"No, no, I said to send the files to—YEAH to ME not to Brie." Greg Lestrade was on his mobile, pacing around his office at the New Scotland Yard, arguing with someone about some important papers he needed for a case. "Just—no, YOU call Brie and YOU tell him—oh for fu-…" He glared out of his window as the person on the other line argued that they were too busy to correct the error and that he would have to call Brie himself. He finally got done with the incompetence that he just shouted, "Fine, I will call him myself, bloody hell!" and hung up. He gripped his phone in his hand, controlling the urge to throw it through the window.

"Bad day?" a voice inquired from behind him. He turned to see his partner, Sally Donovan, standing in the doorway. She was leaning in the frame, arms crossed, with an expression of slight cockiness on her face. She has stated earlier that the guys down in evidence were all idiots and had offered to retrieved the files herself, but Lestrade, being the man he is, wouldn't let her go out of her way to do that and said that it would be fine. Obviously, she was right; they were all morons.

"Could you call Brie and see if he'll send me those files?" Lestrade asked. Donovan nodded and pulled the door shut behind her as she left.

Lestrade sighed and dropped into his chair, reaching for his mug. He drained the rest of his coffee and made a small noise of discontent, making a mental note to go get more soon. Rifling through the papers on his desk, he happened upon a small business card. His fingers bumped over the silver 'M'. He and the elder Holmes brother had had a few meetings since he had received the card and they were making some good progress in the case. They stared ruling people out after keeping an eye on them for a while. All the rest are under discrete surveillance. The informant had started calling again, each day at 2:30pm on the dot, but it was just the same information that they had already received. They had tried getting a trace on the location of the caller but the signal was just bounced around the globe each time.

Lestrade stood and turned back to his window. It was a dreary day, even cloudier than usual. The rain had let up but the sky was still darkly overcast.

A rap on the door made the DI start slightly. "Thanks Donovan, I owe y-" he started to say but, upon turning around, found Mycroft Holmes standing there instead. "Oh, Mycroft," Lestrade balked, surprised.

"Yes, Mycroft," Mycroft stated, walking into the office and shutting the door. His coat was folded over his right arm with his umbrella (that Lestrade noticed he never was seen without) hanging from his elbow. In his hand, he held a paper cup carrier with two lidded cups nestled into it. Setting the carrier on Lestrade's cluttered desk, he leaned his umbrella against the wall and hung his coat next to Lestrade's on the coat rack Lestrade had brought in because he was tired of his coat still being damp from being just slung over the back of his chair.

Lestrade checked his phone to see if he had a missed call from Mycroft. It wasn't like the younger man to just show up. He always gave some sort of notice. There wasn't a missed call or a text. He slid his phone back into his pocket. It was strange indeed.

Mycroft pulled a cup out of the holder and handed it to Lestrade. "Coffee, two sugars, no milk."

Lestrade blinked but too the cup. "Y-yeah, thanks." He took a long drink. It was, in fact, exactly how he likes it. He nodded and set the cup down. He cleared up some of the mess on his desk as Mycroft takes a seat in one of the chairs across from Lestrade. Lestrade finally moved away most of the unnecessary things from the top of his desk and found the files on the conspiracy case. "Shall we?"

Mycroft nodded and took out his phone. He kept as much of the information on it as possible. Files can be lost but his phone never leaves his sight.

"Donovan is getting more for me right now," Lestrade said as he spread the files out on his desk. "We have some new information. I was actually planning on calling you."

"New information? I thought the 'informant' had been repeating the same information."

A sharp tap on the door signaled Donovan's return. "I got the files from Brie, boss and let me tell you, he's a right—" She stopped talking once she saw who else was in the room. Lestrade just stared at her as her eyes flicked back and forth between the gentleman facing away from her and her boss.

Lestrade rolled his eyes and held his hand out. "Donovan, the file."

Donovan snapped out of it and reached around Mycroft to hand Lestrade the packet of papers. She then turned and walked straight out of the office, shutting the door behind her a bit too quickly, causing it to slam. Lestrade winced. His office phone rang and he sighed angrily and glared at the display. It was Donovan.

"What?" Lestrade answered.

"Was that Mycroft? Mycroft Holmes?"

Lestrade was getting more annoyed by the second. He shrugged at Mycroft and mouthed an 'I'm sorry'. Mycroft smiled and waved his hand in the air like he didn't mind when, in truth, he wanted to get on with this meeting.

"Yes, it is." Lestrade said, letting his anger creep into his tone.

Donovan paused. "As in the Freak's brother, Mycroft Holmes?"

"Don't call him that. And yes, Donovan. Get back to work."

"But wh-"

Lestrade hung up the line, pressing on his right temple where he felt a headache creeping on. He knew that rumors were going to spread now but, for some reason, he didn't really care. Let them say what they want.

And like he was reading Lestrade's mind, Mycroft spoke. "They surely will talk."

Lestrade glared at Mycroft but couldn't be angry at the man. He dropped his gazed and laughed under his breath. "Yeah, so what? Let them."

