Author's note: Thank you for your reviews and that some of you decided to follow.

I am an idiot. I had to change a few things in the last chapter – Mycroft know wonders how Lestrade found out where he lives (I'm rather sure he made certain no one could find out his address) rather than who he is. Because he told him his name at the crime scene. God, that was so stupid of me. That is what happens when you hurry. My apologies.

I don't own anything, please review.

Sherlock had stood up and was waiting for them right at the door of the living room, shooting Mycroft a confused look. He shrugged.

"Detective Inspector, won't you sit down?" he asked and Lestrade did so, looking at each of them in turn.

"So you are the younger brother, right?" he asked Sherlock. "Some kind of scientist, I heard?"

Sherlock nodded, obviously completely at a loss as to where the DI was going. Mycroft couldn't imagine either; after all, if Lestrade would have wanted to contact them for a statement, he could always have called Sherlock on his phone. The lab that had his address (he would definitely have to change that) had his phone number too. Plus, even though Lestrade seemed more interested in his surroundings than the last times he had seen him, Mycroft didn't think he would volunteer to get the statements of two witnesses who hadn't even caught a glimpse of the killer.

Suddenly a possibility he really should have thought of before came to his mind. How had Lestrade described him? "Posh, suit-wearing, umbrella-wielding..."

"If I told you" the DI said at that moment, "that a burglar was attacked last night in the house near the South Side of the Thames and he couldn't say much about his attackers, only that there were two and one wore a suit and carried an umbrella as well as a flashlight and was a great fighter..." He looked straight into Mycroft's eyes. "What would you say?"

Thankfully he wasn't looking at Sherlock, because the face of his brother showed plainly the shock and panic he was feeling; Mycroft wouldn't have expected anything different. He had never had to hide his emotions from the world, therefore he had never learned.

Mycroft, however, had.

"Really?" he asked, nonchalantly. "While I am certain it was rather inconvenient for the burglar, I don't see why it should concern me".

"I think you do" Lestrade answered calmly, "What do you think, Mr. Holmes?" he asked, looking at Sherlock, but his brother had realized how to act by now and looked at him frowning.

"I'm afraid I don't understand".

Lestrade sighed. "Can't we just quit the game? It all seems a bit too much to be a coincidence. You show up in my office, pretty much do nothing but talk to me like we know each other" so he had noticed something, Mycroft had obviously not given the DI enough credit "then the burglary happens and who do I find at my next crime scene? What are you doing? Running around searching for crimes to commit?"

"What you are saying is simply ridiculous" Sherlock replied, completely calm by now. "Mycroft occupies a minor position in the government, and I am rather well-known in scientific circles, if I may say so myself. Why should we break into a strange house to knock out a burglar?"

Lestrade raised an eyebrow. "I never said you were his accomplice".

Sherlock reacted wonderfully, though. He shot back, apparently angry, "My brother raised me. I'm his best friend. Who else would he trust enough to break into a house with?"

Lestrade laughed. It was a strange laugh, somewhere between relief and disappointment, and Mycroft asked himself whether the isolation and the utterly unremarkable life he was leading were slowly taking their toll on the DI's sanity. But when Lestrade looked up and genuinely smiled, Mycroft realized.

He had come here because he was curious about the strange man with the umbrella, more curious than he'd been about anything for a long time, probably. The need to take their statements – he could have written them up from memory, but Mycroft supposed he could always tell his boss that there were some details he needed to clarify – had been an opportunity to find him. He'd had a hunch about the burglar – he was good police man still, despite everything, and he had trusted his instincts. But, while he should have arrested them, the story had only made him more curious.

He was relieved that he didn't have to arrest them and disappointed that he hadn't got the truth out of Sherlock.

And then Mycroft realized something else.

Lestrade was curious about him, interested in him. Mrs. Hudson had immediately told him, a complete stranger, about her husband. Moriarty had mistrusted him from the first.

Did they feel, albeit subconsciously, that he wasn't really of this world? That he had walked down the path not taken? Was that why Sherlock, even though he had called a psychiatrist, had been ready to perform tests on the skull? He could have simply shrugged of Mycroft's accusations. He hadn't. And maybe this had more to do with him feeling that there had always been another choice his brother could have made, and that he had indeed made this choice?

It was a fascinating thought, but sadly not one that would be of any help in his situation. Other than the fact that he suddenly was standing in front of a DI who was fascinated by one, or rather, by the way he was starting to eye Sherlock, two strange individuals and didn't know why. A DI who wouldn't believe and, frankly, was useless against Moriarty.

Lestrade nodded as if he had come to a decision and said, "Good, then. Anything else I need to know about the murder that happened today?"

"Shouldn't you have asked us that at the crime scene, Inspector?" Sherlock demanded to know, and the way he addressed Lestrade – he talked to him like he had used to do before his disappearance. Mycroft frowned. Sherlock probably hadn't enjoyed being accused of a crime (although having committed it) and that was why he was somewhat polite, but aloof at the same time towards the Inspector. Maybe Mycroft wouldn't have cared if he hadn't heard Sherlock talk so freely, so comfortably with Moriarty only a day ago.

