mycroft walked to the window, noting that the rain still hadn't stopped. He turned around and smirked slightly.

"The Secret Service would be very delighted with your cooperation, detective inspector Gregory Lestrade."

Greg gave him a nod: it was clear enough now. He really did not have a choice. Mycroft started to make his way to his coat, but then walked back to Greg, holding out his hand.

"Why did Sherlock not mention he had a brother?"

"The letter, please," requested Mycroft, ignoring the question.

"Answer, please," responded Greg, raising his brow. Mycroft sighed.

"We have a rather complex relationship. John knows about me. One person is more than enough."

Greg gave the man the letter and stood up as well.

"I'll help you out," he said and walked to the door. Mycroft put the letter away in his jacket and put on his coat.

"It was certainly my pleasure to meet you, D.I. Lestrade," he said, picking up his umbrella and unfolding it just outside the office.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, too," said Greg, but more out of formality than out of sincerity. Mycroft knew this and smiled.

"I can see why they call you Silver Fox."

Before Greg could recover from being stunned and say something, Mycroft had already turned around, leaving in a firm pace. He did not look around, but he knew he would be back.

Greg shook his head and closed the door of his office. He opened up the drawer and picked up the file. As he glanced out of the window once more, he let the shredder take care of the case. At least he didn't have to write a report…