Disclaimer: I am not Steven Moffat or Mark Gattis or the BBC or in any way possible and so therefore do not own this interpretation of Sherlock Holmes ... unfortunately. I also do not own His Dark Materials.
Author's Notes: Written for the BBC Kink Meme - a meeting between DI Greg Lestrade and Mycroft Holmes set in a fusion-world with His Dark Materials. Hasn't been beta'd or brit-picked.
The First Encounter
"Something is following us,"
Greg blinked, freezing as the plastic bag continuing ice-cream and biscuits swung against his leg, approximately a hundred metres from Tesco, heart rate involuntarily spiking. His fox-daemon, Kyttheros, was low to the ground, her ears twitching and eyes moving rapidly. He turned his head and glanced around but couldn't see anything overly unusual besides the usual stream of late night shoppers, people walking from nearby restaurants and the steady stream of black taxis and old cars down the street.
But he didn't doubt it because Kyttheros was rarely wrong. He trusted her instincts, her ability to know. Her bushy tail, silver tipped with white, flicked for a moment and she took a tentative step forward. Keep moving, his mind said. Don't stay still for long. Keep to the crowds.
"Where?" he asked, taking a step forward.
"Not sure," said Kyttheros, "I can't smell anything but whenever we move I can – there!"
He stalled again, moving to the side of pavement while she leapt onto a nearby-parked car to get a better visual. He joined her in a scan of the area but still nothing seemed to stick out on ground level. People passed by and didn't give him a second look. His daemon was glancing up at the building tops. He glanced upwards noting the street lamps, the CCTV cameras, the signage on the stores and – wait, the cameras.
"Kitt," he called out and she glanced at him, head tilted.
He motioned her to join him and she shook her head, intent on staying there. Sighing he moved forward and scooped her up despite her protests, holding her against his chest one-handed, her body warm compared to the ice air, with her face poking up over his shoulder.
He muttered into her ear. "I'm going to move and you are going to look at the cameras … but try to be –"
"Yeah, yeah – got it," she said and with that he was off, moving quickly down the street.
"They're following us?" he asked after two minutes.
"Yes," she said, "or it's just an coincidence,"
He didn't doubt her and his mind fluttered to visions of men in dark suits, lonely corridors, syringes and he picked up his pace, turning a corner. The quicker he could get home the quicker – Kyttheros tensed against him, her tail flicked and he could feel she was waiting, just waiting for the chance to shoot from his arms and growl. He turned to see a dark car pull up just in front of him. Tinted windows, shiny, new, black, jet-black contrasting against the light brush of grey-white snow over London.
Something told him to run, his gut growing heavy and uneasy.
His phone rang shrilly and he jolted, the bag slipping from his grasp and into the snow, while she dug her nails into his winter coat.
"Answer it," she said, making a move to get down and he allowed it, hand digging into his jean pocket and flipping it open to see the caller ID blocked.
She went in front of him, ears low and body hunched, eying the car.
He lifted the phone to his ear and said clearly. "Who is this?"
Above him a camera whirred and focused.
"Please get into the car, Inspector," came a cruel, crisp voice.
A faceless man in a suit flashed to mind as the driver (all in black, tall and muscular) got out of the car, and opened the backseat door.
"I don't think I will," he said, throwing a glance at Kyttheros who sensing his gaze looked back, dark eyes locking with his and her ear twitching in understanding. She went back to the car and he said, "You can't just abduct you,"
A soft chuckle, deep. "I mean you no harm, Inspector – now, please get in the car. I'll even allow you to call you wife if this eases your worry,"
This time she looked at him and he paused, eyes going to the black car, and his stomach twisting knowing that maybe it was best to compile with this man's wishes. The CCTV cameras were trained on him. This was not someone he wanted to piss off and yet … he was not getting into that car without some clue.
"Can you tell me what this is about?"
"Nothing too concerning,"
"I'd rather you tell me,"
Kyttheros gave him a nod of approval.
A sigh came from the other end. "Sherlock Holmes, dear Inspector."
Greg blinked. Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock … he didn't know that name. He didn't know anyone called that. His mind went through all the possible suspects but nothing came up. Above him the CCTV camera whirred once more.
"Or as he likes to be known – Benjamin," said the man's voice.
