Mycroft was putting together the files he needed for the upcoming meeting when the door was flung open. He half expected to see Sherlock since that was his usual way of strutting into his office, so he was mildly surprised to find his elusive sister instead. Two days since she'd disappeared from Baker Street. Two days during which his men had proven more incompetent than he was comfortable with. Two days living with the niggling worry that his sister was lost to London's underbelly. He should have known better. She was a Holmes after all, just not a very bright one.
"Merivale," he said with a disapproving frown. "I had to lie to mummy because of your antics. I hope you're happy. What, pray tell, are you doing here now?"
"Here? Or now?" she asked with a teasing smile.
Really, sometimes, he didn't know who exasperated him the most between his two younger siblings. Why couldn't one of them at least have been more… reasonable. More like him.
"Do I need a reason to visit my favourite brother?"
"Sherlock has always been your favourite," he replied, trying not to sound too miffed about it, but big brothers always had to endorse the bad role, keeping the younger siblings in line. "Flattery will get you nowhere."
"Yes, well. Shelly is a bit busy right now, or hadn't you noticed?"
Her eyes twinkled, worryingly so. The last time he'd seen that expression on her face was when she'd left with only the clothes on her back and a ratty bag over her shoulder, declaring she was becoming a pirate and that she'd send a postcard when she could. Poor mummy's heart fairly broke that day… A heartfelt sigh escaped him.
"What have you done?"
"Not. A. Thing," she assured him in a sing-song, her eyes wide and innocent. That meant she was guilty, no doubt about it. "Sherlock, on the other hand, probably has his hands full… Full of one hot army doctor, if you see what I mean…"
"Of course I see what you mean, Merry. Need I remind you that I am the smart one?"
Mycroft pondered what this shift in the relationship between Sherlock and John might entail, aside from the relief he felt that those two idiots had finally stopped beating around the bush like blind mice. He vaguely heard his sister muttering that it hardly took brains to copulate, but that was a topic he was not broaching with his baby-sister. She, on the other hand, had no such compunctions.
"Don't walk into Baker Street unannounced is all I'm saying, brother dear. You might see things that would alarm you."
"Sex doesn't alarm me," Mycroft sniffed.
"Really?" Merry replied, watching him too closely for his comfort. "Could've fooled me."
He was not having this conversation, however much she insisted, so he kept his peace and watched as she slumped in a very unlady-like manner in the visitor's chair, looking utterly bored now, or pretending to at least, because she was scrutinizing every inch of his office. Sometimes, he wondered if she wasn't simply faking being so… "normal". Yes, he'd called her dimwitted and other such slurs when they were young, but he regretted those words now that he knew better. He'd seen the flash of hurt when Sherlock had called her an idiot in front of John, even if she had been quick to hide it. And she did have a knack for not being found when she didn't want to. That took some wits. Mycroft coughed politely and gathered his files, but Merivale cut off the dismissal he had on the tip of his tongue.
"I'm afraid you're going to have to keep me company from now on. Who knows what I might get up to if left unsupervised. I hear there's a protest at the gates of Buckingham this afternoon denouncing the lack of action on the government's part concerning climate change. Have you seen the photograph of that poor skeletal polar bear adrift on a slab of ice? Dreadful. Absolutely dreadful. I bet I could stir things up a bit, make them more... interesting."
Mycroft could feel a vein in his temple twitch with every new word coming out of her mouth. She was doing this on purpose. She was his very own personal nightmare and she knew only too well how to manipulate him into doing what she wanted. Unlike the rest of the world, he couldn't just have her disposed of. Mummy would be upset. What was worse was that he hadn't a clue why she was doing this. So, he did the only thing he could and caved. Not that he'd admit that to anyone.
"Oh, very well, if you must. But don't complain when you get bored out of your mind. It's hardly as amusing as riding whales."
Merry choked, caught between incredulity and delight. Mycroft chalked one point for him in his ongoing battle with his siblings
"Did you just... make a joke, Mickey? I didn't know you had it in you."
Mycroft smiled his most enigmatic smile, then rose gracefully from his chair, just because he could.
