Human Error
Summary: Mycroft had begun to feel things for a certain Detective Inspector. When this DI is kidnapped and Mycroft has to find him, these feelings start to surface. The question remains: Is caring such a disadvantage?
One-Shot
Mycroft
Mycroft sat in his office, going over paperwork and organizing files. He had finished reviewing serious case with Sherlock and Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade, and the two had left to do the legwork required for this case.
Gregory.
To Mycroft's disgust and pleasure (A/N: Does this make sense? Idk) he had developed feelings for Gregory. The thought made him roll his eyes. Love was a human error, and caring was not an advantage. He had work to do, and a minor position in the British government to manage.
Yet, despite this constant mantra in his head, he felt the longing in his chest. Mycroft had been alone most of his life, and while he wasn't as emotional as Sherlock, he did have emotions.
Mycroft sighed. He knew he had no chance with the Inspector-Lestrade hardly knew him! Yet Mycroft knew about him.
He knew Lestrade had a divorce, he knew he was a good, loving father, and despite his, erm, lack of knowledge, Mycroft couldn't help but be attracted to the man.
Mycroft set down the papers in his hands, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply, collecting himself. He needed to get rid of these thoughts, yet he didn't seem to want to. He exhaled in frustration. God, what has gotten into him? Sentiment? Hadn't he proven that sentiment was a chemical default in the human being?
A human error.
His phone beeped, and Mycroft picked it up, grateful for the distraction. As he read the text, he immediately wished he never received it.
221b immediately.
Lestrade has been kidnapped.
Most likely Moran.
Come is convenient. If not, come anyway.
SH
Lestrade
Greg slipped into consciousness, slowly opening his eyes, adjusting to the bright light shining in his face. As his eyes got used to the light, he saw he was in a dimly lit room, with only his chair, the lamp, and one door on the other side of the room. His hands, legs, and feet were tied and shackled, and his mouth was gagged. The chair itself was bolted to the ground. He squirmed against his bonds as they dug into his skin.
"Well, Detective Inspector. I bet you're surprised." A voice said behind him.
Moran.
Moran undid Lestrade's gag, and he spit on the floor. "Sherlock will find me, and you will be taken care of."
Moran chuckled, and he heard the sound of metal clinking. "Maybe. But not before I hurt you first. I thought I would have to take Sherlock to get to the older Holmes, but it seems like you would be a much better target."
What does that mean? Lestrade thought. He had begun to feel things for the older Holmes, but was certain he didn't return them. But maybe he was wrong.
It wouldn't matter long anyway.
Moran came into view, along with a tray of several torture devices.
"Time to have a little fun, Gregory."
He picked up the knife, turning it to admire it, then scraping it against the DI's eyebrow. Greg gritted his teeth in pain, but uttered no sound as the blood trickled down his cheek. Moran moved the knife to his lip, splitting the bottom one open.
Moran then picked dropped the now slightly bloodied knife, then cracked his knuckles. "Let's go old-fashioned, shall we?"
He punched Lestrade, very hard, in the nose, and Greg could hear his nose cracking. He squeezed the arm of the chair, barely holding back a moan in pain.
"You should have known, Inspector." Moran punched Lestrade again, in the temple this time.
"You really think I wouldn't have caught you hunting me down?" Punch to the cheek. "I notice everything." Kick to the ribs.
"Once Sherlock and Mycroft find you-if they find you-you won't be alive for long." And a elbow to the eye.
Lestrade made no sounds as Moran's torture continued, but silently praying that the Holmes brothers find him soon.
Mycroft
Mycroft arrived at 221b quickly, straightening the knocker as he opened the door. He opened the door to Sherlock's flat, and saw Sherlock staring at a map of London on the table. John was out, but Sherlock probably messaged him to come quickly.
"Do you have anything?" Mycroft asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
Sherlock eyed him for a moment before looking back at the map.
"Moran has 3 bolt holes, as he is unable to sneak around London much, since you and Scotland Yard are after him. He's stealthy, but not that stealthy." Sherlock says.
