A/N: So, yeah…I changed my PenName. :) I apologize for the delay in updating. AP exams are taking their toll on my free time. They're done this week though, thank god! Below this is a response to one of my anonymous reviews. Feel free to read it if you like, but skip it otherwise.
Note to anonymous reviewer Jay: Thank you, thank you for your motivating review. You are far too kind. In response to your question about John and Sherlock, just let me say I'm sorry if it's been confusing so far. I am trying to leave their relationship open for interpretation. Yes, Johnlock will be implied, especially in upcoming chapters, but I don't want to write it out explicitly for two reasons. 1) Not everyone is a shipper and I want non-shippers to be able to enjoy this story. 2) Johnlock is my OTP and if I start writing it into the story it will quickly take over. As you might have noticed so far, every chapter I've written that contains Sherlock pretty much revolves around him. He's so distracting. The main focus of this story is Mystrade so, unfortunately, that means Johnlock has to take a backseat. Hope that answered your questions, and thank you again.
Alright, here's the chapter. Sorry for the huge author's note.
The restaurant Gregory Lestrade currently found himself standing in was high-class, to say the least. The lofty glass windows displayed a marvelous view of the London skyline. Each table was set with an ivory tablecloth, fine china, and a silk napkin miraculously folded into the shape of a swan. The patrons were positively aristocratic, the women wearing evening gowns and the men in dark suits. Greg felt rather shabby in comparison, his worn out work clothes not nearly expensive enough to look natural in this setting. He was here because of Mycroft, of course. He had phoned the man earlier out of desperation, and a car had been sent for him. Now, he was uncomfortably standing in this completely posh restaurant, silently wishing that Mycroft had chosen to meet at a different location. Fortunately, his uneasiness was short lived, as Mycroft's minions swiftly escorting him past the tables to what appeared to be a private room in the back.
No doubt this space was normally used for business meetings, for it was far too large for just two people. There was a long table spanning the length of the room. It was vaguely reminiscent of that conference room where the two men had first met when Mycroft had kidnapped Lestrade years ago. The atmosphere, however, was distinctly more relaxed, seeing as Lestrade knew what was going on this time. Presently, Mycroft was speaking to his assistant Anthea, instructing her on what she should accomplish while he was busy sorting out this 'Sherlock related issue'. As the detective inspector entered the room, he murmured several words of dismissal, and the blackberry wielding woman left, quietly wondering just how this dinner was a Sherlock related issue. Lestrade's escorts departed as well, leaving him and Mycroft alone.
"Detective Inspector," Mycroft greeted, turning to face the other man as the door closed behind Anthea.
"Call me Greg, please…Or Gregory, if you prefer." He amended at the almost scathing look Mycroft sent him.
"Very well…Gregory." Mycroft's lips quirked up into a smile. "I take it my brother is causing you trouble again? That didn't take him very long. It seems like only yesterday he was breaking and entering over his scarf."
"Yes, well, it's Sherlock we're talking about. If he wasn't causing some kind of trouble I would be seriously worried." Greg took several steps into the room as he continued to speak. "We're working on a case, the murder of Victoria Hudgens as you may already know. Sherlock helped us identify the body, but refuses to tell us anything else. He's not withholding evidence, per se, so there's nothing I can do about it officially. I know he knows more than he's telling me, but I don't know what to do about it. I brought the case file with me." He held up the surprisingly thick folder in his right hand.
Wordlessly, Mycroft walked forward and accepted the file, "Have a seat, and help yourself to some food. I dragged you down here, the least I can do is offer you dinner."
"Oh no, I don't want to intrude. I-"
"I assure you, Gregory, you have saved me from the most tedious of meeting. The last thing you are doing here is intruding."
Mycroft sat down at the table, placed the folder in front of him, and began to leaf through its contents. Lestrade hesitantly took his place opposite from him, eying the food set out there. It was some pretentious type of ravioli, which no doubt featured five different kinds of exotic cheeses and homemade pasta, or something like that. He decided to write the fact that ravioli was his favorite dish off as a coincidence, because how would Mycroft even get that information in the first place. The silence was comfortable as both men were occupied with their separate tasks, Lestrade with eating and Mycroft with sifting through the file. It was not lost on either of them that if they had not been sitting together that night they most certainly would have been sitting alone. Being together was unquestionably the preferable option.
"Hmm, fascinating," Mycroft murmured. He finally closed the file, leaning his chin forward onto his folded hands, clearly deep in thought.
"Found something out, did you?" Greg cringed inwardly, realizing he'd spoken with his mouth full. Thankfully, Mycroft seemed too absorbed in his thoughts to notice.
"Indeed. There is a great deal more going on here than initially meets the eye."
"Sherlock said something like that. Something about the symbol proving that this crime was more complicated than just one death?" Lestrade had reluctantly put down his fork, not wanting to accidently speak with a mouth full of pasta again.
"Oh, there are many more inconsistencies than that. The symbol is just the icing on the cake. Think about the wound for instance, that should have been your first clue as to the nature of this crime. If you ignore the alarming amount of blood and the bruising left over from her struggles, the wound itself is not very messy. It is clean, as if it was delivered almost surgically. What does that say to you?" At some point during his words, Mycroft had stopped staring off into space and was now looking directly into Greg's eyes. It was slightly disorienting, and Greg found he had to look away and clear his throat before he was able to respond to the question.
"That it wasn't a crime of passion?" If Greg was being honest, he hadn't observed the state of the wound. There had been so much blood, the unnatural cleanness of the wound hadn't even occurred to him. Sherlock certainly hadn't said anything. Now that Mycroft pointed it out, however, it seemed obvious.
