Welcome to chapter 3 of my Mystrade fic. I was always keen in this story to have a chapter which shifted from one characters perspective to the others, and hopefully that's what I've done here. The heat is beginning to rise between our two Sherlock heroes, who knows where it will lead? ;)
As always, all comments and reviews are so gratefully received, I genuinely cannot explain how much I enjoy getting them. I literally jump with excitement when I get an email notification telling me I have a comment! So please, please, take a moment to tell me what you think.
I really hope you enjoy chapter 3
Lestrade glanced at the building, looking for some outward sign that he had come to the correct place. He had followed Anthea's detailed instructions to the letter, so in theory, this was indeed Mycroft Holmes's office. He had been surprised to receive an invitation for a formal meeting so soon, a mere two days since he had encountered Mycroft at Scotland Yard. Under his arm, Lestrade carried a folder with a collection of documents he thought might be potentially useful for the meeting he was about to enter. Mycroft had given him no instructions, or asked him to prepare anything in advance, but Lestrade was keen to show that he had at least made some attempts at arriving prepared. Making a good impression and being at the receiving end of Mycroft's approval was something he knew was extremely important if this budding professional relationship was to continue. In honour of the occasion, he had carefully gone through his wardrobe and assembled his smartest outfit, complete with a brand new white shirt that he had bought after work the day before.
As he climbed the steps to the door, Lestrade felt a buzz of excitement amongst the nervous emotions pulsating through his body. He still could not quite rationalise his feelings, but all he knew was that he had been looking forward to seeing Mycroft again. The man was a curious mix of intimidating authority and fascinating attraction. There was a depth and complexity to him that Lestrade had never encountered. There seemed to be so much more to learn about him, although Lestrade suspected he would be lucky to discover any more from such a controlled and cool person.
Mycroft had stopped working a full thirty minutes before Lestrade was due for his appointment. He had been looking forward to this meeting immensely and wanted to privately savour both the moment and the anticipation. He had spotted Anthea giving him a curious look when she entered the office and found him staring out of the window, but she had said nothing. Although Mycroft was fond of Anthea and valued her steely professionalism, they also had an unspoken understanding; no questions were ever asked of a personal nature and she did not attempt to try and learn anything about him as a person. Their entire relationship was built around work and neither knew anything about the other in any other capacity.
When Anthea showed Lestrade into the office, Mycroft took a few seconds to gaze upon the secret object of his desire. He was strikingly handsome, and even more so today in his smarter clothes. Mycroft noted the neat file in his hands and the nervous shadow in his eyes, and felt slightly cruel for having lied to him about the fictitious meeting. Lestrade thought he was here for a genuine consultation, when Mycroft in fact simply wanted to bask within the aura of his proximity.
"Good to see you again, inspector," Mycroft said pleasantly, extending his hand to shake Lestrade's, a shiver of pleasure dancing up his spine as their fingers touched.
"And you as well, Mr. Holmes," replied Lestrade politely.
Mycroft gestured to the chair in front of his desk and they both sat down. Mycroft noticed that Lestrade was sitting perched on the edge of his seat, his back rigidly straight and his knees pressed tightly together. An uncomfortable position to sit, thought Mycroft, his nervousness clearly visible in his inability to sit back in a relaxed manner.
Mycroft opened the top drawer of his desk and produced a map which gave a detailed view of Central London. Lestrade leaned forward and studied in with interest, his eyes darting keenly over the various points of the paper. Mycroft watched his with pleasure, feeling oddly pleased that Lestrade seemed genuinely interested in his fictitious little task.
"So why don't I outline the plans we have in place, and then I'd like to like to hear from your perspective how the police might be able to undertake what we have in mind?" Mycroft asked.
Lestrade nodded enthusiastically; Mycroft glowed privately to himself.
Quickly, Mycroft reeled off the information which he had rehearsed in his mind earlier that day. It had not taken him long to invent something plausible, it was more of an amalgamation of various security arrangements he had presented to people in the past and that he knew well. Lestrade listened intently, drinking in every word, his gaze only broken by the occasional glance down at the map as he sought some visual context for Mycroft's suggestions.
"So, how feasible does that sound from your point of view?" Mycroft finished.
Lestrade narrowed his eyes and thought for a moment before answering.
