Chapter Eight

Lestrade didn't know exactly when he had fallen back asleep, but the morning had risen before he had and he jumped up, quite startled at waking in a strange bedroom. He was eighteen years old the last time he had been in such a situation, he never really drank much since then, at least he was alone this time. He shuddered. It took a few seconds for him to remember where he was and why.

His shoulders sagged in relief.

He glanced at the bedside clock, it was six o'clock. Lestrade stretched and yawned before quickly covering his mouth. That's right. Mycroft usually woke up at seven. And he was such a sharp man, Lestrade didn't doubt that it would take less than a floorboard squeak to wake him.

He slipped silently out of his bathrobe and into his shirt and trousers before tiptoeing into the kitchen, careful not to make any noise.

Mycroft knew exactly when he had fallen asleep last night, four fifteen a.m. precisely. He opened his eyes and yawned languidly before dragging himself out from under his plush covers. He washed up, and checked his phone for any missed messages before finally noting the peaceful calm of the house. He checked his watch, it was just ten minutes past seven.

Which was strange because Mycroft knew, for a fact, that Lestrade usually woke up at six.

Mycroft strained his ears as he dressed himself. No footsteps marking progress around the house, no breakfast dishes clinking together... nothing. He furrowed his eyebrows and trudged downstairs, shrugging his suit jacket on as he went.

The living room was empty, as was the kitchen, but there were two plates of scrambled eggs and bacon as well as a steaming pot of coffee on the table.

Lestrade was nowhere in sight.

Mycroft let out an exasperated sigh. How had Lestrade managed to wander off in the three hours he was left unsupervised? Maybe he went and got himself kidnapped? ... Or worse. The more Mycroft thought about it, the more serious his outlook on the situation became.

"What's with the grim look so early in the morning?" Mycroft spun around to see Lestrade stumbling through the front door, fumbling with a shopping bag and a metal-wired basket housing a bottle of milk and a container of yogurt.

"Where were you?" Mycroft asked, ignoring Lestrade's greeting question.

"Out buying milk." Lestrade grinned sheepishly. "Although, if I'd known the milkman would be by, I wouldn't have gone through the trouble." he said, holding up the metal basket for inspection.

Mycroft decided not to tell the DI that the milkman didn't come and that the dairy products were placed there by one of Mycroft's men. Instead, he settled for. "Were you gone for long?" Mycroft knew that the milk deliveries were scheduled to be placed sometime within fifteen minutes before Mycroft woke up, Lestrade would've noticed the milk if he had gone out just a few minutes earlier.

"Kind of." Lestrade grinned sheepishly. "I would insert some Baker Street chip-and-PIN machine joke here, but I can't think of anything clever right now so I'll admit... I got lost."

Mycroft stared impassively at the chipper DI for a moment before shaking his head with a slight chuckle. "Too early in the morning, DI Lestrade." he complained half-heartedly.

Lestrade ignored the remark. "Made breakfast, hope you don't mind." He rummaged around the kitchen, opening and closing a few of the cupboards looking for adequate coffee mugs. "Felt a little bad about making food for just myself, didn't know whether you'd drink coffee or tea, so I made a bit of both." he chattered on a-mile-a-minute.

"Too early in the morning." Mycroft repeated, amused. He caught Lestrade by the arm as he passed, grounding him to a stop. "Good morning, DI Lestrade."

Lestrade smiled lopsidedly at him. "Morning, Mister Holmes." They sat down for breakfast.

"You seem very bright this morning." Mycroft prompted after a few bites of bacon. "Might you tell me the reason for it?"

Lestrade blinked at him. "It's a horrible reason." he said a little guiltily, Mycroft motioned for him to continue. "I haven't had a call from work for the last seventy-two hours." Mycroft chuckled behind his cup of tea. "The last time there was such a gap in reports was back when I was still a constable." Lestrade shook his head sheepishly. "It's a little bit unnerving."

"And now you're left with too much excess energy." Mycroft deduced.

"It's strange, not having anything to do." Lestrade grimaced. "But, at the same time, you know your work is just piling up, waiting for you to get back."

"Nothing you can do about it." Mycroft told him sternly, Lestrade fidgeted. "I've heard outlandish stories about your drive to solve cases and get work done, in fact, I think it's only rivaled by Sherlock's incessant quest for mental stimulation. I hope you won't do something foolish like going out looking for them like he does."