Benjamin – oh Ben - the image of the scrawny, lanky, drugged-up kid with dark curls and a tiny fox-daemon, cradled in his arms. Talking rapidly and quickly when he had gone to question and arrest Mister Smith about Lucy Crow – domestic abuse. Should've been open and shut and yet the junkie near the flats had started mouthing off: "you think its him? Look at his shoes and his hands – especially his hands. How soft and perfect they are. It isn't him – just look, look around and fucking observe for once -"
He had gone on and on, only bolting when his sergeant, Tyler, threatened to arrest him.
But that had lingered in his mind as he interrogated Smith who continued to claim his innocence until he had looked back at all the evidence … and the junkie had been right. Smith wasn't the problem and Lucy had been lying. The kid had solved the case – solved his case in less then a minute while high, and Greg had received a congratulations from his DCI for closing the case so well.
That had been the first time and since then the kid – Ben as he insisted to be called – had turned up at his crime scene twice over the course of a month, each time with another piece of advice.
Tyler had stopped threatening to arrest him and Greg had started trying to track down the kid in his spare time at work – not that he had a lot but he owed it to him and the little fox-daemon he kept.
"How do you know Sherlock Holmes?" he asked.
"Get in the car, Inspector Lestrade."
Obey, do not question, do not run – coursed through that voice, all still terribly polite.
"Fine," he said, hanging up.
"You didn't just –" started Kyttheros, "You idiot."
She shook her head but followed him anyway to the car, sticking very close and hackles raising, as he bowed his head to get into the car, standing further up and tail going aloft. Already in the car was a pretty woman with dark hair, soft make-up except for the eyes which were heavy with liner and mascara, texting on her phone while her own daemon, a tiny dark lizard, perched on her arm, blinking at them with large eyes.
Kyttheros settled on his lap and his hands gripped into her, holding her close as the car door was shut. They were alone in the back, separated by a dark window. The doors locked with a click.
"Hello," said Greg.
Kyttheros sniffed the air, eyes focusing on the woman's daemon.
"Hi," She didn't even glance at him.
"You aren't going to tell me where we're going are you?" asked Greg.
"No," Eyes still on that phone.
Greg narrowed his eyes. "Right … I am a police officer,"
He honestly tried to make it seem somewhat threatening.
At that she looked at him. "Call your wife or your DCI if that eases your concern."
He didn't but while one hand rested against Kyttheros' body, fingers' making small circular motions to try and calm her, as his other hand was on his phone. His groceries lodged between his feet.
The rest of the car ride was silent until the car came to a gradual stop. The car pulled up in front of an old office building: old brick, grimy broken windows, three stories high, scheduled for demolition, which was surrounded by public housing with hardly a soul out besides a homeless man crossing the road ahead of him. Greg glanced at Kyttheros who pressed against him.
"You can leave the groceries in here," said the woman as she read off her phone screen, "He says go straight in and take the second left,"
"Alright,"
The doors unlocked and opened. He moved out, taking the groceries anyway. He'd catch a taxi home – if he made it home, his mind whispered. His daemon went ahead of him, her chest puffing out and ears flicked up, tail erect as she slinked forward. He pushed open the door, the lights slowly turning on and moved down, heart matching his steps.
Thump, thump, thump – he licked his lips, mouth dry.
He reached the second door, light emitting from underneath the door and pushed it, glancing at his daemon for less than a second. Kyttheros stepped back, allowing him to stroll in first to see a tall man with dark hair, cold eyes and an immaculate three-piece suit, with a brolly hanging off his arm leaning against an old desk. Everything was ordered, neat, perfect compared to the mold stained walls and paint cracking in the stark chaotic room.
A single bulb of light hung above them.
There were two chairs set up in front, and a large leopard: fur light golden and dotted black, lying on the ground near the one furthest from the door, head up, green-blue eyes trained on him, and tail flicking from side to side. Disinterest maybe if not for those eyes that locked onto him as just as fiercely as her human did. She looked over at Kyttheros, assessing and his daemon responded by surging forward, stopping short at the chair closest to Greg, whiskers out, ears perked and tasting the air. Her left leg
"Hello, Inspector and Kyttheros," said the man. He nodded to each of them in turn and Greg blinked – it wasn't common for strangers to address one another's daemons so openly. His voice magnified without the confines of the phone. He stood up, straight and gestured to the chair, "Please sit down – I am sorry for any inconvenience this may have caused you,"
Greg made no move to sit while Kyttheros sat where she was, staring at the other daemon.
"As you will,"
The man gave a bow of his head and dropped into his own chair, hand absently trailing down to his daemon's ears and giving her a small scratch. Eyes never left him.
