Chapter Thirteen- 2003 Cold Turkey Cases Part five
When the government car pulled off York onto the narrow road running north to the river, Greg saw the construction site. The office block going up was suspiciously silent, no evidence of work going on. The car pulled onto a freshly tarmacked driveway into the site and one of the agents in the car got out and shut the chain link fences behind them. The DI was escorted out of the car and across to the temporary offices of the site. The one who had chased Sherlock opened the door to the portakabin and gestured him in.
At the end of the rectangular room stood Mycroft Holmes, in a three piece suit that whispered of Jermyn street custom tailoring; he was looking down at the handle of an old fashioned, tightly furled umbrella. He raised his eyes to meet Greg's as he came up to the table in the middle of the room, which was covered in blueprints and computer print-outs.
"Detective Inspector Lestrade, we meet again." This was delivered in a mild tone that nevertheless somehow conveyed both a sense of disappointment and menace. Lestrade's internal radar was flaring, but he decided that he could be afford a little heat in his response.
"Mycroft Holmes. I'd like to say that this is a pleasure, but, it isn't. I'm a busy man in the middle of a series of investigations and I do object to being kidnapped off the street in broad daylight. If you wanted to talk to me, the civilised way would be to have your PA set up an appointment."
This provoked a chilly smile. "No time, I am afraid. I hoped to get here while Sherlock was still on the scene, but alas, someone seems to have tipped him off, and he's off camera again."
Mycroft continued. "I would like you to listen very carefully, Detective Inspector. I suspect and I can prove that Sherlock has recently spent time in your company, and that you have been aiding and abetting his penchant for sticking his nose into police work that he should not be doing. Not only is it inappropriate that a civilian be engaged in such work, it is also harmful to him on a personal basis. This morning my brother decided to emerge from the shadows, and willingly allowed me to trace his movements to St Barts' morgue and then here. My guess is that he thinks he is 'investigating' something that you probably asked him to look into. You needn't reply; I know that I'm right."
Greg looked at the elder Holmes. The intervening years had removed the youthful freshness that the detective had seen at the police station when Mycroft collected a sixteen year old Sherlock. His hair now receded further at the temples, and he wore thirty or more pounds of extra weight to go with the added levels of authority that he was exuding. Greg realised that if he had thought big brother to be mildly alarming the first time they met, to look at him now was quite frankly scary.
"What business is it of yours what I might or might not be doing with Sherlock?"
Mycroft tilted his head and gave a wry smile. "Oh, it's definitely my business, Detective Inspector. I am still his legal guardian. And he is now a person who attracts the protection of both SOs 1 and 6*, so his movements are very carefully monitored, as are those with whom he has contact. May I ask what your… relationship is with my brother?"
Lestrade decided that a straight bat was needed. "He spent the weekend on my sofa withdrawing from cocaine."
"And just why would you be willing to offer such….hospitality?"
Greg's brow furrowed. He knew he needed to be careful here. "You do know, or at least I think it's safe to assume you know, about how he approached me to deal with the Pountney Club?"
Mycroft just waved his hand. "Of course, and I assume that some sort of case has brought him here. I took the precaution of clearing the site, but we've still not been able to locate him. I believe I also have you to blame for getting him involved in solving that pathetic Stevens thing, too."
That made Greg annoyed. "Pathetic? No, that's not what I call it. Sherlock's ability to pick apart a crime scene and make sense of it is unique. He is gifted, and I've been fortunate enough to see that talent in action. He enjoys it. He says it keeps him sane. After this weekend, I believe him. And, in light of those talents, I thought it wise to help him get off the drugs, especially after I witnessed on Victoria Street the fact that he wants nothing to do with you or your men."
Holmes gave Lestrade a thousand meter stare- the sort that would have lesser men quailing in their boots. "I hate repeating myself, but it has been eight years, so perhaps your memory needs refreshing. I do not have the luxury of caring what my brother wants, Detective Inspector; I must consider what he needs. And that does not include any involvement with the police regarding homicides, drugs dealing or crime scene forensics. All of the above encourage his less desirable behaviours, his recent drugs relapse being a case in point."
He looked down and examined his umbrella again. "So, consider this a cease and desist order, Mr Lestrade. However useful he might have been for your career in the past, you will not contact him again, nor will you involve him in any of your future work. In fact, any contact at all, even on a …personal basis…. will result in unfortunate consequences you might describe as career limiting."
Greg considered this threat very, very carefully. He had no doubt that the man standing in front of him could destroy his career. But, he also knew that the elder Holmes had no idea what made his brother tick. No one who could have seen Sherlock devour the cold cases could be so blasé about the good he was doing, and the good it was doing for him. Greg decided to risk a little.
He took a deep breath and plunged right in. "You haven't a clue about how to handle your brother, do you? I could tell that when you picked him up eight years ago. You were 23 and totally unaware of what it meant to be a parent, let alone one to someone like Sherlock. I have no doubt that he has driven you to distraction a thousand times, and every time, you're left wondering what you might have done differently in order to get a more satisfactory outcome."
Mycroft looked at him with a slightly puzzled look. "Is this an attempt to establish some empathy, Detective Inspector Lestrade? If so, save the sentiment for those who can afford to show it. You have no idea about my brother's history, nor what his …prognosis is."
