Chapter Four: Sherlock Deduces

In the following five years, Mycroft Holmes and Greg Lestrade crossed paths regularly. Whether it was due to a murder or Sherlock's strange behaviour, both were slightly thrilled whenever they clapped eyes on each other. Neither would admit to it, however.

Lestrade was very aware that he found the older Holmes very attractive, even more so then Sherlock. While Sherlock was very good looking, there was something about Mycroft that caught Lestrade's eye. That and the fact that he wasn't severely annoying made Lestrade look at him in a way he'd never look at Sherlock. He pushed this away, though. The man, as far as Lestrade could tell, was asexual, and never looked at Lestrade as anything more than an acquaintance (how wrong Lestrade was!). This attraction was part of the reason Lestrade and his girlfriend broke up (that coupled with his late nights and Sherlock always crashing on the couch).

Mycroft's growing attraction to Lestrade refused to go away. Mycroft was not inexperienced with sex; he'd experimented in university and found he liked both sexes. But he wasn't a man who felt anything beyond sexual attraction. When he needed to he dabbled in sex but left it at one night stands. He didn't fall in love. Which was why his feelings for Lestrade were so confusing.

He often found himself thinking about the man, even dreaming about him, and the only conclusion he could come to was that he wanted a relationship. A proper one, not a one night stand. He wanted to wake up next to Lestrade, eat breakfast with him, and fuck him so hard he couldn't walk right.

But he couldn't... he couldn't let himself feel that way. It was a weakness for a person in Mycroft's position to become romantically attached to someone. Said someone was helping his brother, who despite small slips, was cleaner than he ever had been before.

And Mycroft wasn't about to ruin that for a small chance at happiness, not even if it meant he was frustrated beyond belief that he couldn't touch, smell, or taste Gregory Lestrade.

-oOo-

Sherlock was solving cases and getting paid but that didn't stop him ending up homeless every other week. His experiments caused friction between him, his neighbours, and his landlords. More than once Gregory Lestrade was called to a domestic dispute where it turned out Sherlock had smuggled human body part into his apartment.

At least he wasn't killing people was what Lestrade took away with him. That and a homeless man.

Whenever he got kicked out, Sherlock ended up on Lestrade's couch (when he actually felt tired enough and wasn't working).

The DI didn't mind much, apart from Sherlock's continued smoking and playing the violin at ungodly hours. Besides that, Sherlock was okay to live with. He was eccentric, but Lestrade already knew that. He kept mostly to himself, only raiding the fridge when he needed to conduct "experiments". For the rest of his life, Lestrade would always check the milk before drinking it.

This change in venues hadn't gone unnoticed by Mycroft Holmes. While he was glad his brother wasn't living in a crack house, he was uncomfortable with the thought of Sherlock and Lestrade living together... with only one bedroom. This discomfort turned into annoyance and then full blown rage.

Mycroft couldn't stand the thought of Lestrade (Gregory in his mind) falling for his little brother. They'd known each other for five years but that didn't mean a romance wouldn't blossom suddenly. Lestrade would be a good influence, he already was, but Mycroft... what? Mycroft loved him? Needed him? Couldn't stand to see him with anyone else?

Mycroft wasn't ready to explore these feelings fully (although five years would be enough for any normal person to realise that they were in love), or to reveal them to the Detective Inspector. So while he tried to figure himself out, he had to get Sherlock away from Lestrade.

Which was why he found himself travelling to Lestrade's flat on a Wednesday evening. It was cold (always was in London) and Mycroft buttoned up his coat as he stepped out of his maroon car, leaving his assistant Hermione (she was using Harry Potter names these past months), in the car.

His ever present umbrella tapped against the elevator floor as Mycroft travelled to Lestrade's floor. Surveillance showed that Sherlock and the Inspector weren't in a romantic relationship... Mycroft just hoped it was still that way.

Sherlock answered the door and was less than thrilled to see his brother. He ran a hand through his curly locks and stepped back.

'What are you doing here?' he demanded.

He expected Mycroft to lie, to say he was just checking up. Instead he said, 'I want you out of Lestrade's apartment, now, Sherlock.'

Sherlock paused, looking his brother up and down. It wasn't often that he was generally confused. 'What?'

Mycroft leaned against his umbrella, the knuckles on his right hand turning white. 'Sherlock, I can help you find a place. There's a nice apartment on Montague Street.' He held up a hand before Sherlock could interrupt. 'I won't pay for it, I'll just help you get it. With this new "Consulting Detective" job, you'll be able to afford it. Please, just leave Lestrade alone. He has enough to deal with without a recovering junkie sleeping on his couch.'