"Come along, then. Don't dawdle. I have a very dull meeting to supervise. You can be Anthea for the day. No one will question it."
"Oh? What happened to the real one? The pretty brunette? I thought you liked that one, and she seemed competent for once. You didn't throw her in a bog, did you?"
"No," Mycroft said tersely.
Bogs were highly impractical for disposing of bodies anyway. He reached into his middle drawer and handed Merivale a BlackBerry.
"A prop? I hope you don't actually expect me to work."
"As if I'd trust any work you'd do for me. You would sabotage the whole thing."
"Depends. Is this another one of your evil world domination meetings?"
Mycroft rose a brow in non-answer, just to annoy her, and lead the way into a roomful of mildly important and powerful ladies and gents, hoping his sister would behave for the duration. And she did. He thought he'd be relieved but she was… scrutinizing again. She was definitely up to something. The meeting over, they returned to his office and he called for some tea.
"That was… dull to the extreme. You should be a pirate with me. You'd have a lot more fun," Merry said with a happy grin that was hard to resist, even for him. "What do you do to relax after a day like this?"
"Relax?" Mycroft echoed, tasting the unfamiliar word before he shook his head dismissively. "Why on earth would I want to do that?"
He didn't want to imagine what could happen if he let his guard down, even for a minute. Merivale rolled her eyes. Of course, she didn't understand what he did here, but he really couldn't afford any distractions. It would be used against him in some way or other. His phone vibrated in his pocket. He'd forgotten to set it back to the ringtone after leaving the meeting when his sister had distracted him with a rather accurate imitation of the Japanese representative. Mycroft was relieved she hadn't bitten the man's nose off, waiting to be out of earshot to mock him instead. The Japanese were very tetchy about honour.
Your PA has been shot. She'll be alright. I'm with her at Central Hospital. -Lestrade.
Mycroft stared at his phone, certain he must have misread. He'd sent Anthea on an information-gathering assignment but it wasn't supposed to be even remotely dangerous, so how had it come to this? What worried him most was that it was the detective inspector who had contacted him and not Anthea. Was she unconscious? Where had she been shot? Lestrade could have been a bit more precise, other than "she'll be alright". What sort of medical assessment was that? He startled when he felt a hand on his arm.
"Mickey? What's happened?" Merivale asked.
"Anthea," he said simply, scowling as he felt a lump constrict his throat. Ridiculous.
He tucked Merry's hand in the crook of his arm and hurried through the corridors to the car waiting for him.
ooo
Greg paced the hospital's large corridor, right outside the operating block. They'd said she would be alright. Hell, that spitfire of a woman had seemed alright, muttering and cursing like a sailor before the paramedics decided to sedate her. Still, he was relieved to see Mycroft arrive, so he could deal with the dragon-woman himself when she woke up.
"Detective Inspector Lestrade," Mycroft greeted him curtly, his face grimmer than he'd ever seen it before. "Any updates?"
"She's in surgery. Should be out soon, but she was fine the last time I saw her. She's a bit scary, to be honest."
Greg noticed the other man's shoulders droop slightly and the lines of his face smooth out with his next breath. It was nice to have a peek behind the mask of the usually composed man, it made him appear more human… and then it was over.
"What happened?" Mycroft demanded.
"She was at Barclays Bank in Barnet when it was being robbed. Bad luck is all. Problem is she wouldn't let go of her bloody Blackberry when they took the hostages' phones, push came to shove and a round went off. Bullet went through her thigh, but she was bloody lucky if you ask me."
"That explains why you were the one to contact me instead of her."
Greg suppressed a chuckle.
"Actually, a medic stepped on her Blackberry when he tried to assist her. She was furious, almost scratched the poor guy's eyes out. That's when I intervened and recognized her. Ah… here it is," Greg said, fishing out the destroyed phone, carefully sealed in an evidence bag, from his coat pocket, before handing it to Mycroft. "She refused to leave without it."
"Since it contains enough state secrets to instigate a few wars, she was quite right to."