Lestrade shook his head far too quickly to be casual. "Course not."

Mycroft nodded. "Of course not."

They sat in silence for a while after that, the only noise being from silverware clinking against glass plates. When he finished his food, Lestrade put his silverware down. "I really shouldn't impose on you any more than neccessary, Mister Holmes." he said. "If your men are done at my flat, I think I'd like to go back there."

Mycroft also put aside his silverware in a gesture that told Lestrade he had his full attention. He leaned his elbows on the table and entwined his fingers, resting his chin on them. For one, Mycroft would be quite pleased to have the house to himself once again, it was quite difficult to work without distraction when there was another person in the premises. But, on the other hand, Mycroft knew that he'd have to find what connected Lestrade so firmly to his case and Lestrade held the key to solving it, whether he knew it or not. And, of course, there was always the lingering doubt that Lestrade would be safe on his own.

Having reached a decision, Mycroft spoke. "I'm sorry, but I don't think that would be possible so soon." Lestrade furrowed his eyebrows worriedly. "Your office down at the Yard was also... rifled through. Your sergeant is currently investigating the case." Lestrade's eyes widened in shock. "I didn't tell you last night, I didn't think it wise. You seemed to be in a bit of shock with all that's happened, no surprise, quite. In fact, you seemed to be handling the attempted assassination and break-in rather well, might I say." Mycroft added in afterthought.

Lestrade slowly wiped his mouth with a napkin, still in shock. "I'm sorry for my deception." Mycroft said to him, quite genuinely.

"But-...how-..." Lestrade seemed at a loss for words. "How did they get into the Yard?" He pushed back his seat and stood up, picking up his suit jacket as he got up.

"And where are you going?" Mycroft asked, not moving from his seat.

"To the Yard, where else?" Lestrade growled. "I should go and see for myself if anything is missing. Has there been any reports on casualties?"

Mycroft stood with such a force that the noise of the chair being pushed back stopped Lestrade in his tracks. "No, nobody was hurt." He narrowed his eyes at Lestrade. "Which is almost a downright miracle, considering the sheer number of people who work there and could've been unfortunate witnesses. Next time, we might not be so lucky." Mycroft took Lestrade's shoulder and pushed him firmly back into his seat. "They're after you, for what reason, I don't know."

"So I should just sit here and hide?" Lestrade spat.

"No, I'm saying it's better for you to sit tight while my men investigate instead of gallivanting off and endangering other civilians." Mycroft responded quietly, hoping that Lestrade would listen to the voice of sanity. "Going out there now is suicidal, you're injured and vulnerable, you're not going to be of any help to anyone if you're dead."

Lestrade buried his face in his hands and took a calming breath. "You're right." He shook his head, looking up at Mycroft. "I hate to say it, but, you are right. Sorry for overreacting."

"People tend to do so sometimes when they are upset." Mycroft remarked.

A strange look came over Lestrade's face. "Do you overreact sometimes?"

Mycroft blinked. "No, I underreact. But it's the same concept." They looked at each other and laughed. "I think it would be safe enough for us to stop by your flat to pick up any neccessities, if you need something."

Lestrade nodded gratefully. "Thanks." Then Mycroft's phone began ringing. Lestrade sent a wary look at it. "Uh, sorry for asking but, on an average, how many emergencies are there in a day?"

Mycroft frowned at his phone as well. "Let us just assume that there would be catastrophic results if I didn't hear of at least one everyday."

He connected the line. "It's me." Hoover announced in a hushed whisper. "I need to talk to you... now."

Mycroft sighed, mouthing an apologetic 'sorry' to Lestrade. "Where?"

"HQ." So it was an immediate threat?

"I'll be right there." Mycroft responded stonily. He dropped his phone into his suit pocket and grabbed his briefcase from where he left it on an unoccupied chair. "Emergency." he said hurriedly to Lestrade. "I don't know when I'll be back. Don't leave the house."

Lestrade stood and followed him to the front door. "So this is what it's like, being on house arrest?" he snarked playfully.

"Don't. Leave." Mycroft repeated in all seriousness. "If there's an emergency, you have my number."

Lestrade raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay! I got it!"

"Good." Mycroft snatched up his umbrella and hooked it over his arm. "See you, then."