What had Ben – no, Sherlock – done to deserve this kind of attention …
"What do you want with Be - Sherlock?"
The man smiled. "Information,"
"You want us to spy," said Kyttheros.
The man's eyes glanced quickly at Kyttheros – most daemons didn't speak to humans just as most humans didn't speak to stranger daemons. Kyttheros did the former though and Greg didn't mind because it worked. They were a team.
The man went to speak but his daemon spoke, showing off her teeth: long and sharp. "Evidently, yes,"
"Calskia," chided the man and the leopard glanced at him before settling her head down on the floor, still watching, eyes unblinking. The man continued, "Nothing you'd feel uncomfortable with of course – just an update here and there on how he's going. I will provide compensation of course,"
Each word was light, carefully selected to make it sound unimportant, like a trivial issue that needed to be looked after. But despite that he could hear that steel, the order.
He took a step, standing at the chair now.
"And you can't do that …" he started to say, "can't keep an eye on him with all the cameras and the smoke and dagger cars,"
The man smirked at that, acknowledgement, and then his face became measured and mask-like. "Sherlock Holmes would find it rather disagreeable if he felt my presence … discretion is best in such circumstances,"
"He'll notice it anyway," pointed out Greg, "Why are you doing this?"
A pause as the man considered and his daemon became alert, staring at him and nudging gently at his hand – providing comfort, Greg guessed from seeing his own kid's daemons do that a dozen times a day when they were unsure of something.
"We worry," offered the man and left it at that except this time there was not a hint of steel, just a statement, a fact. They worried. How specific but the hesitation there …
"Because …" prompted Greg.
"Family?" suggested Kyttheros.
The man kept his expression stony but there was just the slightest incline of his head.
Greg threw another guess out. "Brothers? You want us to spy on your –"
"We want you to, yes," cut in Calskia and then in a lower voice, "San and Sherlock have little self preservation,"
The dilated pupils, skeletal and the paper-thin skin – he could see that Calskia had a point, and caught Kyttheros expression, which was of mild disapproval – spying on family instead of just helping out. That was not a healthy relationship and Greg wondered what had gone wrong between Sherlock and his brother to result in this – Sherlock could just be stubborn but the level of control that this man seemed to exude …
"Well why don't you just …" started Kyttheros snidely but Greg cleared his throat, "We'll keep an eye on them regardless."
The man sighed. "If it eases your concern – I mean my little brother no harm,"
He couldn't tell if he was lying or not.
Kyttheros bristled. "We done?"
The leopard-daemon nodded and Greg took that as his cue to leave, his daemon right at his heels. He was getting out of here as soon as he could – out of the scrutiny of the man and his daemon and home to his family – the ice-cream was probably melted now. He gave a parting nod and turned sharply heading for the door – he assumed that he'd be getting a lift back in the car – he should probably text his wife to let her know he was coming home.
His hand brushed against the door handle, and he started to push it open when the man said softly: "Goodbye, Detective Inspector."
He didn't move.
"One thing – what is your name?"
There was a pause and then the man said. "Mycroft Holmes."
Mycroft Holmes. It was said like a promise thought Greg as he left the old office building and was taken back to his home – he had hesitated slightly at the idea of getting into the car but the cold air and the desire to get home won him over. Kyttheros had stared at him the entire trip, no doubt desperate to confer with him as he considered Mycroft Holmes and Calskia and how they watched. Commanded. His heart went out to Sherlock and his little daemon. Despite the way the younger man came onto crime scenes as a force of nature …
They were dangerous – predators he mind supplied as he remembered an old video from school of a leopard launching itself at an antelope, powerful jaw – the car stopped and he got out, his lips twitching upwards at the sight of his home. He watched the car head off.
"They'll come get us again," said Kyttheros.
"I know."
"What are we going to do?"
"Find Sherlock," said Greg, "But in the meantime – get this ice-cream in the fridge,"
They headed inside and were immediately assaulted by Ellie, his ten year old daughter and her daemon, who pulled the bag from his grab, demanding what had took him so long while he kissed his wife on the cheek.
"What happened?" she asked as they watched Ellie dole out ice-cream to Peter (four years old with a daemon that seemed to favour canine forms).
He paused – he should tell her but … no. There was no need to worry her.
"Nothing," he said, "Was just chatting to an old friend.
She frowned, Kyttheros threw him a look, and he ignored them all, going to chat to his children.
Author's Notes: I hope you enjoyed this. Any and all thoughts are very much appreciated. :)