Mycroft shifted in his chair, reaching for his paper cup. He took a sip and grimaced. "Please do me the kindness and never allow me to get my tea from a street vendor again, Gregory," he said with a tone of disgust. "Horrid." He set the cup next to the rubbish bin. Taking the file from Lestrade's desk, he flipped it open and began to read.

Lestrade took another sip from his own cup and flipped open another one. He peered at the list of dwindling suspects. They had started with over 20 names but over the last month or so had ruled out over half of them. He reads the names again and noticed something.

"Mycroft? Who is Liam McClain?"

Mycroft's brow furrowed and he sat back in his chair. "I do not recognise the name."

Lestrade handed the folder over his desk. "Liam McClain, age 47, in the Foreign Office (FCO services, in fact), and no surveillance has been ordered for him yet." He tapped his ballpoint pen against his bottom lip as he thought. "How did we miss this? A man, who works directly with the Foreign Office and has the access to the GSAE, has access to IL4 levels, and he isn't being watched?"

Mycroft knew that the Government Secure Application Environment was still being developed but it was in use. The cloud computing program held much of the country's secured data and the fact that one of the developers was on the suspect list concerned him. This man had access to everything stored on the cloud, from simple pie graphs to entire file sets of information and data that could be used against them in the wake of war or, in this instance, an imminent overthrow. This was most certainly concerning.

Mycroft dialed a number on his phone and held it to his ear. "Yes. New target. Highest priority. Liam McClain. Yes. Now," and he hung up. "I have pushed him to the top of the watch list." He set the file back on Lestrade's desk and leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees and tapping his forehead with the edge of his phone. "Good observation, Gregory," he mumbled.

Lestrade glanced up from the paper in his hand. "Hmm?" He wasn't sure if he had heard correctly, but it sounded as if a Holmes was complimenting him. Mycroft had his nose buried in another file, scanning the pages swiftly. Lestrade just shook his head and took another long sip of his coffee.

The two men studied the documents and the files closely for the next four hours, only stopping for Lestrade to run for more coffee. He had found an electric kettle for in the break room and had escorted the taller man through the office, avoiding the stares and whispers.

It wasn't surprising when the younger man in question pulled a small, pocket-sized tin of tea out to use with the cracked mug Lestrade had cleaned out in the break room sink. He had turned to find Mycroft waiting patiently with his own infuser and tea at the ready.

Lestrade set the cup on the counter and stepped aside so Mycroft could make his own tea. He reached for the milk and sugar Lestrade had set out after his tea had steeped, pulling out the infuser.

"Do you always carry around-" Lestrade started to ask.

Mycroft interrupted. "Yes," he simply stated before taking a small sip of his tea and sighing. "Much better. Delightfully so," Mycroft murmured, gathering his things and heading back to Lestrade's office. Lestrade grabbed his own mug and hurried after the long-legged man.

Once settled back in the office, more file studying ensued, brief conversations breaking the long but comfortable silences.

Finally, as the sky began to darken, Mycroft shut the file he had just skimmed through and clicked his pen. Four new pages of observations he had scripted were torn from the legal pad on his lap and paper clipped to the file's inner cover. Lestrade did the same with the five he had recorded. This was their system for knowing where they left off with their investigation.

Mycroft opened his mouth to speak when a soft ding! was heard sounding from his phone. He blinked and pulled the sleek black mobile out of his pocket and peered at the display. Caller Unknown. Mycroft blinked yet again, confused and slightly perturbed. Who would have his personal number and be able to block their own number, especially with all of his decryptions at play on the device? He ignored the call and slid the phone back into his pocket. He would deal with this matter another time.

Lestrade stood and reached his arms tall above his head, starching and making a small noise in his throat. Mycroft couldn't help but stare. The man in front of him was dangerously handsome and, lately, Mycroft had been feeling closer to the detective inspector, quite unusual for a man like him. He tried to remain cold and lock away any unwarranted emotions that had found their way into his thoughts. But… with Lestrade… he felt those feelings of want and, frankly, need have been made more prevalent every meeting.

But, of course, the posh man would never say those things out loud. He was quite sure that the silver-haired man wasn't interested in the least. Mycroft stood averted his eyes as Lestrade ran a hand through his shining grey hair. Then, the older man surprised Mycroft.

"Would you, eh, want to grab a bite to eat?" Lestrade asked, his brown eyes locked onto Mycroft's own frigidly blue ones, his left hand still cupping the back of his own neck, his right balled in a fist and resting on his hip.

Mycroft cocked an eyebrow, not expecting such a proposal in the least from Lestrade. He stood and surprised himself by nodding, even smiling at the hopeful man. "I believe I would, Detective Inspector."

Lestrade looked a bit stunned himself. "Really?" He coughed into his closed fist and glanced about the room. He hadn't been expecting Mycroft to actually say yes. He hadn't planned that far ahead. "Okay, fish and chips sound alright?" He mentally kicked himself. Mycroft was probably used to a proper sit-down restaurant with wait staff and that 200 year old whiskey on tap.

Inwardly, Mycroft had cringed slightly. It wasn't an ideal meal, no. But… spending it with DI Lestrade would make it worth it. He nodded. "That would be lovely."