Sherlock looked at his brother carefully, looking, focusing, deducing. He took in Mycroft's eyes, the white knuckles, the way he seemed generally annoyed that Sherlock was here. And then he ran through all the other times Mycroft had mentioned, or been near, DI Lestrade. And then, so quickly, it hit him.

'Oh,' Sherlock breathed.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

'Oh,' the youngest Holmes repeated.

His brother sighed. 'Care to share your reasons for muttering?'

Sherlock grinned suddenly, staring at his brother. 'Oh my God,' he said, something he wasn't used to saying. 'I don't believe it... I honestly don't believe it. I just... my own brother.'

Mycroft was confused, something he wasn't used to either. 'Excuse me?' he asked.

'You... you like him,' Sherlock said, eyes wide. 'You like Lestrade.'

Mycroft nearly jumped. His brother was smart (everybody within a ten-foot radius knew that), but Mycroft was smarter, always had been. While being a few IQ points higher than Sherlock, he was also better at keeping his emotions locked up. Sherlock's emotions ranged from joy, to boredom, to anger, and he didn't care who saw it. But Mycroft, with his job and family, had always been so good at keeping his true feelings a secret.

But now Sherlock knew. Oh boy, did he know.

'You like Lestrade,' Sherlock continued and his eyes darted to the bathroom door where the Holmeses could hear Lestrade showering. 'You're attracted to him, aren't you?' he asked.

There was no sense in denying it, but Mycroft tried.

'Stop being childish, Sherlock.'

'I'm childish?' Sherlock said. 'You want me out of here because you're worried I'll hop into bed with our dear Inspector.'

Once again Mycroft's hands tightened and Sherlock smiled.

'You need not fear, brother,' Sherlock smirked. 'DI Lestrade is not my type. It seems he is yours, though. I'm curious, for you've never shown an interest in anyone who wouldn't just be a one night shag... when did you start having a type?'

Mycroft frowned. 'Since I saw Detective Inspector Lestrade.'

It was one of the most honest things Mycroft had ever said to his brother, and for once Sherlock didn't berate him. Instead he smiled and began collecting his things.

'So, this apartment?'

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. 'You actually want my help?'

'No, you want my help,' Sherlock corrected. 'You want me out of here so Lestrade doesn't fall for me. But don't worry, Mycroft. He may think I'm handsome, but I'm too annoying.'

He quickly scribbled a note for Lestrade and joined his brother at the door.

'Do me a favour, Mycroft,' Sherlock said.

'What?'

'Don't wait too long,' Sherlock said, with a note of sincerity in his voice. Mycroft's eyebrows jumped so far up his face he was in danger of losing them.

'Are you... do you honestly care about my happiness?'

And then the trademark smirk was back.

'Don't be ridiculous. If you and Lestrade strike up a romantic relationship, both of you will be far too busy to annoy me. And who knows, perhaps you'll stop spending all your time stalking me.'

He dashed to the elevator before Mycroft could say anything.

-oOo-

Greg Lestrade exited his bathroom to find Mycroft Holmes, not Sherlock, standing in his living room.

'Mr Holmes?' he questioned, towelling his hair. It stuck up in a flattering manner that made Mycroft's heart beat quickly. That and the smell of the Inspector's shampoo had him clearing his throat and trying not to breathe.

'Good evening, Detective Inspector,' Mycroft smiled. 'I have recently become aware of my brother's... living arrangements.'

Lestrade nodded and looked around. Sherlock was nowhere to be seen.

'My brother will be living on Montague Street,' Mycroft informed him. 'I've taken him out of your hair.'

Lestrade nodded, 'Oh, okay. It was alright, though. Despite practicing the violin at three in the morning, he's not that bad to live with.'

Mycroft felt actual physical pains at these words. Did Lestrade care for Sherlock after all? Lestrade seemed to notice the change in his demeanour.

'Are you okay?'

Mycroft blinked and smiled swiftly, though it was strained. 'Yes,' he said. 'Quite alright. I'm sure Sherlock will inform you of his new address.'

He moved to go and Lestrade said, 'Wait.'

Mycroft turned.

Lestrade closed the distance between them and stood before Mycroft. He caught a hint of the younger man's cologne and so badly wanted to touch him, run his fingers through his hair, kiss him.

But this was Sherlock's brother. And if Lestrade did something wrong he knew Mycroft had the power to make his life hell... or end it.

So rather than say what he wanted to say, (God, fuck me now!) he stepped back and said, 'Thanks for getting Sherlock an apartment. He could use the space for his... uh, experiments.'

Mycroft swallowed, trying to ignore the tantalising smell that was Lestrade's shampoo. 'It's my job, Inspector,' he said smoothly. 'Until we meet again.'

Lestrade nodded and watched as Mycroft left.