Title: Collision
Disclaimer: The usual. Sherlock belongs to BBC and ACD, I do not profit except for having lots of fun writing it.
Pairings: Mycroft/ Lestrade, Sherlock/John
Word Count: 1,467
Rating: T (later possible M content)
Warnings: None, for this chapter
Summary: When the high society world of Mycroft Holmes collides with the down to earth life of Greg Lestrade (thanks to the help of Sherlock), they initially loathe each other. Then things change.
Author's Notes: I'm writing this because I somehow got absorbed into the fandom without watching the series (I do plan to buy the dvds, sooner rather than later, but who knows). Not brit-picked, and completely un-betaed, so all mistakes are mine. I'm hoping that I'm keeping the characters as close to canon as possible, but having been unable to get my hands on Sherlock (because they're not showing it in my country), I have no resources other than little snippets on youtube.
Greg Lestrade groaned and rubbed his eyes, exhausted by the sound of Donovan and Anderson squabbling again. He rather wished that they would finally realize how much they fancied each other and just went and got it on. He didn't exactly advocate adultery (on Anderson's part) nor did he think office romances were completely okay (on both their parts), but anything to stop their childishness was a good thing.
How these two could act like lovebirds right next to a body in advanced stages of decomposition was beyond him, but really illustrated to him how love, or rather, lust, gave a person serious tunnel-vision. He turned to the body again, scowling down at it as though all the troubles of his life were caused by it.
Just as he bent down to take a closer look, a commotion started up, as someone tried to bypass the police tape – damn those reporters – again. A deep baritone could be heard, and Greg was about to tune it out when he realized what that voice was saying, "Cause of death – multiple stab wounds to the neck and torso, obviously, and the killer is someone that she knows –" Wait. She? Greg could hardly tell the gender of the body, considering how decomposed it was. He turned to see the person mouthing off outside of the tape.
Crack addict. The track marks on his arm, and the fact that the other person was so obviously high told him that. It didn't take a genius. Lestrade walked over to the tape, curious and wary despite the fact that the other man was already restrained by two of his colleagues.
The other's eyes fell on him, pale-blue, an alien shade, especially with the blood-shot sclera. "Detective Inspector Lestrade. Age 40, chain smoker, recently increased intake of nicotine to two packs a day. You haven't had any rest for two days. You're married, but you're worried that your wife is cheating on you, and that along with your cases have been causing you insomnia."
"Jesus Christ." Lestrade stared at the young man. He was only in his late twenties, with a head of dark brown curls that looked like a tornado had hit it. He looked emaciated, but then all drug addicts did.
"The body only looks like it's decomposed; it's actually melted down with sulfuric acid, which heightened the rate of decomposition. Door is unlocked, no sign of forced entry shows that the killer and victim were acquainted. The victim's hand bears imprint of her finger nails, it shows that the relationship between the killer and the victim was hostile even before the murder. The victim was the mistress, and the killer was the jealous wife who wanted her dead. You're looking for a woman with dyed red hair, 5'6" and a co-worker of the deceased." The young man rattled off.
All the police officers were silent, staring at the insane addict before them. Greg was the first to find his voice. "You're coming with us." A pair of handcuffs snapped over the skeletal wrists. "I hereby arrest you for consumption and possession of drugs, as well as on suspicion of murder. You know way too much to be uninvolved in this."
The other man glared at him, before snapping, "Are you that obtuse?" as he was bundled into the police car. "Or is it because I pointed out all your problems in front of your force?"
"It's got nothing to do with that!" Greg snapped as he started the car.
"She is, you know. Cheating on you." The young man said, as the car pulled away from the curb.
Greg tried not to glare at him too much.
Apparently the man sulking before him was notorious for crashing crime scenes and solving them. Some of the other officers raised their eyebrows and some even went, "You again," and rolled their eyes. The young man had just sneered, a small derisive curl of his lip.
Greg sat across the man in the interrogation room, reading his files out loud, "Sherlock Holmes, 28."
"Yes, I know who I am." Sherlock interrupted, rolling his eyes.
