Okay, this chapter is Mystrade-centered; but don't worry, the boys will be back in the next one!
Anyway, enjoy!
Beta: Pilikia18
If two month ago somebody told Gregory Lestrade that soon he'll become quite fond of someone whose surname will be Holmes, the DI would have called that person crazy and then laughed right into their face.
Well, technically he sort of met Mycroft five years ago, when Sherlock turned up on Lestrade's crime scene for the first time. The younger man was sarcastic and condescending, had managed to offend everyone in Lestrade's team in two minutes flat and the DI, absolutely livid, told the lanky stranger to get lost. The dark-haired man smirked, stared him down and left, shoving his business card into Lestrade's hand.
"Your people are blind idiots, Detective Inspector," the annoying intruder said haughtily. "The name's Sherlock Holmes and I expect you to call me within the next 24 hours."
Lestrade, not dignifying that with the response, simply followed the tall figure with his eyes, shaking his head slightly, and went back to work.
An hour later his mobile rang and when he took the call, a posh sounding voice of an anonymous caller advised him to accept Sherlock Holmes' proposal of help.
"Why on earth would I want to do that?" the DI asked with irritation. "I have a team of professionals to work with, and I seriously doubt that Sherlock Holmes knows more than they already do."
"Then it wouldn't be a problem to simply give him a chance, would it? Spare him five minutes of your time, Detective Inspector, and after that do as you think fit".
"Why do you care?" Lestrade enquired curiously.
There was a short huff of breath on the other end of the line. "I have my reasons. Good evening, Detective Inspector".
The connection was terminated, leaving Greg thoughtfully staring at his phone. His team was one step away from solving the case; there were just a few minor details that didn't fit into the whole picture. It was doubtful that Sherlock Holmes knew more than Lestrade's people, but a quiet voice in the DI's head whispered that he had nothing to lose and therefore it was safe to give that strange young man a chance.
So he did, and Sherlock Holmes managed to solve the case in twenty seconds flat and wandered off, leaving Lestrade to stare after him in astonishment.
"Text me if you have something interesting, Detective Inspector," the dark-haired man called out, not bothering to turn around. "But do be creative, I dislike wasting my time on trifles."
He was gone before Lestrade could think about his reply, and the DI smiled briefly, watching as the members of his team drifted together to discuss the strange event they just witnessed. He gave them a few moments and then quickly ended the gathering, ordering everyone to return to their respective tasks. He noticed a few curious glances were sent his way, but nobody dared to say anything. Which was good for now, because during those few moments he made a decision to get Sherlock Holmes involved in Scotland Yard's investigations occasionally – the more so because it did say 'Consulting Detective' on his business card.
That was the beginning of Lestrade and Sherlock's strange relationship; although the DI often found it difficult to find the right description for it. It certainly wasn't friendship – Sherlock always kept his distance and was too self-centred for that.
But there were moments when Sherlock let his guard down, allowing his real self to break through. It didn't last long, but it was enough for Lestrade to begin realising what's hidden behind that sparkling facade: an incredibly brilliant, but absolutely lonely man, so desperate to prove himself cleverer than the rest of the humanity in order to compensate his otherworldliness.
And there was another thing: that first anonymous call, the smooth voice, the sense of being constantly watched over ever since.
At some point later Sherlock OD'd in his rented flat and Lestrade barely had time to get the young fool to a hospital. He sat in the waiting room when someone approached him: a steely-eyed man in an expensive three-piece dark suit, carrying an umbrella.
"Good evening, Detective Inspector," the stranger said pleasantly. "Am I right in assuming it was you who brought my brother here?"
It took less than two seconds for Lestrade to recognise that voice. "Your brother?"
The dark-suited man pulled a card out of his pocket. "Mycroft Holmes. Sherlock is..."
"The younger, I get it. But let me ask you something: if you're his brother, how come that I've never heard about you?"
There was a brief flicker of emotion in that cold gaze – so fleeting that Lestrade actually doubted that he saw it – and then the imperturbable mask was back again, and the older Holmes raised his eyebrow slightly. "Bravo, Detective Inspector, but it's none of your concern. What's the prognosis?"
Mycroft Holmes was one of the men who literally ruled the world, but unfortunately, Greg Lestrade was one of those who didn't like it when his questions were left unanswered. So he fearlessly plunged ahead, answering Mycroft's question with his own.
"Considering that you're his brother, you should know exactly what his prognosis is, shouldn't you?"
Gazes locked and held, the two men silently battled for dominance; neither of them willing to give in just yet.
It was Mycroft who broke the stalemate with a slight twitch of his lips. "Quite impressive, Detective Inspector."
It certainly wasn't an admission of a defeat, just acknowledgement of respect; and Greg Lestrade was wise enough to recognise that. "Thank you, Mister Holmes. As for Sherlock's condition – it's relatively fine. A good detox program – and he'll be as good as new."
"Agreed. Thank you for taking care of him, Detective Inspector. I'll see to the rest."
"Sure thing," Lestrade nodded. "But can I ask you about something, though?"
The older Holmes narrowed his eyes slightly, scrutinising the DI, and then, as if reading the DI's mind, proceeded to answer the unasked question. "Sometimes. Sherlock's main problem is that he rarely finds something worthy his attention. Hence his not so rational attempts to, shall we say, quench the thirst."
"And taking into account that I had found out you're his brother, you're not being too successful in helping him to get rid of that problem, I gather?"
The DI was clearly able to give back as good as he got, and the dark-suited man clicked his tongue in obvious approval. "Not bad, Detective Inspector. It's good to see that I wasn't mistaken on your account."
Surprised by the other man's words, Lestrade frowned. "I beg your pardon?"
Mycroft Holmes smiled slightly. "Do you have time for a cup of tea, Inspector?"
"Of course, but..."
"Excellent. Shall we?"
That was the beginning of Mycroft and Greg's relationship, which gradually became a close one. Mycroft Holmes was the British Government himself, but Greg Lestrade wasn't as simple as it seemed. He loved poetry, could appreciate a good glass of vine and, as Mycroft discovered quite soon, was an excellent cook.
But nevertheless, the two men managed to keep their affair secret; well, at least until recent events in John and Sherlock's life. When Mycroft saw the tape from the hospital, his eyes sparked with mischief, and Greg couldn't help grinning – the older Holmes was definitely up to something interesting, which involved the duo from Baker Street and therefore promised to be quite fun.
"So?" he enquired, placing two cups of tea on the table.
"They are perfect for each other, but my dearest brother is too stubborn to admit it. And I have a perfect way to correct this vexatious mistake. But for that I would need your help, Gregory."
"You can always count on me, Mycroft, you know that. So what's the plan?"
It took Mycroft less than two minutes to explain, and when he finished, Greg was chuckling quietly.
"You're a dangerous man, Mycroft Holmes," the silver-haired man murmured, beaming at his significant other. "But that's exactly why I love you. So, count me in."
Mycroft smiled, leaned forward and sealed their agreement with a tender kiss.
"I didn't doubt it, Gregory."