"Exactly, there was no strong emotion behind this crime. That eliminates love, anger, and all of the ordinary motivators that the police force is reasonable at picking up on. Hence, why Sherlock's cooperation was necessary in the identification of the body." When Mycroft explained things he didn't speak quickly, as Sherlock did; but rather he spoke clearly and concisely, always making sure Lestrade comprehended his meaning before continuing on with his explanation. "Overall, the nature of the wound was only a minor detail. The entire affair shows meticulous preparation and execution, far more so than what you would expect to find in the murder of a treasured and respected housewife. The plan was elaborate and well thought out. Do you see why this doesn't make sense?"
"…There was no reason for someone to do this." Lestrade felt as if Mycroft was testing his intelligence. It wasn't a nice feeling, but he supposed it was better than Sherlock's constant jabs and insults.
"Quite so. The effort put into the plan and the apparent patience of the killer simply do not correspond with the crime we see before us. Conclusion: there must be more than just this one murder."
Lestrade nodded in concurrence. If only Sherlock had sat down and explained all of that, this meeting would have been unnecessary to begin with. "Right, and do you have any ideas as to what actually is going on?"
"A little more than that I should hope," The condescending Holmes smirk was somehow not as annoying on Mycroft. "The murderer must have had great patience, to wait until Mrs. Hudgens was going to go on a vacation. They must have conceived the plan ahead of time, judging by the level of detail they observed. After that there were still many factors involved. Would she go on a vacation without her family? Would she take a taxi alone to the airport? Even if they knew her well, it was quite a gamble. I think we can both agree that something here is not adding up. The answer to this conundrum is a simple one, and one I can assure you my brother has already reached. Victoria Hudgens was not their target."
"What? You mean they made a mistake? After all that careful planning?"
"A mistake? No. The perpetrator fully intended to kill that woman, but not because of whom she was. No, she was chosen because she ordered a taxi to take her to the airport. The plan was already in place to kill someone and plant their body in that house. They infiltrated the taxi agency's system in order to get the information they needed, and you know the rest." Mycroft leaned back in his chair, looking more than a little pleased at the astounded look on the police officer's face.
"But…why? Why would anyone do this? What's their purpose if not just murder?"
"Her death is a warning. As my brother said before, the symbol gave it all away. Obviously, the location, the symbol, and the crime committed together are being utilized to send a message to someone. Other than the fact that she was a woman, nothing else about the victim's life is relevant to your investigation."
"And her gender is significant, how?"
"I believe the person who previously lived in that flat was also a woman. I might be wrong; your report was severely lacking important information regarding the flat. But judging by the information here and the picture that clearly shows someone moved from that location in a hurry not too long ago, I don't doubt that my solution is the correct one."
"You…you think the murder was a warning message to the woman who used to live there?" Lestrade asked uncertainly.
"I don't think," Mycroft replied, still wearing the trademark smirk. "I know."
Suddenly, Sherlock's words came flying back to the DI. I need to speak to the landlord. Lestrade mentally kicked himself. "And your brother has known this the whole time, and just decided not to tell me?"
"Undoubtedly," Mycroft smiled at him pityingly, no doubt wondering what it would be like to be so maddeningly clueless all the time.
Lestrade leaned back, rubbing the back of his head, and sighing heavily. "Well, that changes everything, doesn't it? Anything else you'd like to tell me?"
"I have several other theories. None of which would be helpful to you at this time. I suggest you speak to the landlord, and investigate his previous tenant as thoroughly as you can." He passed the file back over to Greg. The inspector began to stand, and was surprised as Mycroft spoke up in protest. "Please, stay and finish your meal. I have yet to touch mine, and the company would be…Feel free to stay."
"Um…alright. Thanks." Lestrade returned to his seat, happy to finish his food which was, in all honestly, completely delicious. "How much do owe you for the food, anyway?"
"Consider it my treat." Mycroft smiled another genuine smile, something he seemed to be doing quite a lot of recently. "A repayment for all the help you've given Sherlock over the years."
Lestrade snorted, "More like all the help he's given me." He froze. Yes, he had just spoken with his mouth full, again, after vowing not to. He glanced up at Mycroft. The other man only looked slightly amused, not scandalized or horrified. Still, the slip up was embarrassing.
"I would check in with you to see how the case wraps up, but I'm afraid I'll be out of town." Mycroft was now tucking into his own meal, although significantly less enthusiastically than Lestrade. Of course, he did not speak with his mouth full. "I will contact you when I return, however."
"I suppose you can't tell me where you're going."
"I'm afraid not. But I can tell you I'll be on a plane for quite a while." Mycroft dabbed at his mouth with a napkin in a manner that can only be described as dainty. It was all Lestrade could do to keep himself from grinning.
"You do that a lot then, for your job, go on planes?" Gregory's eyes danced mischievously as he teased his more secretive dinner companion.
The British government official gave him a pointed look, and they lapsed into silence, both enjoying their meals. Over the course of the evening they chatted a little. It was unexpectedly easy, like this was something they did on a regular basis and not a first time thing. Eventually, Lestrade completed his meal, but he did not get up and leave. Instead, he leaned back, sighing contentedly.
"So is this what it's like to be Mycroft Holmes then? Eating a proper meal every night in your own private room at the nicest restaurant imaginable?"
"Mmm…not quite. I'm usually too busy to work. And even when I'm not, I generally eat alone." Mycroft was done with his meal as well.
"So not that different from my life then." Greg drained the last of the wine from his glass, standing as he set it down. Mycroft stood as well. "I guess I better be off then. Thank you for the lovely meal and company."
"The pleasure was all mine."
A/N: So that was rather hard to write. Any questions feel free to ask. Especially since that one might have been particularly confusing.