Chapter Twenty Five
The first thing that Mycroft noticed the next morning was that the mattress beside him was cold and that meant that Lestrade was already gone.
Which really wasn't a surprise because Lestrade had early mornings to open shop.
Mycroft rubbed a hand over his face and sat up. He had a slight feeling buzzing in the back of his brain like there was something he was forgetting.
Then, it clicked.
He scrambled elegantly out of bed and fairly ran to the sitting room in his dressing gown, snatching up his phone.
He had three missed texts.
What should be done, Sir? -A
We've lost her. -A
She's gone. -A
Mycroft dropped his head in his hands and let out a sigh.
And here he was claimed to be omniscient. He should have seen this one coming.
He frowned at his phone and briefly wondered if Lestrade's decision to come over on the night that Irene Adler visited his brother and then skipped town really was coincidence, or conspiracy? But it had been Mycroft who had kept him from leaving... or had Lestrade manipulated him into letting him stay?
Honestly... for someone who claimed to be on his side, Lestrade seemed to be working for everybody else.
The bastard.
But that only portrayed the life of a spy. This was why he trusted such delicate situations to Sherlock, and not the Intelligence Services.
They all spied on people for money.
If only Mycroft could deduce what Lestrade spied on people for.
"I could've used some orders last night." Anthea said coldly as she and Mycroft drove down to Baker Street to visit Sherlock and John.
"I'm sorry, I was otherwise occupied." Mycroft apologized.
Anthea was silent for a good moment before turning her piercing gaze on him. "You were with Lestrade, weren't you?"
Mycroft averted his gaze.
Anthea coughed and turned back to her Blackberry.
"I know." Mycroft muttered in answer to her non-verbalized scolding.
Mycroft had gotten close to Lestrade to stop him if the need ever arose, not so that Lestrade could sabotage him.
At the same time, in a different vehicle driving in the opposite direction, Irene toyed idly with her phone.
"By the way..." she smiled at the driver. "... thanks for last night."
Lestrade sighed. "You make it sound like I slept with you last night."
Irene chuckled. "Just drop me off at the airport, I'll be out of your gorgeous hair."
"You better be." Lestrade grumbled. "You always seem to turn up like a bad penny."
"Well, I think this time is for real." Irene hummed to herself.
Lestrade glanced at her out of the corner of his eye but quickly returned his gaze to the road. "That's not my problem."
"I guess not." Irene typed out a text on her phone.
Good morning, Mister Holmes.
They continued driving.
"Sir, I think you need to see this." Anthea said grimly, angling her phone in his direction. "This was taken from one of the security cameras at the airport."
Gregory Lestrade and Irene Adler in the same picture.
Irene Adler boarded a plane.
Lestrade did not.
Mycroft frowned.
Lestrade was busy taking orders at the diner when Mycroft stalked in. The government agent grabbed him by the shirtsleeve without a word and dragged him off into the kitchens amidst protest and sheepish apologies to the baffled customer.
Harold quickly jumped in and resumed handling the patrons, sending Lestrade and Mycroft concerned looks.
Out of sight, Mycroft shoved Lestrade against the refrigerator in the kitchen and Lestrade let out a low laugh.
"Now that's what I call 'playing rough', Mycroft." he said.
"Shut up." Mycroft snapped. "Where has she gone?"
"'Shut up', 'talk', you're so confusing." Lestrade rolled his eyes.
Mycroft slammed his hand against the refrigerator, causing Lestrade to flinch slightly. "I'm not in the mood for your games, Lestrade."
Lestrade grabbed Mycroft by his lapels and swung him around, roughly trading positions. "And I'm not in the mood to be pushed around." he growled back.
Neither of them spoke again until the contents of the poor refrigerator stopped rattling.
Lestrade stepped back, running a hand over his face. "Look Mycroft, I'm sorry about Irene Adler. This..."
Mycroft raised an eyebrow with an icy silence.
Lestrade let out a heavy sigh. "I have to go." he turned to leave.
"Where are you going?" Mycroft asked, catching his arm and holding tight.
"I have to go with Irene." Lestrade mumbled.
"What?"
Lestrade jerked his arm out of Mycroft's grasp.
"I have to go. I'm sorry." Lestrade smoothed his clothes down. "I'll be gone by next week."
Mycroft just stared at him as Lestrade walked out of the kitchens and assured Harold that everything was alright with his usual bright smile.
The liar was gone by nightfall.
"It's closed." John stated needlessly since it seemed his friend wasn't going to.
Sherlock huffed at him. "As usual, your sense of observation continues to serve you well." he grunted.