"Well, Mr. Holmes," he said, his finger hovering over the map as he searched for the point he wanted to start with, "I've got a few suggestions which might simplify a few of the ideas you've got."
Lestrade began to talk, identifying parts of Mycroft's speech which needed addressing, presenting his own ideas intelligently and only criticising in a highly productive way. Mycroft was impressed; it was a shame the whole proposal was a lie to start with. Lestrade was a natural with a good eye for detail and clearly experienced at his job.
As Lestrade continued, Mycroft allowed part of his mind to switch off and begin to think of other things which were at present of greater interest to him. He pondered for the hundredth time that maddeningly vague phrase in Lestrade's file: "divorced, living alone". That could only mean that he had been married to a woman, but was it at all possible that Lestrade's preferences arched beyond that? Mycroft was highly perceptive, and he was sure he had detected just the slightest hint of mutual attraction in Lestrade's manner and behaviour towards him. Not that Mycroft wanted to pursue the point, but it was certainly tantalising to think that his secret, lustful thoughts might be reciprocated. There surely had to be some way of finding out more.
Mycroft had been so busy dreaming that for just a second he had stopped listening to Lestrade. It was unfortunately timed that he had chosen the precise moment to disengage just as Lestrade had finished speaking. It took Mycroft a couple of seconds to realise that he was staring vaguely and unresponsively into Lestrade's eyes and failing totally to acknowledge him verbally. He sat up sharply and straightened the papers in front of him with unnecessary vigour in order to break the tense awkwardness which suddenly existed between them.
"Thank you for that, inspector, I was just thinking over some of the points you made," Mycroft said briskly, returning his glance to Lestrade's face, only to notice that his cheeks had reddened significantly. Lestrade was not stupid; he had clearly noticed Mycroft's intense look and was now reacting with embarrassment. Mycroft was struck by this level of responsiveness and felt encouraged. His belief that the spark of attraction was also alive in Lestrade was now firmer than before. The time had come to test the waters even further.
"You really have been so helpful, inspector Lestrade," Mycroft said smoothly, "I don't suppose you would be able to attend a second meeting to discuss some further proposals at some point?"
The eagerness in Lestrade's agreement was enough to convince Mycroft that his gut instinct was indeed correct.
Lestrade attended his next meeting with excitement and anticipation, his nerves more of a pleasurable buzz of electric tension rather than fear. The only emotion bothering him now was a slightly uneasy sense of confusion which he was trying to ignore.
He kept asking himself questions, deep in his mind: why was he reacting in this uncharacteristically excitable way towards the attentions of Mycroft Holmes? Why was he so keen to see him and why did he feel electricity pulsing through his veins whenever he thought of him? Why was it so important to impress him and gain his approval?
Lestrade told himself that he was simply being sensible and obtaining the respect of one of his superiors, but he had never been any good at lying to himself. He knew really that for some ridiculous and completely crazy reason, he was experiencing some sort of attraction towards Mycroft. He felt such an idiot when he pondered over this most strange of thoughts. A man of his age should not be experiencing crushes and hankering pathetically after a completely unobtainable person, like some sort of lovesick teenager. But then Lestrade had certainly felt extremely lonely since his wife had left and their divorce had been finalised. Maybe it was the bitterness he felt towards her that had awoken his dormant attraction to men, a feeling he had not experienced for many years. There had been a couple of men in his youth who he had experimented with sexually, but nothing of any great significance. He had assumed this was an aspect of the past for many men his age and he had taken it for granted that he had simply grown out of those youthful feelings. But there was no denying that however deep those old attractions had been lying, Mycroft Holmes had managed to awaken them and they now pulsed furiously and with a power he had never experienced before. Lestrade could not get Mycroft out of his head; the man had become an all-consuming obsession.
As he entered Mycroft's office for a second time, his heart began to beat faster and his breathing quickened as soon as he laid eyes on him. He savoured the few seconds when their skin touched, even in something as asexual and empty as a polite handshake, but he knew this was the closest he would ever get to laying his hands on Mycroft's flesh. The mere thought of such a thing made his face burn hot with the thrill. Better pull yourself together, Lestrade thought to himself, this is not the place to be thinking ideas of that nature.
