Chapter Sixteen

"Mycroft," Lestrade grumbled, lowering his gaze to his feet. "I'm afraid I'm beginning to feel the urge to violently commit murder." he admitted miserably.

Mycroft and Sherlock both raised their eyebrows at him. "And what, pray tell, do you need Mycroft's clothes for?" Sherlock inquired mockingly. "It's not like he hasn't got more."

"It's not exactly the clothes that are important, Sherlock, it's what was in one of the coat pockets." Mycroft responded mildly, but Lestrade could see his hands tremble on his umbrella.

"Well, I suppose it's too late for it." John chipped in, overhearing the conversation from inside the flat. "Sherlock threw it out."

"Excuse me, dearies." Mrs. Hudson interrupted, disappearing into her flat and emmerging with a neatly folded pile of clothes. "I don't suppose these are what you're looking for?" She tutted at Sherlock. "You know I can't let you throw around things that don't belong to you."

Lestrade took the garments from her and rummaged through the coat pockets. His hands froze, fingers closing around a small object. He pulled out a dirty USB drive and handed it to Mycroft who took it and stared in amazement at the landlady.

"Mrs. Hudson, you are an angel!" Lestrade planted a quick kiss on the little lady's cheek.

"Well I'll be damned!" Mycroft chuckled, shaking his head at the turnout. He pocketed the little piece of technology. "I'll have it checked out immediately."

"Yes! How's that for old-fashioned detecting!" Lestrade laughed, clapping Mycroft heartily on the shoulder. And much to Sherlock's surprise, Mycroft showed no aversion to the action. "Well, goodnight, Sherlock, John-..." Lestrade nodded gratefully to Mrs. Hudson. "...Mrs. Hudson, goodnight."

Mycroft gallantly held the door open for Lestrade and closed it behind them. "Crisis narrowly avoided, now all we have left to do if find the people who were after this." Mycroft said, brushing a hand over the pocket that held the data.

"But how are we going to do that?" Lestrade asked. Mycroft looked at him. Lestrade caught the look and groaned. "No-...! You're not serious!" After a moment, or two, of contemplation. "Do you think they'd fall for that?"

"May I take that as a 'yes you will cooperate'?" Mycroft teased, raising an eyebrow.

Lestrade sighed and shook his head. "That's the problem with me! Can't say no to a Holmes!"

He grumbled something grumpily under his breath and stepped away from the flat's front steps. Mycroft smiled, shook his head, and followed.

"So, I take it the case you and Mycroft were investigating has been closed?" John asked the next day when he and Sherlock invaded Lestrade's office.

"Yes, and no. My job is done, Mycroft is still tying up loose ends, though." Lestrade grinned. "And what are you two doing here? I thought I told you, I'm only doing desk work!" he directed at Sherlock.

"Mycroft's men are no longer breathing down your back, are they?" Sherlock noted, looking around.

"Nope! Case closed! I don't have to report back to Mycroft every five minutes." Lestrade put his dull report aside. "So then! Other than an interesting case, you both here for anything?"

Sherlock blinked. "No."

John whacked him on the shoulder. "Sherlock came for the cases, I came to make sure you're alright."

Lestrade threw his hands up and rolled his eyes. "Oh, for Heaven's sakes! Not this again!" John blinked, confused. "I've been through this with nearly the whole Yard, if I wasn't alright someone would've noticed."

"They're not doctors." John pointed out.

"But they've sported their fair share of wounds." Lestrade shot back. "For the last time! I'm alright!" he smiled, though slightly exasperated. "Thanks for the concern, though." He checked his watch. "Hey, you two want to go out for coffee, or something? It's about time I get a bite to eat."

Sherlock shook his head. "I've got to get back home or my brain experiment will corrode." He then waltzed out.

Lestrade and John shared a significant look. "Coffee?" Lestrade offered again.

"Oh, God yes." John rolled his eyes.