Greg looked at the unassuming piece of broken plastic in horror, glad he wasn't responsible for it anymore. Mycroft began to fidget again.
"Maybe you should sit down," Greg said, indicating the row of plastic chairs screwed to the floor.
Mycroft nodded and took a seat but he looked way too posh to be sitting on such shoddy furniture. His navy three piece suit clashed terribly with the bright orange plastic.
"Anything the matter, detective inspector?" Mycroft asked with a raised eyebrow.
"There you are!" a woman exclaimed before he could answer. "Coffee at the cafeteria was a disgrace so I sneaked into the staff's break room. That's where the good stuff always is."
She handed a cup to Mycroft and then, to his surprise, to him too. He supposed he shouldn't be all that surprised as she was probably another Anthea, but something was slightly off about her, even if he couldn't quite put his finger on it.
"Black, two sugars," she said with a wink, then whispered as if imparting a great secret: "Mickey knows how you take it."
"Mickey?" he repeated, puzzled. "Mycroft?"
She nodded and Mycroft grimaced.
"You call Mycroft… Mickey?" Greg looked between the two, unsure of how to formulate his question without sounding… well, like he was prying.
Mycroft rolled his eyes and put him out of his misery.
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Lestrade. This is my sister, Merivale. Not one of my assistants. As if I'd let them talk to me in such an uncouth manner," he grumbled. "Unfortunately, I can't terminate my own sister."
"Merivale Holmes," the chirpy woman said, extending a hand. "But you can call me Merry."
It took a moment for Greg's brain to reboot at the discovery and he shook the surprisingly callused hand.
"Greg Lestrade. Greg," he said, still blinking in confusion.
"Aren't you the inspector who usually works with Sherlock? I think I've seen you in the news before, when I find time to catch up with things."
"Sherlock, right," he repeated. "Oh, blimey! You're Sherlock's sister? Sherlock has a sister?"
The woman looked at him with amusement dancing in her eyes while Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose. Not one of his brightest moments.
"Sorry. It's just… I was surprised enough Mycroft had a sister, but Sherlock… Well, you must have had an interesting childhood."
Greg tried to be as tactful as possible when all he really wanted to do was pat the poor woman's shoulder in commiseration. It must have been hell, especially because she seemed so… human, where Sherlock was more like a machine and Mycroft, an iceberg.
"I could tell you stories about those two if you ever need blackmail material," Merry offered. "I'm sure you could use it to keep them in line."
"Merry," Mycroft growled.
"Or not," she amended sheepishly and joined her brother, talking to him in soft tones of comfort, clasping one of his hands reassuringly as he silently drank his coffee. It was a warming tableau, one that put the Holmeses in a whole new light. Just knowing her, he had enough to tease the two impossible men to no end.
After much deliberation, he took the remaining seat next to Mycroft. He could go home, he supposed. He'd done his duty, gone over the bounds of duty if he had to be honest, but go back to what? A beer and crap telly? That didn't sound remotely appealing. Besides, he liked the wounded dragon-lady when she wasn't breathing fire his way, and he would feel better knowing she really was alright in the end. Mycroft only raised an eyebrow at his continued presence, then smiled when Greg gave a small shrug.
ooo
This was such an interesting day. Merry never would have guessed Mycroft could care for so many people. She knew he cared for Mummy, and for Sherlock, of course. Him being the youngest of their pack, Merry felt the same compulsion to love and protect their quirky little brother. But to discover Mickey also cared deeply for his personal assistant and the silver haired detective was an unexpected discovery indeed. They weren't family, not even long-term acquaintances or friends but colleagues. They had somehow managed to get promoted to close friends in Mycroft's heart, even if they probably didn't realize it themselves. Maybe more than that for one of them. Maybe one of them was what John was to Sherlock, which called for closer inspection.
A doctor with funny round glasses and appealing caramel skin stepped out of the double doors across from them, looking down at a clipboard and all three of them stood to attention.
"Detective Inspector Lestrade?" he asked before looking at their eager faces. "And I have a Mycroft Holmes listed as emergency contact?"