Lestrade didn't seem to mind, but then, aside from showing up here and wondering about the break-in, he still hadn't shown any indication of minding anything. He certainly didn't sound enthusiastic about his search for Cairns' killer.

"Maybe I was busy with the corpse, Sher- Mr. Holmes" Lestrade corrected himself quickly, seemingly confused as to why he should address Sherlock by his first name.

"I'm pretty sure that's illegal" Sherlock answered before Mycroft could stop him, but Lestrade only gave a small smile.

"Nice to see you have a sense of humour".

"It's helped me on many occasions" Sherlock answered drily and looked at Mycroft, clearly asking how long they would have to wait before asking Lestrade to leave. Mycroft sighed and realized it would be best for the DI to leave; he could do nothing against Moriarty anyway, and in the worst case scenario he could become a target too, simply because of his ill-timed visit. It was possible Moriarty already had them under surveillance.

"Inspector" he started, "I am afraid we are rather busy, and we have no further information. So if you have nothing else to say – "

"I do". Lestrade stood up. "Cairns was shot by a sniper" he stated. "Be careful. Oh, and..." he came to stood before Mycroft and fixed a stern glance on him. "I knew my wife was cheating on me. The question is, how did you know?"

So that was the reason behind his visit. Mycroft should have known. Lestrade didn't trust because he didn't know him; what he had truly wanted to find out was how he'd managed to find out about his wife.

"First of all, I think you didn't" he said, "You are still married". Lestrade's eyes narrowed. "And second of all..." Mycroft didn't think what he was about to particularly smart, but he'd simply had enough. Enough of Moriarty being alive and committing crimes in London, enough of John being dead, enough of Mrs. Hudson living in fear, enough of Lestrade's indifference that only gave way to something like mild interest when you mentioned he was being cheated on. The DI could do nothing against them anyway.

"Quite frankly" he continued, "I would cheat on my husband too if all he did was sitting around and staring at the wall or paperwork all day".

For a moment, he thought Lestrade might get angry, but the flash he saw in the DI's eyes was gone as quickly as it came.

"Stare at a wall?" he asked. "I do work..."

"You're not doing a very good job, though, I would say" Sherlock interrupted. "You are hanging around the house of witnesses when you could be out there catching the killer. Hardly professional".

"I'll decide what's professional and what's not, Mr. – "

"It's Doctor Holmes for you. I have several PhDs. And I think I now know why the forensic techs who come to the lectures I hold every once in a while look so frustrated all the time".

There was a short moment, probably not longer than a millisecond, where Mycroft suddenly feared Lestrade would shout at Sherlock, despite his calm demeanour. There was something in his face. And Mycroft was not prepared to watch the DI who had done so much for him hit his brother.

But Lestrade simply shook his head, grumbled a "goodbye" and left.

Sherlock looked at Mycroft and smirked. "That's what you get for being a show-off at the crime scene".

Mycroft shrugged. "I am a show-off, Sherlock, and you are too, for that matter, Mr. Several PhDs. It's what we do".

Sherlock smiled. "I suppose you are right."

Because he couldn't help himself, Mycroft asked, "You hold lectures too?"

Sherlock nodded. "Once in a while. This one forensic tech comes to every one of them – he's not an idiot by any means, but a little bit on the slow side. He adores science, though. And he keeps taking notes."

"Is his name Anderson?" Mycroft inquired, remembering Lestrade.

"Yes, why?"

Mycroft managed not to laugh – barely – and changed the subject. "At least Moriarty is free to make his move now Lestrade has left".

The smile fell from Sherlock's face.

"I'm not sure that is good news".

"It's the only news there could be" Mycroft replied quietly, and Sherlock shot him a look he couldn't understand, sighed and went into the kitchen to make tea. While Mycroft would have preferred brandy, he knew he had to keep a clear head.

He accepted the cup Sherlock gave him and wondered what his brother had thought about Lestrade. The impression could hardly have been favourable, but he had been polite to a certain extent. Mycroft knew this Sherlock to be nearly always polite, however. All in all, it was far from likely that Lestrade and Sherlock could become something like friends, and strangely this thought bothered him more than the DI being so callous.

There was no point in conjecture, so he had just decided to ask Sherlock if he wanted to eat anything – his brother looked healthier but was still rather thin – when a stone came flying through the living room window and almost hit Mycroft.

Sherlock sprang up and ran to the shattered window, peering out while Mycroft took the stone and saw there was a piece of paper attached to it.

Typical. Trust Moriarty to be overly dramatic. He could have texted, but no, of course he had to have someone throw a stone through their window.

The message was simple enough.

Time to chat, Big Brother. Westminster Abbey, ten pm.

Author's note: One of my regular readers suggested that Anderson is a "Sherlock fanboy" in this world, and I couldn't resist. It was too funny not to use it.

And I am trying to show Lestrade conflicted because he wants not to care and has always managed to convince himself he doesn't – and then two strange men show up and tell him a few truths. And what would a fanfic be without friendship angst?

I hope you liked it, please review.