Operating Secret

Lestrade stepped forward on the porch and rang the doorbell a third time, then stepped back with a huff. A false lead, apparently – either the tip had been a hoax or his informant had backed out at the last second, leaving Lestrade alone on the doorstep of an abandoned house in the middle of the night when he really should have been in bed.

Shaking his head, the DI turned away from the door and descended the steps toward his squad car.

"Inspector Lestrade."

He whirled, finding himself face to face with a suit-clad, umbrella-wielding figure who definitely had not been there a moment before. He frowned, abruptly realizing just how empty the area was. "Who are you?"

"No one of importance," the man replied smoothly, swinging his umbrella forward to meet the pavement with a faint click.

"Really." Lestrade's tone was dry.

"Someone who handles information."

Lestrade's eyes widened slightly and he straightened. "You're the man who called in the tip."

"In exchange for certain information, yes."

His eyes narrowed. "What information?"

"What is your relation to a man named Sherlock Holmes?"

"Excuse me?" Lestrade's tone was disbelieving. Who did this man think he was?

"I believe you heard the question," the stranger replied mildly.

"A colleague."

The man raised a patronizing eyebrow.

"Technically a police consultant. Who are you?"

"You've already stated that question," the man reminded him dryly.

Lestrade frowned. He'd come here for a tip, not to be interrogated by a stranger who wanted information he wasn't about to hand out. "What is the point of this?"

"If you intend to continue your relationship with Sherlock Holmes, perhaps an exchange of information for monetary values is in order."

Lestrade felt his temper flare up in indignation. "You're trying to bribe me?!"

The DI scowled and reached for his handcuffs. Better to bring the man in and have him questioned in one of the rooms at the Yard... He stepped forward and snapped them onto the man's left wrist and a nearby bike rack, earning a slightly raised eyebrow, then pulled out his cell phone, taking a cautious step backward.

A moment later, he stared as the bars on his phone smoothly blinked down from three to zero.

The suit-clad stranger stood calmly, watching him with an expression which might have been mild amusement, and Lestrade glared at him. "What are you playing at?"

"I would suggest not mentioning this encounter to your employers. Somehow I doubt they would respond favorably to a conflict with the British government." The umbrella drew a half-circle on the pavement between them, then tapped lightly. "None of this will end up in your records or the security systems, and I was never here. You're looking for a man named Ean Guthridge, forty-three years of age with a job in local contracting. I believe that is enough to work on." He calmly disengaged his handcuffs and handed them to the dumbfounded Inspector, then turned and walked away into the shadows.

"Wait!" Lestrade shouted after him. There was no response.

After a moment, he glanced back down at his phone as the bars filled in again from zero to three, blinking innocently up at his bewildered expression.


Author's note: Okay, this turned out way different than I expected. I blame Mycroft.