"Graduated Eton in 1992, entered Cambridge in 1993." Lestrade's eyebrows raised at the next line. "Studied Forensic Pathology and Chemistry. Dropped out in 1996. Arrested for cocaine possession in 1998, 1999, 2000." There was a long list of offences, and it seemed that this genius got himself arrested once every 2 months or so. "And a list of offences related to tampering with evidence and obstruction of justice. Woah."
Sherlock's face puckered up into a sour look of irritation.
Lestrade gave a short laugh, "You really are a piece of work. You're obviously old money, to even get into Eton, and smart enough to make it into Cambridge. Then you threw it all away for a drug addiction?" Sherlock's lip raised in a snarl, and Lestrade knew he had broached a sensitive issue with the younger man.
Just then, a knock sounded on the door, and Sally Donovan entered, "Someone's looking for you. Wants to bail that freak out." She jerked a thumb at Sherlock, "Says his name is Mycroft Holmes." Sherlock went very stiff and still at the name, his face frozen in angered humiliation.
"Two Holmes?" Lestrade stood, eyebrows raised, "With the amount of trouble one brings, two Holmes are two too many."
Mycroft Holmes was a universe away from Sherlock Holmes.
If not for their last name, and some superficial similarities, Lestrade would never have thought that the shabby young man in the interrogation room and this posh bureaucrat were even the slightest bit related. Then he opened his mouth.
"Detective Inspector Lestrade, I demand the release of my younger brother."
Related. Undoubtedly related. No one could inject such a huge amount of disdain and contempt into a simple request- no, a demand. Lestrade found himself growing thoroughly sick of the Holmes brothers.
"Release him? He's in possession of cocaine, for heaven sakes." Lestrade said, his arms crossed, raising one hand to rub at his temples.
"I am fully aware of that fact, Detective Inspector." Mycroft's voice was lower, tense.
"Then you should know that I cannot release him." Lestrade's voice rang with a tone of finality.
Mycroft raised an eyebrow, and the contempt was heaped upon Lestrade tenfold. The aristocratic man swept past him.
"Unreasonable?" Lestrade could not believe his ears. "Did you just call me unreasonable?"
He ignored the fact that he was possibly shouting at someone very, very important. He glared at his superior, and turned to glare at the umbrella toting man beside him.
"Look, you – " He growled, "You – You're the unreasonable one here. You barge into my office; demand that your brother – who is possession of cocaine, may I remind you – be released without repercussions, ignoring the law, which I am sure you are fully aware of. And you just called me unreasonable?"
The corners of Mycroft's lips tightened.
"Now, Greg, You have to understand –" His superior was shooting concerned glances at the politician before him.
"Yes, sir, I understand – I understand fully well that the rich and influential are governed under a different set of laws that we mere mortals are not privileged enough to enjoy." Lestrade said bitterly. "Laws in which cocaine possession and consumption are mere blips, and in which murder is probably overlooked." He turned to leave, but was stopped by Mycroft's amused chuckle. He whirled back and snapped, "What?"
"I assure you, Gregory Lestrade, my brother hasn't committed a single murder in his life."
"Says you." Greg retorted, and stomped out of the office, storming back to his own.
Mycroft followed him, "In all honesty, he hasn't. Now, will you please start with the paperwork?"
"In all honesty? And you sir, you are a shining paragon of honesty and integrity, are you?" Greg snapped, pulling out forms and grabbing a pen, "You both are shining epitomes of virtue, yeah?"
"Detective Inspector, I said my brother hadn't committed murder. I did not include myself." Mycroft sat in the chair across from him elegantly, smiling.
Greg's mental processes ground to a halt. He stared at Mycroft Holmes dumbly, before the other man gestured to his paperwork with a gentle, "Make haste, please, Detective Inspector. I have a meeting to attend."
"Jesus Christ, what have I done to deserve people like you both in my life –" Greg mumbled and turned back to filling out the papers as Mycroft chuckled in amusement.
As both Holmes brother argued their way out of the Scotland Yard, Sherlock glaring murder at Mycroft, Greg Lestrade could only pinch the bridge of his nose and try to stave off the massive migraine brought upon by the pair.