A Truly Angelic Gentleman
Chapter 1: A Mysterious Introduction
Greg Lestrade liked to think of himself to be a rational man. He worked for the police force, after all, and one couldn't function well there if they went off day dreaming about magical places and wishing spells and what not. Which is likely why his first thought when a loud explosion was heard just outside his flat was 'Bloody hell, was that a gas leak!?'
Cautiously stepping out of his flat, Greg searched for the source of the noise. Smoke filled the air and he squinted to peer through it. He was surprised that no one else was investigating as well, before remembering that most of the other tenants were off on vacation this time of year. Finally, the smoke started to clear and Greg's mouth dropped at the sight.
A man stood on top of an enormous pile of what appeared to be… flaming ash? He was dusting off his rather expensive-looking suit and leaning on a long, black umbrella. He looked to be about Greg's age, if not a bit younger. His brown (almost ginger) hair was set perfectly in place and his blue-ish gray eyes looked about the area judgmentally. He finally peered over at Greg.
"Ah. Gregory Lestrade, I presume?" the man said. It was a statement, rather than a question. Greg nodded dumbly. The man's mouth quirked a bit, almost a smile. He hopped down from his place on the… whatever it was and stood in front of him.
"I am Mycroft Holmes. Pleasure to meet you, Detective Inspector." The man, apparently Mycroft, offered, holding out his hand. Greg snapped suddenly out of his dumbfounded trance.
"Whoa, whoa! Hang on a tic! Just who the hell are you!?"
"Well, I do believe I just introduced myself, but if you wish for me to do it again. 'I am Mycro-'"
"No! That's not what I meant! I mean- ugh! How do you know who I am!? How the hell did you get here and what the fuck is that!?" he cried, gesturing to the unknown flaming mass sitting a few meters from where they were standing.
"That," Mycroft explained, pointing with his umbrella, "is a 'shooting star', as most call it, but it also functions as my transportation, I suppose." Greg's eyes widened.
"Your 'transportation'!?" He hissed, his jaw dropping once again. Mycroft rolled his eyes and sighed.
"Yes, my transportation. But I don't believe I answered all of your questions," he continued, "I know quite a bit about you, Gregory, simply because I'm supposed to."
"What is that supposed to mean!?" For the first time, Mycroft smiled. It sent chills up Greg's spine. As he pressed the tip of his umbrella to Greg's chest, he leaned forward and whispered "I am your guardian angel, Gregory."