"3 Lauriston Gardens, Sumatra Road, and the abandoned warehouse there." Sherlock pointed on the map.
"Sumatra Road is extremely unlikely, since there are people posted in and around that abandoned station. 3 Lauriston Gardens is likely, but the warehouse is most likely where Gavin is because it provides Moran a quick escape route.
"It's Gregory." Mycroft blurts.
"What?"
"His name's Gregory, not Gavin."
Sherlock looks at him for a moment, reading his expression, before standing up and pulling out his phone.
"Whatever his name is, we better get going. I'll call the Yard, you get your people out there." He said as he typed into his phone.
Mycroft nods, then walks out of the flat and to his sleek black car, where Anthea sat in the backseat.
"Anthea, I need you to send out MI5 to this address," He tells her the address Sherlock had given him. "This could become serious."
Anthea nods as she continues typing on her phone, and Mycroft sighs. He could only hope that Lestrade was not dead.
Lestrade
Greg's head dangled limply from his neck. He was exhausted. Moran had cut him, bruised him, hit him, and even pistol whipped him twice over the past...hour maybe? What was taking Sherlock so long?
Blood dripped out of Lestrade's lips as he spit and winced as he tried to raise his head. His bonds were covered in his blood, as was his own body and the chair. Moran sat across from him now, grinning. He crossed his legs.
"How are you feeling? Up for another round, Inspector?"
Lestrade said nothing as the pain from his injuries hit him like a ton of bricks. He coughed raggedly, his chest heaving with the effort. He suspected he had several broken ribs with the pain in his chest.
Moran stood, walking around to the the back of Lestrade's chair. "I'm surprised it's taking them so long, maybe they just don't care enough about you." He hit Lestrade in the back of the head, causing Greg's vision to falter.
"But, then again, the older Holmes feels something for you, and they wouldn't pass up the chance to catch me."
Lestrade froze. Mycroft? Mycroft feels something for me? Mycroft feels things? Lestrade thought. Moran hit him in the back of the head again, and Lestrade groaned.
"I'm surprised you've lasted this long. You're really just bait, but I want to have a little fun."
"No…" Lestrade muttered, taking ragged breaths.
Moran laughed. "Ah, yes."
Just as he was about to hit Lestrade again, the door burst open.
Mycroft
He got out of the car at the abandoned warehouse, where the MI5, Scotland Yard, and Sherlock and John surrounded the building. Sherlock, John, Sergeant Donovan, and Mycroft were the ones going in. Mycroft had insisted on coming in, and though he hated legwork, he did have experience. Sherlock handed him a gun and he and John stood on one side of the door while Mycroft and Donovan stood on the other. Mycroft nodded to open the door and Sherlock complied.
All 4 people aimed their weapons towards the middle of the room, where they could see A large lamp, Moran, and Lestrade, who was tied to a chair. Mycroft's breath hitched when he saw the DI's condition-battered and bloody.
"Well, well, well, look who decided to show up." Moran said aloud, walking to the front of Lestrade's chair. Greg made no motion to acknowledge that he was to be rescued, but instead his head hung limp.
"Let go of Lestrade, Moran. You have what you want." Sherlock demanded, cocking his gun.
"Do I?" Moran answered, tapping his finger to his chin. He pulled out his own gun from behind him. He dropped it to the floor.
"Kill me, I have no problem with it. In fact, I welcome you to. There are more of us out there, and my death means nothing."
He spread out his arms, waiting. Mycroft took one look over at Lestrade before firing his gun.
It hit Moran square in the chest, and he stumbled, smiled, then fell to the floor. Mycroft pocketed his gun, then ran to Lestrade, who was unconscious.
"Get the medics in here, he needs medical attention."
Sherlock nodded. He motioned for John and Donovan to follow him, and left Mycroft alone.
MHMHMHMHMHMHMHMH
"Gregory? Are you awake?"
Greg slipped back into consciousness at the sound of Mycroft's voice. He was in a hospital.
"Mycroft…" Lestrade muttered. He was still very tired and in pain. "Did you get Moran?"
