"Detective Inspector Lestrade, I understand you're having a spot of bother regarding the Argentinian diplomat's suicide." Mycroft Holmes spoke as he walked into Lestrade's office without knocking, closing the door behind him with his ever present umbrella.
"Mycroft, please come in," he replied sarcastically. 'Wonderful, two Holmes brothers breathing down my neck.' Sherlock was insistent that it wasn't a suicide and wouldn't leave Lestrade alone, even taken to phoning when he was adamant that he loathed that form of contact.
"Thank you," Mycroft said smoothly, sitting in the chair in front of Lestrade's desk.
"We haven't ruled the death a suicide yet, Forensics is still processing the evidence from the scene. Sherlock is down there badgering them now." Lestrade scrubbed a hand over his face before sitting back in his chair and regarding the elder Holmes' brother.
Mycroft grinned in way that always made the detective inspector slightly uncomfortable. "Yes, I'm aware. I'm here to inform you that it was a suicide and MI-5 agents will be here shortly to collect all your evidence and files regarding the matter." He flicked a piece of invisible lint of his waistcoat.
"What? No, you can't just take my case. We understand the sensitive nature of the care where a diplomat is involved and are taking measures to see that things are handled properly." Lestrade sat up angrily.
The elder Holmes' brother grinned again. "Be that as it may, MI-5 will be dealing with it from here on out." He paused and cocked his head. "Honestly, Detective Inspector, I fail to understand why dealings between us must always be so strained. Our relationship could be so much more fruitful if you would just agree to cooperate with me."
"Right, well I've seen where 'cooperating' gets you, so I'll pass." Lestrade retorted. He saw a familiar silhouette behind the frosted glass of his office door over Mycroft's shoulder.
"Are you certain, Lestrade? There isn't anything I could do for you that would change your mind?" Mycroft asked, silkily, leaning forward in his seat.
Lestrade stood and Mycroft followed suit. "No, there's nothing." He moved around his desk towards the door. The British Government laid a hand on his forearm, stopping him. He leaned in to whisper in the other man's ear. "Nothing at all?"
The silver haired man calmly removed Mycroft's hand from his arm as he reached for the doorknob.
"You are aware I'm fucking your brother, right?" He tossed over his shoulder as he opened the door and strode past a flushed Sherlock, who stiffened at being caught eavesdropping. The detective subtly (to some) adjusted his trousers before turning to smirk at his older brother.
Alone in the DI's office, Mycroft stood in shock watching Sherlock hurried to catch up with his lover down the corridor.