Mycroft waited under his umbrella outside 221B. The weather was horrible, grey skies and drizzle, but inside was worse. Firstly there was his insufferable little brother and his doctor to deal with. Then there was the police department debriefing the pair, asking ridiculous, obvious questions when there were many more important question Mycroft himself had to ask. If there was one thing the Holmes brothers agreed on, it was their distaste for that Anderson, and Donovan wasn't much better. And then there was D.I. Lestrade. Something about that man put Mycroft's teeth on edge.
Part of it was how Greg always looked over at him, attentive and curious, even as his attention should be elsewhere. He felt uncomfortable under the other man's gaze, as though there was something on his face, suddenly so aware of his appearance.
But also, he felt undeserving of Lestrade's attention. They never really spoke, after all, there was no reason for them too. They weren't even colleagues really, only meeting through Sherlock, at crime scenes and so forth, a series o of unhappy coincidences. So why did the Inspector watch him?
Another thing that bothered Mycroft was the little comments he made, the blatantly obvious things he felt the need to point out, the useless questions he asked. Though, that was a little endearing, he had to admit.
But even thinking in that way was stupid. Lestrade was married, no matter how unhappily, and Mycroft was fated to be alone.
And yet clearly something in his subconscious disagreed, because more and more Mycroft found himself completing these little meetings that he loved to hate. More often than not, Mycroft could send someone in to check on Sherlock, or even just use his cameras. He told himself that Dr Watson was causing more trouble than he was worth and it was better for him to see with his own eyes how he was influencing Sherlock's already reckless behaviour. And that was certainly part of it. But somewhere secret, Mycroft knew he craved the feeling of Greg's eyes on him.
Mycroft didn't doubt his importance in his position in government, he knew people relied on him, but few people cared if he was living or dead outside his job. Even his own brother was too self obsessed to really bother with him, though Mycroft didn't blame him too much. Even Mummy hadn't given him that much attention as a child. But with D.I. Lestrade watching him, Mycroft felt... real, as a person, not just a means to an end, but someone with more than just his occupation, a little brother to watch for and only some cake and tea waiting for him at the end of the day.
So here he stood waiting to go inside, ambiguous feelings aside, because he had a job to do. And if his chest tightened a little with anticipation as he crossed the threshold and took to the stairs, so be it.
A/N~ Written for one of my best friends to cheer her up at school, weirdly enough. I don't know if I like this that much, but I may have to write another chapter, I can't just leave it like this! Anyway please let me knew what you think, thanks for reading x