Chapter Five

"You're... up." Mycroft blinked blankly, slightly surprised when he ran into Lestrade wandering aimlessly in the hospital lounge a few days later.

"I was shot in the torso, I don't see how that would affect my legs much." Lestrade smiled back sheepishly, shifting his walking aid to a more comfortable position. "I was told I'd make a full recovery." he added as an afterthought. "Bullet caught a lung but missed the heart by an inch, so I'm fine." He grimaced. "Do I give off the feeling of being shorter than I look?"

Mycroft chuckled. "No, but you do slouch frequently." He gestured towards Lestrade's slightly hunched stance with his umbrella. Lestrade glared a little, no real malice in the action.

"Oh no." Lestrade groaned as two men rounded the corner and saw him. "Here come the Gestapo."

Mycroft turned to see his two subordinates looking ashamed. "Did you lose something, gentlemen?" Seeing as the two agents had nothing to say in their own defense, Mycroft waved them off.

Then he turned to Lestrade. "Fancy a cuppa, DI Lestrade?"

Lestrade looked from Mycroft, to his two fast retreating agents, and to the doors like he really wanted to be somewhere else. Then he turned back to Mycroft with a resigned look. "Why not?"

Mycroft led him to a cafe just on the other side of the street from the hospital and they seated themselves near the back of the shop in a cosy corner. Lestrade had to chuckle and shake his head at the blatant cliche. Mycroft merely raised an eyebrow at his amusement but seated himself, nevertheless, back against the wall, facing the windows.

"Do people really do that... consciously?" Lestrade asked him after scooting himself into a chair. "Isn't that a dead give-away?" he asked, gesturing to Mycroft, and to the window.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "Yes, it tells enemies that I'm keeping an eye out for them. I've got other people keeping an eye on me, you understand."

"So, not a security precaution, a counter-surveilence tactic?" Lestrade laughed. "Never quite thought of it that way."

They ordered tea and scones and Lestrade opened the morning paper, keeping an eye on the tabloids for any familiar cases while Mycroft began mentally solving the daily crossword... upside down.

Lestrade patted himself down for a spare pencil and offered it to Mycroft when he noticed the man's questing glances. "You're really doing it upside down?" he asked, handing Mycroft the paper when he finished with it.

Mycroft shrugged his shoulders. "Many people can read upside down writing, all it takes is a little practice."

Lestrade leaned in ever so slightly when he saw the government agent struggling with a word. "Wonga."

Mycroft's eyebrows furrowed in bewilderment. "I beg your pardon?" he asked.

"Wonga." Lestrade repeated. "5 down." Mycroft blinked, nonplussed. "UK slang for 'unspecified amount of money'." Lestrade explained.

Mycroft nodded slowly, filling in the little blank spaces. "Huh, interesting." he mused. "Looks like you do learn new things everyday."

Lestrade leaned back in his seat comfortably. "Surprise."

Mycroft scribbled a few more words into the puzzle. "I hope you don't mind me taking the liberty of arranging you to take a sick leave?" He glanced up at Lestrade.

"Hm?" Lestrade looked at him with wide eyes. He hadn't been listening very attentively. "Oh, the sick leave, yeah. I heard about if from Donovan when she dropped by." He blinked. "Any reason for it, other than me being shot?"

Mycroft fell silent, contemplating what his answer should be. "It's not safe here, right now. I would advise you to take a short vacation, of sorts. Sherlock and John are in Geneva, lovely this time of year."

Lestrade rolled his eyes and threw his hands up. "And where would I go?" was his rhetorical question. "I'm not leaving." he said adamantly.

"It's dangerous here." Mycroft told him, feeling quite like he was conversing with a slightly more civil Sherlock.

"It's not going to be any safer anywhere else." Lestrade argued.

"I really hope you wouldn't try to force my hand." Mycroft said casually, but oh, so threatening.

"What are you going to do, kidnap me?" Lestrade snorted.

"I'm begining to think it's a good idea." Mycroft shot back.

"It isn't." Lestrade told him. "I'll go and complain to your superiors... if you have any. And I'll tell them that you've confined me against my will and that you showed signs of mental instability."

"They won't believe you." Mycroft scoffed.

"You were almost killed several days ago." Lestrade pointed out. "You may be suffering from PTSD. I may not convince anyone of that, but the doubt will be there."

Mycroft leaned forward menancingly. "I could make life very difficult for you, DI Lestrade."

"Is that before or after you've been demoted, or possibly dismissed, Mister Holmes?" Lestrade inclined his head innocently, instinctively dropping the 'Mycroft'.

Mycroft leaned back with a sigh. "You really are a tenacious man, arn't you, DI Lestrade." Lestrade blinked, expression stony. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Lestrade replied.