Chapter 4

The man inside waiting for him was tall and slender. His brownish hair lay smooth and perfect on his head, and he was dressed in a perfectly fitting grey suit and black shoes that looked completely new. Everything about this man seemed impeccable. He was leaning on a pinkish umbrella, and he watched Greg curiously as he entered the door and made his way towards the man, his every step echoing in the empty hall. The man looked intimidating, yet Greg wasn't intimidated at all. He stopped a few meters away, which seemed to amuse the man. The silence stretched, and Greg was determined not to be the one to break it. After a while, the man spoke.

"I am very glad that you decided to join me". Greg raised his eyebrows. It hadn't really been a choice. "I'm sorry about this choice of location, but one cannot be careful enough these days, or what do you say, Detective Inspector?" His voice was very soft, but he spoke like someone who was used to receive attention.

"Who are you?" Greg asked.

"We are not here to talk about me. We are here to talk about you". He pointed at Greg with his umbrella. Greg automatically took a step back. "I have nothing to say, I don't know who you are."

"You don't have to know who I am, the most important thing is that I know who you are."

Greg narrowed his eyes. "What the hell do you want?"

"There is no need to be impolite. I only want to ask you a question, and I want to you answer it truthfully." Greg instinctively knew that this was a man one did not lie to. "A question?" he repeated. "What question?"

"I will only ask you once, and I will not repeat myself." The man paused, then spoke, pronouncing every word carefully. "What are your intentions with Sherlock Holmes?"

"My intentions?" Greg huffed, having expected something completely different, and instead felt like he was taking Sherlock out for a date and this man was having a hurt-him-and-I-kill-you-speech."My intentions? What are you, his big brother?"

"Yes." The man said simply, his eyes never leaving Greg. "My name is Mycroft Holmes. Sherlock Holmes is my younger brother."

"Oh". It was all Greg could say because frankly, it had caught him very much by surprise. The man smirked, and suddenly the family resemblance was uncanny. "Oh" he said again, for no reason at all.

"Now I answered your question, I think it is time for you to answer mine." Mycroft Holmes said.

"Did you really bring me all the way here to ask me that? Couldn't you just have, I don't know, called me?"

Mycroft said nothing, which annoyed Greg. How could this man be so neutral?

"Fine. My intentions with Sherlock are none really. Or well, I sort of hired him as a consulting detective. No, he actually hired himself more or less. Anyway, we work together. I think."

"Well that do sounds like Sherlock." Mycroft said, and Greg immediately wondered what it was like to know Sherlock Holmes. He was curious to how these two men could seem so alike yet so different from each other. Where Sherlock was like a whirlwind, his brother seemed stable as a rock. Had they grown up together? What had their childhood been like? Had they played together? No, Greg couldn't even imagine a world where Sherlock and the cold man in front of him were children, even less so a world where they played. Greg got aware of Mycroft staring at him. "Oh, right. Um… I haven't really thought it through to be honest. I haven't even told my boss yet, and he's going to be furious. But he really helped us though, Sherlock I mean. He solved our latest case."

"The London burglaries, yes. I figured he wouldn't be able to stay away from them." Mycroft said, looking distant. "My brother is very fond of crimes, of any kind. He has abilities which are quite remarkable."

"Yeah, I've seen them. He knows everything." Greg said, thinking of Sherlock more or less blackmailing him, knowing a story he hadn't even told his wife.

"That's not quite true." Mycroft replied. "I know everything. Sherlock knows what he needs to know. He see things, he observes in a way other people cannot. One must be careful when dealing with Sherlock Holmes. Are you ready to take him on, Inspector?"

"I… well, yeah. I mean, sure. Okay so he can be a bit rude sometimes" Mycroft smiled crookedly. "But I think he can really help me. And it seems like he wants to help me, too. It's a win-win, Mr. Holmes."

"Mycroft."

"What?"

"Please, call me Mycroft. If you are a good enough man to deal with my brother, we may at least be on first-name terms with each other, don't you think?"

"Ehm, sure, I guess." Greg said, wondering what made the Holmes-brothers so keen on first-names. "My name is -"

"Greg, yes I know" Mycroft interrupted him. "I'm sorry for all of this" he gestured vaguely around them "but it's very nice to meet you, Greg" He extended his hand. Greg took it. And when they shook hands Greg thought that, yes, it was indeed nice to meet him.

The handshake was followed by silence. Mycroft was watching him intently, and Greg had a feeling that he, too, had the ability to see into the very darkest corners of Greg's mind. Eventually, Mycroft said "I'll have my driver take you back to London. I figure we will see more of each other ahead." And with a curt nod, he walked past Greg and out the door. Greg followed him, wanting to say something more, but when he stepped out the building there was no sign of him. There was only the driver who stood by the car, already waiting with the door open. Greg looked around him, shook his head and climbed into the car.

"Can you pass me the salt?"

Greg took the salt and pushed it over to the other side of the table. He was lost in thoughts. His day had been unusual to say the least, and he couldn't get Mycroft Holmes out of his head. Who was he, really? And why was he being so dramatic? Although they had only spent minutes in each other's company, Greg was intrigued by Mycroft, and he definitely wanted to find out more about the man who had grown up with Sherlock.

He chewed his steak slowly. It tasted nothing. He took a sip of his beer. It tasted nothing. He looked across the table at his wife. He felt nothing.

She was beautiful, Elaine. Her dark-brown hair lay in waves down her back, her mouth naturally rosy red (when she wasn't wearing lipstick), and her green eyes had always been a favorite of his. But lately he'd noticed that her hair had grown grey by the temples, her eyes had lost some of its former glory and her mouth had long since lost its perfection from kissing too many men that were not her husband. When he looked at her now, he felt no more than when he looked at a pair of shoes. It sounded harsh, but it was the truth. He cared for her of course, they had spent a major part of their lives together, but he didn't love her, and he would never love her again. That much he was certain about.

They chewed their steak and drank their beer and Elaine said "It's nice that it has finally stopped raining" and Greg said "Yes. There might be sun tomorrow", and they cleared the table and watched some TV and then they went to bed without saying another word to each other. That was his life, and Greg hated it. And he hated himself for not doing anything about it. And he tossed and turned thinking about it until his watch showed 02.24 and he finally fell asleep.