When Sherlock exited the plane there was a man (not local, English, judging by his pale complexion – though more tanned than the majority of the English population - spent longer period of time in Mediterranean climate) already waiting for him, with a sign in his hands reading 'Holmes'. At least Mycroft showed a little respect not to reveal his identity. Of course he did, all this was part of his plan. He needed Sherlock.
The man was in his early fourties, his dark brown – almost black – hair speckled with grey and white stripes. He looked handsome in a rough way; determined look on his face, broad shoulders, and steady posture. He was bored without doubt and scanned the terminal with impatient glances.
Sherlock walked towards him and when he saw Sherlock, he squared his shoulders, smoothed his dark suit and lifted his chin up.
"Sherlock Holmes?" he asked and held out his right hand for Sherlock to shake it.
"Sergeant." Sherlock looked him up and down and accepted his hand – strong, firm grip, confidence.
"It's Detective Inspector. Lestrade. New Scotland Yard." If it was possible, he straightened even more, trying to enhance his physical presence – used to having to fight for his right, doesn't tolerate being objected.
"How did he make you do this?"
"Who and what?" He didn't ask what he was talking about, clearly he had some idea about what Sherlock was talking about, and he just needed to be sure. Repetition. Dull.
"My brother. How did he manage to coax you into this? Into leaving England – and judging by your complexion you've arrived at least a week ago. So I'm asking you, what did he do? How did he do it?"
Lestrade's thoughts were written on his face as clearly as if Sherlock could read his mind. God, there's two of them.
"I owed him one." He shrugged and looked around nervously, running his hand over his nape.
A DI at Scotland Yard owed Mycroft a favour. That was interesting. Why on Earth would his brother help a policeman, who's not even a Detective Superintendent? Need more data.
"Can we go now? I was instructed" instructed … by whom? Mycroft? "to show you around at the hotel. You'll meet your colleagues and get a few directions about your job. Follow me." And with that he turned around and headed to the parking lot.
"What is your disguise?" Sherlock asked when Lestrade started the car.
"I'm the head of the security team. Mr Holmes got me a job here so nobody knows I work for the Yard. He wrote an extraordinary recommendation which is mostly full of lies, of course – I have no computer skills and I've never written a computer programme, security or other."
While Sherlock listened to Lestrade speaking, he couldn't miss the way he said Mycroft's name. Like his brother was someone grand, someone who could do or get done anything he wanted to. Well, Lestrade was right in that, Sherlock thought. Look at him, sitting in a car in Spain…
"I'm sure that's how you got your job here, right?" Lestrade had a knowing smile on his face when he glanced at Sherlock but turned his head so rapidly that Sherlock had no time to observe it thoroughly.
"I have no information about my job." Sherlock sounded hurt even to himself. He knew that, knowing Mycroft, his job would be hideous but he felt aggrieved that Mycroft seemed to have informed Lestrade about the job his brother was going to have, but Sherlock was left without any information.
"Oh, you'll see as soon as we're at the hotel." Another smirk. Lestrade clearly enjoyed his helplessness. Sherlock started to see what the common thing between him and Mycroft was; they shared the passion of seeing Sherlock out of his league – not knowing and not being able to deduce anything.
They spent the rest of the ride in silence, Lestrade only looking at Sherlock every other minute. Sherlock was looking out the window and examining the surroundings – they drove through the city and were heading east towards a luxurious and private hotel. The building was tasteful and boasted all the clichés of a Spanish hacienda – colours, shapes, angels and even the plants in the garden.
Lestrade parked the car at the back entrance of the main building and a young man in a bright burgundy vest opened the boot and lifted out Sherlock's suitcases the pavement.
"I'll show you your room and then introduce you to your co-workers." said Lestrade and nodded to the man who piled the suitcases up on a trolley and rolled it through the door and disappeared.
Lestrade led Sherlock through another door; they went through the lobby and exited the main building. Well, Sherlock expected that as a worker he would not stay in the main building among the guests, though it would have been much easier to keep an eye on them that way. Mycroft could have arranged it – if he wanted, that is. Payback for all the small things Sherlock did to annoy his brother…
They reached a small house on the left side of the main building that had the same architecture as the bigger one. There were at least 20 smaller apartments inside – flats for those workers who stayed here throughout the whole summer. When Lestrade opened the door for Sherlock to enter, a young woman in her thirties stormed out of it, not looking up or saying a thing.
"Sally! Come back in 15 minutes and tell everyone that I want them to be in the main room." Lestrade yelled after her. She just waved her hand dismissively and didn't even turn around to look at him.
"Welcome to the staff's quarters," smiled Lestrade a bit nervously and let Sherlock in.
The interior was similar to the lobby's, but it was simpler and more reserved, no flashy luxury, just practical items. The entrance door led into a wide and bright hall, with glass walls looking to the sea and a door that connected this building with an identical one next to it. The far end of the foyer narrowed, with a common room and a gym on both sides. The staircase was at the end of the corridor which led to the upper floor.
Lestrade gestured towards Sherlock and went to the door. The door led to a similar interior, though the entrance hall was smaller in this building. Lestrade climbed the stairs but didn't stop on the first landing, went ahead to the second floor. On each floor there were 5 apartments on each side of the corridor. The numbering contained a Roman numeral, an Arabic numeral and two different letters – building, door and something else, which Sherlock wasn't entirely sure of. The DI walked to II.21.A/B and opened the door. It became clear why there were two letters; behind the main door there were two separate rooms, room A and B.
Lestrade entered II.21.B and Sherlock could see that his luggage was already there. The room was small, not bigger than 6 square metres, but had a private bathroom and a tiny kitchenette. The single bed was parallel to the wall running into the furthest corner, a small bedside table and a lamp next to it. Beside the opposite wall was a wardrobe with a mirror in one of its doors. Next to it was the kitchenette; sink, coffee machine, toaster, kettle, hob and a drawer. A few steps away from the bed was a door, probably to the bathroom. Sherlock opened it and took a look; a sink, a bathtub, a cupboard, a mirror and a toilet. Neat, just like the rest of the apartment. Not bad.
"You have 10 minutes to unpack because I want you to meet my team in the common room" said Lestrade, interrupting Sherlock's observation.
"You said nobody knows you're from the Yard, yet you have a team. If you needed to gather a team, this case must be bigger than what Mycroft had mentioned to me." Sherlock closed the door of the bathroom and went to his bags to put his belongings in their suitable places.
"You will know about everything while you help our work. But we have to meet the team. Get ready." And with that Lestrade left and closed the door behind him.