Beta: Shadowdancer (from AO3)
Now they stooped to phone calls. Mycroft was very happy to be probably the only adult person in the whole world to never receive a drunken phone call. That may have been the result of a very careful filtering his phone calls went through or simply came from him not having many friends. Which was not a disappointing factor in his life, thank you Mummy, right after his status as single. Those were things that had never bothered him and surely were not going to start after a particularly tedious lecture during a family dinner. But when it was the Prime Minister drunk dialing you there was no escape.
Anthea glanced at him, no subtlety at all – after all she knew he'd notice anyway so better not pretend like you are not interested. A phone, on silent but annoyingly vibrating on the tabletop, wouldn't stop ringing however hard Mycroft wished for it. A scraping noise disturbed the quietness of the office but Mycroft was reluctant to turn it off; somehow declining a call seemed more offensive than missing it – at least in the last option there was a benefit of the doubt that Mycroft was too busy to answer.
"It's the Prime Minister," Anthea couldn't keep quiet anymore. "What if it's urgent?"
"It's the middle of the night in…the country of interest." Mycroft caught himself in time before he spilled the actual whereabouts of the Prime Minister to everyone who cared to be listening in; and at a place like Downing Street someone was always listening in. "If it was truly urgent all the phones in ten mile radius would be exploding with calls. As you can see, everything is quiet, except for this little menace." He frowned and nodded at his phone still vibrating on the tabletop.
"Why are we avoiding phone calls from the Prime Minister again?" Anthea asked boldly, her inquiring eyes boring into him without a trace of shyness. She liked considering them both as one unit, working for the best of their country. She had a vivid imagination and sometimes her romantic fantasies ran wild – at one point the poor girl had asked her boss to introduce her to a real MI6 agent. Mycroft didn't hesitate to break her James Bond daydreams with images of a hard reality.
"Because I can allow myself to ignore the insolent man for at least one evening."
"It's night where he is." The girl pointed out helpfully; the sly glint to her pretty eyes was anything but.
"I am perfectly aware of that." Mycroft's voice was coming out harsh and he glanced at the PA to make sure she wasn't taking it personally. But then again, what was he thinking – the nosy minx knew better than to get offended while fishing for information.
"Maybe you should answer." She suggested. "He'll be upset if you ignore him any longer."
A flat look was the only answer Mycroft planned on giving her, but a sly smile that stretched Anthea's painted lips was making him lose his cool. "This is not the topic we should be discussing."
"But it's the topic you'd like to discuss." She stated simply with absolutely no doubt.
"I'm not the one collecting gossip around London."
"My exceptional skills in that area had proved useful on more than one occasion." She smiled sweetly at him. "If I remember correctly, just last week it helped you to take down the Minister of-"
"Let's not bring that up again." Mycroft spoke over her before anything important could be revealed. The office should be a free place where they could discuss business affairs, but Mycroft knew not to trust even these walls. There were things that needed to be kept hidden even from the government itself; if they knew everything that went through Mycroft's mind and were aware of every smallest affair that he orchestrated, they wouldn't be happy. Might actually try and send him to prison.
"Anyway, I wasn't aware that the Prime Minister was allowed to get drunk." Anthea commented suddenly.
Mycroft leveled her with a flat look, he was under impression that they were done with this conversation already, but apparently his nosy PA could go on and on not fearing the wrath of her boss. "He is just a human after all."
"Right." She replied and there was an undertone to her words that Mycroft didn't even want to try to decipher. She wasn't looking at him, twirling a pen between her fingers, as she continued. "So are you. Just two consenting adults, I don't see-"
"Enough." It came out too harsh, too much raw emotion in one simple word, and the girl startled looking up at him with trepidation.
"I'm sorry." Anthea murmured, lowering her eyes again.
Mycroft was tempted to give an apology of his own for such rude behavior, but if that was what it took to stop her talking about the subject…He didn't need to hear how amazing he and Gregory could be together from his PA just as he didn't need any encouragements to pursue this relationship from his mother.
"Could you please pass me that red folder?"
And with that the subject was finally closed and Mycroft was able to work in peace. Unfortunately it wasn't enough to escape the voice in his head, pleading the same case and giving all the same arguments, which sounded too reasonable for his sanity.
The phone stayed silent for hours.
Next time it rang was in the middle of the night; it's trilling rousing Mycroft from sleep. A light sleeper, he was alert and reaching for it in seconds. Mycroft wasted a moment to clear his throat before answering – it wouldn't do to sound hoarse and half asleep when answering an urgent call.
