"Eurgh, my God, can you two not do that on your own time, you're contaminating my crime scene!" Sherlock whined, closing his eyes to block out the view of Inspector Lestrade stroking his brother's arm. Mycroft only smiled lightly, keeping his attention on Lestrade.
"Your crime scene?" Anderson asked, voice dripping with sarcasm and contempt.
"Oh yes, my apologies Anderson, your crime scene that your incompetence has dictated becomes my crime scene. Better?"
"You couldn't be more deluded. You're a handy pet to have, Freak, nothing more."
"What was that?" Mycroft interrupted, appearing behind Sherlock as if materialising out of thin air. He'd joined his brother and partner at the crime scene, to prevent Sherlock from going after a recently absconded suspect, as Mycroft's people were onto it. Despite Sherlock's protests, he had hung around in the background, talking to the DI. To the best of Sherlock's knowledge, he had never spoken to Lestrade's underlings before.
"What was what?" Anderson snapped, sounding annoyed someone else unrelated to their team, was now getting in his way, DI's boyfriend or otherwise.
"Why did he call you 'freak'?" Mycroft asked Sherlock, looking confused.
Sherlock rolled his eyes, ignoring both Mycroft and Anderson, in favour of the corpse he was busy examining. "Because he has the brainpower of a small toad and it's a single syllable word loosely suggesting abnormality, which he thinks is frightfully clever of him."
There was a short pause, in which Anderson shook his head, somehow managing to glare at Lestrade in his peripheries. Mycroft watched him glare and look the other way at the same time, taking in his put upon stance and expression.
"Do you like your job, Mr Anderson?" Mycroft asked at length, voice calm and quiet.
"Sorry, not to be rude, but what business is that, or any of this, of yours?" Anderson asked, smirking. Sherlock noticed a flicker of his eyes, indicating he was sizing Mycroft up. Badly. He'd seen the flashy suit and assured stance and assumed office worker, not Government Official. He heard him questioning Sherlock and the impatience with which Sherlock had responded and assumed fan, not sibling.
Sherlock grinned to himself, still kneeling over the corpse. Anderson's thought pattern was painfully transparent. He was fondly imagining he would be able to point out to Mycroft that being Lestrade's beau, didn't give him any right to involvement in their cases. Had that been all Mycroft was, Anderson would of course, have been right. Even Lestrade would has stopped him. As it was, Lestrade was hiding a smile in the background, allowing Anderson to take a minor dressing down for his obnoxiousness.
"Just curious." Mycroft responded, smiling.
Anderson frowned at him, irritated. "Well yes, I do, I'd prefer it wasn't constantly hampered by unrelated sociopaths, but thank you for asking. And I call him freak, because that's exactly what he is."
"Anderson!" Lestrade warned, stepping forward, surprised by his rudeness.
"I'm sorry Sir, but this really is ridiculous! I'm trying to do my job and you have our unpaid consulting detective doing it instead, now I'm to be questioned by your friends at every crime scene too? This is just unprofessional!"
Lestrade was too stunned to respond, for a moment, but it was not necessary, as Mycroft's eyes flashed dangerously.
"Oh I see where you've misunderstood the situation, Mr Anderson." He stated softly.
"What?" Anderson barked.
Sherlock had stood up now, watching, torn between curiosity and wondering whether he should stop Mycroft pulling his entirely unfair advantage. He almost laughed to himself at the thought. He wasn't going to do that, especially as John wasn't with him to make him do the right thing either.
"I'm here in my professional context, not as Inspector Lestrade's 'friend'." Mycroft explained with a smile. "Huh?" Anderson asked, sounding utterly dumb, but not looking any less annoyed.
"Sherlock's suspect also happens to be under my surveillance. My job title is not public domain but I suppose on some level I decide who does and doesn't, work for the police force, or really any public service I chose to intervene in. What's that incredibly irritating exaggeration you keep making about me, Sherlock?"
"It's not an exaggeration. He is the British Government."
Anderson merely stared, dumbfounded. Lestrade was starting to laugh, enjoying the look on his cocky forensics expert's face.
"I'm sure it's very annoying having a self employed amateur do your job for you." Mycroft smiled, noting the growl of agitation from Sherlock. "But then he is better at it than you are and indeed, anyone else on the force is."
"It's true, gotta give him that, he'd be rubbish at the not so interesting stuff though." Lestrade offered, as Anderson looked outraged.
"Very true. All in all I don't think Inspector Lestrade has any complaints about any of his team or his consultant, so professionally speaking, neither do I. I ask if you like your job, Mr Anderson…" Mycroft paused, offering another dangerous looking smile. Lestrade smirked and stared the floor, while Sherlock kept a perfect poker face. "Because if you planned on keeping it for the foreseeable future, I suggest you never, ever, let me hear you talking to my little brother like that again."
Mycroft turned and swept towards his car, swinging his umbrella neatly over his shoulder as he passed Lestrade and gave his hand a quick squeeze. Lestrade was left giggling to himself helplessly, as he watched Anderson's mouth open and close pointlessly, while Sherlock stood, torn between enjoyment of Anderson's defeat and indignation at Mycroft's defence. Sherlock Holmes did not need his brother, to handle idiots like Anderson.
Sherlock glanced over at Anderson and saw him still staring after Mycroft in shock, face flushed the colour of an overripe tomato. Well, he supposed his brother's input couldn't hurt every once in a while.