A/N: So, this is my attempt at explaining a Mycroft/Lestrade friendship, which was supposed to be just about their first meeting and then grew into this, partially because I filter everything through John for my own understanding of the show and my head!canon. This is unbeta'd (not unedited) and unbrit-picked, so I apologize for any errors/inconsistencies. As always, constructive criticism is welcome.

Disclaimer: I have no ownership of any of these characters, and I make no profit.

Bribes

"Yes, I can confirm that we have him in custody, but I cannot make any further comments at this time," Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade said to the tiny group of reporters clustered around him. He turned to leave, working his way to the ambulance where Sherlock Holmes was sitting with John Watson, and leaving Sergeant Donovan to wrangle the press. John had a grimace on his face as he stared ahead and remained stone silent as Sherlock kept chattering on about God knows what.

"You alright, John?" Lestrade asked as he reached his pseudo-friends/business associates. Sherlock continued to talk about the incompetence of Scotland Yard and his irritation with being kept in the back of the ambulance when there was nothing physically wrong with him. "I can have him shut up, if you want," Lestrade added, inclining his silver-haired head towards the consulting detective.

"No, it's fine, Greg. I'm fine, just tired," John answered. He shrugged his shoulders as he rubbed the inside of his wrist against his eyes. "Can we get on with giving our statements? I don't mean to rush, it's just I've got a shift at the surgery tomorrow morning and—"

"Don't worry about it," Lestrade said, turning to scan the crowd and see if anyone was watching them; he'd expected a scowl from Donovan, but instead spotted a sleek black car waiting with a back window rolled down, revealing a rather angular profile. Returning his attention to John he said, "You two come to the station tomorrow and we'll take your statements then. Have a good night, John."

"Yeah, you too, Greg," The blonde answered before nodding.

Upon hearing he could leave, Sherlock jumped to his feet started towards the street and calling over his shoulder, "Enjoy your chat, Lestrade."

John jogged to catch up to his flatmate. "What was that about back there, Sherlock?" he demanded, his exhaustion adding to the confusion in his voice.

Sherlock stopped long enough to give John a withering look before continuing to the main road, his long coat swaying against his calves, and hailing a cab. "Really, John, I thought you'd have figured it out by now. My brother took you off the street and offered you money to spy on me because you were considering going in on a flatshare with me. Do you really think he wouldn't have done the same to the first person at Scotland Yard to accept my help on a case? Lestrade has been in Mycroft's pocket for years." He smirked as he opened the cab door and slid into the back seat. John followed and pulled the door closed behind him.

"I don't know who you bloody well think you are," the rather irate Detective Sergeant said as he stared down the tall man standing across the warehouse, "But I'm not much interested in waiting here all night. What the fuck's this all about?"

A tight smile spread across the man's thin lips as he took a step forward adjusting the umbrella he was leaning on as he did. "It has been brought to my attention," he said in an equally tight tone, "That you have acquiesced to accept the consultation of one, Sherlock Holmes."

"So what if I have?" he responded, scowling as he crossed his arms.

"I have a proposition for you, Sergeant Lestrade. Sherlock Holmes's activities concern me greatly, and I would be willing to compensate you quite nicely if you were to keep me abreast of his involvements in your cases." His jaw tensed as he finished speaking, his pointed nose twitching as though he had caught the scent of decaying vegetation.

Lestrade looked behind himself, glancing about for exits before turning his brown eyes directly on the other man's face and saying, "It's Detective Sergeant." This drew a slight smirk and a nod of apology from the taller man. "And what's to stop me from walking out of here right now? Plenty of thugs have tried to bribe me or muscle me into doing what they wanted."

"I am quite aware, and none of them have been successful," the man stated, reaching into his breast pocket and retrieving a small notebook. Flipping delicately to a page he read, "You've been approached by no fewer than four drug runners in the past two months alone, and you have never accepted any bribes. I find your scruples admirable, Detective Sergeant, otherwise I would not have come to you. I'm not asking for anything other than information." He just as artfully placed the notebook back in his pocket before adjusting his grip upon his umbrella.

Lestrade turned away again and began walking toward the heavy, grey exit door. "I will not be pushed into giving out information about private contractors to a strange man who had me snatched off the street and taken to an empty warehouse. I'm sorry, but goodbye, Mr…" He trailed off, still unaware as to the name of the man who obviously knew more about his police record than should have been possible.

"I'm sorry, Detective Sergeant, I don't believe I was as clear as I should have been in explaining the situation. My concern for Sherlock is genuine, but he insists upon shutting me out which prevents me from fulfilling a rather important promise I made a very long time ago." He twirled the umbrella as he studied the man he had indeed had abducted street and brought to him.

Lestrade cleared his throat as he crossed back, this time coming much closer to the mysterious man—who had the resources to kidnap him—than he had previously stood. "And what kind of promise would that be exactly," he asked, his voice bitter but curious.

The sudden relaxed expression on the man's face startled Lestrade with its openness. He then took a few steps towards the Detective Sergeant, closing even more of the gap that had previously separated the two men and now had become little more than a couple meters as the man answered, "That I would look out for my younger brother, DS Lestrade. That is all I am attempting to do, I'm sorry I did it this way, but I'm sure you've noticed how perceptive Sherlock is, I didn't want to destroy his working relationship by associating myself with you and thus putting him off finishing his work on this case." He grimaced, more to himself than to Lestrade before reaching up to run a hand through his darkish brown hair. "Sherlock is also very stubborn. He refuses all my help and he's rather closed himself off from the family, it has our mother a bit worried."

