UPDATED 5/25/2014 beta'd by author.

Disclaimer: I do not own BBC's Sherlock or any of the characters based off of Sir Conan Doyle's most excellent work. I make absolutely no money off of this.

Warnings: Again, I'm a flowery boi. I like men liking men. I also like women liking women. In bloody fact, I don't give a flying flip who you fancy. Nothing fanciful in this chapter except for Mycroft's tie.

"Mr. Holmes! Fancy seeing you here. What brings you about to the crime scene this evening? Need me t' get Sherlock? He's running about 'round here somewhere..."

"No, that will be unnecessary Detective. I shall simply wait here until he notices me. Though I highly doubt he has not already. You wouldn't have called him in, anyway, 'lest there was something so important that you needed his services," Mycroft interjected abruptly.

Not two minutes out of the car and the government official had been flagged down by DI Lestrade just before the edge of the police tape. The man had been speaking with three or four other detectives; subordinates most likely. He must have been facing the direction away from the rest of the locale towards their audience to have immediately noticed Mycroft's arrival. It was uncanny how Lestrade always appeared for a chat whenever he deigned to visit Sherlock at his workplace. Mycroft generally paid its regularity no mind, for the official more than enjoyed the man's company.

Brown eyes regarded him warmly. Abruptly, Mycroft felt his internal temperature rise and his heartbeat become sporadic ever so slightly. Even in this comfortable evening air was he to have another bout of symptoms? How thoroughly cumbersome that would be. Mycroft could only hope that the inspector wouldn't note it. It'd be too much for this man, even more than Sherlock, to notice his current inability to function normally.

"How unusual it is to find a Holmes interested in the convenience of others," Lestrade said jokingly, not unkindly, though he quickly covered any insult with, "As a friend of Sherlock's, I find it refreshing to know not all geniuses are quite to his flavor of social interactions."

"Genii, but you are most correct. For all my brother's uncanny ability he often misses the smallest of things. More often than not they go by the name of courtesy and tact," Mycroft reproved dryly, spinning the shaft of his favorite umbrella betwixt his palms. When the detective laughed so wholeheartedly like that, Mycroft found little he could do with himself but fiddle with anything in his hands or try very hard to compose his features to a more dignified median. He'd broken a pair of umbrellas because of it.

It must be nice to feel comfortable with showing one's emotions so readily, he always thought, a little in wonder at the detective.

Even if the younger Holmes regularly insulted the whole of New Scotland Yard, DI Lestrade was never among them. He had somehow gained the respect of both the Holmes genii. Not that Sherlock would ever tell the man to his face, but he'd more than once stated aloud that Gregory Lestrade was by far the most competent in all of the country's police forces. It was the highest assessment Mycroft's brother had given anyone to date. The DI was nowhere near their intellectual class, yet the man more than made up for the difference with wit and social intelligence neither of them possessed.

Gregory Lestrade was wasted the police force, but loved it too much to give it up for another division. Mycroft had tried.

"You could say that again. But it would be a loss of good entertainment, I think, if he was anything but himself. Keeps my people on their toes. That Dr. Watson's mellowed him out quite a bit though, so I believe there is hope yet," the detective replied with a cheeky grin still stretching his face into a most agreeable, youthful expression.

Though the police force had turned DI Lestrade's hair prematurely grey, for he wasn't that old, it had also kept him surprisingly fit after all these years. Mycroft admitted to being far more conscious of his appearance after being acquainted with the serviceman. Sherlock thought it was their mother that had finally convinced his brother to take better care of his once equally fit figure, but secretly, it had been the elder detective's influence.

Lestrade had never said anything or indicated any wish for the government official to take more stock into his health. It wasn't in the man's character to talk about something so personal. Besides, the two of them hadn't spoken more than the occasional word over the years after an introduction very similar to the one Dr. Watson received a few months ago.

