A/N: Dear 'Guest'- If you want to be technical (ie. go by the dictionary) Bastarding isn't a word, however it is a colloquialism and Greg felt that it expressed precisely what he wanted it to :)
Chapter Six: Tea and Sympathy with Lady Grey.
The kettle had almost reached the boil by the time Lestrade arrived at Mycroft's Kensington flat. Well, the term 'flat' was used in the very loosest sense; if Lestrade had accidentally been magically planted there he would have been more inclined to believe he was in some sort of palace rather than a 'flat'. As drained as he was, the inspector could not sit still. He wandered around the living room, he neck craned upwards as though transfixed by the high ceiling with its ornate wooden borders and extravagant, yet curiously simple, crystal chandelier, bumping into each and every soft furnishing on his journey.
"What do you want?" Mycroft called from the kitchen as the kettle's switch clicked off.
"What've you got?" Lestrade was engrossed in touching the curtains – antique, velvet ones which just brushed the carpet.
The was an indistinct rattling as Mycroft, standing on tiptoes, rummaged through his tea cupboard and called out each label, "Lady Grey, chamomile, green-tea with jasmine, Oolong, Chai, Lapsang Souchong, Assam Mangalam…"
"I'll just have Tetley's, cheers."
"I don't keep Tetley's."
Lestrade turned away from the curtains and ambled across to the kitchen with a skeptically raised eyebrow. "You don't keep Tetley's?" he repeated as though it was the most absurd thing he had ever heard. "Everyone keeps Tetley's."
"Tetley's is not tea," Mycroft informed him sternly, opting for the round tin of Lady Grey. "It is dust that has been scraped from beneath the sofa and put in little bags. This is good. This will make you feel better."
Lestrade groaned and slumped against one of the many black-marble surfaces, running a despondent hand through his hair. "It's gonna take a lot more than sodding tea, Mycroft."
"Now now," said Mycroft with a soft smile, "don't be blasphemous."
The inspector's response to this was to put his forehead down on the counter and his arms over his head.
With a last empathetic glance towards the shattered man, Mycroft set about preparing the tea in silence.
Tonight was an occasion to break of the packet of Fox's Classics he kept for emergencies.
Lestrade didn't talk about his confrontation with Caroline and Mycroft didn't ask him – being a Holmes certainly had benefits in delicate situations. Lestrade curled up in Mycroft's favourite armchair, with the packet of Fox's in his lap and a large tea pot by his side, and stared mutely at the television screen which was playing the entire series two of Lewis. Mycroft pottered around the flat as though he did not have a heartbroken DI sitting in his living room. It was actually quite nice, he mused as piled up three days' worth of plates on the draining board, having company that didn't demand that he was on ceremony. It was just a shame it wasn't under better circumstances. Perhaps they might do it again in the future... Perhaps.