Mycroft took a step forward and nodded, listening gravely as the doctor gave an update on her health. Given her brother was shedding the last of the tension that had been building in his shoulders, it was probably good news and she smiled at Lestrade who also relaxed. Mycroft was smiling when he turned around and beckoned them to follow him.
"I've rarely seen Mycroft like this," Greg whispered confidentially, leaning into her and stealing glances at the man in question. Merry knew it was a pointless precaution as Mickey had the hearing of a greater wax moth and had no doubt heard every word, intake of breath, and flutter of eyelashes.
"Neither have I, to be honest," she sighed dramatically, not bothering to lower her tone. "He hides himself so well that he's half a stranger to his own sister."
Greg patted her shoulder pityingly again. It was cute. As if she wasn't used to being dismissed by her own family. Finally they arrived into the room where Anthea was already rousing from her forced sleep, muttering under her breath.
"Anthea? How are you feeling, dear?" Mycroft asked, looming over her, assessing her state with his own eyes.
Merry watched them carefully. Mycroft was lecturing Anthea with a look Merry had seen directed at her before, but not by her brother. Now, if only she could remember where she had seen that look, she might understand better what was the real relationship between these two. Merry hummed in thought, ignoring the voices trying to catch her attention as she flitted through memories of her past, until someone pinched her. She blinked and saw Anthea smirking up at her.
"Well, you seem to be doing just fine," Merry muttered, rubbing her arm while she glowered at the recovering woman.
"You're just like Mycroft and Sherlock, aren't you?" Anthea mused.
"Not at all," Merry said with a dismissive gesture, not as interested in the pretty brunette now that she knew she was only Mycroft's protégée.
She'd remembered where she had seen the fond but exasperated look Mycroft had given his PA. It had been her old captain directing it at her when he had found her brewing new explosives in the ship's kitchen in the middle of the night, and consequently sent her back to London to serve them better by raising funds for their cause instead of sabotaging whalers in such a drastic way.
Merry sighed in disappointment that their relationship was a platonic one, until she spotted the detective inspector lurking near Mycroft with a softness to his face that had not been there before, and he wasn't looking at Anthea but at her brother. Interesting. Of course, she needed to assess Mycroft's interest more than she did the detective's so she'd need some plan of action because Mycroft wasn't half as easy to fool as Sherlock... She would need to crack him open like a coconut, and for that, she would need a very sharp edge or blunt force trauma. Maybe drop him from very high? Another pinch drew her out of her plotting. What was wrong with these people?
"You okay?" Greg asked her. "You seem awfully absent minded."
Merry glanced at Mickey, making sure his attention was fully on Anthea before she answered in a hushed whisper as a plan began to take form.
"Just a bit worried, I guess. I hadn't seen my brothers in a while. Sherlock is doing better than I hoped but I'm a bit worried for…" she let her eyes trail to her older brother, projecting as much pity as she could muster while she actually thought of her whales.
The dear inspector was taking the bait, hook and sinker.. His eyebrows rose in surprise before looking at Mickey with real worry.
"Works all the time, you know. It wouldn't be so bad if he had someone there for him at the end of the day," she sighed and let her shoulders droop. "Sherlock has John. I just wish he could find someone like that too."
"A flatmate?" Greg asked with disbelief.
"No, silly. Those two are not flatmates, believe me. I had to flee the premises before I was subjected to some very graphic mating."
"I knew it! 'Not gay', my arse."
Merry raised an inquisitive eyebrow at that proclamation and earned herself an apology from Greg with pink-tinted cheeks. Mycroft joined them then, informing them Anhea needed rest and that he needed to get back to work. He guided her by the elbow and she hurriedly grasped onto Greg so he would follow them. This had a fifty-fifty chance of working but she couldn't miss her window of opportunity. Once they were waiting at the lift, Merry slipped the master key she had found in the break room earlier during her quest for good coffee into her hand and meekly followed her brother in when the doors opened, positioning herself right next to the control panel. It was perfect and luck was on her side. She discreetly put the key in, pretending to be looking intently at something down the hall so Mickey would too, because of course he knew she was up to something, he just didn't know what. Then, as soon Greg stepped in, she turned the key and send the lift to the lobby where it would stay idle until someone figured out there was something wrong with it. She just barely managed to slither out through the closing doors.