Gregory didn't know what Mycroft did besides working for the government (in some suspected high-ranking position). The man didn't even know how the elder Holmes took his tea, yet somehow the two of them could be considered more than acquaintances by their standards. It had been Gregory who said the word friend first to a passing DI at a crime scene similar to this one two years ago. It was said so nonchalantly, that he had a moment of confusion before a warmth he'd never felt before burst in his chest. The Holmes, sadly more often than not, rarely ever had anyone by such an intimate title.

Mycroft caught himself lost in his memories and startled back to the present. How long had he been in his head? Had he been too silent? What did the detective think? How entirely disconcerting! Rapidly, the man's eyes blinked, trying to refocus on what was in front of him. Lestrade had turned his head away from facing him toward his right at some point, and Mycroft's gaze followed.

But only after perusing the strong column of the detective's exposed neck.

"Ah, there's your errant brother now. Probably coming over to cause a ruckus. I'd ask you to keep whatever you're 'bout to talk about from inciting him to blow up a third of the crime scene, again," DI Lestrade reproved rather seriously, still looking towards the striding figure of Sherlock and the swiftly following form of one Dr. Watson decked out in proper gear. If it weren't for the smile dancing on the man's lips Mycroft would have felt rather chastised by the statement.

"Again, it was nothing I had said to have caused the incident. Even so, you were able to solve the case with little to no harm towards anyone but the guilty party," Mycroft replied smoothly with a sniff. He leaned poised once more on the tip of his umbrella, unconsciously fiddling with his cuffs.

Lestrade arrested him from his movements with a raised brow, clearly indicating his opinion. Of course the seriousness of the effect was lost by means of the smirk tugging at the corners of the inspector's firm mouth. The dancing humor of those auburn eyes reminded Mycroft of how easily the detective moved about in the world. It'd be so simple for a man like that to meet others, converse naturally with strangers, and go to painfully normal places like pubs or sporting events. He was also wildly popular with women.

Gregory gingerly stepped back then, making room for his brother's willowy figure and his harangued flatmate. It took such a movement for the elder Holmes to realize how very close the detective and he had been standing. For all that time they'd been nary a half meter away from one another. The DI didn't seem to take notice himself; or didn't care to by his body language.

Such proximities must be normal for the man who has many friends and colleagues. This was not the case at all for Mycroft, and he was caught off guard by how easily his defenses had allowed such a variable to become negligent. Yet, the moment had been lost for investigation.

"You know, Detective, I am able read lips. There is hardly anything explosive at this location. So even should my enemy incite me, never fear, nothing useful will be damaged," Sherlock huffed, most definitely irritated as he made a show of crossing his arms about in front. Watson beside him simply rolled his eyes heavenward, smiling a greeting towards the elder Holmes. Dr. Watson was also steadily becoming someone that Mycroft found himself readily speaking to.

Even if it was only to get around his brother's childish antics.

That hearty laughter was drawn from the detective once more, reverberating the expanse of the street along with the rest of the noises of the city. Lestrade smacked the affronted younger Holmes' shoulder merrily before he looked to separate from their circular grouping. Mycroft found himself reluctant to see the man go.

"I'll leave you three to get back to work. I'm sure Donovan has gotten back with the teams checking the back alleys. Mr. Holmes, take care of yourself. I'll look forward to speaking with you again," the man said jovially over his shoulder with a wave as he walked away. Mycroft watched the receding figure a second longer than necessary.

"So what brings you about to pollute my mental clarity this evening?" Sherlock asked, a look in his eye telling Mycroft he'd noticed what his brother had. Another look, this one up and down his brother's form, and Sherlock silently indicated he'd noticed something else off with Mycroft today.

Blast it all.

AN: So this is turning out to be rather fun to write. The chapters keep getting longer though. *sigh* But this is normal for someone like myself. I could go on for a while longer with Mycroft's perspective, but I decided it would be best to stop there and force myself to turn back to another person's perspective.

R&R as always~!