Chapter Ten

At seven o'clock a.m. sharp, Mycroft Holmes's eyes snapped open and the first thing he did was listen. He hoped that Lestrade hadn't gone out for milk again and gotten lost.

He heard some failed attempts at moving quietly around downstairs and an extra loud bump followed by a hushed curse. It made him smile a bit. Then he heard Lestrade speaking quietly. This piqued his interest. He leapt out of bed quite agilely for someone of his physical stature and glided silently down the stairs.

Lestrade was sitting on the couch in the living room, rubbing his shin, conversing with someone on his cellphone. Who was it?

"No-... Donovan!" Lestrade expelled with a quiet vehemence. Well, that answered his question quickly enough. "No, of course you didn't find me at my flat! I'm not there!" There was a muffled exclamation from the woman on the other end of the line. "I'm at a friend's house." More exasperated remarks from the sergeant. "Let's just say I took your advice and decided not to stay at home all on my lonesome."

Mycroft decided to come out of hiding and leaned against the living room doorframe, arms crossed as he watched the DI amusedly. Lestrade still hadn't noticed him. "'Don't come back until I heal'? Nah, I'm good. It's just that, any hope of being missed at the Yard jumped out of a very high-up window just then." Mycroft smiled a little. "Thanks for the call Donovan, I appreciate it. Don't go slacking off just because I'm not there!" Lestrade chuckled at something Donovan said. "Okay, okay. I'm going to hang up now. Bye."

Lestrade hung up and pocketed his phone, letting his head fall back against the headrest with a warm smile. It was quite rare to see Lestrade smile so. It wasn't a very big smile, though, more of a simple quirk of the lips. In just one moment, all his worry lines and grim expressions seemed to fade into some distant memory. The action cut a few years off his age and he looked quite relaxed... vulnerable, even. Sally Donovan must be quite a special lady.

Mycroft had realized something about himself when he was about twelve years old. It was that he remembered images that impressed him with a great amount of detail even years later. He felt that his would be one of them.

Lestrade turned his head and finally noticed Mycroft. Then all the worry and caution that made Lestrade, Lestrade, returned. Like a gust of wind had simply plucked the soft smile off his face and hurled it out of the window. "Morning, Mister Holmes." he greeted politely with a smile. It was a smile, but it wasn't that smile.

"Good morning." Mycroft nodded back, surprisingly a little disappointed.

"Call from a collegue. I hope I didn't wake you." Lestrade pushed himself up from his seat. "I was just about to go about making breakfast."

"Please, let me." Mycroft offered, strolling past the DI and into the kitchen.

Lestrade's eyes widened. "Didn't know you cooked." He followed nevertheless and began setting the table.

"I am a bachelor, DI Lestrade." Mycroft scoffed, turning his nose up a little. "I do cook from time to time."

After setting the table and making coffee for himself, tea with a slice of lemon for Mycroft, Lestrade sat down awkwardly watching Mycroft trot around the kitchen banging up some breakfast. It was a very domestic scene, Lestrade had to think, all this. And then there was Mycroft, professionally flipping eggs on a pan, puttering around looking for butter for toast, ... in an apron and his silk, navy pyjamas underneath, barefooted on brown linoleum.

"And I still don't have my camera." he remarked, deadpanned.

"A dear happiness." Mycroft responded dryly, self-consciously patting down a wayward strand of hair. "I wouldn't want to ruin my morning negotiating with you to give it up."

They sat in companionable silence as they ate, only speaking to remark on the pleasant weather or to compliment the food. It wasn't very long before they finished and were having after-breakfast tea. "I don't mean to pry." Lestrade had begun, clearing his throat self-consciously. "But is it alright if I ask how you're progressing on your investigation?"

Mycroft stirred the tea in his cup for a moment. "I was removed from the investigation yesterday." he said. "Of course, I wasn't officially part of it from the beginning."

Lestrade lowered his gaze. "Sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about, the investigation is still underway and my acquaintance in MI-5 is leading it, he is a very competent agent." Mycroft smiled.

"Was there some kind of complication?" Lestrade couldn't help but ask concernedly.

Mycroft shook his head. "It doesn't matter." He put his tea down and leaned in toward Lestrade. "But I need to ask you something very important."

Lestrade blinked and nodded mutely, caught off-guard by the sudden change in atmosphere. "What is it?"

"That night, when you came by my house and saved me from drowning, DI Lestrade, do you remember it well?" Mycroft asked earnestly.

"Of course I do." Lestrade responded uneasily.

"And I suppose you called in the police to handle the scene?" Lestrade nodded. "And you bagged evidence?"

"Of course we bagged evidence, we tried to lift prints. Wasn't any, though." Lestrade replied.

"Not very important right now." Mycroft waved the information off and Lestrade thought he saw a vague similarity with Sherlock in the motion. "The evidence that you bagged. What happened to it?"

"We handed everything over to MI-5 when they came to take over the investigation, why?" Lestrade asked.

Mycroft ignored the question. "And the broken objects, you trashed them?"

"No, we bagged them! And then we handed them over to MI-5!" Lestrade was beginning to feel a slight annoyance for the sudden interrogation sprung on him. "What is this about?"

Mycroft pulled back a little. "There was something very, very important missing from the scene." Lestrade raised his eyebrow. "Something that, in the wrong hands, could destroy many lives and years of hard work."

The missing puzzle pieces seemed to be falling into place for Lestrade. "And whoever was after this 'something' thought I had it. That's the reasons behind the break-ins?"

"That would be my guess." Mycroft nodded.

"But I don't have it." Lestrade told him honestly. "I didn't even know about it until now!"

"And I believe you." Mycroft declared firmly. "Unfortunately, MI-5 doesn't share my belief."

Realization dawned on Lestrade. "And that's why they put you off the investigation." He ran a hand over his face. "God, I'm sorry."

"There's no need for apologies." Mycroft waved him off. "In fact, I think if anybody should be apologizing, it should be me." Lestrade raised his eyebrows, waiting for him to continue. "I cannot boast that I fully trusted your innocence from the start." he admitted.

"What made you change your mind?" Lestrade asked.

"Simple psychology." Mycroft smiled. "If you did steal the... 'something', as you so delicately put it, you wouldn't have accepted my invitation to stay here for fear of being found out. I am Sherlock's brother and you are very conscious about the fact. You would've tried to get as far from me as possible." He waved his arm. "Yet, here you are."

Lestrade was silent for a moment, then he smiled slowly. "Here I am." he agreed.

"Lets start over." Mycroft said. "Good morning, my name is Mycroft Holmes. Please, call me Mycroft." He extended his hand.

It took Lestrade only a moment of deliberation to decide to trust the mysterious man. He took Mycroft's hand in a firm grip. "I'm Lestrade, just Lestrade, no DI. I'm off duty."

They shook hands. "Nice to meet you."