"Ah, well there's where you're wrong, Mr Holmes. I know his reasons for taking drugs, which I am certain he has never, ever shared with you, nor any of the therapists you have subjected him to while in rehab. I know he is autistic, I know he has SPD, I know he has reasons to want to avoid you like the plague. I know because he has told me these things. I also know he's smart enough to work his way out of any rehab clinic you care to stuff him into, and then go out and do immediately what you don't want him to do, because he's a right bolshie little bugger who thinks he knows better, but doesn't."
Mycroft was now eyeing him like he was some sort of dangerous reptile- with wary suspicion.
Greg decided to carry on. Might as well get hung for a sheep, as for a lamb. "I also know that I share with you a deep dismay at the thought that such a mind could be destroyed by a cocaine habit. Unlike you, I know a magic bullet that stops his cravings cold, gets him to eat, sleep and …" he took a deep breath,"…I know what makes him genuinely happy."
Mycroft's cynical smile was matched by his acerbic tone: "He says he has found happiness at the end of a needle, and that I should just leave him to it. I won't do that, no matter what he says."
"Then maybe you haven't seen the Sherlock I've seen- the one who was clean and worked like a demon for three solid weeks with a Met task force to get cases ready for prosecution. Cases that he identified even though they'd never been reported. You didn't watch him this weekend pull himself out of a withdrawal funk because I gave him twelve of the coldest cases the Yard had. You didn't see his genius at solving those in a single day, and I know you didn't see the absolute joy he took in doing so. I did. So, forgive me, but I think I just might have a better idea of what your brother needs right now than you do."
A silence fell between the two men. It was broken as the door to the portakabin opened and a baritone voice said, "Mycroft, really. Just for once in your life, listen to someone else, if you won't listen to me."
Sherlock came in and stood next to Lestrade. "He's telling the truth."
For a moment, Mycroft just looked at Sherlock, really looked. Greg realised that both the Holmes brothers appeared to share the same ability to see things that other people missed. Mycroft was examining Sherlock with a forensic intensity. Then, he frowned. "You're still in withdrawal, after three days of abstinence. So, it was a serious binge this time, little brother."
Sherlock met his stare with a defiance of his own. "That was then, this is now. Let's talk about the now. I mean it, Mycroft, just leave me alone. This is good for me; for once, just once, let me be the judge of it." He was livid but there was just the hint of a plea in his tone.
Mycroft looked at his brother with a sad smile. "He may have convinced you of that, Sherlock, because it is in his best interests to do so. He's abusing your talents to further his own career. The Detective Inspector is taking advantage of a vulnerable person for his own personal gain, which is highly unethical and borders on unprofessional conduct. A disciplinary hearing would also question his …sanity at involving on crime cases a drug addict with your record. It could jeopardise every court case that had you touched. All that aside, it's putting you at risk, this…puzzle work. The more he gets you to work on his cases, the more he puts at risk both your physical and mental health. He should know better."
Greg was aghast. How could Sherlock's brother level that kind of charge at him? For a moment, he panicked at the thought that others might see it the same way. "I was trying to help..." he whispered lamely.
Sherlock just snarled at his brother. "You insufferable prig, Mycroft; you're despicable to accuse him of such a thing! I was the one who came to Lestrade; if anyone is being manipulative here, it's me! You know that, so don't play your mind games now. He's a good man, and won't understand why you'd say such an awful thing. It isn't fair."
Before Mycroft could reply, Sherlock whirled around in utter frustration, and slammed his fist into the wall. He started to shout, "Just back off, and let me do this! Why can't you get it into your head that it's the only thing that I actually care about, it's the only thing that anyone is ever going to respect or admire me for? I have so little else, how dare you try to take this away, too!" He was shaking with rage.
Mycroft calmly contemplated the sight. He put his umbrella on the table and closed the distance between him and his brother. Taking his left wrist in a firm grip, he turned Sherlock around to face him and then took his right wrist in the same hold. He said quietly but firmly, "Stop this now, Sherlock, your withdrawal is pushing you into a melt-down."
For a second, Sherlock refused to look at Mycroft and just drew ragged breaths; but then he suddenly shoved his brother back hard against the table. Instinctively, Mycroft let go of his brother to stop himself from falling, and in that moment, the tall brunet just burst out of the door and down the stairs, knocking over the agent outside, who slipped on the construction site mud, and went down on one knee. Mycroft recovered his balance and shouted, "Stop him!" but Sherlock had already vanished into the half- built building shell by the time Mycroft got to the door and down the metal stairs. Lestrade followed behind him.
"Damn!" Mycroft's expletive echoed Lestrade's own reaction.
Greg's comment, "Well, that didn't end well, did it?" earned him a withering look from the elder Holmes, who snapped "if you ever have anything more to do with my brother, Lestrade, I swear I will destroy you."
Author's note: *SO6 (Special Operations Six) is the unit of the Metropolitan Police which is responsible for diplomatic protection. SO1 is "Specialist Protection". While most of us think of the DPG as protecting foreign embassy and consulate staff and their families, it also gives the same undercover armed protection to members of the UK government, civil servants and others who are considered to be "at risk" due to the nature of their work, as does SO1. Mycroft would qualify, and Sherlock would be designated as a protected family member. It is highly likely however that Mycroft would prefer his own people to look after Sherlock on a more intensive basis than would be possible under police protection.