"Merrivale!" Mycroft scolded.
"Sorry, brother! Operation coconut is a go!"
She laughed. There was little chance he'd heard her, but by now he and the sweet inspector were embarking on a very special trip of their own.
She took her time walking down the stairs, making her way to the lobby. The least she could do was gain them as much alone time as possible.
OoO
"What just happened?" Greg asked, completely flummoxed by the new Holmes' antics.
Mycroft was scowling at the closed doors as if he could glare at his sister through the thick doors.
"Please excuse my sister, Detective Inspector. For some reason, she has decided to make my life difficult today."
"It's okay. And she's not that bad. She worries about you."
Mycroft looked down his nose at him, which was quite a feat as they were of a height.
"She does not worry about anyone, she's even more wilful than Sherlock, and she's up to something, I can feel it."
The lift stilled, but the doors did not open and the lights suddenly went out.
"Ah. This must be it, then."
Greg chuckled.
"You can't blame a dysfunctional lift on your sister. It happens all the time."
He patted his pockets in search of his phone so they could have some light since the darkness was absolute, only to find missing.
"Damnit," he muttered, wondering where and when he'd dropped it. He'd used it not so long ago to text Mycroft so it couldn't have one far.
"Your phone is missing too then? I told you, this is Merrivale's doing."
"But… why?"
Greg felt a bit hurt. He'd actually thought he could get along with this Holmes, but she was as bad as Sherlock who always nicked his badge.
"Who knows what goes on in her funny little mind. I had hoped she had grown out of her pranks but alas, it seems I was mistaken."
There was an edge to his voice he had never heard before. Granted, Greg couldn't quite imagine Mycroft and Sherlock suffering through pranks growing up as neither was very patient or tolerant. He would have to ask one of them about it, but not now. First, he had to signal there were people stuck in the lift. He reached towards where he thought the control panel had been and found the heavy material of a suit, softer than his own.
"Sorry. Can you budge over? I'm trying to find the emergency call button."
Mycroft grunted and he felt him shuffle to the side. Going by touch alone, he narrowed the possibilities down to three buttons and pressed them all one after the other without results. Just in case, he tried all the others, but the lift appeared to be as dead as a doornail.
"Nothing," he muttered, unnerved by the stillness and quiet of the small space. His companion of misfortune was being even less talkative than he usually was, which was saying a lot. That coupled with what his sister had said, he was actually getting worried for someone that usually gave him the heebie-jeebies by how in control and powerful he was.
"Mycroft?"
No answer. Okay, now he was going to panic. His hand slid along the smooth surfaces of the lift until he met the soft fabric of the other man's suit. He was still standing, good, but now that he was closer, he could hear his breathing was too fast and erratic.
"Jesus, Mycroft. What's wrong?"
His skin was clammy. He wished he could see him. This complete darkness was bothersome as well as oppressive… Was that what was bothering Mycroft? Being in the dark? Blind? In a small box underground as if they'd been buried alive? It could be any number of things, but hopefully not a heart attack. Greg checked his pulse, then squeezed his hand, getting a strong squeeze back in return. Good. That was good. He was responsive, sort of.
"We'll be out soon. It's a busy hospital. They're bound to notice very quickly one of their lifts is out."
Mycroft made a sound, or maybe just a huff, almost a laugh. Every little sound was amplified in their little black box.
"What was that?" Greg asked, stepping closer, feeling his way for his face with his free hand while Mycroft still had a death grip on the other. Arm, shoulder, neck, cheek… okay, if he said anything now, there was no way he could not hear.
"Merry," he muttered.
"You still on about that?" Greg said, trying to laugh it off. "I'm sure she wouldn't have done anything that could have triggered your, erm, phobia?"
He wasn't sure what was going on but felt it was a safe guess.
"It's recent," came his whispered reply before his breathing became laboured once more.