"Mr. Holmes," Lestrade said, holding his hands up at chest level, as if admitting defeat, "I really don't want to get in the middle of a family dispute. I'll let you know if anything serious happens when Sherlock assists with other cases, but I still don't want your money."

"You have children, don't you, Detective Sergeant," Mr. Holmes said.

Lestrade eyed the elder Holmes warily, "Yes…"

"What if I set up a fund for them, deposited the payments there in order to ease the burden of paying for university or renting a flat once they're grown?" He smiled, "I refuse not to compensate you, if only because you are willing to put up with my brother; few would and even fewer have."

The Detective Sergeant stuck out his hand, and Mr. Holmes grasped it gingerly and shook it.

Greg Lestrade approached the black sedan and the rear door opened for him, allowing the Detective Inspector to slide quickly into the vehicle without his people noticing. Without turning to face the man sitting beside him, he said, "Evening, Mr. Holmes; I admit I haven't got much to report. Sherlock's involvement in this one was pretty tame. No deaths, the crimes weren't even that violent, I think he just wanted to prove he knew how the thieves got in and out." Lestrade smirked as he finished, "And he did prove it, bypassed the security system the same way, left a note for me on a pad in the curator's office, then called and told me to come. Explained the whole thing before dashing off in search of the suspect with John. I don't know how he managed to track him down, but there was some kind of altercation… I'm not getting their statements until tomorrow."

"I know, Greg," Mycroft said as he twirled the handle of his umbrella. "I'm not too worried about Sherlock's activities on this case; I am far more concerned about how he's affecting your workload. I know Sherlock's involvement often leads to more paperwork for you and it puts a great deal of strain on your people."

"But he's always right," Lestrade answered, heaving a sigh as he leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the window. "I hate to admit it, but a few more big cases solved by Sherlock that I somehow get credit for and I'll get that promotion to DCI," he added ruefully.

"There is nothing wrong with properly using your resources to your advantage," the elder Holmes said. He smiled before continuing, letting himself relax against the leather seat, "Besides, you've done quite a bit without the aid of Sherlock Holmes. Your promotion to Detective Inspector came after a case in which my brother had no involvement."

"Yes, but you still won't admit one way or another if you had anything to do with it," Lestrade countered pointedly as he continued to gaze out the window; they had already circled the block five times by his count. His fingers fiddled aimlessly with the strap of his watch. Mycroft remained silent. "Your continued silence screams of confirmation," Lestrade said.

Mycroft sighed, and then he spoke, "I maintain that you will make this next promotion on your own, Greg. You work with Sherlock too often to remember that you are in fact one of the best men in the CID. If Sherlock thought you really were an idiot he would not deign to work with you and you know it." His tone became decidedly more posh as he said this, frustration making him more articulate rather than less. They sat in silence for a moment, neither willing to speak first after Mycroft's near outburst.

Then, the car pulled to a stop in the exact spot where it had picked Lestrade up, and Mycroft turned to the Detective Inspector. "It appears we are out of time for tonight, Greg. Congratulations on solving the case."

"See you Thursday," he said as he pushed open the door and exited the vehicle, striding purposefully back to his people, ready for a long night of questioning and paperwork.

"Let me get this straight," John said as their cab pulled up outside 221 B—the ride had been silent since Sherlock was absorbed in something on his phone and completely ignoring John—no longer able to pull back his frustration, confusion, or irritation, "Mycroft has been paying Lestrade for the exact information he offered to pay me for the day we moved in together, and has been doing so for years."

"That pretty much sums it up," Sherlock said, looking up from his mobile as he extracted his key from his pocket to unlock their front door. "Really, John it's not that difficult. I thought you would have realized before now; my god, doesn't Lestrade ever talk about Mycroft when the two of you go out to the pub on Sundays to watch football and compare Sherlock-is-so-strange stories?"

"Well, yes, but that's because they're friends," John said as he followed Sherlock into the flat, taking the stairs two at a time in order to catch up to the taller man. "They meet every week, do the things friends do, which I know you don't always think about since you aren't a friends kind of guy." In response, Sherlock flopped onto the sofa with a huff, still wearing his coat which pulled tight around his chest the way he would with his blue dressing gown.

"You're my friend, John," Sherlock said, his voice tight, obviously hurt. But he still moved his feet automatically when John came over to sit on the sofa with him.

"I am, but most people have more friends than their flatmate, and they do stuff with them without the prospect of payment, or in your case interesting work, to tempt them." John sighed when Sherlock's feet ended up on his lap as the consulting detective curled in on himself. "So, did you ever think that maybe Greg and Mycroft are just friends and that anything Greg says about you is entirely because he wants to share pertinent information with a friend about a friend?" John asked, a bit baffled that Sherlock would close off so reasonable a conclusion.

"No," Sherlock said, his statement a bit muffled by the sofa cushion.

"Why not?" John pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, almost too tired to even have this conversation.

"Because Mycroft told me about their arrangement," he answered. John didn't respond, but he pushed Sherlock's feet off his lap with more force than necessary before going to up to bed.