Working Title: London Rain
Prompt: Four times Greg forgot his umbrella and one time he didn't
Chapter One
AN/ Welcome to this story! This is the first Mystrade fic that I wrote which takes place in what is more-or-less canon universe. All my others tend to be AU's, so I got waaaay out of my comfort zone with this one. Also, it's actually complete! I know right? Totally unheard of with me! Truth is I wrote this in one night, from 8:00pm until 3:30am the next morning, so I basically just vomited up a glitterring rainbow of Mystrade feels and awesomeness, and had to write it. I honestly took one snack break the whole time, and that was it. Thankfully I had it beta'd, so any late-night/early-morning mistakes are probably gone. If not, comment and I will edit whatever it is:)
o0o0o0o0o0o0oo0o
It was raining. Pouring, actually. What had started out as a perfectly dry, clear morning in central London had turned into a very wet, horribly grey evening. And of course, of all the blasted days to forget one's umbrella and rain jacket, DI Greg Lestrade had to pick this one.
He had taken no more than three steps past the front doors of New Scotland Yard, and already his clothing was soaked through. Greg stood there, on the gloomy street corner with a scowl on his dripping face, and squinted into the fog and drizzle, searching for an oncoming taxi. He stood there for an impossibly long minute while getting wetter and wetter, before giving up and trudging onwards.
It's only a few blocks home, and anyways, I can't get much more wet than I already am, he thought. He glanced up at the streetlight ahead of him; despite the pouring rain and thick fog it still managed to give off a decent amount of light. The yellow-orange glow of the light illuminated the figure standing underneath it. Greg squinted harder, trying to make out any details. Street bum? Homeless person? Junkie? Normal bloke, on his way home from work? The figure was definitely that of a man, at least six feet tall and slim. Long, dark coat with the collar pulled up against the rain, although the rain didn't seem to be much of a problem, since the man was holding an umbrella...
While Greg was attempting to case the person out, the fifteen feet of space inbetween them filled with rain and darkness, he was consequently not paying attention to where he was stepping. And so it was, that a mere ten feet from the stranger Greg stopped walking to look down in despair at his shoes, which were currently submerged in mucky, freezing cold rainwater.
"Oh no," He groaned, lifting first one foot and then the other, inspecting the damage done. "These were my best pair!"The leather was undoubtably damaged beyond repair, and why the fuck had he chosen this day of all days to wear his good leather shoes? He shrugged his frustration off. He was trying to make the best of a bad situation, and being upset wasn't going to fix this shitty day any quicker, nor would it make him any dryer. So instead of being desolate, Greg said, "Fuck it," and proceeded to splash loudly in all the puddles he came across.
He was a mere five feet from the stranger, when the loud clearing of a throat broke his concentration, and he stopped jumping to look up. The man was tall, impossibly tall, and wearing one of the most beautiful, elegant, no doubt extremely expensive coats Greg had ever seen. His umbrella was sleek and dark, possibly black, possibly some other dark colour; also undoubtably expensive. Everything about him screamed old money and refinement. But it was the shadowed face of the stranger that caused Greg to stop in his tracks. A strong nose, a high cheekbone and a pale, freckled complexion were all that he could see clearly, but it was enough to rip the air out of his lungs and leave him reeling, if but for a moment.
"Uh, hullo." He said, eloquently. He snorted and stuffed his hands into his soaking coat pockets. Yeah, Greg, he thought. Real smooth.
The man stared at him for a moment longer, before once again clearing his throat. "I'm so sorry to interrupt...whatever it was that you were doing," He said, his voice clear and sharp, cutting through the rainfall like it was nothing. He wrinkled his nose slightly, before raising an eyebrow. "But you are Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade, are you not?"
Greg frowned and edged back the tiniest bit; not that many people outside of his work knew who he was, and certainly not every stranger he met on the streets. He nodded, squaring his shoulders and widening his stance a bit, so he might have a better chance of fighting the man off should he attack. "Yeah, that's me."
"I thought as much, but I find it's always best to be sure of such things," the man said with an insincere smile, before removing the black glove from his left hand. "I would like to speak to you about your...collaboration at work...with my brother." He offerred his hand to be shook as he spoke, and Greg glanced at his perfectly manicured nails and long, pale fingers.
Greg removed his hands from his soaking pockets, but held them at his sides. "Your brother?" He asked, going through the list of his male co-workers in his head and trying to guess at which one it might be.
"Ah yes," the stranger said, dropping his hand but not replacing the glove just yet. "My beloved brother. Thankfully not one of your co-workers, though you do work alongside him, in a sense." He flashed another one of his insincere smiles. "Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective, or whatever it is that he's calling himself these days." He held his hand out again, leaving it hanging in the space between them. "Mycroft Holmes. A pleasure to make your aquaintance, Detective Inspector."
Greg's eyebrows rose, and he didn't even bother to blink the rain out of his eyes as he stared in shock at the man...Mycroft Holmes...in front of him. He had had no idea Sherlock Holmes, the annoying but absolutely genius ex-junkie had any family at all, never mind a brother who looked like he could very well be the King of England! If England had a King, that is. Greg shook himself out of his daze, and crossing the remaining distance between them, shook the man's hand firmly.
"The pleasure's mine, Mycroft. Though please, call me Greg." He grinned.