"So, what's been going on with you while we've been gone?" John asked as they walked down the street toward the nearby coffee shop. "You and Mycroft seem to be getting along quite nicely."

"Ah, it's the case." Lestrade shook his head. "Sherlock wasn't around to do his dirty work so Mycroft had to chip in the investigation himself."

"Oh? And how is it?" John asked curiously. "Working with Mycroft?"

"Well, like Sherlock, he just knows things before I do, mostly because he's got his minions investigating for him. Although, he doesn't make you feel quite so dumb as Sherlock does. But he has the ability to make you feel very, very small with a simple look." Lestrade and John chuckled. "At least he's got better manners than Sherlock."

"I know the feeling." John rolled his eyes. "They're like polar opposites, sometimes."

"But they're both completely mad, maddening, and absolutely brilliant." Lestrade shook his head. "We're in for a whole lot of trouble, arn't we?"

"Cheers to that." John chuckled. Then he heard a noise behind them and turned. "Lestrade, look out!"

He grabbed Lestrade's sleeve and threw his weight to the side just as a hooded figure lunged at them with a knife. Lestrade and John fell to the pavement with a grunted 'oof'. Lestrade groaned and gripped his upper arm where the knife had inflicted a superficial wound.

John jumped to his feet and took a defensive stance, standing between Lestrade and his assailent. "Don't you think that's quite enough?" Three heads whirled around to see Mycroft exiting a nearby parked car. Then, from out of nowhere, several plain-clothed agents milled out to apprehend the hooded man and wrestled him to the ground.

With a nod from Mycroft, the hood was pulled back. Lestrade's stomache dropped into his feet. "PC Carter." he gasped. "No way."

Mycroft's eyes hardened and he waved to his men. "Take him away."

"Hold still, will you?" John expelled through gritted teeth as he tried to stitch up Lestrade's wound.

Lestrade stilled for a few moments before Mycroft walked into the room. He jumped up to meet the government agent, eliciting an exasperated groan from John. "Mycroft." Lestrade greeted grimly.

"Lestrade." Mycroft inclined his head. "How are your injuries?" he inquired politely.

"They would be better if he could just stay still for one moment and let me finish stitching him up!" John exclaimed, Mycroft sent Lestrade a reprimanding look.

"Dr. Watson, DI Lestrade and I must speak in private, could you leave us for a moment?" Mycroft asked. John threw his hands up and stalked out, rolling his eyes. "Sit down Lestrade." Mycroft said, pushing Lestrade back into his seat and putting his umbrella aside.

"I can't believe that Carter-..." Lestrade shook his head. "He's a good lad, Mycroft."

"And a great many good people kill." Mycroft said patiently, taking John's abandoned needle and began stitching Lestrade's arm up from where John was forced to leave off. "As much as I hate to say it, it's not a rare thing."

"How could he even know about the List?" Lestrade wondered aloud. "Carter's only been a copper for about a year, he's fresh out of the academy."

"I imagine that he's merely the tip of the iceberg. Like you say, it's likely that he didn't know about the List and was being manipulated by someone else." Mycroft briefly stopped his administrations to hand Lestrade a file. "But he did know about you, that fact is undeniable."

Lestrade shot Mycroft a puzzled look and opened the file. "He changed his name, dyed his hair, and didn't stand out much. He wouldn't have gotten your attention." Mycroft added. Sure enough, the picture clipped to the file was of PC Carter, but the name wasn't. "James Rylie. Son of Simon Rylie, a serial killer. You had a great part in arresting him when you were a sergeant. Simon Rylie was convicted and sentenced to death. I can only imagine that James Rylie entered the New Scotland Yard to get close to you... to take revenge." Mycroft expounded.

Lestrade let out a sigh and tossed the file aside, hanging his head. "I don't believe it. In the New Scotland Yard, the one place I thought I had the right to feel completely safe."

