Chapter 2: The Negotiation

When the elevator opened on the 30th floor of the newly built Nakatomi building, Greg Lestrade was immediately confronted by a loud blast of live music. Had Lestrade been 20 years younger, he might have been embarrassed by how dressed-down he was. The beautiful people in front of him wore flowing cocktail dresses and sharp suits that cost months of his salary. But Lestrade had enough experience crashing parties as a police officer that he paid no attention to the well-dressed party crowd. He confidently waded into the celebration, skirting near the edge of the party, trained eyes scanning through the crowd.

"Champagne, sir?"

Lestrade took the offered drink from the waiter. After barely tasted the champagne, however, Lestrade immediately inverted the glass and poured it down a pot of plant next to him. The sweetness appalled him. A beer would have been more agreeable for him at this moment.

Lestrade sighed. What the bloody hell was he doing here? How stupid was he to agree when she had begged him to come to LA so that they could have a friendly closure? What a joke. He should have listened to John. The "three continent Watson" would have known how to have a clean and friendly break. But no, he didn't listen to his mate. Nope. Not one bit. He had clung onto the history of 19 years of marriage and that small wishful thinking that perhaps this could be the beginning of a healing and not destruction. And guess what. Now he was in the territory of his cheating wife. Out of his element, thrown into a party that he hadn't been apprised of.

Anger flared, he cut through the crowd with heavy steps. Just as he was going to grab an unsuspecting victim nearby to ask for Holly's office, his eye caught her name plate on one of the office in the corner.

Bloody hell. She had gone back to Holly Gennaro. And they were not even divorced yet.

A fresh pit of fire erupted in his chest, Lestrade elbowed through the crowd even more roughly this time.

As soon as he reached the office, he threw open the office door with enough force that would have shaken the entire floor if not for the merry party that was happening around him.

Mycroft Holmes blinked and stared as the familiar Detective Inspector who cut through the crowd like a shark going after a prey. It was surreal. Gregory should have been in London, chasing after criminals with his brother. In fact, Mycroft had just seen him on the CCTV footage yesterday. Ah… of course. Mycroft mentally chided himself. Creased trouser. Overly tensed trapezius muscle. Being a seasoned air traveler himself, he should have immediately recognized the obvious signs indicating that the DI had just stepped off a plane. Eleven hours and 13 minutes flight between London and LA. He would have left Heathrow around noon and arrived… about 2 hours ago. How the DI's lips pressing into a thin line as if he had just eating a lemon indicates that he was angry. No. Make that tumultuously infuriated. DCI? Donovan? No. Something personal. Not Sherlock. Not his landlord. His wife then. Why L.A? She was a teacher. In chronological order, cheated with the gardener, the young neighbor 2 doors down, the new PE teacher, mortgage broker, VP of International Sales of Nakatomi Enterprise…

"Mr. Holmes?"

Mycroft blinked and the gears in his mind palace came to a screeching halt. He blinked again and flawlessly schooled himself back to the proper role he had been enacting. "Yes, Mr. Takagi, I apologize for the momentarily lapse. I thought I had recognized the... music... and was trying to recall."

The Japanese businessman was visibly amused but politely followed the conversation. "I did not know you are versed in classical music. Mr. Holmes."

"I dabbled in piano. Mr. Takagi. They say music soothes one's soul." Mycroft returned an apologetic smile. "Even though I occupy but a minor position in the British government, there are times when I must make difficult decisions." Mycroft raised the corner of his mouth but with no smile in his eyes. "Difficult decisions that may impact many lives. As I am sure you could appreciate. And music is a way for me to soothe my soul."

Mr. Takagi smoothly took a sip of his mimosa champagne without a hint of surprise. "The world would have been as innocent as the cherry blossom if it were true. People like us are often put into that uncomfortable yet necessary situation. My obligation lies with my employer, Mr. Holmes. I do not offer allegiance to the British government as you do. There really was nothing that I could do. I apologize." The Japanese businessman dipped his head customarily. Whether the gesture was sincerely offered did not escape Mycroft's observation.

Mycroft smiled predatorily. Perhaps he, and not Lestrade, was the shark in this sea of people. "Surely you realize that there are always options. Mr. Takagi." Mycroft gestured to his security detail. "March 24, 2011." Mycroft smoothly enunciated the date as he took over the offered briefcase from the young security detail. "I am sure your son would not be pleased to know the existence of this briefcase.

"You…" Mr. Takagi shook with anger. "Leave. My. Family. Alone." If he had gripped the champagne flutes any tighter, the flutes would have shattered.

"There are always options." Mycroft reminded the businessman. "And like you said. My obligation lies with the British government. Not your esteemed organization."

"What would you have me do?" Mr. Takagi snarled, all traces of politeness gone while baring his teeth. "I cannot retract my vote."

"Oh, you will be able to." Mycroft countered easily, smiling with all teeth. "Shall we say, an unfortunate event would arise in 2 days that will call for the forfeit of the previous voting result. A new one will be conducted and I sincerely implore you, for the benefit of your family, to make the right decision this time around."