"Mycroft Holmes."
"Sir, we-we have an emergency." A nervous voice stuttered down the line. "Concerning the Prime Minister."
"What sort of emergency?" Mycroft asked while getting out of bed, promptly pulling out a fresh suit from the closet and sending a text for his driver from a second phone.
"An-an…" The tiny voice seemed too overwhelmed to continue talking.
"Well, go on. It's not like this in an issue of utmost importance, I'll just wait here while you gather your thoughts." Mycroft sneered sarcastically at the poor lad. His hands trembled slightly over the keys of the second phone – a text to his PA to meet him at the office. "What kind of emergency?"
"An assassination attempt." The man shouted all in one breath and grew quiet again.
"On the Prime Minister?"
"Yes, Sir."
"What a bloody idiot tries to kill the Prime Minister?"
His angry rhetorical question was answered with a confused. "We don't know yet. Sir."
Mycroft gave himself a moment to calm down before asking the question that bothered him the most. "How is he?" It sounded too personal, vulnerable. "How is the Prime Minister?"
"He's fine. It was a sniper but he missed. Medics are with the Prime minister as we speak. It's just a minor wound."
Mycroft let out a breath he was holding, his hands more steady now that he knew that Gregory wasn't dying. Dead. Only a little hurt.
"Sir?"
Realizing he kept silent for too long, a clear sign of weakness from his point of view, Mycroft steeled himself to get to business. "Organize a plane for the Prime Minister to leave as soon as the medics are done. I want him back in the UK immediately."
"Yes, Sir."
"How many people know about this?"
"That would be only…" Mycroft could practically hear the man's thoughts in his ragged breathing. "Me, his bodyguards and medics who are attending to him. And you, of course."
"Good, we are going to keep this under wraps. As far as anyone else concerned the Minister was called back to England by an important political issue that required his presence in the country." He would have to orchestrate such an issue and have it on the front pages of all newspapers by morning. He sent another text to Anthea, asking her to get Malcolm. His help would be invaluable in this situation.
"Does his condition require the Prime Minister staying at the hospital for a prolonged period of time?"
"I'm not sure, Sir. The medics did say the bullet just grazed his arm, so…probably not, but I am not an expert on those things."
Mycroft heaved a sigh but held in a reprimand of incompetence. "For now I want you to stay with the Prime Minister, make sure the story doesn't get leaked out to anyone, God save us if the press finds out. And wait for further instructions."
"Yes, Sir."
"Oh and it was quite foolish of you to give me all this information before checking if the line was secure." With that he hung up on the stuttering assistant. Of course his line was secure but it would do well to make the man more aware of his position and what it entailed.
What was happening next was a blur of phone calls, to Anthea, making sure she was on her way to the office just like he. To the medics when they finally finished treating the Prime Minister, making sure that there was no threat to his health and, thankfully no need for a stay at the hospital. Gregory in fact seemed to be perfectly fine but for a scratch on his right arm, where the bullet passed him, and a minor scare. Then there were endless talks with Malcolm and quite a huge bit of swearing on the other man's part. Phone calls to the papers to make sure their cover up story would be all over the news come morning. By the time morning issues of newspapers came out they were so exhausted, it was hard to stay upright. When the sun rose over London and the city was talking about a huge Cabinet scandal that needed the Prime Minister himself to come back to deal with it, Mycroft was lounging on a sofa in his own office at Number Ten. Blissfully alone as his colleagues had left to catch a couple hours of sleep before diving right back into this madness.
The only person Mycroft did not call that night was Gregory Lestrade himself.
It was only in the evening of that day that Mycroft dared show up at the Prime Minister's rooms. He talked with his doctor first, who was reassuringly optimistic and full of promises of a quick recovery. Mycroft also spent some time conversing with the poor lad who he spoke to on the phone that night, a young man who, in Mycroft's opinion could go far in his choice of career if only he acquired some self-confidence.
Finally, after putting this away for as long as he could Mycroft was knocking on the door of Gregory Lestrade's bedroom. Being begrudgingly granted permission, Mycroft stepped inside with hesitation. Which pretty quickly dissipated the moment he saw the Prime Minister, standing by the bookshelf with a glass of something that definitely wasn't apple juice in his hand.
"Why are you not in bed?" Mycroft narrowed his eyes at the man he startled with his stern question.
Gregory glanced around and, as soon as his eyes fell on his visitor, smiled. "I'd love to make a dirty joke right now but for your sake I'll restrain myself."
"You know what I mean. You should be resting. And definitely you shouldn't be drinking."