Mycroft finished stitching his wound and wrapped a bandage around it. "I know you won't forgive me for this, Lestrade." he said. "But until we find proof telling otherwise, I think it would be prudent to assume that James Rylie wasn't working alone in the Yard."

Lestrade's head jumped up. "You can't seriously think that!" he exclaimed incredulously.

"Maybe I don't think it, maybe I do, it doesn't matter what I think." Mycroft sighed. "The people who were manipulating James Rylie knew, for a fact, that the Scotland Yard didn't bag the List. That's why they thought you might've had it and simply hadn't entered it into the list of evidence. James Rylie wasn't working on that case, there was no way he could've known that."

Lestrade glared. "So you want me to doubt my subordinates? What do you want me to do? Spy on them for you?" He jumped up and began pacing agitatedly.

"If it's at all possible." Mycroft put in before he even knew what he was saying.

"They're my friends, Mycroft!" Lestrade roared. "I trust them!"

"You trusted James Rylie." Mycroft pointed out quietly, inwardly wincing at how cold he sounded.

A frigid, drawn-out silence fell over the two of them. Then Lestrade dropped his head back onto his shoulders and let out a humorless laugh, Mycroft narrowed his eyes at him. "You know," Lestrade said to him quietly. "John and I were just talking about how different you and Sherlock were. We said you two were almost like polar opposites." He looked at Mycroft. "Oh wait, now I'm seeing the similarities."

"If it means that I don't trust people who may wish me harm, I would be happy to be similar to Sherlock in that respect." Mycroft responded slowly.

"And tell me, when was the last time you trusted anybody?" Lestrade sneered.

"I make it a point not to make that mistake." Mycroft shrugged his shoulders carelessly.

"'Mistake'...?" Lestrade let out a slight disbelieving chuckle. "You and your spies, you think you're so clever, you're never wrong, nobody's as smart as you. You're not a god, you know! You're not infallible! Haven't you ever second-guessed yourself? Haven't you ever been so very, very wrong about something, or someone? You're always spying on people, always glancing over your shoulder waiting for someone to stab you in the back. You can't just read someone's files or watch them through the CCTV and say you know them!" Lestrade was only half-aware that he was shouting by now.

His words were meant to hurt, but the government agent didn't show a single sign of being affected. Lestrade knew he was saying horrible things, things he didn't even mean to say, but he was far too angry at Mycroft to care.

"You don't trust people, you don't know them! And if you think I'm going to spy on my friends for you, then you really don't know me either." Lestrade spat. He pressed his lips together and backed off a few paces, urging himself to calm down. "And why would you? Because trusting me would be such a big mistake." There was a hurt look in his eye that mocked Mycroft, daring him to tell the DI otherwise.

Mycroft opened his mouth to respond but his words died in his throat. He hung his head a little and swallowed thickly. He wasn't infallible, Lestrade was certainly proven right about that point. He could easily handle anybody, even Sherlock, saying those things to him. So why were those words so different from Lestrade's lips? What should've been a few simple drops off the duck's beak felt more like a slap to the face, or a cold knife in the gut.

Even more so because he knew that what Lestrade said was true. It terrified him a little, the effect Lestrade was having on him. He was undeniably changing inside. He shared a certain camaraderie with Lestrade and also felt hurt, so much like he'd never felt before living with Lestrade. He irrationally wished for things he'd never realized he wanted. And the mother of all realizations; he didn't want to hurt Lestrade. But his highly-manipulative politician's mentality obviously didn't get the memo.

Mycroft felt something in his chest clearly upset and he underreacted. He had nothing to say in his defense.

"You know what, Mycroft?" Lestrade said coldly, leaning in close to the government agent, entirely unaware of the man's inner turmoil. "You've been a spook for so long, you don't even remember what it's like to be human." He pulled back. "I trust my subordinates because they're my friends, and the closest thing to 'family' that I've got. Do you understand that? So go ahead, carry out your investigations. But don't ask me to do your dirty work for you."

He turned on his heel and stalked out, slamming the door behind him.