A/N Unbeta'd and dashed off in a hurry. All bugger-ups mine. Enjoy!
Mycroft Holmes had been reviewing the security tapes documenting his little brother's escapades around the city that day, as was his bedtime habit of late, (it was better than snaffling a slice of two of cake from the kitchen that he'd feel bad about later). Usually it provided him with a few opportunities to winch, mentally face-palm and generally wind down from his day - or, more frequently days - spent around people who's every word was carefully weighed and measured before it was used. He would never admit it, but it was alarmingly refreshing to see someone being so bluntly and unapologetically rude to people. Today however, rudeness was not the thing with which he was pre-occupied. It was Her. What the hell was She doing back? He'd sworn he'd never let her get close to his emotionally stunted little brother again. Especially not now, when he'd got everything panning out so nicely with his new 'flat-mate'. With a sigh, he lifted the receiver of the nearby telephone.
"Anthea, put surveillance on Miss Carly Hallwood. I want to know everything she does, everyone she she sees and everywhere she goes, with immediate effect should it involve my brother." He replaced the receiver with exaggerated care and returned his now troubled gaze to the freeze-framed image on the screen of his laptop. Sherlock and Carly locked in an awkward embrace. It had already begun, if he wasn't much mistaken. The game, as the youngest Holmes was so fond of saying, was on.
"Myc? Are you coming to bed?" Gregory Lestrade was standing in his office doorway, wearing nothing but a towel. Who'd have thought he'd end up with that in his life? Who'd have predicted that perfection wanting him?
He smiled softly, masking the most part of his worries "Of course, Gregory, I was just tying up some loose ends."
"All pretty bows now yeah?"
"For the moment at least."
"Well, let's live in the moment then…" Greg replied, licking his lips and letting the towel drop as he turned and strolled, oh so nonchalantly, towards Mycroft's bedroom.
Well, he thought, as he got to his feet, closing his laptop with one hand and raising the other to the ceiling in a stretch, there wasn't really an awful lot he could do but wait. If she got in contact a second time, he'd abduct her and give her the third degree.
Little was he to know that by the time she got in contact with Sherlock again it would be too late for that.