Chapter Fourteen
"Sir!" Lestrade's head jumped up at his sergeant's call.
"What is it, Donovan?" he asked, putting down his pen and wearily shaking out his tired wrist.
Donovan entered his office and waved a file aloft. "The list of evidence taken from the scene of the Holmes case, you asked for it?"
Lestrade eagerly took the file from her with a quick and sincere thanks. He looked over the scrawled list and frowned. House keys, broken vase fragments, a fire poker, a glass paper weight... the list went on. "This is everything?" he asked, Donovan nodded. Now, just need to cross check it with all the evidence that MI-5 has and extrapolate. He pushed himself out of his seat and grabbed his suit jacket.
"Going somewhere?" Donovan asked when he saw the movement.
"I need air." Lestrade told her.
"Right after you recieve a list of evidence from a case that isn't under our jurisdiction anymore?" Donovan raised an eyebrow. At Lestrade's pointed look, she shrugged her shoulders. "Right, I didn't see anything."
"Thanks." Lestrade grinned and left the office.
He exited the building and looked around, quickly spotting what he was looking for. He strolled casually across the street and a short way down the road to knock on the window of a surreptitious white van. The window rolled open a moment later. "What can I do for you, mate?" The driver, a young man with a bland expression, asked.
"Uh, hello. I'm DI Lestrade." Lestrade handed the driver the file. "Give that to the head of your investigation, tell him - or her, that Mister Holmes is awaiting some kind of response from him-... or her." Lestrade grimaced a little. "See you, then."
And he walked back into the Yard.
MI-5 response negative. All evidence bagged by New Scotland Yard accounted for, but no sign of the 'something' in question. -MH Lestrade groaned at the text message on his phone.
John turned from Sherlock, who was studying details on a case, to him. "Something the matter?" he asked concernedly.
"No, no everything is fine." Lestrade shook his head as he keyed in a reply to Mycroft. Maybe it would help if I knew what the 'something' is! -Lestrade
"Kidnapper is the mother. Elementary, not worth my time." Sherlock sighed, throwing the file back on Lestrade's desk. "Don't you have any more interesting cases?"
"No, if you wanted the serial killer cases, you should drop by Dimmock's." Lestrade told him absently as he recieved another text from Mycroft. That is of national security! -MH
"Why DI Dimmock? Don't you always get the interesting cases?" Sherlock whined.
"I got shot." Lestrade responded blandly. "Exactly what does your brother do?"
John's eyes bulged. "Wait-! You got shot?"
"Mycroft says he holds a minor position in the government but, truth be told, he probably owns every inch of it, save the crown." Sherlock responded over John's worried splutterings, shrugging his shoulders. "Wouldn't suit him, anyway."
"Ah, thought so." Lestrade nodded, typing another response to Mycroft. As a man who holds a 'minor position in the government', I'm sure you can work something out. I'm not against helping your investigation, but I draw the line at you expecting me to find something without telling me what I'm looking for. -Lestrade
"No-... hold on, you got shot!" John persisted.
"Yes, in the torso, punctured left lung, I take it?" Sherlock looked at Lestrade.
"Uh, yeah. Missed the heart, no worries." Lestrade nodded distractedly. I must tell you that you are asking far too much of me. -MH
John looked positively appalled. "'No worries'?"
"That's what he said, I do hope you're not hard of hearing, because then I'll have to get my skull back from Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"Can't have that, please not that, Sherlock." Lestrade sent an exasperated look at the consulting detective. I vaguely remember you calling me 'tenacious' once. -Lestrade
"Well, that's not important." Sherlock waved him off. "What is important are the cases!"
"I told you! I got shot and restricted to desk-work." Lestrade shot back. "I'm not getting the homicides!"
"Are you alright, Lestrade?" John asked worriedly like any good doctor. "Are you sure it's fine to be back in the office?"
"Yes, John, I'm fine." Lestrade nodded curtly.
"Well then give me your case!" Sherlock demanded childishly.
Finally, the verbal commotion in the room died down. Lestrade blinked at Sherlock. "'My case'? You've went through all of my cases already and turned down every single one of them!"
"Then, explain why you've been texting Mycroft for the last ten minutes?" Sherlock challenged.
"Oh, for God's sakes! Shut up! All of you!" The three men in Lestrade's office jumped at Donovan's yell. "Quit jabbering your mouthes off! And you-...!" She stomped into the office and jabbed a finger into Sherlock's chest. "Lay off Lestrade! He's only been back in the office for three days!"
"Three days..! You're serious?" John gasped.
"You're repeating everything everyone says, John, do try harder to keep up." Sherlock rolled his eyes at him.
"Yeah, that's nice, and all." Lestrade said, getting up and taking his coat as he read his newly recieved text. "I'm leaving the office to you Donovan."
"'Need some air', again?" Donovan crossed her arms. "Seriously, no Holmes could ever have a good effect on anybody."
"No, probably not." Lestrade smiled and left the office. And I stand by my original impression of you. I'll be waiting outside. -MH
Lestrade jogged outside to the waiting black vehicle and tapped on a tinted passenger window. The window opened and Mycroft poked his head out. "Not a word. Inside."
Lestrade stepped back to let the door open and hopped in as Mycroft scooted to the other side to make room for him. "So what is it?" Lestrade asked, listening to the car idling on the side of the street.
"You understand that the information I give you here cannot be passed on to another soul, yes?" Mycroft asked, Lestrade nodded wordlessly. "It's a NOC list." Mycroft told him after a brief pause.
"A NOC list?" Lestrade parroted.
"Yes, some of our freelance undercover agents approached us with the condition that, they will work as our informants but if they are caught, the government cannot turn a blind eye and wash its hands of them. They wanted us to provide them proof that they are working under our orders. The group of agents are listed on that NOC list. Anyone who gets their hands on the list will know the names of every single last one of them." Mycroft explained. "Our agents are scattered across the globe. Should the list fall into the wrong hands and become publicly exposed, World War III won't come close to describing the catastrophic results impending."
Lestrade pressed his lips into a thin line grimly. "Wow, it's that serious?"
"I think it's a bit more than 'that serious', Lestrade." Mycroft sighed, suddenly looking a few years older. "Someone knows about the list and is looking for it. We have to find it before they do."
Lestrade nodded soberly. "The list, is it written on paper? Is it on a hard disk? USB?"
Mycroft frowned almost miserably. "That's the problem." he said. "I was informed that the list was to be sent to my abode, but when I got there..." He threw his hands into the air. "Well the rest, as they say, is history!"
"So you were almost killed before you even got the chance to make sure the list arrived safely?" Lestrade clarified, Mycroft nodded, quite embarrassed. "Great."
"We are both looking for something we know the grave importance of, but don't know in what form it is in." he frowned.
"Sorry-...wait, who did you say was the list being sent from? If we asked them, they'd be able to tell us, wouldn't they?" Lestrade pointed out.
"A very good idea, though, I've already tried that. The list was sent directly from one of the agents who's name is on the list. Last we heard from him, he was dropped into Afghasnistan and we lost contact."
"Lovely, um..." Lestrade thought for a moment. "The agent's mates? Have you asked them?" he asked.
Mycroft merely raised an eyebrow at him. "National security, remember? I don't think our agent would've told anybody about it."
Lestrade sighed. "I'm running out of ideas."
Mycroft mirrored his expression. "That makes two of us."
"Sherlock?" Lestrade suggested.
"Keep him out of it by all means possible." Mycroft groaned. "Give Sherlock a glass house and he'd be the first to throw stones. Him being on the case is the last thing I want."