They both just stood for a moment outside the dark diner, staring at the 'CLOSED' sign in the door, a bit at loss for what to do.
Neither of them, in all their time knowing Lestrade, could remember a time when they saw Strangers Cafe closed.
A second floor window opened and Donovan poked her head out to look down at them. "Oh, it's you." she noticed.
"Where's Lestrade?" Sherlock asked brusquely.
"Dunno, said he had to leave." Donovan shrugged. "Something about a family emergency. He's been in France since a week ago."
"Christ, is he okay?" John asked, craning his neck a little to look up at the sergeant.
"He went in a rush, left a note and was gone before I got back from work." Donovan shrugged. "I've been trying to get him on his phone, but he's not picking up."
"Remind him to get an e-mail account when he gets back." John suggested.
"First on my to-do list." Donovan sighed. "Maybe that posh brother of yours knows where he is?"
Sherlock snorted. "Mycroft? He's got better things to do."
Donovan's eyes hardened and everything about her seemed to turn instantly into ice. "Right."
John looked at Donovan, and then at Sherlock, but wisely kept his mouth shut.
Sherlock was not so perceptive. "What is it?" he asked.
"Nothing." Donovan grumbled.
"Sherlock, maybe we shouldn't-..." John tried to say, but Sherlock cut him off.
"My brother is the British Government." he stated matter-of-factually. "He does not have time to take on private matters."
"Listen here, you little shit." Donovan snapped, leaning out of the window. "Your brother and Anthea have been monopolizing my friend, they're the closest people to him now besides me, I'll have you think twice about Lestrade not being worth their time."
Sherlock stared up at her in confusion and a little shock. "They've been-... meeting?"
Donovan huffed in exasperation. "You really know nothing about them, do you?" she said scathingly. "Your brother drops by at least once a week and Lestrade is dating Anthea."
"Really?" John exclaimed. "That Anthea? With-... with the phone?"
"For the last few months." Donovan tilted her head. "You really didn't know? And you claim to be so clever."
Sherlock was on his phone even before Donovan finished letting out the jibe.
Mycroft picked up on the fourth ring.
"Where is he?" Sherlock growled.
"Where is who?" Mycroft asked back. "And what do you want with him? Considering your answer, I may or may not answer."
"Lestrade. Where is he?" Sherlock ground out impatiently.
"And what makes you think I know?" Mycroft sighed. "I don't actually spy on all of your friends."
"No, just the one that you see every week." Sherlock smiled sweetly. "The one your minion happens to be dating." he spat out the word as if it would give him cooties. "How is your diet? Or should I ask Lestrade? Oh wait, I don't know where he is. Did you have him disappear?"
There was a heavy sigh on the other end. "That's none of your business."
Sherlock glared at his phone for a moment before shoving it into John's face. "John. I rely on you for emotional cajoling."
John sent Sherlock the most exasperated look imaginable, but took the phone. "Mycroft? Hi, John."
"Good evening, John."
"Where is Greg, really? We were supposed to go down to the pub tomorrow night and I'm a little worried I'll go crazy if I stay in another day with Sherlock." Sherlock looked affronted, John just glared back.
Mycroft sighed again. "Well, despite what my brother may think, I do not actually have Lestrade tied up in the boot of my car. He is in France, like he said he was. He is visiting his family. He has informed Anthea that he is still unsure of when he will be back. Do behave yourselves until then, like mature adults."
John handed the phone back to Sherlock. "If possible, he's even more annoying than you are." he grumbled.
Sherlock took the phone back. "Well?"
Mycroft hung up.
Where are you? -MH
Mycroft placed his phone on his desk and entwined his fingers, staring thoughtfully at it.
After a moment, he picked it up again.
I'm sorry for my behavior the last time we met. I completely realize that I made a big commotion over something we both knew. -MH
As you have warned me time and time again: you do not work only for me. And I forgot that. -MH
I can only apologize. -MH
Mycroft toyed with his phone for a minute or two.
Come back. -MH
Mycroft sighed and deleted the message, sitting back in his seat and clasping his hands under his chin, thinking about how much he actually missed Lestrade sitting on the edge of his desk, feet kicking haphazardly, and absolutely refusing to do the paperwork for 'that guy I killed for the thing'.
Which usually ended with Anthea walking in and pinching his ear until he acquiesced.
Which led to late nights and coffee with smuggled desserts that Lestrade made and Mycroft wasn't supposed to eat.
But he always did.
Mycroft shook his head and picked up his phone.
Come back. -MH
Not even a minute passed when his phone buzzed.
If only you'll open the bloody door. -Lestrade
Mycroft was up and running before he could think twice.