Gregory only laughed softly and took a sip of his drink. "I'm fine. Perfectly healthy."
"That's not what your doctor told me."
"I only have a scratch. A scratch, Mycroft. Which was properly bandaged." To prove his point he half turned, allowing Mycroft a view of his right arm, a bandage barely seen through the thin fabric of his white shirt. "The bullet merely grazed me. It's nothing."
Mycroft narrowed his eyes at the man, glaring until Gregory put down the glass and took two big steps away from it. "It could have been worse." Those words he said quietly – a secret thought that had been burning through his mind all this time.
"This sniper wasn't trying to kill me." Gregory retorted, his tone soothing but his words alarming.
"But then another can actually try and succeed." There was desperation to his words which he couldn't cover up despite how much he tried.
Gregory's face transformed into a grimace of pain for a second but then he was stepping to Mycroft, holding his hands between his, running his fingers over Mycroft's knuckles, trying to calm the other down. "It's okay. Everything is okay."
Mycroft looked back at him, fighting to keep the panic at bay, drinking in his calm and positivity. He took a deep breath. Then another. And another. And only after the tenth did he start to feel better .
"Have you calmed down?" Gregory asked tentatively and only then did Mycroft realize that sometime between deep breath two and three he had closed his eyes and latched onto the Prime Minister's hands.
"Yes." He let go reluctantly, moving away to get some space between them. "Yes, thank you. I…I don't know why this affected me so much." A lie. They both knew it but Gregory was polite enough not to press for a confession.
"Are you ready to discuss this now? Level-headedly?" The Prime minister asked with a small smile and, after a resolute nod, followed Mycroft to a set of chairs by the window. He gave Mycroft a moment to collect his scattering thoughts and get into a business mood.
"That was not an assassination attempt." Mycroft started.
"Right."
"This was a statement."
"Right." Gregory nodded. He knew that already. Nobody wanted to kill the head of a country. That was unnecessary. Enemies didn't need to see the Prime Minister's funeral, what they did want to see was him coping with a major crisis in his country though. And for that he certainly had to be alive.
Especially since the sniper missed his target. Security was tight, someone who could get a sniper through it was sure to hire the best man for the job. Thus there would not have been any missed shots unless the person who hired him wanted it.
"We can get you any time we want." Gregory dared to voice what was running through their minds. "Those guys are pretty skilled, huh?"
"And if they can get to the Prime Minister anyone else in this country wouldn't be a problem."
"Except for the Queen surely? And you?"
"We are not going to discuss these issues right now."
Gregory nodded. "They must have had a man on the inside."
"That is most likely." Mycroft conceded.
"I sure as hell would like to finish my drink now." Gregory announced, standing up and heading for the discarded glass. "Tell me honestly, how bad is this?"
"We've dealt with the situation. Nobody knows what had happened to you. It's under control." There was confidence in his words, but as he continued to speak it wavered off. "Concerning the sniper…He escaped. I have my people looking for him. And I have my best man trying to unravel this whole plot."
Gregory chuckled and Mycroft craned his neck to look at him. Half hidden in the shadows with a glass in his hand, Gregory was looking right back at him with a fond smile on his tired but still handsome face. "I almost forgot the way you speak."
Mycroft rolled his eyes but couldn't keep in a pleased smile that threatened to break out. "I speak like any normal person." He said just to contradict.
Gregory laughed and reclaimed his place in the armchair, putting two glasses on the table between them. He slid one over the polished surface and rose his own in a silent salute when Mycroft took it.
They drank in silence, enjoying the comfort of each other's company. Almost an hour passed by like that and Mycroft hadn't felt this content in a while. Ever since their fight to be precise. He sighed deeply, resigning himself to the idea that it was stupid to run away from this for any longer. If the cold fear that spread through him the moment he heard about an assassination attempt wasn't proof enough of how attached he had become to the Prime minister, then this slow burning happiness of being near the man surely was.
"Gregory," he called out into the silence, looking straight ahead into the half-darkness of the office, too nervous to meet the other man's eyes. "If you are still interested in…in…" He stumbled over the words, not sure how to proceed.
Gregory helped out with a smile. "In you?"
Mycroft spared him a glance – a half-hearted glare. "Exactly. In…me. If you are still interested I wouldn't be averse to…to a…"
"Date?"
"Yes," Mycroft nodded, finally meeting the Prime Minister's laughing eyes. "Date."
Gregory's smile widened, the previous weariness of his features replaced by easy happiness, as he replied. "I would love to go on a date with you, Mycroft Holmes."