As they talked, Lestrade tried to take in every detail he could about Mycroft, stealing little glances and looks at his person whenever a gap in the conversation allowed. This was not easy for Lestrade; he was an intelligent man, but any ability he had was utterly dwarfed by the sharpness of Mycroft. His eye for detail and analytical mind was quite astonishing and he did not miss the slightest point as they discussed different issues. It took all of Lestrade's concentration and focus to maintain his contribution to the conversation. Working with Mycroft Holmes certainly did not allow a lot of time for idle daydreaming.
"Have you never considered more specialised work in something like counter terrorism or security services?" Mycroft asked, "You seem to have a good eye for this type of operation."
Lestrade blushed slightly with pleasure, thrilled to be in receipt of a compliment.
"No, Mr. Holmes, I've always been very happy where I am. Keeping the criminals of the streets in good enough for me."
He gave a slightly awkward laugh, although he had not really meant it as a joke. Straying away from a strictly work related topic of conversation was suddenly quite difficult.
Mycroft picked up a pen from his desk and twirled it absentmindedly between his slender pale fingers.
"I'm the opposite," he said, "planning and strategising are the ways I like to try and protect the country."
"But that makes sense," said Lestrade keenly, "as you're so good at it. I've never seen someone work this stuff out as meticulously as you."
Lestrade was suddenly acutely aware of how odd that sentence must have sounded like a feeble attempt at appraising Mycroft's efforts. If Mycroft was surprised by his words, he did not show it. He leaned back in his chair, continuing to play with his pen.
"So tell me, inspector," Mycroft said softly, "what exactly made you join the police?"
Lestrade gave a short laugh. "That's quite a long story!" He exclaimed.
"Well I'd very much like to hear it," Mycroft continued, his unblinking eyes never breaking contact with Lestrade's.
Lestrade hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to begin, but then started to describe his career choice and the extensive influence his parents had had on the decision. As he explained, Mycroft listened silently, occasionally nodding or smiling at appropriate points, but never interrupting. Before long, the conversation was flowing much more easily, Mycroft interested in many details of Lestrade's work, his education and his upbringing. Although Lestrade was enjoying the sudden informality, it did not escape his attention that he was the one doing all the answering, whereas Mycroft was leading the questioning. His aloof manner and illusive persona was tantalising; Lestrade still felt as if he knew absolutely nothing about him.
They continued to talk long after Anthea had gone, and would have probably continued if Mycroft had not casually glanced at the small silver clock on his desk. 7.02pm.
"My goodness, inspector," he exclaimed, getting up hastily, for he had genuinely lost all sense of time, "I had no idea it was so late. I did not intend for you to be here so long."
Lestrade stood up, disappointed that their time together was at an end.
"Not at all Mr. Holmes," he said politely, "it's not late in the slightest and it's been so interesting being able to work with you again."
"I'm glad you've found it a productive meeting," Mycroft said smiling, "we'll have to schedule another."
Lestrade frowned, looking slightly confused.
"You think we'll need a third meeting to go through this?" He enquired.
Mycroft was silent in response. It looked as if his little charade was running out of steam, there were only so many times you could arrange pretend meetings for no reason. Mycroft hesitated, knowing that he really should not say the words that were about to leave his mouth, but he could not resist the temptation.
"You're absolutely right, inspector," he said decisively, "how about to thank you for your time, and to apologise for making you work so late, we have a drink together before you go home."
Lestrade froze, wondering if he had just dreamt what he had just heard. Go for a drink with Mycroft? He could not think of anything more desirable and yet also, utterly terrifying.
"You mean a quick drink in the pub?" He asked, cringing as he said the words but unable to make a more intelligent comment.
Mycroft gave an amused grimace.
"I do not tend to visit the pub," he said with a tone of mild distaste, "but I am a member of a private bar which is slightly more in keeping with what I mean by a civilised drink."
Lestrade felt like an idiot. The mere thought of Mycroft in a pub was too ridiculous to contemplate.
"Well, if you're sure it's not trouble, I'd love to," Lestrade said, his stomach tightening into a coil of excitement.
Mycroft smiled at him darkly, a strange distant look in his eyes, picking up his coat an umbrella from the stand by his desk.
"Then we must not waste any time. Let's go."