* Mycroft *

Over the past years Anthea had developed a rather efficient system to inform her boss during a meeting when things went wrong that concerned a private matter. When Sherlock got into trouble, a Hobnob would find its way onto the saucer of the cup of tea she delivered. Shape and size of the biscuit communicated the seriousness of the incident. The day Sherlock had jumped down the roof of Bart's, Mycroft had received three Hobnobs and each had been broken into two pieces.

Custard Creams or Rich Tea were much more rare than Hobnobs. The Custard Creams indicated trouble with the Holmes parents, the Rich Tea biscuits a problem concerning Gregory Lestrade.

It was Christmas Eve when Mycroft Holmes was in a meeting with two high ranking politicians from the Far East who didn't care if anybody rather wanted to spend Christmas with their family. Fortunately, Mycroft didn't mind at all, finally having an excuse to stay away from the annual family meeting that always seemed to go on and on and on.

When Anthea entered the room with a tray and he discovered not one but two Rich Tea biscuits on his saucer he thought for a moment that his PA must have been mistaken. Anthea didn't make mistakes but there was always a first as Mycroft knew. Having developed a serious crush on a certain handsome Detective Inspector and being perfectly incapable of doing anything about it, had been his.

Two Rich Tea biscuits could only mean Gregory Lestrade was in serious trouble. The only other option was that they had run out of Custard Creams and both his parents were concerned. It couldn't be Sherlock because Mycroft knew they had Hobnobs. He had nicked one from the kitchen just an hour earlier during a break.

The look Anthea gave him indicated that his parents were quite all right. So the problem did concern Gregory.

The downside of having a brain that was equal to that of the fictitious Mr. Spock was that Mycroft, while handling the meeting flawlessly, had enough random access memory at his disposal to worry himself within an inch of a stomach ulcer.

He knew there was still time to conclude the meeting for there had been no sugar on the saucer but that knowledge didn't help much right now. In the past two years a Rich Tea biscuit had made it to his saucer three times. Twice on the occasion that Gregory had faced extremely upsetting crime scenes; once after his now ex-wife had dragged him to court under the accusation that he had molested his daughters. Mycroft's blood-pressure was still rising when he remembered that day.

The Inspector had his own techniques to deal with upsetting situations. First he went to the gym and worked out until he was ready to keel over. If that hadn't been enough, he went to a pub for a varying number of pints. Once in a while the DI went to the next cinema to see a film, any film really, after the pub. It had taken Mycroft an embarrassing long time to figure out that Gregory went there for the sole reason that he wouldn't have to sit in his flat all by himself.

On an occasion during summer, when two children had been murdered, the silver-haired man had taken his motorcycle for a ride. For the better part of three hours he had raced along the motorway and winding country roads. The memory alone still caused Mycroft's stomach to churn and cold sweat break out for he had worried himself into stupor during that time, having half expected he would have to deal with the DI's body mangled by a traffic accident.

Now he was close to ordering Anthea to put a drug in his guests' tea that would make them feel a bit woozy like they were suffering from jet-lag. Fortunately, the politicians stood up, bowed and left before there was need to put his plan into practice.

Mycroft refrained from thumping his head to the desktop in relief, knowing that a bruise at the forehead was little becoming, and hurried to find his PA.

Anthea handed him a sheaf of papers and when he booted his computer the link to the CCTV cameras he needed access to was already in place.

„Good grief!" Mycroft understood immediately why this night was a danger-night on which the DI shouldn't be left alone.

Two women had been murdered by a man dressed as Santa Claus. The perpetrator had been the husband of the younger victim and father of their two children. The little boys, age four and six had opened the door for Santa Claus who then had stabbed the boys' mother and their grand-mother before telling the scared children it had all been their fault this had happened. Neighbours had heard the screams of terror but when the first police-car arrived, everything was already over. Santa Claus had put a gun in his mouth and shot himself in the boys' bedroom, spraying beds, posters and toys with his blood.

The view-screen of Mycroft's computer showed a couple of forensic scientists, a man and a woman, who were stepping outside. The man lit a cigarette with shaking fingers while his colleague stood close by with her head lowered. After a moment the man wrapped an arm around the woman, pulling her to his side. Some crime-scenes affected everyone involved.

Mycroft was proud of Gregory Lestrade. When the DI finally stepped outside the house he kept a stiff upper-lip, apparently spoke words of comfort to his colleagues and was very much the man in charge. It took the keen eyes of a Holmes to see the man was on the verge of collapse.

There was no need to wait any longer. Mycroft switched off his computer and went to get his car. His driver was at home with his family and the Government official actually enjoyed driving one of the sleek cars he had at his disposal. He chose a Porsche Cayenne and quickly left the premises, determined to catch up with Gregory before he went home.