"And how would you know if I place the right vote."

Mycroft let the defiance bounce off him like autumn leaves in the wind. "I will know."

Mr. Takagi locked his cold gaze with hatred briefly before he turned his back and walked briskly away from the nightmare he had just experienced. The people around them went on merrily with apathy and ignorance.

Mycroft placed the half full champagne on the tall table. He then handed the briefcase back to the young security detail.

"Sir. Shall I call Andrew to prepare for our leave?"

Mycroft pressed his lips into thin line. He tapped lightly on his thigh. Twice. He made a decision. "Tell Andrew to get ready in 12 minutes. I have a small business to attend to."

The security detail nodded. "I will let Anthea know."

"Do that." As Mycroft started to stride toward the direction of Holly Gennaro's office, the elevator suddenly chimed behind him to announce the arrival of a new set of guests.

The elevator door opened.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" Lestrade gripped the doorframe, watching his wife of 19 years being pressed against the window glass by a tall man in a navy blue pinstripe suit.

"Greg!"

Lestrade crossed the room in 3 steps and pulled the man off his wife. "Get out. Get the fuck out of here."

When Lestrade was faced with the man, ready to smash in his nose, Lestrade was immediately disgusted by a hint of smeared white powder on the man's goatee.

"Wait, Greg! You misunderstood."

Lestrade watched in disbelief when his wife came to defend the junkie in front of him.

"He is Ellis! He is .. he is…" The woman fumbled, frantically looking for a neutral ground. "He is my boss. He is in charge of International Acquisitions…"

"That explains the recent deal with Bolivia." Lestrade dropped his fist. "Was it cocoa or cocaine that you have helped to broker the deal?" The DI recognized the man all right without his wife's lame introduction. Ellis. The fucking VP that prompted Holly to ask for a divorce, quit her teaching job and moved to US to work for him as his… his fucking secretary.

The temperature in the room dropped another 10 degree when Ellis reacted to Lestrade's Bolivia comment and nervously wiped his goatee with the back of his expensive sleeve.

"Relax. "Lestrade narrowed his eyes. "This is not my jurisdiction." What he would have done if it were his jurisdiction was left unsaid but clear and loud.

"Holly's policeman!" Ellis recovered quickly and flashed his confidence like a peacock.

"Her husband." The correction squeezed through Lestrade's clenching teeth, but was promptly ignored by the VP of International Sales of Nakatomi Enterprise.

"Look, pal. This is a celebration party. We closed a pretty big deal today and a lot of it was due to Holly. You have no idea how brilliant she is, do you?"

Lestrade tightened his fists, but keeping them firmly by his side.

"I thought you were arriving tomorrow." Holly offered weakly. What she really meant was that she didn't want Lestrade to witness this. She had sincerely hoped for a friendly closure. Tomorrow.

That 19 years of marriage really was no fucking joke. Lestrade closed his eyes, couldn't believe that he was still able to read his wife so plainly. To add salt to his gaping wound, he couldn't believe that he was so readily to accept her unspoken apology.

"Go on, Holly. Show Greg your watch."

"Ellis, I am not sure if this is the right time…."

"What, are you ashamed of your accomplishment? That Rolex is just a little token of our appreciation for all your hard work. You would have to rot in that London hell hole and still be an unappreciated teacher, unappreciated wife. Slave to this goddamn…."

"Stop it, Ellis! Stop it!"

Lestrade could hear his wife sobbing and felt so helpless to do anything about it. He refused to open his eyes, refused to participate in this ridiculous charade.

"Greg…"

Lestrade felt a gentle touch to his shoulder. Warm and cold. He willed himself not to lean into the familiar touch.

"Greg.. look, I am just, I am just going to give you some space okay?" The soft voice with a trace of hitched cadence was too painful for Greg to bear. "Let's talk tomorrow when things are much calmer than.. than this, all right? Ellis and I will go, and you can have this office.. and just… you know, take some time to calm down, all right? We will talk tomorrow and we… and I will text you the address to meet. Would that be all right? First thing in the morning. I promise. Greg.. Say something.. please say something, Greg…"

Lestrade didn't have to open his eyes to know that his knuckle is turning an unhealthy shade of white.

"Greg.. please… just say something…"

The uncomfortable silence blanketed the room, settled, and made its presence known loudly before Lestrade finally gave in. "Fine." Lestrade let the word out. "Go."

When the door finally clicked softly behind the pair, Lestrade dropped on the floor like a tossed marionette. For a moment, he felt numb as he gazed at the night-time cityscape outside of the window, displaying beautifully like there was no pain and ugliness in the world.

In a sudden fits of anger, Lestrade took off his shoes and hurled them toward the window.

The shoes hit the window glass. Hard. But instead of shattering the window to mar that beautiful city nightscape, the shoes dropped on the floor with a heavy thud.

Greg buried his face in his hands. The heartbroken man remained on the cold travertine floor for a good few minutes before he finally stood up. When he slowly made his way to retrieve his shoes, he then heard the unmistakable sounds erupted in the lobby.

Machine guns.