Tolerating

"He threatened you, didn't he?" Sherlock's bland, trying-not-to-sound-interested voice shook Lestrade out of his sleepy silence.

There was a soft snuffle, a brief flicker of the eyelids, then Lestrade shot up from his slouch in the armchair, rubbing the back of his hand over his mouth. "Shit! I fell asleep! Did I drool?"

"No. And you're avoiding the question." Sherlock glared.

"Sorry, what was that?" Lestrade yawned, settling himself comfortably again.

"Mycroft. Did. He. Threaten. You?" Sherlock spoke as though Lestrade was a dumb five-year-old.

"What? No! Why would he do that?" Lestrade narrowed his eyes in all-serious-morbid-curiosity. "Sherlock, ...if you or your brother have some deep, dark secret I should know about..."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "No."

"...Because I'd believe vampirism right about now." Lestrade carried on. "Seriously, Sherlock. Pale, skinny, intelligent, no sleep, ... you eat when I'm not forcing food down your throat, arn't you?"

Sherlock just regarded him with a scathing look and didn't answer. Unperturbed, Lestrade continued. "And Mycroft. Omniscient, bordering on psychic, secretive, runs the government - a feat that, I think, no man under the age of fifty should be able to achieve - and really, seriously... Sherlock, what is with that umbrella?"

Sherlock looked unimpressed. "Your attempts at distraction are pathetic." he stated bluntly.

Lestrade scratched his head. "Do you really think so?"

"Of course I do. I wouldn't expect anything more." Sherlock crossed his arms. "Back to the matter at hand. He threatened you."

Lestrade rolled his eyes. "I said he didn't."

"Whatever he said that you may not have thought of as threatening, I really think it was." Sherlock shot back.

"He said to be careful."

"See! I told you! How is that not a threat?" Sherlock exclaimed, jumping up almost indignantly on his sofa.

"About you, Sherlock." Lestrade clarified firmly.

Sherlock froze. "What?"

"Mycroft said to be careful with you." Lestrade repeated. "He said you were dangerous."

For a split second, hurt flashed in Sherlock's quicksilver eyes before being overwhelmed by an immense anger. "Who-... who does he think he is!" The consulting detective bellowed, stomping his bare foot on the sofa's soft surface, violent in a strangely silent way.

"You know he's just worried about you, right?" Lestrade droned, having grown quite accustomed to the Holmes's sibling rivalry.

Sherlock stared at him incredulously. "My god, Lestrade. This is all going over your head, isn't it? Typical!" He leapt down from his heightened perch and began pacing around.

Lestrade rolled his eyes. "Alright, then explain it to me."

"No. Too much work. Tedious. Dull." Sherlock fired off a-mile-a-minute, striding in circles 'round and 'round the sitting room.

"Like a teddy bear." Lestrade remarked dryly, eyebrow raised at him.

That got Sherlock to stop. "Huh? What's like a teddy bear?" Figures he was only half-listening.

"You." Lestrade grinned mischeviously.

Sherlock seemed to mull over that thought for all of two seconds. "Ridiculous. Why am I like a black bear cub that President Theodore Roosevelt ultimately instructed to be put to death?"

Lestrade blinked in surprise. "Nevermind."

"No. You started it, now you have to finish it."

"Why should I have to finish it?" Lestrade challenged.

"Because I need to know if me being like a teddy bear is somehow supposed to be amusing like your voice indicated, or if you're joking darkly about my future demise at the instruction of an American President, because I'm not sure if Mycroft's power stretches far enough to put a stop to that."

Lestrade raised his hands in a calming way. "No, it's a children's rhyme. And, just-... just don't piss off any Presidents, alright?"

Sherlock shrugged and resumed pacing.

"And, while we're on the subject of pissing people off, Sherlock-..." Lestrade continued. "...Don't do it."

"Impossible."

"I'm not saying be all sunshine and smiles, Sherlock - because that'll be downright weird. I'm just saying I'd feel a bit better if you didn't constantly collect death threats from people who've only known you for five minutes." Lestrade told him.

"Too much work."

"Just try... please?" Lestrade asked earnestly.

