Chapter Three-
The plane landed smoothly, without the usual roughness or jolting about that Mycroft usually felt, but his heart still was pounding by the time he walked into the airport. He could feel it buzzing in the air around him like electricity. There was something different, he could sense it, feel it…. It was almost like the calm before the storm. He felt as though his whole life was about to change in just a few moments.
With a slight jump, Mycroft was woken from his thoughts as he saw his suitcase gliding gently into the luggage pickup.
He grabbed the handles, the ridiculous weight of his two bags making him feel a bit more grounded to the world around him. He began to walk towards the exit, shaking his head slightly. Taking a reassuring breath, Mycroft told himself that he was being ridiculous. Nothing was going to change. This strange feeling meant nothing…. Sure, he might be back in London but that didn't mean that he would even see Lestrade. And if they did, nothing would even happen. No, Mycroft and Lestrade would never talk again, and if they did they would surely never be friends again. And most of all, they would never become more than that.
The thoughts cemented into Mycroft's brain with finality as the automatic doors swooped open. The thoughts sunk into his soul with the same coldness as the bitterness of the cold London air.
Lestrade had been drinking his tea when it happened. He choked a little bit, a drop of the steamy liquid going down the wrong tube and throwing the detective inspector into a coughing fit.
He couldn't breathe for several moments, and it was a while before he could regain his composure and remember what had thrown him into such a fit in the first place.
It had been such a strange feeling…. Nothing had happened really, nothing specific. It was just… a feeling he supposed. A feeling of change. It was like the calm before the storm…
Lestrade shook his head, calming down his startled nerves. He was being utterly ridiculous. But no matter how hard the man tried to convince himself that he was thinking illogically, he couldn't shake off the odd feeling that his life would never be the same in just a few moments.
The clock sounded, and Lestrade jumped. Was it really that time already?! Oh, how had this happened? He'd lost track of time somehow even though he'd sworn he'd woken up in time, and now he'd be late to work.
He grabbed his coat off of the chair, reached for his briefcase, and ran out of the door and into the brisk London air.
The main London road was a crazy and crowded street full of bustling people. The sidewalks were just as jam-packed as the road, and Lestrade was seriously questioning his decision to walk to work after already running nearly a half-an-hour late. He could have called a cab after all… he probably could have been to Scotland Yard by now… he was going to be so late… he wondered if Detective Inspectors could get fired for things like this….
He was suddenly knocked from his thoughts. And I mean literally knocked from his thoughts.
The collision sent his briefcase flying, papers spilling in every direction. Lestrade himself ended up flat on his arse, clutching his head and cursing.
He nearly didn't even notice the man that had crashed into him. He probably wouldn't have noticed him at all (he was in such a rush to collect his things and get to work) if it hadn't been for the voice.
"Greg?" it said.
It was soft and gentle, barely audible over the loud din around him, but it made the whole world stop. Lestrade would know that voice anywhere.
His breath hitched in his throat. It couldn't be… it wouldn't be… he'd look up and it would be a stranger, someone he had never met in his life….. It couldn' . .
Heart throbbing in his throat, Lestrade looked up with anxious eyes.
And what he saw made the world stop.
It was him.