Sorry that this chapter is so short; the next one will be longer, I promise :)
James was exhausted. All he wanted in the world was a shower, pajamas and a mug of tea. He just wanted to go home, basically. But no.
get into the taxi nearest you. Urgent. MH
James reluctantly got into the taxi. He hadn't even worked out what to say to Mycroft about his recent epiphany. An apology first, obviously. But what after that?
James tried not to think about it and attempted to relax, while he could.
It looked like they were going to the same place as last time, so James didn't bother trying to work out where he was.
He really wished he could go home and change into something else before meeting Mycroft; there were multiple rips and tears in the shirt, the stitching at the right shoulder of his blazer was coming away, and the trousers and shoes were covered in mud. His hair was a mess, his face was red, and he looked like he was about to collapse at any moment. He felt like it, too. Although he was exhausted, James felt satisfied with himself- he had caught his suspect, handed him over to Lestrade. He didn't know if or when he would experience that kind of elation. Maybe he should take Lestrade's offer when he left school...
The car pulled up outside of the same bleak building, which must have been some kind of MI6 bunker. It was really quite secure; card locks on every door, re-inforced walls that could take an explosion and come out of it relatively intact.
The chauffeur lead James to an office-type room similar to Hamish's- and after unlocking the door, pushed it open for him. James walked in to find Mycroft sitting behind a desk with his hands in his head. He looked up.
"James" he said sorrowfully. "I wasn't sure you would come"
"You said it was urgent; besides, I owe you an apology" James took a deep breath and hesitated; he had no idea what to say, how to say it, or exactly why he was saying it, since he wanted to seem like his father. Because it was moral. Because it was the right thing to do.
"I...I shouldn't have blamed you for Hamish's death. It wasn't- it's not- your fault. Your protection...could only go so far, but it may well have prolonged his life, so I should thank you as well as apologize" he found himself saying. He could only hope it sounded sincere to Mycroft.
There was a long pause; they both stayed still and silent.
"I knew you would realize that eventually"
Mycroft said eventually. "Please, sit down"
James sat down in a plush armchair that was positioned opposite to Mycroft, who looked at him quizzically.
"What happened to you?" he said, looking at James's ruined suit. He briefly told Mycroft what had happened.
"It sounds like you had a difficult time catching him"
"I did"
"Well, well done"
There was a brief silence.
"We need to find out which country the spy is from. We still have no idea" said Mycroft, changing the topic.
"I would ask Sherlock, but I'm not sure that he will ever forgive me for what has happened...could you- rather, would you- help me...help me find out who did this?"
James looked away from Mycroft and to the floor; how should he respond? Solving this case would make him famous- he would be a world renowned detective, be consulted on the most high-profile cases. This would make him. If he failed, he would most likely resign himself to Lestrade's job offer, which was still good. He didn't want to fail, but then what was life without risk?
"Of course" he said, smiling. "When should I start my work?"
"When can you? This is an issue of vital importance"
"Tomorrow"
Mycroft nodded; he looked relieved.
"Of course, if you succeed, there is a job here for you in intelligence"
"I'll consider it" James said, knowing that he wouldn't; he had found his calling. He would become the world's best detective, wether it was through this case or through Scotland Yard; he wouldn't rest until he had succeeded.