"You still adamant about Mycroft not threatening you? Because you sound threatened." Sherlock remarked.

"For the last time, Mycroft Holmes threatened me in no way!" Lestrade exclaimed, exasperated. "It just-... you know what? Forget it."

Sherlock continued pacing. "You know he's only doing it because he's jealous." He said.

Lestrade looked up at him. "What?"

"He's jealous because everybody who sticks with him is being paid for it, and yet you're here without profit. He's just an annoying loner like that." Funny, for every five minutes that passed, Sherlock sounded younger and younger. Lestrade imagined what it must've been like when the Holmes siblings were children.

'Mummy! Mycroft stepped on my toys because he's jealous! He said it was an accident but it wasn't!'

'Don't be ridiculous, Sherlock, there's no evidence to solidify your accusations.'

'That's because you erased all the evidence!'

'There's no way you can prove that.'

'I can!'

'I'd like to see you try.'

Lestrade couldn't help but smirk at the mental image. "Right, okay. So your brother's throwing a British-Government-sized tantrum because he doesn't have any friends, I can live with that."

"Why?" Sherlock wondered aloud, "Why does he always to that? Poking his nose into my business."

Lestrade shrugged. "Maybe he's just testing the people you're with? I mean, if someone couldn't handle his kidnappings and cryptic remarks, I don't think they'd stand a chance with that body-in-the-tub routine of yours."

Sherlock scoffed. "Half a body in the tub, Lestrade. Half!"

"That makes it even worse." Lestrade pointed out. "Look, Sherlock, he worries about you, worries about the people who talk to you. He just wants to make sure you're not accidentally surrounding yourself with chainsaw murderers, or something. Okay?"

Sherlock looked confused. "Why would I do something so stupid like surround myself with chainsaw murderers?"

"That's not the point." Lestrade sighed. "The point is that Mycroft's not going to stop worrying and poking about in businesses he has no right to. It's just how he is... kind of like the way you attract trouble. I mean, come on. The man tolerates the inconvenience of bailing you out of jail every other week and covering your arse when you infiltrate military bases. The least you can do is tolerate the fact that he's always keeping an eye on you. Think about it this way: if Mycroft doesn't know where you are and who you're with, he won't know where to bail you out of, or who he might have to kill for trying to hurt you. Okay?"

Sherlock scowled. "I can look after myself, thank you very much."

"You're very welcome, Sherlock." Lestrade just responded sarcastically. Then, his phone rang. "Lestrade. Okay... where? Right... I'll be right there." He hung up. "That was Donovan. Got to go, then." He nodded with a slight smile and left.

Sherlock fished out his own phone.

What did you say to Lestrade? -SH

I merely voiced my concerns for his safety. What seems to be the problem? -MH

He's completely misreading the situation. He thinks you're worried about me. How he came to that conclusion is beyond me. -SH

But, it is also the truth. -MH

So what's the deal with trying to scare him off? -SH

Mycroft did not respond for a whole five minutes.

He is too useful to lose, Sherlock. I doubt you'd find another DI who will tolerate you. Try not to get him killed, will you? -MH

Well, that really didn't answer my question. -SH

I would rather he left you, than have him killed because of your idiocy. -MH

...Good God. You. Not Mycroft. Who are you? -SH

Hilarious, Sherlock. -MH

You've never cared before. Not even that time when I accidentally poisoned my flatmate. -SH

Oh, no... It's Lestrade, isn't it? -SH

Well, of course it's Lestrade. Isn't that the whole point of the conversation? -MH

Maybe I should've been scaring him away from you! -SH

Sherlock, don't be ridiculous. -MH

You like him! My idiotic, prat of a brother fancies the copper! -SH

I've just had a lecture in the finer points of toleration, Mycroft. If I must suffer, you must suffer with me! -SH

Sum it to say, Mycroft did not respond to a single one of the texts Sherlock sent to him for the next week and ignored the request for bail from the Yard. Sherlock, in turn, decided that testing various excecution methods on himself was a waste of time. Lestrade convinced Molly to let him use a few cadavers from the morgue for his experimentations.

Unfortunately, New Scotland Yard still had difficulty coping with the arrangement.