Right, maybe having him focus on his fear was a very bad idea, but talking seemed to help him.
"Shhh, breath with me, Mycroft," he said with a firm voice, encouraging him to follow his example until it was more regular. "So, how come you've been hiding you sister all this time. Even Sherlock never mentioned her."
"She's a nightmare," Mycroft muttered. "You wouldn't believe the number of times I've had to bail her out of jail. One of these days, I'm going to let her stew for a few weeks before I intervene. Maybe that will teach her a lesson."
"We both know you won't do that," he chided, all the while wondering what this new Holmes did that got her on the wrong side of the law. "You care about her too much, even if she is annoying. That's what little sisters do."
"True enough."
"And today with your assistant… you're not half as bad as you try to make yourself out to be."
Mycroft didn't answer for a few minutes but his breathing was still steady so Greg let him be.
"Maybe not," the other man finally replied as if the admission cost him a lot.
And maybe it did. Who could he open himself up to, after all? His PA? His sister? Not Sherlock though. Those two were always at odds. A flash of pride burst through Greg at the thought that Mycroft trusted him enough to admit as much, and then Merry's words came back to him: It wouldn't be so bad if he had someone there for him at the end of the day. Sherlock has John. I just wish he could find someone like that too.
He could be that person… Greg felt heat rise up past his collar and he thanked the God of lifts for the darkness surrounding them. But it was true, he'd always had some measure of interest in Mycroft but the man seemed so aloof and above mere humans every time they met that it had put him off making any advances. Not today though.
Today, Mycroft was as human as he was, with his worries and weaknesses, his fears and need for another person's help, even if it was just to calm him down and keep his mind off his fear. Greg knew of a very good way to do that, but how to be sure he wasn't overstepping?
Well, Mycroft was technically still holding his hand, that was something. He wasn't repulsed either by human contact, or his in particular, so Greg stepped closer, so very close now that it would have been uncomfortable had there been light. Mycroft tensed but didn't protest. Good. One step at a time. His free hand came up once more, letting it slide against the rich fabrics until it rested on his chest. His heart was beating just as fast as his own. His fingers travelled higher, past the silky tie and rigid collar to the warm skin where it curled around his neck.
Mycroft's breathing hitched. Greg paused to judge whether it was another panic attack or if his touch was unwelcome, because there was no way to misconstrue what his touch meant: it wasn't medical, it wasn't friendly. It was… more. A question. An invitation.
"Lestrade," Mycroft breathed out before correcting himself. "Gregory."
"Greg," he offered.
He had been calling him Mycroft for a while now himself so as to avoid confusion having to deal with two Holmeses. Three now, he supposed. It was nice to finally hear him return the favour, hear his name drop from those lips in such a singular way, causing a delicious shiver to run down his back.
"Greg," Mycroft purred and if that wasn't an agreement to continue what he was doing, he didn't know what was, so Greg leaned into him, pressing their bodies together, his lips grazing his skin, inhaling deeply the scent of the other man, committing it to memory.
There was so much more he wanted to explore, to do, but the lights flickered back on and Greg knew they had run out of time.
OoO
The security agent had an iron grip on her arm, but she had known a lot worse in the past so she ignored him and strained on her tiptoes, leaning to the side so she could hopefully see what was going on in the lift.
Nothing at first glance. Mickey and Greg were stepping out, waving away both apologies and concerns from the staff gathered around, but upon closer inspection, her brother's cheeks were flushed and his tie wasn't as straight as when he had walked into the lift. Greg for his part was discreetly trying to adjust his trousers.
Merry smiled triumphantly and winked at Mickey when he finally spotted her. He smoothed things over with the hospital's security and had them release her in their care since Greg worked at Scotland Yard and there was little they argue against that.
"You're a menace," her brother growled as they walked back to the parking lot.
"You're welcome, brother dear," she replied, skipping back to the pretentious car waiting for them.
As she watched the dull grey city of London pass by, she wondered if maybe she should return to the Pacific Ocean now. Her mission here was done and she was fresh out of goldfish.