An Unexpected Call
Lestrade didn't enjoy the periods in which Sherlock and John were quiet. Though he found the consulting detective to be exceedingly annoying at times, he also enjoyed Sherlock's company. His non-stop deductions were fascinating to listen to, even if he didn't voice his admiration as John did.
For the moment, however, Lestrade was alone in London. Yes, he had Donovan and Anderson, but often he agreed with Sherlock's opinion of them. Idiots. He couldn't grasp the notion of thinking Sherlock to be a freak. His ability to deduce somebody's entire life story from a single glance was scary, perhaps, but not freaky. It was interesting.
Lestrade ran a hand through his hair. He looked tired. Deep down, the detective inspector knew that he shouldn't be involving Sherlock in police matters so often, yet it was hard not to, because the man got good results very quickly.
Before Lestrade could debate the nagging feeling of unease in the back of his mind, the phone on his desk rang. He looked at it, and then decided to ignore it, on a whim.
He knew he shouldn't. But he could pretend that he'd been in the toilets, or something like that, if he was questioned. If he was honest, he couldn't handle dealing with any members of the force that day.
The phone went quiet. Silence descended, again, over the office.
He'd have to ask John if he wanted to go for another drink when they came back. Maybe Sherlock would go along with them, and they could have a bloke-y sort of evening.
Actually, if Sherlock was there they'd probably end up discovering that the criminal of the century was having a drink with them.
Lestrade almost jumped when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He wondered if it was the same person who'd rung his office phone - but when he looked at the number on the screen, it was unknown. He almost ignored it, but then decided to pick up, just in case.
'DI Lestrade speaking.'
'Greg Lestrade,' a man's voice replied.
'Speaking,' Lestrade said. 'Who is this?'
'Mycroft Holmes,' the man's voice replied. 'I imagine you remember our last meeting?'
Lestrade looked on with a mixture of irritation and surprise. The man was almost as irritating as his brother, but in a completely different way.
'How can I help you, Mycroft?'
'It seems my brother has managed to get a hold of one of my identification cards,' Mycroft said. 'He's currently in Dartmoor.'
'What am I supposed to do with this information? What about my job, for god's sakes?' Lestrade asked, taking a bite from his sandwich. 'You're the one with the government and all of the top ranking police officers. How did you even get my phone number, anyway?'
'Do I really need to answer those questions?' Mycroft said rhetorically.
'I can't just drop everything because your brother needs somebody to check up on him. John's there, he won't let him do anything stupid,' Lestrade told him.
'I received word that both my brother and John Watson broke into Baskerville and demanded the full tour,' Mycroft said.
There was a moment of silence, before Lestrade sighed in defeat.
'There's a car waiting for you outside,' Mycroft said. 'It will take you back to your flat. Pack for about a week. When you've done, another car will be waiting for you... you'll then be driven to the station, where I've already got train tickets for you. The tickets will be given to you by the driver of the second car. When you arrive at Dartmoor, a room in the same pub that Sherlock and John are staying in will be waiting for you, pre paid, of course.'
Lestrade rubbed his face warily with his hands.
'Don't have much of a choice, do I?' he asked.
He could almost hear Mycroft's answering smile.
'Thank you, Detective Inspector,' he said, and then the dialling tone met his ears.
Lestrade felt annoyed for a moment, before he smiled slightly. At least now, he'd be involved in one of Sherlock's cases, rather than stuck at the police station with the monotony of paperwork and the company of Anderson and Donovan.
He locked his office behind him, still smiling to himself.
A.N: Thanks for looking! Review, maybe?