Mycroft Holmes adjusted his grip on the umbrella he carried, before slipping his bare hand back into its glove. "Detective Inspector," he said, ignoring Greg's request. "I would ask that you keep me updated on my brother; nothing you would feel too uncomfortable with sharing, of course. Just enough to let me know what his current...situation might be." His tone was sharper than before, and despite his words being a statement, there seemed to Greg to be an underlying question underneath.
"Well, I'll let you know how he's doing on the drug front, if that's what you're asking," he said, sticking his hands back into his pockets. "But I'm afraid I can't divulge just anything, no matter that you're his brother. Sherlock strikes me as a fairly private person." He tried to look apologetic, but kept his tone and words firm. He was not backing down on this, no matter what the striking englishman had to say or offer.
"Of course, I wouldn't expect you to." Mycroft's insincere smile turned just a little bit more sincere. "All information would be at your discretion; as long as I'm kept updated on his rehabilitation from someone close to him, I will be happy." He twirled his umbrella slightly in his hand, turning his head slightly to the right. The difference of angle caused the light from above to illuminate his entire face, throwing off the shadows that had baffled Greg only minutes before.
Greg nodded in acceptance, taking a moment to examine Mycroft in the soft orange light from the streetlamp. Along with the long, straight nose, the high cheekbones and freckled, pale skin, Mycroft sported perfectly arched eyebrows and dark auburn hair. At first glance, he really didn't look anything like Sherlock; but upon taking a closer look, Greg realised they did in fact share some traits. The high cheekbones were the same, though Sherlock's face was thinner which made his more prominent. The long neck and pale skin were a complete match, as was the graceful way they held themselves. And after a silent moment of examination, where Mycroft stood still and let Greg's eyes roam as they would, Greg concluded that Mycroft had clearly won the genetic lottery; his eyes were a clearer, more pure blue, his hair was the most beautiful colour, with just the slightest curl to it. His hands were longer and thinner, his smile more genuine, and his voice, though not as deep, was smooth and compelling. All in all, Greg could not deny he liked what he saw.
Which was worrisome indeed; afterall, this was Sherlock's brother! Mycroft Holmes!Clearly too rich, too beautiful and too classy for the likes of Gregory Lestrade. He sighed internally, before perking up a bit. Just because I can't have him, didn't mean I can't enjoy the view, does it?
Mycroft allowed the scrutinization for a few more moments, before asking, "Are you quite done?" in a bored tone, examining his gloved hand.
Greg flushed. "Sorry, it's just that, at first glance it's hard to see the resemblance." He shrugged and scratched the back of his neck awkwardly; he could feel rain dripping down his back, but ignored it.
"Hmm." Mycroft studied him intensely, his piercing, icy gaze flickering back and forth over Greg, as if reading him like a page in a book. "And at second glance?"
Greg paused, choosing his words carefully before answering; it felt like what he said next was vitally important, and would dictate whether or not he would get to see Mycroft Holmes in the future. And he desperately wanted to see him again. "Well, once you look closer, it's really quite obvious, isn't it? I don't know if I ever would have guessed it on my own, me being an average bloke and all. But to be fair, Sherlock really doesn't ever mention you, or any other family for that matter. Mostly just talks about blood consistancy and goes on about the worlds idiocy." He smiled.
Mycroft's lips quirked slightly, though whether it was upwards or downwards, Greg couldn't tell. "Yes, I'm afraid he's never gone out of his way to acknowledge me."
Greg chuckled and shuffled forwards slightly. He tilted his head upwards a bit. "Yeah, but can you really blame him? Not everyone can win the genetic lottery and turn out stunning, and he's obviously still peeved it wasn't him." The words slipped out, and the moment they left his lips he wished he could take them back. He spluttered, mortified. "Oh my god -I am so sorry, that - that was..."
Mycroft raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking again. "Flirtatious? Inappropriate? Forward?" His voice didn't betray any surprise or displeasure, only amusement. His face was carefully blank, the only outward sign of his amusement the slight upward turn of his lips.
"All of the above." Greg covered his burning face with his hands, the blush spreading down his neck. "God, I'm so sorry." He grimaced, before he lowered his hands and opened his eyes.
To his complete surprise, Mycroft only chuckled, shaking his head slowly as his eyes crinkled up in genuine mirth. "So you've said." He sighed and smiled slightly. "This has been wonderfully illuminating. I look forwards to hearing from you in the future." He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small business card with his name and a phone number printed on it in black ink. "You may reach me at this number at any time." He handed it to Greg, who, not wanting to ruin it by placing it in his soaking wet pocket, had to unbutton his coat and slide it into the breast pocket on the nice and dry inside of his suit jacket.
"Thanks," He said, buttoning his coat back up and flashing Mycroft a quick smile.
Mycroft nodded and stepped towards the curb. "Until next time, Detective Inspector." He said, as a black car slid up beside him and the door opened. He slid in and closed his umbrella in one smooth movement, before closing the door. Greg watched as the dark car drove down the foggy, wet London street, dissapearing into the night. He stood there long after he could no longer see its tail-lights shinging through the darkness, a bemused look upon his face.
Well, he thought as he finally turned away from the street and continued on his way home. Next time had better be bloody soon.
Mara xx