Mycroft nodded. Lestrade sighed in relief before going into a coughing fit. Mycroft pushed the button that raised Lestrade's seat and helped him settle his cough, gingerly rubbing his shoulder.
"Thank you…" Lestrade said, looking at the older Holmes. Mycroft blushed slightly at the eye contact and looked away.
"Are you okay?" Lestrade asked. Despite his predicament, he worried about Mycroft.
"I'm fine, it's me that should be asking you." Mycroft said. When Lestrade didn't respond, Mycroft looked back at him. "Greg?"
He noticed Lestrade's head started bleeding profusely again, and Mycroft immediately called for a doctor.
He stepped away as he let the professionals do their work, silently hoping Lestrade would be okay.
MHMHMHMHMHMHMHMH
The doctors secured the bleed, but Lestrade was unconscious again. Mycroft sat by his hospital bed, holding the DI's hand, recalling the conversation he had with Sherlock just moments ago.
"Mycroft, you should tell him how you feel." Mycroft scoffed, twirling his umbrella. "He doesn't feel the same way." Sherlock's expression softened as he stepped closer to his brother.
"Remember when you comforted me about John? I said the exact same thing. Look at John and I now." Sherlock put his hand on Mycroft shoulder. "Aren't you tired of not knowing anyway? Hasn't it nagged you? If you keep thinking what if, you'll never see if he does or not.'""I'm not supposed to feel love, it's a human error." Sherlock chuckled. "Mycroft, we're still human, whether we like it or not. You are supposed to feel love. I probably wouldn't be alive if you didn't feel love."
Mycroft looked at his younger brother. "Careful, brother. I fear John has rubbed off on you." Sherlock smiled and removed his hand from Mycroft's shoulder "Tell him, Mycroft." He started to walk off before Mycroft grabbed his wrist. "Sherlock?"
The consulting detective turned. "Yes?""Thank you." Sherlock nodded, then returned to the lobby of the hospital.
"I, um, I don't know exactly how to word this." Mycroft suttered, looking at Lestrade's stiff, still living body. Never had he been so flustered in his life. "Between the time's we've talked, I just couldn't help but notice...well, you. All your attributes, flaws, and personality, and I've studied each one. You're so...normal, yet there's something about you even I can't put my finger on. I guess that's one of the reasons I...I fell in love with you. I haven't known you long, but every time we meet I just...I'm not sure. I've come to admire your sarcastic remarks, and am thankful for the way you put up with my brother. You've never once insulted me for being...well, emotionless. You've never questioned the way I deal with things, as if you trusted me. I...I love you, Gregory." Mycroft said, pulling the DI's hand to his lips, softly kissing his knuckles. He was about to let go when he felt a squeeze around his own hands.
His eyes widened, and realized the Inspector had been awake the entire time.
Lestrade muttered something Mycroft couldn't quite hear. "Wh-What did you say?"
"I love you too, Mycroft." Lestrade said a little louder, opening his eyes and staring at the older Holmes.
"R-Really?" Mycroft stuttered once more.
"Come here." Lestrade chuckled. Mycroft came to the side of his bed, and with a wince, Greg lifted his hand and placed it on the back of Mycroft's head, and pulled him into a kiss.
Mycroft was surprised at first, but quickly gave into it. He had longed to do this for months, and it was the most amazing kiss he had ever experienced. After a few minutes, Greg broke away for air, a small smile playing at his lips. Mycroft was blushing profusely, which made Greg grin wider.
"What?" Mycroft asked with a genuine smile on his face.
"You're cute when you blush."
The comment made Mycroft blush harder, and he pecked The DI on the lips once more.
"Get some rest, I'll be back soon." Mycroft said with a smile, grabbing his umbrella and walking towards the door.
It seems that Love isn't such a human error after all.
Well! First mystrade fanfic! I hope it's not shit, i've never written this ship before. Surprisingly, Mycroft was hard to write in this story, but I hope it's okay. Constructive criticism is welcome, as always. Thanks for reading!